Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Reporting from the east residential area of Trost is Station Ten’s Mike Schumer, with an update on a gruesome scene. A Trost High student, Eren Jaeger, was murdered sometime last night, after he had come home from the Trost county fair. Mike, please give us the update.”

Marco’s eyes flicked to the tv screen across the dining room, over to where his mother sat on the purple sofa closest to the set. The headliner alone had made his stomach drop a couple levels.

Eren? Murdered?

Marco had known Eren through his friend group at Trost High. In fact, he recalled seeing the guy very much alive and well yesterday, attending all his classes and braiding Mikasa's hair at lunch. Marco had even waved at Eren before leaving school property yesterday afternoon, surely the report on the tv wasn’t correct?

The teen sprung up from the wooden chair to stand beside his shaking mother, wincing at the scraping sound the legs produced in the process. His eyes were glued helplessly to the screen as the news station filmed the front of Eren’s home, and he slid a tender hand over his mother's shoulder to calm her while they listened to the full report.

“Thank you, Susan. Yes, we have a lot still here at the scene to go over before we can release any official details. Reports as of now say that Eren Jaeger was stabbed to death on his front lawn, seemingly inches from the front door. Neighbor reports say they didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary, but when Carla Jaeger, Eren’s mother, left the home for work the following morning, she had the misfortune of discovering the body of her teenage son.”

Marco’s eyes widened, and his mother gasped as she covered her lips. Her tears flowed quick from her eyes, smudging the pretty office makeup she had just spent an hour on.

Last night, what had happened last night?

Sure, Marco hadn’t know Eren all that well, but the news still struck him deep. Trost had never witnessed anything this graphic before, and they certainly hadn't seen this kind of harm come to a child ever.

Trost wasn't like most places in the world. It was totally quiet, with a couple dozen neighbors who were all friendly and inviting. There was a potluck almost every Sunday held in the town square, with enough space and food for everyone, due to Trost's minimal population. The total lack of drama nearly made it unworthy of settlement at all.

“There are no further details at this time, but Trost PD has officially labeled this case as a homicide investigation. We will return later with more updates as the case unfolds. For now, stay vigilant, and if you see or hear anything, Trost PD are urging witnesses to step forward. Call the number on the screen to share your information, and rest assured that all reports will remain anonymous. Help Trost find and convict those responsible!”

Mrs. Bodt turned off the tv, and the living room fell into an eerie silence. Turning to face Marco, his mother surveyed his expression for a moment, before she spoke her mind.

“Are you ok hun? Was he... was he one of your friends at school?” She asked, her voice wavering hesitantly.

Marco took a moment to respond, but he lightly shook his head. 

“Sort of... We were acquaintances. Jean and I hang out with him and some others at lunch sometimes, and I played football on the pitch with him last year.” He answered, digging his thumb nail deep into the palm of his other hand.

The tingling sensation helped him focus sometimes.

“Jean wasn’t exactly ‘friendly’ with him though, so we didn’t talk much.” He added

Mrs. Bodt bobbed her head at his answer. She too decided to rise from her seat, pulling her son into a tight hug.

She drew him back after about a minute, grasping his shoulders firmly in her boney hands. Her honey glazed eyes glanced him up and down for a little bit, and her smile developed soft and somber, as if she were making sure to cherish her son lest she forget whats important to her.

But her eyes finally hardened when she was done doting on Marco, and her smile dropped off of her face.

“Until they've figure this whole thing out, you have a curfew. 7pm is the time I want you home every night, alright? We don’t know if this is some high school serial killer or something, and I don't feel like risking it.” She commanded.

Marco wanted to complain. He had a few after school clubs that he had joined with Jean, and sometimes Sasha and Connie would want to catch a movie once a week before ending the night by grabbing a bite at a local Waffle House. But Marco also knew she was right, there could be something sinister lurking in their town. He didn't want her to have to worry about him more than she already did.

He nodded his head in agreement.

Mrs. Bodt pat his shoulders in affirmation, flashing an encouraging smile one more time before moving along into the kitchen and resuming the morning chores.

As he leaned against the dining room doorframe, Marco pulled out his phone and flipped it open, drafting a short message to Jean.

Marco:
Hey, did you see the news? About Eren?

He typed out a second message, but before he sent it, Marco selected the tan haired boy’s image folder.

He studied the face of his best friend with quiet admiration and tapped his nail against the pixilated image of Jean's jaw. He stared into the fierce eyes of his best friend, and wondered how he had been feeling that morning. Were his parents helping him mourn, or were they too absorbed in their work to care?

Did Jean even care that Eren had been murdered?

It was like Marco had said, Eren and Jean weren’t technically friends. If anything, they were quite the opposite.

The two would frequently get into verbal arguments, some evolving past insults and morphing into physical altercations that often ended in black eyes or bruised ribs. They just didn't like each other, and both of them responded to criticism in a similar manner, crafting a beautiful recipe for disaster.

Marco's imagination was shoving him into a tight box of assumptions about his best friend. He didn't fully understand the stakes of Eren and Jean's rivalry until now.

Marco was sure it wasn’t like Jean had anything to do with the case, but he figured a check in would be good in the wake of the news. After all, nobody knew what really happened last night.

Marco:
I mean, I know it was Eren and it's not like you two are close, but I just want to be sure you’re okay.

He pressed the enter button on the keypad, trying his best not to think too far into the lack of response from Jean.

Marco hadn’t realized how much the headline was fucking with his subconsciousness. Sweat pooled against the small his back, and his heart was hammering away in his chest. His knees were shaking from the weight of his body, and a sense of dread quickly overrode all of his other senses.

Did Trost have a situation on their hands? Who would want to do this to Eren?

Marco tried to push down any and all invasive and irrational questions as he snatched up his backpack, and he called out a farwell to his mom before pulling the front door shut. He jumped into his shitty maroon Mazda and threw the school pack into the passenger, massaging his temples and bobbing his leg anxiously.

After all that had unfolded the night before, classes had not been canceled. Great!

The murder hadn’t been linked directly to the school, but it still made Marco feel uneasy that he would be walking into an atmosphere that was almost guaranteed to be dense. He was afraid of what the homicide could potentially mean for his friends, and why the killer had to choose Eren of all people last night.

Marco still hadn’t received anything from Jean after a couple of minutes of sitting with the car in park, so he decided not to wait anymore and moved the shift to reverse.

He then checked his appearance in the rear-view mirror, and was met with two dismayed coffee-colored eyes. Dissociating in his reflection, he wondered how quick they would fade by the end of the day.

Marco didn’t know if Mikasa or Armin would even come to school after hearing about what happened to Eren last night, but surely none of his friends would be in good shape. Everybody in Trost loved Eren.

Everybody, that was, except for Jean.

Marco wheeled through a few radio stations until he found one playing some calming music, something that wasn’t a voice reporting on the homicide. He needed to clear his mind before he arrived at school, so his anxiety wouldn't peak in class.

His phone remained eerily silent in the central cupholder. Nobody called, nobody texted, just complete silence. Which somehow made everything feel worse. It was as if there was a giant, angry cloud over his head, and the smallest poke would cause all of the dread to come raining down on him.

When he finally parked and willed himself to exit the vehicle, he took another deep breath.

No matter what, it will be ok, he reassured himself.

Marco took one step after the other until he reached the vibrant red front doors, and swung them open for himself.

He was hit with a burst of frigid air, and greeted by a strikingly quiet main hallway. A couple of students standing near the doors jumped when the hinges creaked, and they stared at Marco in alarm as they considered his intentions. When they realized he wasn't a threat to them, they returned to their own devices.

Marco frowned, and sheepishly made his way to his own locker. He cast a few curious glances around at the people nearest to him, looking for a familiar face, any face that would make him feel like this whole situation was real.

This is actually happening, and everyone is paranoid now because of it.

That’s when eyes finally landed on Sasha and Connie, both of whom had clouded eyes and dazed expressions as they stood in front of the history class bulletin board. Marco approached the two immediately, and when they finally came to, Sasha's face melted into grief as she collapsed into Marco's arms.

“Oh my god, Marco! Are you ok? Did you hear what happened?” She asked in a nasally tone.

She had been crying, her eyes were bright red and freshly irritated.

Marco squeezed her tightly in his arms, ignoring her question for a moment just to soothe her. He eyed Connie from over her shoulder, and gave him a curt nod to check on him too.

Connie returned the nod, and reached an arm out to pat his shoulder from over Sasha's. Their stances were heavy with grief, and Sasha trembled beneath Marco's grip.

“I mean, who hasn’t heard about it? I don't... I mean, this just doesn't make sense.” Marco stuttered, parting from Sasha to rest his back against the wall by the board. He held a freckled hand to his chest, commanding his heart to slow down. “Have you guys seen everyone yet, Armin or Mikasa, Jean?”

As the question left his mouth, Mr. Smith walked by with a poignant posture, his eyes sweeping over the three of them in his wake. The teacher gave the kids a silent nod, but carried on down the hallway without a word. The three had absentmindedly stiffened up themselves in the process, relaxed once he was gone.

Everyone felt oddly suspect today.

Connie shook his head. “No, I've seen everyone else but those three. Do you really think they’d come to school today?”

“Except for Jean. He should be here, he’s just chronically late.” Sasha pointed out.

Connie nodded in agreement with her, but there was something off in his eyes when Sasha mentioned Jean. There was a flicker of doubt, a twinge that Marco only noticed.

Marco’s heartbeat accelerated, and he glanced around the halls in a panic. Jean was really late, and soon he would be missing class. He was usually there by now, he was never that late. Not to mention, Marco's phone was growing cold and stiff in his pocket.

As the three were conversing in the hallway, Mikasa then feverishly rounded the corner.

Her eyes were puffy, red, swollen. Her expression was unlike anything Marco or his friends had ever seen before on her face, a polarizing sight from her normal chipper self. She hadn’t washed or styled her hair, it was all tangled and unkept. She was dragging her feet with each step, like a zombie with no will to live as she shuffled numbly to her locker.

They all watched her pass in silence, waiting for her to notice them or say something, anything that would indicate that she saw them.

But she didn’t. She just continued on as if she were a ghost, her eyes fixed directly down at the floor tiles.

Sasha turned to glance up at Marco with a grimace.

Grief was a heartbreaking emotion to see in Mikasa. Who had taken Eren away from her? Where was the justice for her family?

“Yikes.” Sasha whispered, biting her lip anxiously. She hugged herself tight, taking in a calming breath.

Marco knew Sasha wanted to follow Mikasa, to comfort her and be there for her. But Eren wasn't simply just a friend to her. The girl wasn't going to be functional again for a long, long time.

The bell for morning announcements sounded then, and the Superintendent’s voice filled the silent halls.

“Attention students, there will be an assembly in the gymnasium after lunch today. This assembly will be in memorial of Eren Jaeger, and will be a time for reflection, so students and staff may have a moment to process their grief. There will be counseling opportunities, care packets, and a rule enforcement announcement at the assembly, so it is mandatory for all students to attend. Thank you, and may God be with you all.”

The speaker rang out once more, then fell silent.

Connie sighed, shaking his head.

“This is actual bullshit. What the fuck even happened? How can everything be so messed up, I just saw him last night!” He cried, his voice cracking.

Marco frowned, watching the teen scratch his buzzcut viciously.

Tears prickled his own eyelids, as the same question was on his mind.

“I don’t even know how to process that Eren’s gone, let alone think about how he died or wonder who killed him. I’m actually scared man!” Connie admitted, squeezing his sides as his eyes widened.

Sasha moved forward to rub his arms gently. She leaned her chin on his shoulder from behind.

“I’m scared too, Connie. Should we even be here at school right now? Why do we have to go to an assembly the literal day after... it happened?”

As she rattled on, Sasha squeezed Connie tighter. Her eyes were just as wide as his, as the shock of it all was finally settling in. 

The boy with the buzzcut grunted in response, leaning back into her touch.

For a moment, it looked as if Connie had forgotten his own problems, listening to Sasha with his full attention instead.

Marco gulped once the bell rang for first period. He was now very painfully aware of Jean’s absence, as he was sure the other two were slowly starting to realize as well.

Where… was Jean?

“I’ll see you at Lunch, and the assembly I suppose?” Sasha asked, bringing Marco back to earth.

Marco cleared his throat. “Of course. I’ll be there.”

He watched the two of them walk down the hallway to their class, and felt a massive wave of nausea hit him. A flip in his stomach made him seriously consider for a moment which locker he would have to barf in front of.

Jean still hadn’t showed. Hell, he didn't even seem to be alive.

Not a very funny joke, Marco.

He tried to think back to the last time he had heard from Jean, as if that would hold a hint as to where he was.

Bertolt, Reiner, Eren, Armin, Connie and Jean had left school just after four yesterday, catching the city bus to the fair that was in town last night.

The last time Marco had heard anything, they were all having a good time together. He pulled up the message logs between him and Jean, where Jean described their adventure on the teacups ride to Marco just before eight. He had wished Jean a good night shortly after, and fell asleep.

Marco's stomach was wrapping itself into knots.

Everyone from the night before had been at school that morning, everyone except for Jean and Armin.

Could they have been hurt too? Eren’s mom had found him just inches from their front door, but Jean’s parents were often out of town for work. Armin lived with his grandfather, and was mostly in charge of their living situation.

Both of them were rather vulnerable, so it was a possibility.

Marco decided that if he didn’t see Jean by the end of the school day, he would swing by his house to make sure the teen was safe.

The assembly had been terribly bleak. There was a thick, heavy atmosphere hanging over the students, one that kept everyone from interrupting Principal Pixis as he delivered his speech about Eren.

"It's a terrible thing, to take away someone's right to live. It destroys the lives of the other people around that someone, death has a profound ripple effect. We lose so many good people over situations that are not worthy of the offense. And in the wake of a crime, nobody ever learns that violence never solves anything."

The old man's voice wavered as he spoke, but his stance was strong, and his words were filled with conviction.

"Eren was such a beautiful soul. His grades were absolutely stellar, and he had a real shot at making a career out of his love for sports. The Trost High Titans took the championship last year by storm with Eren as their captain. He created so many clubs, so many outlets that reached out and touched every heart in this school. His absence affects all of us who are living in the aftermath. Now there is nothing but a void where his spirit once was.”

”I know many of you are unable to comprehend the loss you've experienced quite yet, at least not in full."

The principal's eyes wandered the room, and when they landed on Marco's, there was a pit of sorrow that began to eat away at his insides.

He was finally realizing he would never see Eren alive ever again.

"But I know if he were here right now, he'd tell us that we have to be there for each other. So all of us on school faculty hope you will reach out if you find yourself in need of support, and help spread this love amongst everyone in your community. Be there for your friends and family, as we navigate this time together."

Principal Pixis cleared his throat. "...And once again, if you know anything about this case, the sheriff's office is promising total anonymity to anyone who volunteers information."

Marco glanced at Connie briefly after the principal had mouthed those particular words, but Connie didn’t seem to let his expression falter again. Not like he had in the hallway, anyhow.

Marco still had not seen or heard from Jean at that point, which was becoming increasingly worrisome for him. He was itching to escape the school and make a sprint for Jean’s house, to tear the place apart if he had to just to find his best friend. He couldn’t help but imagine all the fucked up scenarios of Jean being brutally murdered, of him not being found alive. He was afraid to discover Jean all pierced and mangled, like how Carla Jaeger had found Eren.

What if Eren’s killer went for Jean too?

Finally, all students were dismissed for the rest of the day. They had been issued a school curfew, and none of the clubs or after school sports were to hold practice until the case had been given further details.

There was going to be a vigil for Eren held in about two days, for friends and family to show their love and support.

Marco didn’t even know how to take the first step in his new reality where Trost had an active murder case on their hands. Nobody knew what was going to happen next.

It was all so... terrifying.

Marco practically launched himself into the seat of his car after sprinting away from the gymnasium. He ripped out of the parking lot in a mad dash to Jean’s residence.

The freckled teen made in there in just seven minutes, but slowed to a stop once he reached the driveway of the Kirstein's two-story home.

There were several cop cars parked out front, and three officers were knocking on Jean's door, shining flashlights through the kitchen window.

Marco gulped when he noticed that all of the Kirstein's cars were missing. But if Jean wasn’t there, where was he?

Before he could think of what to do next, one of the officers noticed him stopped in the road, and was already half way across the street to speak with him.

Marco swallowed dryly as the officer knocked against the glass. He parked the car and lowered the driver’s side window.

“Hey son, you wouldn't happen to be Jean Kirstein would you?” The blonde officer had asked.

He had a whispy mustache, and his breath smelled of licorice.

Marco glanced up at the other two officers, who were turning things over on his front porch in search of a spare key. The teen felt his stomach beginning to bottom out.

“No, I’m a friend of his. I’m Marco, Marco Bodt.” He explained, his lips twitching.

The officer took out a pen and a pad of paper, and wrote his name down before glancing back up at the teen.

Marco's eyes were frantic, searching the property for any sign of life. Where else would Jean go, if not home?

The officer quirked a brow at Marco's expression, but the freckled boy just held up his hands and laughed anxiously.

“He wasn’t at school today sir, and after what happened to Eren last night… I wanted to make sure he was ok.” Marco clarified.

The officer grunted, eyeing him further. He leaned against the frame of Marco’s window, which just made the teen feel more trapped than ever before.

“I see. Have you seen or heard from him lately? Do you know if his parent’s home?” The officer asked.

Marco shook his head, gripping the wheel tighter.

“No sir, his parents are out of town. Does Trost county think he’s somehow… involved in all this or something?” Marco asked, treading carefully.

The officer’s eyes shined curiously at the question.

“Well, we’re trying to figure that out. Why, do you think he’s done something?”

The officer leaned in closer. His breath could practically be consumed for calories.

Marco’s grip was making a dent in the wheel. “No, in fact I’m more worried that he could be hurt. There might be a high school serial killer on the loose, after all.”

The officer backed up a little, and pursed his lips as he nodded. But just when Marco thought the officer was taking him seriously, the guy let out a hearty chuckle, smacking the frame of the car.

Marco was furious. How could he laugh in a situation like this?

“Well, we sure hope not. That’s why we’re working hard to get this whole thing figured out.” The officer sighed, wiping his face.

The other two public servants were now walking around the backside of the Kirstein’s property, so Marco glanced at the road ahead.

“Am I free to leave?” Marco asked.

The officer twitched his upper lip a little, but took his hands off of the car frame with sass.

“Sure," he said. "Do you mind if I get some call back information in case we have some questions? You’ve been very helpful so far.”

Marco’s leg twitched at the officer's compliment, as if he was somehow helping them criminalize Jean. Why weren’t they sending out a search party for the guy?

Jean was a teenager, not a murderer. If he was missing, it wasn't because he was... involved or anything.

“Yeah, okay sure.” Marco responded, writing down his number and address for the officer.

After the man gave Marco a satisfied nod, Marco drove off slowly. But before he could even leave the neighborhood, he covered his mouth gently and pulled over to cry.

He was jumping to all kinds of conclusions, grasping at straws to reassure himself that Jean was even ok, let alone not a prime suspect in Eren’s murder case. He pulled himself together just enough to finish the drive home, but when he closed his bedroom door behind him, he broke apart into pieces again.

His tears were hot and never ending, but he kept his mouth covered as not to alert his mom. Marco pulled his phone out of his pocket and rolled the scroll wheel over Jean’s contact, dialing his number.

The line went straight to voicemail, and Marco was disappointed to find that Jean hadn’t bothered to set up a custom message yet. Marco hung up and dialed again, once more with no answer.

Marco set his phone down on the mattress and heaved his chest, searching for his asthma inhaler in his night stand as his lungs squeezed painfully. He inhaled the medication and brought his knees up to his chest, fisting his hair.

Could Jean possibly have done something to hurt Eren?

Marco knew the facts: Jean hated Eren, but not enough to kill him, surely. The cops were seemingly quick to assume Jean was involved, as they were already searching his house. The teen had a couple run ins with officers in the past for petty shit, like gas station shoplifting or vandalization, but nothing even remotely close to murder.

Jean was spontaneous and wild, but not violent. Not without reason anyway, Marco knew he could act like a jerk sometimes but he was secretly sensitive at heart.

Underneath the pissy-boy attitude, Jean was just passionate, excited, and above all playful.

And Marco was deeply in love with him.

A sharp tap on Marco’s window interrupted his speculations. He jumped up from the bed to peer outside into the backyard, and his heart rate spiked up again.

Who could it be at that hour?

For a minute, there was absolutely no response, and Marco assumed it must’ve been the old wooden house creaking, or a sound further off in the neighborhood.

But just before he backed away, a figure appeared in front of the window, looming over him and casting a massive shadow.

It was Jean in his dark grey hoodie, staring right through the glass at Marco.

Chapter Text

Marco immediately unlatched the bulky window lock and slid the glass open for Jean.

“Jean, what happen-“ Marco started, but Jean just swarmed forward to clutch Marco in a tight hug.

Marco stuttered, but pulled Jean into his chest and rubbed his back, right between his shoulder blades.

This was the greeting Marco needed, after ripping his hair out for a few hours worried about him.

“What happened?” Marco finished.

He was still on high alert. Jean had been m.i.a. for almost a full day, and here he was, climbing through Marco’s back window.

“I don’t know, the police were at my house dude. I crashed at Armin’s after the fair last night.” Jean replied, pulling away to get a good look at Marco.

His eyes were unreadable, almost calm.

Marco searched for any guilt in Jean’s expression, not 100% sure if he should even trust him yet. Jean was his best friend of course, but there were a lot of concerns that couldn’t be fully dismissed.

He subconsciously leaned away from Jean, his heart was beginning to hammer.

“Jean, do you know what’s happened?” Marco asked, tilting his head slowly. He wasn’t even sure if he was prepared for Jean to answer that question.

Jean pursed his lips, keeping quiet. He looked around Marco’s room and then down at his shoes, tapping his foot.

“I mean, I assume Eren called the police after our fight last night. I didn’t really want to get arrested again… and figured I could lay low here for a bit? My parents will kick me out if they hear I did some stupid shit again.” Jean admitted, rubbing his shoulder anxiously.

Marco’s blood ran cold, as all of the little hairs on his neck rose up.

So… did Jean hurt Eren after all?

“Jean…. Eren is dead. And now, half of the town thinks you did it after you didn’t go to school today. Did you get any of my texts?”

Marco’s voice was quiet, glancing anxiously back at his bedroom door.

Did he remember to lock it? If his mom heard the conversation that was happening upstairs, he wasn’t so sure she’d be keen to have a potential murder suspect in her son’s room.

“Please tell me that isn’t true.” Marco pleaded, turning back to his friend.

Jean’s eyes were blown wide, and he covered his mouth in shock.

“Shit! No way, Eren is not fucking dead.”

Jean’s chest began heaving, and he held a knuckle to his lips.

“I mean… I beat him up a little, sure, but he whooped my ass more!” Jean lifted his shirt to display a bluish-purple bruise across his midriff.

It seemed like Eren had probably kicked his ribs in a couple times, and the tan haired boy was also covered in road rash and other severe scrapes and bruises.

Marco gasped at his injuries, covering Jean’s mouth and pointing downstairs.

“My mom, she might hear you.” He whispered, then he let go of Jean’s mouth to inspect his scratches and let him finish.

Jean’s expression was muddled. “I locked my phone and keys in my car and left it at the fair… if officers are at my house for, um… that, they’ll probably seize my phone and everything.”

Suddenly, everything clicked.

Jean’s eyes were distant. “I’m in so much shit.” His voice cracked.

“So, you didn’t see him again after the fight?” Marco interrupted him, frowning at the massive bruise on the boy’s midriff. He poked and prodded the skin, provoking a wince from Jean.

On any other day, Marco might find the idea of inspecting Jean’s chest too embarrassing. But the stakes were a bit higher today.

Jean couldn’t be more ignorant sometimes, and his arrogance was rewarded with all kinds of trouble. This wasn’t the worse bruise Marco had seen on Jean, but it was weird to think about how these marks had come from Eren, on the same night the guy died.

“No, I swear Marco. He’s a bitch, but I don’t want him, you know, dead.” Jean whimpered, his eyes wavering.

The guy was trembling now, so Marco reached for his arms and guided him to sit down on his bed. He reached for a water bottle that was sitting on his night stand and handed it to Jean, pursing his lips at the awkwardness of the situation.

“You… I figured it wasn’t you. But who did kill him? Who would want Eren dead?”

Marco was saying his prayers that his mother wouldn’t come barging in now.

She didn’t normally intrude on him when he was having alone time in his room, and she always knocked before trying to enter, but Marco knew that she was on higher alert lately.

Jean shook his head blankly before taking a swig, and when he did, his hoodie moved up to expose some more of the bruising on his abdomen.

The movement also revealed his hidden undershirt.

There was a lot of blood on the shirt from what little Marco saw, which raised a few red flags in his mind. He felt the hairs on his neck stand on end once again, and he looked away quick.

What the fuck? Is that Eren’s blood? Why is there so much?

Marco shook his head, hoping the thoughts would fall out of his ears and onto the carpet. He had to trust Jean, but it was still really hard to at the moment.

It felt so hot in there.

“So… you wanted to lay low, and you figured here was the best place?”

When Jean nodded shyly, Marco’s cheeks burned.

“I don’t know Jean, you are my best friend and all… But if my mom were to find out you were here, I can’t guarantee she wouldn’t hand you over to the cops. She might even shoot you herself, she’s super on-edge right now.”

Jean appeared as if he had aged 10 years more since he first arrived, his face completely pale.

“I know it’s a big ask, especially with the state I’m in. But… I’ll pay you, I’ll do your homework for a few weeks, I’ll even go see any movie you want when this whole thing blows over. Can’t you hide me for a few days...?” Jean asked weakly, cupping his hands as he sat on the edge of the bed in front Marco.

Marco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was a headache, why was everything happening so coincidentally? Jean wouldn’t even be in this mess if Marco had gone with the guys to the fair last night.

Marco had been hoping Jean would ditch everyone to go watch a new film with him instead.

He had asked Jean to go to see a romcom with him, knowing full well that the rest of the group wanted to go to the fair, but Marco had asked him out regardless.

It was a risk that Marco worried would expose his feelings. And he was right to be worried, because Jean had turned him down, insisting that the fair would actually be a lot of fun.

Marco decided he didn’t want to go out with Jean and the others after the rejection. He would never tell Jean, but the only reason he liked going to the movies at all was simply to spend time with the guy.

Jean was most likely convinced that Marco was a cinephile, but little did he know, Marco just liked to admire him in the anonymity of the theater lighting.

Marco had been selfish last night. He would live to regret the decision, now that Jean’s innocence was on the line.

“Ugh… this is crazy. You can stay here for a bit, but you can’t just chill up in my room all day. My mom occasionally snoops around, so we’re going to have to figure something out.” Marco decided, moving over to his dresser to find Jean some clean laundry.

“Also, while you’re staying here, we’re going to spend our free time studying, or trying to solve this case together.”

Marco demanded, throwing the guy some college football night shorts and a smaller t-shirt.

“I want my friend back, I don’t want you to go to jail if you try to step into Trost High School.”

Jean was only slightly less bulky than Marco, but he was many inches shorter, so everything Marco owned looked massive on his friend anyway.

The two were no stranger to borrowing clothes; they frequently had sleepovers together where they played video games and watched tv all night on the weekends. But they never shared a room, Marco had always slept on the couch when they retired.

That wasn’t going to be an option in their current predicament. Marco sleeping on the sofa would cause Mrs. Bodt to be suspicious, so it was out of the question.

Marco swallowed hard, wondering if he would be able to do this plan without potentially exposing himself again. He didn’t know if he’d even be able to sleep at all until Jean was cleared of all involvement.

The alarm bells were still ringing out proudly in the back of Marco’s mind.

“Thank you so much dude, fuck, thank you.” Jean exhaled dramatically, raising his hand to brace Marco’s shoulder in gratitude.

Marco let himself smile a little, stealing the water bottle from Jean and taking a swig himself before setting it back down on the nightstand.

“Yeah yeah, Let’s just get ready for bed alright? We have-… well, I have school tomorrow.” Marco chuckled nervously.

Jean covered his eyes, rubbing them as if that would change the outcome of the day.

“Yeah… Where should I stay while you’re in classes though?” He asked.

Marco hummed in thought, scratching his head. He glanced out the same window Jean had snuck into while he brainstormed, and laid eyes on the gardening shed outback as an idea popped into his mind.

“Hey, you could hang out in there? My mom won’t check it… My dad’s things are in there.” Marco explained.

He frowned gently at the mention of his father.

It wasn’t like Jean would disturb anything, and they had to figure something out before the morning came anyways.

Jean’s lip twitched angrily when Marco’s father was mentioned, and he squinted.

“She still has his things?” He asked, his eyebrows synching together tightly.

Marco nodded affirmatively, grabbing his own pair of night clothes and peeling off his shirt. Once the fabric came up over his freckled ribs, Jean’s eyes flicked away immediately.

Marco hadn’t thought to warn Jean, but he figured the guy wouldn’t care. It wasn’t like Jean was interested in guys anyway, so why did there need to be anything weird about changing between them?

Jean pursed his lips and tapped the floor with his shoes.

“Why?” Jean asked, eyes searching the floor in sudden interest.

Marco shrugged, flopping down on the bed next to Jean and stretching out. “I think she thinks he’ll come back for everything.”

And that was the end of it.

Marco set a few blankets and pillows on the floor for himself, and Jean tried to fight him on that prospect, but Marco insisted.

”You’re injured, remember?”

Jean shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, I’ll be alright-“

”Jean, get in the fucking bed.”

With Marco’s sass, Jean didn’t push back, as it was already getting late.

In the dimness of his bedroom, Marco tried not to think about how easy it would be for Jean to kill him right there where he lay.

He’d be dead before he could scream.

He didn’t know if this act was all part of a bigger plan. What if Jean intended to use Marco as a tool somehow, or was he really innocent?

It would be impossible to feel safe around Jean until they figured out who really killed Eren, and Marco didn’t know the first place to start.

When dawn finally came, Marco stretched out on his temporary floor-bed and rubbed his eyes.

For a fleeting moment, he hadn’t recalled the events of the night before. It wasn’t until he made eye contact with the shape on his bed that he remembered everything.

Marco straightened up more until he realized that Jean was still asleep, cuddled up snuggly in his star patterned duvet. He was snoring, with drool and spit bubbles and all.

The other boy’s bed head was atrocious, but Marco loved it so much. The tan strands were crazy wavy without product or intense conditioning, and the style was so soft and cute. 

Jean preferred his hair to be more spiked and edgy. He claimed the style made him look less approachable, and he wasn’t wrong for the most part. But that never stopped Marco from wishing he’d embrace his natural hair anyway.

Marco reached out as if he intended to touch the smooth waves, but he hesitated, lowering his arm again.

Jean had his arms splayed out over the pillow, and his skin was covered in sheet marks from tossing and turning so much.

Marco decided to silently packed his things for class before eventually shaking Jean awake.

On the third attempt, Jean groaned and grabbed a pillow, hitting Marco with it while still asleep.

“Hey, wakey wakey man. I gotta go.” Marco whispered against his ear, smirking at his friend’s drowsy state.

Jean grumbled, blinking his eyes open at Marco. He furrowed his exression and glanced up at the window pane, squinting at the sunlight that was just barely peeking through the blinds. The sky was a soft shade of red and pink, but was shifting to orange rather quickly.

“Fuck man, it’s early.” He complained, pressing a hand over his eyes and grimacing.

Marco rolled his eyes playfully and stood up straight. He tossed a lunch bag onto the bed, dusting off his hands and pressing them to his hips afterwards.

Inside of the lunchbox he had packed Jean a few snacks and drinks, as well as a sandwich.

“You’ll need this for your stay in the shed.” Marco stated, grabbing his own school bag.

Jean unzipped the box groggily, and blinked down at its contents. He grinned when he noticed the bag of Cheetos, and zipped it closed.

“Awwww how sweet, you packed me lunch~” He sung.

Marco cuffed his ear gently, which earned a grunt from Jean.

“Yes, because you can’t leave the shed and I wouldn’t want you to starve.” Marco remedied, checking his clock. He had to leave soon to make his first class.

“Listen, my mom will leave for work in about an hour. She will be there until right before I’m out of class, but I’ll try to beat her home so we don’t have to sneak you back through my window.”

Marco pointed to the back window. “I want you to leave back out that way, just wait until you hear her leave before you try.”

The freckled teen finished his thoughts by ruffling Jeans hair. Who was he kidding, he couldn’t resist the temptation to touch. He just had to be more sneaky about it.

Jean sighed, his head falling back against the pillow with a thud. “Ok. But I’m going to die of boredom without you.”

Marco scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully.

“You can take a sketchpad from my school stuff and draw for a bit if you want. I don’t have anything fancy, but I’ve seen you do some incredible shit with a no. 2 pencil.”

Marco gesturing to a crate with notebooks and other school books in it.

“Or you can borrow one of my books, whatever catches your eye.” Marco added, turning around to point to a bookshelf by the door.

“You’ll think of something, you always do.”

Jean nodded, following Marco’s finger and panning his eyes over the selection of books. Marco definitely had a lot to choose from.

“Alright. Hey, If anyone asks about me, just don’t say anything please.” Jean begged, looking up at Marco with a sudden worry.

Marco felt his heart beating faster again, but he agreed.

“Of course, I’m not stupid. I don’t want us to get swatted or anything.”

Marco was trying to make light of the situation, but the joke fell tragically flat.

”Haha, yeah…” 

Jean hugged himself again, rocking gently.

Marco frowned, and pressed a delicate hand against Jean’s knee.

”Hey… I’m gonna figure this out, ok? Just stay put.”

Jean admired Marco for a moment, nodding out of respect. Then, the freckled teen left his side.

Marco closed his bedroom door behind him and jogged down the stairs. When he made it to the bottom, he happened upon his mom making coffee in the kitchen.

Mrs. Bodt turned once her son had landed on the tile flooring, and her smile was extra decorated by her deep purple lip shine.

“Good morning baby.” She murmured, kissing his cheek.

The lip color left a subtle smudge of residue, which Marco rubbed off when she wasn’t looking.

”Good morning ma.”

”Are you hungry? I can make you toast, or eggs, or bacon.” She asked.

Marco shook his head, pointing to the clock.

“I’ll be late, but maybe next time?” He asked.

She studied him, nodding as she dusted his shoulders. Before Marco could break free of her grasp, she squeezed him.

“Oh, another thing. Have you heard from Jean lately..?”

Marco tried not to let his face betray his thoughts, and his blood ran chilly again.

Did she know already…?

“Um, no. not since the other night… Why do you ask?” Marco asked, trying to play off his sudden change in mood for concern.

As far as she knew, Jean simply wasn’t responding to his messages. It wasn’t like he was mere feet away, sleeping up in her son’s bed no less.

“Well, I don’t know. I’m concerned, his parents texted me. They said the police contacted them, that he hasn’t been home since the other night... They’re trying to question him, you know. About Eren.”

Marco frowned, and his heartbeat spiked again. So the police did want to ask him questions. And it sounded like they might be more than just 'general questions'.

The precinct might already suspect Jean had something to do with the case, especially if Eren was equally as injured as Jean after their fight.

That bloodstained undershirt Jean wore was still haunting Marco.

“I see… No, but I am worried about him too. If I hear anything I’ll let you know.” He promised, smiling as he took his mother's hand and kissed it respectfully.

The teens other fingers were crossed silently behind his back.

“I have to go though, I’m gonna be late!” He exclaimed, jumping and rushing for the door.

Marco really was going to be late if he delayed any more time.

“Alright, please be safe!” She called out to him.

Once Marco was behind the wheel of his car, he smacked his head against the dash and yelled out angrily.

Chapter Text

The ten minute drive to school was somewhat good for Marco’s swarming head.

He attempted to push everything extra to the side, no matter how hard that might be at the moment, and focus on being a student again.

Jean was depending on him for notes.

The trees were swaying gently in the warm September breeze as Marco entered the school parking lot, and parked his car in the same spot as he did the day before.

Marco stretched out and stared at the academic building from his seat, and he frowned.

He wouldn’t be able to text Jean for obvious judicial reasons, so it was most likely going to be a grueling day of biting nails and worrying if his best friend would get caught.

But Marco also had to keep his profile low in the presence of his other friends, if they wanted to avoid suspicion. He prayed that maybe his meek demeanor would help him fly under their radar.

Nobody else knew that Jean was hiding out at la casa de Bodt at that very moment. There was no proof Jean was even involved in Eren’s case, so what was there to stress about anyway?

Who have I become? Am I some kind of criminal now?

There was plenty to stress about.

Once through the front doors, Connie and Sasha were waiting for Marco by the front office. The freckled teen gave them both a shy but definitive smile and a wave as he approached, joining their side as he did every day.

Sasha offered him a smile too, but it fell off of her face soon after.

“So,” Connie began as they walked further into the halls. “Marco, you haven’t heard from Jean, have you.”

Connie’s disappointment was obvious in his voice. The bluntness of the question made Marco jump out of his skin, but the buzzcut boy was just acting as a concerned friend, and not accusing Marco of any foul play.

Marco wanted to do something to reassure Connie that he had in fact heard from Jean, and that things would be ok. But the truth was, Marco didn’t even know yet himself if he could trust Jean or others with any information. People die over that kind of stuff.

“No… I’m sure he’s just, I don’t know… scared?” Marco’s voice waivered with uncertainty, but the group just nodded.

“I really hope so. I think I’d puke if my best friend turned out to be a murderer.” Sasha whimpered, biting her nails.

“Why would Jean run off and disappear unless he did something though?” 

As they rounded the corner, a larger, more familiar group of students came into focus.

Bertolt, Reiner, Ymir, Historia, and Mikasa were all huddled near the water fountain, still looking as shell shocked as they did the day before.

Reiner perked up the three approaching, and offered a melancholy grin, making enough room for them to join the group gathered in the west hall.

Sasha let her sentiment trail off when she noticed Mikasa.

It had been two days since anyone had seen Eren alive. Two whole days, and every minute had felt like an eternity.

Everyone knew Eren was like a brother to Mikasa, maybe even more. Their relationship was strange, but there was no denying that they loved each other. Nobody knew how deep or complex their love was, only the two of them did. And now she’d have to live on without him, stuck in a state of disbelief that he’s gone.

Her presentation was better than yesterday, with her hair washed and straightened and her clothes all coordinated. But her true feelings were still betrayed by her dead eyes. They were tired and gray, almost completely numb.

Like part of her soul had been extinguished along with Eren’s life.

Marco knew better than to say anything about Eren in her presence. And, their prime suspect in the case had a crush on Mikasa for years, so Marco didn’t want to elude to any theories that might tarnish his best friend’s reputation.

Marco knew that it would be devastating for Jean if he knew everyone was putting suspicion on his name in front of her.

She may be Marco’s competition for Jean’s attention, but she was not at fault for that, so he would never take out his emotions on her. It was just the way things go sometimes.

“How’s everyone holding up?” Ymir asked, snaking an arm around her blonde girlfriend, Historia.

Historia was shorter than everyone in the circle by at least three inches, but she held the most strong and sure posture out of all of them.

The two girls had the least association with Eren in the group, so it would make sense why they’d be less… reactive.

But Marco knew everyone was still scared in one way or another. Nobody knew the finite details of Eren’s murder yet, and the killer was still out there.

The danger was far from over.

“We don’t have to dance around it, we know that there is someone not here amongst us. Has anyone seen Jean since the fair?” Connie asked, catching a few alarmed glances from Marco and Sasha.

The group seemed confused by this question, and they all eyed Marco for answers.

Jean was always by his side in school, but his best friend’s current absence made Marco feel naked and violated by their eyes. There was a void in the spot where Jean usually stood, leaning right up against Marco’s shoulder.

Marco tried his best to remember that Jean wasn’t missing, and was in fact alive and well in his shed doing who knows what. He also tried to remember to trust Jean, but the memory of all that blood was still vivid in his mind.

Marco looked down to avoid eye contact with anyone else, and he didn’t speak up. He feared that would blow his cover in some way.

Reiner was the first to defend Jean, stepping in and patting Connie’s shoulder.

“Hey now, let’s not jump to conclusions, alright? It could’ve just been really convenient timing, you know how he’s always getting into disagreements with his parents and shit. He could be grounded or something!”

The blonde nudged Connie gently. “I think we all need some time… some companionship. It’s been a couple of dark days.”

Reiner glanced at Bertolt sadly, lacing their fingers together and kissing the tops of his boyfriend’s knuckle.

Ymir nodded in agreement, pulling Historia into her arms more and resting her chin on the top of her head.

“He’s right, we shouldn’t just be throwing accusations out. We haven’t had any updates on-…. on the case yet either, we just have to be patient.” Marco explained, his eyes passing over Mikasa quickly.

He felt horrible, lying to her in this reality where Eren was murdered. But it couldn’t be Jean, it was someone else and he was sure of it.

As they all hummed communally, another familiar face appeared from down the east hall.

It was Armin, sleep deprived, glassy-eyed and out of it. But hey, what was new? He was alive, and that’s what mattered.

“Hey, Armin! Down here!” Connie called out to him, gesturing to the blonde.

Armin glanced up at them and paused, inspecting each of their faces for a moment. He seemed stuck in place, like Connie had frozen him with his greeting.

His bright blue eyes flashed fearfully.

Armin quickly turned heel and walked the other way, leaving the group to wonder why he wasn’t interested in seeing them. Other than maybe the obvious.

“That was weird.” Ymir sighed, and the guys shrugged.

“Maybe he needs more time.” Reiner proposed, watching the hallway where Armin disappeared.

Marco frowned, glancing at Sasha and Connie. “Shall we start heading towards first period?” He tipped his head to the side.

The two nodded and said their goodbyes to the others before they disbanded for class.

As they walked away, Marco pursed his lips.

“Did you guys talk to Armin at all yesterday?”

They both shook their heads, and Sasha tightening the straps on her backpack.

“No, I don’t even think Mikasa did. He’s just been very… quiet.” She answered.

Marco thought for a moment about who else had been acting weird. Mikasa hadn’t said a word yet, but she didn’t usually say anything anyways, so he couldn’t exactly rationalize anything there.

Armin had avoided them twice, once yesterday by not showing up for class, and this time deliberately.

Jean well…. His suspicions couldn’t easily be dismissed yet either.

There was so much to be conscious of, and yet not enough to piece anything together.

It made Marco’s head spin and spin and spin and spin.

Marco zipped home as quickly as he could, and actually managed to beat his mom there for once. He didn’t know how much time he would have to get Jean back in the house, so he rushed through the back gate and to the shed as soon as he parked.

Jean was sitting slumped against the back wall of the shed, completely asleep when Marco swung open the bulky door. His mouth was parted slightly, and drool was trailing down his chin and onto the shirt he had borrowed from Marco’s closet.

An empty sandwich wrapper from the lunch Marco had made for Jean was on the table next to him, and in his lap was a sketch pad.

Marco smiled at his sleeping friend, quietly making his way into the shed to investigate what had been etched onto the page.

He was surprised to find that Jean had drawn a portrait of Marco, in a front facing profile with a big toothy grin. He looked a little younger in the sketch, so Marco searched his surroundings for a reference photo.

On the wall was a picture of his mom and him after he had earned his first badge at boy scout camp.

He had been so excited; his mom was proud of him. His father had taken the photo, and Marco remembered eagerly showing his father his sash.

Look dad! I’m gonna earn every single badge!

He remembered how happy he felt at that time in his life, and brushed a finger against the sketch in fondness. Jean had genuinely captured the joy in his expression, it was a gift.

Jean began to stir, the faint feeling of Marco’s finger brushing against the page had woken him. Marco stepped back and waited for Jean to open his eyes and register who it was.

“Hey, miss me yet?” Marco asked playfully.

Jean twitched and stretched out, looking down at the page he had sketched on. He flushed faintly when he realized Marco had probably seen the drawing, but ignored his embarrassment to set the pad down on the table by the ziplock wrapper.

“Mmmm sure, more like I missed the luxury of comfortable seating.” Jean joked, shaking his head. “How was school? Does anyone… suspect I might be involved?” 

Jean eyes were bright, cautious things. He frowned after hearing the words coming out of his own mouth, but didn’t ask anything more.

Marco’s mouth turned down as well, sighing.

“I can say that things don’t look great for you. People are starting to notice your radio silence… but a lot of the guys are still trying to rationalize everything, they think it could be coincidental that you aren’t there.”

Marco felt heat radiating off of the back of his neck, giving him a nasty clammy sensation.

For some reason, this topic was highly uncomfortable for Marco to discuss. He didn’t even want to consider the possibility that his best friend was a killer.

But somehow, telling Jean that his friends didn’t know whether or not they believe his innocence was far more distressing than just debating it in silence ever would be.

“How is everybody doing?” Jean asked, changing the subject for both of them.

Marco was grateful for it. He rubbed his arm shyly, leaning into Jean’s space.

“They all seem very… shocked still. Armin wouldn’t even approach us, isn’t that weird?”

Jean tapped his chin in thought, eyes squinting.

”Yeah, I mean Armin usually pulls everyone together. Something must be wrong with him.”

Jean stood up to peek through the blinds of the shed, his foot bouncing nervously.

“Mikasa still isn’t talking either. She looks better than yesterday, but…” Marco trailed off, remembering how sad her eyes looked.

Marco couldn’t imagine what she was going through. Maybe Marco knew a little bit about loss, but not of death.

It was a different kind of grief, to mourn someone you cared for. To realize that they were no longer sharing the same plane of existence as you anymore.

Marco at least knew his father was alive, somewhere. But that thought didnt comfort him either.

“I hope she’ll be okay… I know Eren meant a lot to her.” Jean offered, peering at Marco nervously.

The two were sitting haunched closer together now, their knees were almost touching.

Marco glanced up at Jean, his mouth draping down. He felt tears welling up his eyes suddenly, and tried to blink them away, but the droplets were gathering in his eyes too quickly for him stop. They began to spill over.

“This is fucked up Jean, how did things get so fucked up?” Marco asked, his fingers trembling as he gripped the stool he sat upon.

Jean’s eyes widened at Marco’s sudden outburst, but moved forward to pull Marco into a comforting hug. Jean gently rubbed the small of his back, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I don’t know man… I don’t know. And I am not going to pretend to know. But we’ll fix it, yeah? You and me?”

Jean pulled Marco back by his shoulders, his eyes were serious and hopeful. Marco sniffled, but he nodded slowly.

“Yeah... ok.”

Just as they both began to relax, Marco heard the thnk of his mom’s car door closing behind her, followed by the lock sound.

“Fuck!” Marco exclaimed, running for the window to watch as his mother entered the house.

He could see her moving from behind the kitchen window, she was looking around the house for him no doubt. He had to think of something quick.

“Jean, do you trust me?” He asked, whipping around to face the tan haired boy behind him.

Jean’s eyes were panicked, his chest heaving again.

“I mean, do I have a choice?”

Marco shook his head and grabbed his arm, getting his keys out of his pocket with his other. He took a quick puff of his inhaler, shaking his head to clear the head rush.

“No, just stay quiet and follow me. We’re going to have to take a little detour.”

Marco waited for his mom to disappear up the stairs before he yanked Jean out of the shed, heading straight for the Mazda.

“Keep your head down!” He whispered harshly through his teeth, and Jean obeyed, looking feverish.

The two piled into Marco’s car quick, and Marco pushed his best friend into the back seat, tucking him under the cushions.

“Should I still keep my head down?” Jean asked, as Marco started the car.

Marco threw the shift into reverse and squealed down the street, out of the sight of his house.

“Yes! I don’t have any window tint, and it’s a one way ticket to the police station if the right person recognizes you.”

Marco’s eyes were darting from mirror to mirror to see if his mom might’ve followed him.

“I have to take you somewhere else, to a better hiding spot than my house.” He moaned, sinking further into the driver’s seat and biting his nails.

Jean was breathing heavily from the floor of Marco’s car, and they both remained silent as Marco watched for onlookers.

Jean wouldn’t be safe at Marco’s house, and he most certainly wouldn’t be well off at his own house. It was already bad enough that they had to hide from their parents, but they also had to remain out of the sight of the law.

Crazy thought: what if he was being used as an accomplice for murder? What if he was playing right into Jean’s hand, by giving him a place to stay out of sight?

Jean wouldn't be so cruel as to use Marco's own feelings against him, would he?

“What about The Shire?” Jean asked, interrupting Marco’s terrifying thoughts.

It was a curveball, Marco hadn’t yet come up with his own idea but Jean seemed to have that saved and ready.

“The Shire…? You mean that place we built in middle school? I don’t even know if it exists anymore, someone could’ve taken that down by now-“

“I go there to hide from my parents sometimes, I can assure you it’s very much still there.” Jean interrupted him again, but Marco was surprised by his answer.

“You still go there?”

Marco's hand rested over his frantically beating heart.

The Shire was a treehouse that the two of them had haphazardly built together in the woods, just beyond the school. It was a place for them to get away from their parental drama, or just from the world.

Jean’s family was always a little crazy, but Marco’s parents had begun having their own marital issues at the time the two boys constructed it.

Marco had to watch his parents go from seemingly madly in love, to screaming at each other all the time. He watched his father turn into a monster that beat his mother and took advantage of them.

It was frightening, to be at home with them listening to that shit, so they built The Shire to escape from it.

To live as a Hobbit would, barefoot out in nature and going on quests that they would make up for each other, instead of dealing with the toxicity of the real world.

They used to play in those woods for hours, and Marco remembered loving every second of it.

Marco hadn’t seen the place since his father left Trost. It was hard for him to adjust to being alone with his mom, and he just sort of… forgot about the escapism that The Shire provided. His reality had become a lot more confusing than a 13-year-old could handle.

“Yeah, it’s… one of the only places I feel safe anymore. It’s either there or your house.” Jean admitted.

Marco frowned, sneaking a small glance at his friend in the mirror.

His stomach fluttered.

“I didn’t know that.” He said, his heart swelling proudly in his chest.

Marco had worked really hard to make it a fully fledged, fully functioning treehouse, just to win Jean’s attention and approval.

Even at such a young age, all he ever wanted was to be liked as more than just a friend by Jean. But of course, he was neither brave enough nor old enough then, and Marco didn’t know if he’d ever be brave enough anyhow. Especially in light of recent events.

“Yeah well, I don’t know. It’s embarrassing to admit that I hide out in our fifth-grade treehouse when I’m feeling vulnerable.” Jean responded all grumpy, causing Marco to chuckle

“I don’t think that’s embarrassing, we did handmake that place specifically to feel safer, didn’t we?” Marco responded sweetly.

Jean hummed in response.

“Yeah. I have a sleeping bag and some emergency things there, so if you want to take me I could just stay for the night.”

Marco pulled an u-turn and began to make his way towards the school. His eyes were darting all around, still hyper vigilant of who could be watching.

“As much as I’d rather make sure you have an actual place to stay, I think my mom would make that very difficult. So, this is safer for you… besides, I don’t want her getting wrapped up in all of this either. She wouldn’t understand.” Marco said, relaxing himself deeper into his seat.

His pulse spiked anytime he noticed a ford, praying silently that no cops would pull him over for a surprise traffic stop. He wouldn’t know how to keep his cool if that happened.

The minute they made it to the edge of the woods, Marco glanced around to ensure that nobody was to identify Jean. When he was sure there was no one watching, he snuck Jean out of his car and into the tree line.

They were being abused by foliage as they traversed further into the woods. The summer had brought common ivy and other invasive plant species in abundance, and the transitional fall atmosphere provided a lovely ecosystem for everything to thrive.

This was good for them however, as it would deter anyone from poking around. At least until they could figure this situation out.

The treehouse came in to view after about ten minutes of walking, and Jean eagerly climbed the ladder.

Marco followed, glancing around at all of the abandoned toys and things that Jean and him had played with so long ago. A scooter Marco thought he had lost was propped up against a nearby tree, and Marco shook his head disappointedly.

“Brings you back doesn’t it?” Jean teased, pulling Marco up and into the room they had built together.

Everything was as he remembered it, some of Jean’s sketches were still hanging up, and a few empty soda bottles rested on their sides in the corner. Their makeshift furniture had seen better days, but was still intact for the most part.

The only change was a yellow sleeping bag near the beanbag in the back of the room, with a box of sketch materials, a couple of books and a hanging radio.

Jean switched the radio on, and there was static for a moment as he dialed through channels, until he found one playing a Depeche Mode song.

Jean grinned and nodded, plopping into the beanbag and leaning up at Marco after returning the radio.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to stay here with me tonight, could I?” Jean asked, giving Marco his famously unreadable-yet-demanding expression.

Marco thought Jean always looked either bored or excited, and it was only a matter of flipping a switch between the two. But for Marco, that switch was always being flipped, most likely because he didn’t want Marco to become bored with him.

He knew Jean still thought he had something to prove, as he did with everyone.

Jean acted cold to anyone he didn’t know, because that was the only way he could protect himself. He acted vaguely interested in others around him, enough to keep them entertained but not enough for them to get close.

Only Marco had ever been close enough to see the real Jean, but the tan haired boy still refused to let Marco fully seize his heart.

Marco’s throat tightened at the request. On normal circumstances, he wouldn’t dare say no to an opportunity like that.

Jean was asking him to spend an evening in their childhood treehouse, under the starry summer sky? How fucking romantic.

But Marco couldn’t think of romantics when Jean still couldn’t be cleared with an alibi for the murder of Eren Jaeger. The freckled boy couldn’t let himself be naive, even though Jean had been one of his only best friends.

“You know I can’t do that. My mom would have a search party out here looking for me at dawn if I didn’t come home without saying anything. You know… with what happened to Eren and everything.” Marco explained, swallowing nervously.

He was trying his best to catch Jean reacting, anything that might help reassure him that he could let his guard down a little. Jean didn’t give him much, he just frowned and nodded, kicking at the wood with his shoe.

“Okay. Well…. Come here after school tomorrow then?” He asked, grabbing Marco’s wrist and shaking his arm lightly.

Marco nodded, but then exasperatedly shook his head. “I forgot to give you my notes from today! Remind me tomorrow, ok?”

Jean scoffed in disbelief.

“You’re seriously gonna make me study? Amidst all of this?”

“We agreed to that, remember? You and I will try to solve this case, AND you still have to study.” Marco reminded, pinching Jean’s ear. “Thems the rules.”

Jean shook Marco off and poked his tongue out, sticking up his nose. Marco laughed and began to climb down the ladder, maintaining eye contact with Jean as he went.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” He promised.

Jean’s expression fell again as he watched Marco leave, but he nodded.

“I’m holding you to it.”

Marco drove home, his head full of conflicting thoughts as per usual.

He parked up the driveway and ran upstairs to bed, hopping into his sheets and pretending to be asleep so his mom wouldn’t try to ask him where he had been past curfew.

As he had hoped, the strategy worked, but he ended up drifting off anyways.

The next morning, Marco dressed himself for school again, packing a few things to take to Jean as he did. He checked his reflection once or twice, feeling extra nitpicky that day.

He couldn’t erase Jean begging him to stay in the Shire last night from his memory.

Marco knew the request had meant no more to Jean other than a safety guarantee, but he couldn’t help but hope there was more behind it.

Marco didn’t even know why he bothered with his stupid crush anyway, he still couldn’t shake the image of Jean covered in blood either. Both vices and virtues were muddling together in a confusing, lustful, scary mix.

He ran down the stairs and grabbed a few snacks, listening faintly to the news reporting on the case playing in the background. As he laced up his shoes, Mrs. Bodt appeared in the doorframe.

“Everything ok baby?” She asked, glancing down woefully at him.

Marco finally tilted his chin up at her and flashed his grin, nodding.

“I’m okay, why?” He asked, hoping she wouldn’t be weird about last night.

She seemed as if she wanted to mention his absence, but she must’ve decided it wasn’t important enough to make a fuss about. She simply shrugged instead.

“No reason, just checking on you.” She reassured, kissing the top of his head.

Their conversation was interrupted by the next headline.

“-Breaking news, another body has been discovered in the recent string of murders here in Trost. The suspect, who is now being referred to as the ‘Titan Killer’, has struck again in the Trost High parking lot as of six this morning. The victim has been identified as another Trost High student, a seventeen year old boy by the name of Armin Arlert. The teen was found stabbed to death in the drivers seat of his car this morning, and the student that discovered him (who wishes to remain anonymous) claimed that they were ‘just on their way to class’ when they noticed Alert unresponsive. Paramedics arrived on scene, but he was pronounced dead at time of arrival. Trost PD fears the Titan Killer may still be on the hunt, and parents of Trost High students are refusing to allow their children to return to school until the suspect has been apprehended. Police are trying to figure out exactly how these cases are connected, but for now, Trost High has been put on high alert, and classes have been cancelled for the day while the investigation takes place.-“

The world around Marco began to shrink.

Chapter Text

Marco unlatched the hefty lock on his bedroom window, sliding the thick glass upwards and swinging his legs over the sill.

The rooftop of the Bodt residence was a super sketchy surface to walk on; take one wrong step and you'd tumble down two stories and straight into the rose shrubs growing behind the back porch. But if you crossed your fingers just right, you could make it to the side wall of the house and climb down the surprisingly durable garden trellis, planting your feet safely in the grass by the back fence. 

Marco exhaled deeply as he descended the trellis, staying close to the side wall in hopes that his mother wouldn't accidentally see or hear him. She had placed him under house arrest shortly after Armin’s murder made news headlines.

His sentencing?

’You are not to leave the house for the rest of the fall semester. The only exceptions to this rule are when you go to school, or if I have to take you to the doctor.’

As his brown converse finally touched the ground, he recalled the argument between him and his mom, dating back to twenty minutes ago. 

"Baby, there are kids dying! Specifically, kids that go to your school. Kids you know personally, ones that you see on a daily basis. I'm absolutely terrified... I think someone is targeting your friends!" 

She was crying again, trembling.

"And they've already got a name for this guy..."

"Mom, you don't know that. I've never done anything to anyone thats worthy of adding my name to a hit list. And besides, Eren and Armin were very close. They're trying to figure out how the two cases are connected, but you can't keep me prisoner here for a whole month based on that limited information!"

Maybe his wording was a bit morbid. But he was panicking, thinking of how he was going to be able to keep his promise to see Jean again. He couldn't follow through if he was locked up in his house until all of the leaves turned brown and fell off.

"You will stay right here Marco Bodt. I'll be driving us anywhere we need to go from now on. And even then, we're not going to be making frequent trips. When I'm at work you will be locking every door and window in this house, and you won't be answering any doors for anybody, you hear me?”

She was waving her hands frantically as she turned off the tv.

“Mom, I know this is scary, but you can’t just lock me up! That isn’t fair, I only have two semesters left before graduation and I have extra curriculars I need to be doing. Besides, I’m eighteen. I can handle myself.”

Marco's complaints caused Mrs. Bodt to cross her arms in frustration.

“I’m not moving on this. Not until the police get this case closed and solved.” 

Her foot was down. And Marco knew that nothing would change her mind. At least, nothing at that exact moment.

Marco grimaced, shoving the kitchen chair a couple inches backwards and sulking his way up the stairs.

When he made it to his room, he slammed and locked the door behind him, dropping his backpack on the floor with a massive thud. He immediately clicked on his dad's massive retro-stereo and turned the volume up a few notches, waiting until the sound filled his room with whatever rock music was on the cassette.

It was time to hatch a plan.

He wasn't really all that angry with his mother, of course. He knew she only wanted to keep him safe, even if her reactions might come off as dramatic to someone else. But he had to make it hard for her to want to disturb him, for at least a few hours.

Flash forward twenty minutes, and there Marco was. Creeping through the backyard at seven in the morning.

There weren’t many occasions when Marco rebelled. Mostly, he would just sneak out to visit Jean or vice versa when they were younger, which is why he knew about the trellis. But he never thought to worry about serial killers being on the prowl when he drove his bike to Jean’s back then.

Marco was shaking with anticipation as he unhooked his bike from behind the shed, and he kept himself out of sight as he threw the bike over the fence and clambered after it. He figured staying away from the front of the house altogether was safest, because his mom wasn’t stupid. She'd run out into the street and drag him back inside by the ear like the Terminator if she had even the slightest haunch he was sneaking out.

Pedaling his legs as fast as they could go, Marco staggered his way towards the school. He felt chills crawling up and down his spine the more his mind resonated on Armin. His imagination was painting a horrible and gruesome scene, and he pitied the poor bastard that had to report Armin's murder.

What's worse, Marco was headed in the same direction Armin had just been found dead, barely an hour ago. He'd have to stop about a mile from the school, and press into the woods from there.

Marco gulped down his fears, trying not to jump to any conclusions. As impossible as it was, Marco was damned if he believed Jean would betray him in this way. What did Jean really have against Armin? Why would he expose himself that hastily by killing Armin the day after Marco helped him hide?

Maybe Jean thought Marco to be naive. Maybe he hated Marco for turning down his invitation to join them at the fair, and now he was torturing him by gaslighting him and leading him along.

There wasn’t anything directly linkable between Jean and Armin to warrant murder, other than Eren being his best friend and Jean's rival. But that connection wasn't strong, and Jean wasn't insane enough to justify killing Armin over some petty high school drama.

Well... Armin had also been at the fair with the other guys the same night of Eren’s murder. Marco wondered if, just maybe, Armin had wound up in the right place at the wrong time.

It was completely possible that Armin had known something damning about Eren's killer.

That would make more sense, but what didn’t add up was how avoidant Armin had been the day after Eren’s body was discovered. If he had known something about the case, surely he would’ve told Mikasa? He was a soft spoken guy and a little shy, but if he felt threatened, then there shouldn't be a reason why he couldn't report his suspicions to the cops.

Maybe Armin didn’t want any of his friends getting caught in the crossfire, or put them in more danger by sharing details? Maybe it was more complicated than that, maybe he was stuck in a situation that he couldn't escape.

Did that mean the killer was closer to Marco and his friends than he originally assumed?

Marco wished he could search Armin's car, the scene of the crime. He wished he could go through all of Armin’s notes, piled up in his passenger seat while he studied on lunch break. He wished he could read his journal, or to have dropped by his grandfather's house to check on him instead of Jean yesterday.

Most importantly, he wished he could ask Armin what he had witnessed at the fair, and what might’ve happened to himself as a result. Now he was gone, and everything they knew about the case went with him.

He missed his friends terribly, realizing just how much he took each of them for granted. It caused tears to prick his eyelids again.

Marco’s phone chimed as he rode, and he yanked it out of his pocket while heaving shallow and rugged breaths. His ears were ringing as he held the tiny screen up to his eyes.

The headline of the notification was enough to bring him to a screeching halt, mere feet away from the forest edge.

BREAKING: Suspect in Eren Jaeger case has been announced. Jean Kirstein (17, white male) has a warrant out for his arrest, for the murder of Eren Jaeger. The first victim in the recent Trost homicide cases, Eren Jaeger, was brutally stabbed to death outside of his Trost home on Monday evening. Local authorities have issued a warrant for the arrest of his classmate, Jean Kirstein, after officers searched his home on Tuesday. Kirstein fled town on the night of the murder, and has yet to be seen or questioned. Suspect was last seen in a gray hoodie and blue jeans. Investigators still haven’t released if this case is linked to the murder of Armin Arlert as of early this morning, although they are reporting that they 'already have their assumptions'. If anyone has more details, or has a tip on the whereabouts of Kirstein, the police are urging witnesses to step forward. For now, lock your doors, and stay vigilant.

Marco felt sick.

Woozy, he powered his phone off just in time to puke in the ditch. His vision spun and his brain crackled and popped. He braced his hands against the curb as more of his stomach came up, and he tried to breathe between heaves, but it was no use as more bile just kept coming. Marco clawed the dirt, desperately clinging to his senses as his spit frothed and trailed from his lips.

Jean was an actual murder suspect now. There was even a warrant out for his arrest, how much more fucked up could it get?

"Haha, hahahaha!"

He couldn't help but laugh. The situation was anything but funny, but he had no idea how to react. He was harboring a murder suspect, and the cherry on top? He was about to isolate himself with Jean. Giving him the perfect opportunity to strike.

Marco was in so much shit.

He couldn’t untangle himself from this mess even if he wanted to, they weigh accomplices on the same scale as their murderous counterparts when passing judgement. Even if it wasn't Jean behind everything, Marco felt obligated to help Eren and Armin figure out if there was something bigger at hand. 

But catching a killer was a deadly game to play.

Marco imagined Armin potentially having this whole case figured out in a matter of hours, and his intelligence and puzzle solving skills having potentially cost him his life. Armin was the smartest guy Marco knew, he absolutely had the means and the motive to try to find justice for Eren. If even he couldn't escape certain death, what did that mean for Marco?

Marco was, in that moment, a thousand percent more aware of the people closest to him. He was listing off all of his friends and family, and what motives they might have to bring harm to his friends. He thought about Ymir and Historia, or Reiner and Bertolt, and how trusting any one of them could have been the very thing that caused Armin to bite the dust. Maybe Sasha and Connie were incredible actors and they're behind it all, but who knew? He had no idea what to think anymore.

His head was spinning with possibilities.

Wiping his lips, Marco coughed and heaved for a few more minutes. His bike had fallen over in the street, but he knew nobody in their small town would be out and about with a missing murder suspect on the prowl. Marco shouldn't even be out there after what had happened at Trost High that morning, but he was already most of the way to the Shire.

Marco decided to collect what courage he had left and dried his hands upon his jeans, massaging away the headache thudding against his temples. He was still dizzied from the sick, but he would just have to push through.

Marco still had one job to do: he had to confront Jean about Armin.

Scratching up his face with the flying pine needles, Marco sprinted through the trees and burst through the underbrush at the bottom of the ladder. With a massive gulp, Marco worked up the courage to climb it, and made quick work of ascending the rungs and up towards the Shire.

Left, right, left, right.

He didn’t know what he was going to say to Jean. Where could he even begin?

Hey Jean, just curious, did you kill Armin this morning? Also, why do the cops seem to think you had it out for Eren enough to stab him too?

Marco hoped that if Jean really had murdered Eren, and intended to kill him next, that he would make his death swift and painless. The scenario broke Marco down, he couldn't even entertain the possibility of Jean stabbing him through the heart. The guy already owned it, there was no need to take it from Marco like that.

Jean isn't the killer. Not for real, right?

Once Marco opened the trap door that lead to the main room of the structure, he began to call out.

"Jea-"

But he was cut off by something sharp and cold against his throat. A warm, clammy hand clasped forcefully around his mouth almost simultaniously.

"mmMM!" Marco whimpered.

The owner of the hand had trembling fingers, but they squeezed him tighter anyway.

Marco gasped. He forced himself to fall silent when he realized his neck was inches from being slit open.

This was it, this was the end. Marco was going to die.

The freckled teen squeezed his eyes shut tight and gripped the arm of his attacker, his nails digging into the pale, scarred skin. There was a grunt of pain, but no attempt was made by the assailant to loosen his grip. Instead, he backed Marco into the corner, hushing him in the process.

Marco whined sharply, struggling against his attacker. He didn't want this to be it, and he feared his neck might've already been slit. The adrenaline made his ears ring, as he thought about fighting back.

But a familiar voice cut through the fog, and brought his attention to full center.

“Marco?” Jean whispered harsh and low, letting the teen go and dropping the knife that was previously held in his white-knuckled grip.

Marco gasped, his eyes blown wide in shock at Jean's behavior. There was something so unsettling about how familiar his best friend was with holding a knife, how easily he held Marco down and ready for slaughter. The sensation of the blade against his adam's apple was one he wouldn’t soon forget.

Marco scampered away from Jean, back against the tree in the center of the room as he panted and palmed his neck. When he pulled his hand back, the tan skin was only slightly speckled crimson.

Jean had just barely nicked him.

When Jean noticed the scratch, he covered his mouth in disbelief. He surged forward to touch Marco's shoulder, but halted himself when Marco flinched away from him.

Jean's eyes shined with immediate guilt. He looked down at the dropped knife, using his foot to kick it into the opposite corner.

“I swear that was just self-defense, I was scared you were someone else.” Jean mumbled.

The guy gripped his own shoulders tight, squatting to his knees to get on Marco’s level. His whole body was shaking, and Marco still couldn't read his expression. He was afraid to look Jean in the eye.

Marco was trembling just as much as Jean now, as his knees fit snug against his chest. He felt his stomach churning again, and his lungs were burning. He needed his inhaler, or he needed to leave. He might even throw up again, this time right in front of Jean.

But Marco couldn’t leave with Jean so close, he was too scared to move. So instead, he pushed away a smidge of his apprehension and returned the eye contact, taking short and shallow breaths.

Jean’s eyes were darkened, but not by violence. They were apologetic, hateful, and deluded. As if he himself didn't even know what happened.

Marco coughed. “Why would you… why try to defend yourself like that? Jean, my neck!”

Marco gesturing to his school bag, choking out spit onto the floorboards. He palmed his chest and covered the scratch with the other hand. "My inhaler, please-."

Jean suddenly jumped into action, grabbing the inhaler from the side pocket of the backpack. He snatched up a few napkins to clean the mess as well, setting them on the floor between them. Jean then approached Marco with hesitance, and the corners of his lips turned down as he handed him the inhaler.

Marco seized it from Jean with a shaky grasp, bringing the medication to his lips and taking a sharp inhale of clear air.

He spluttered and let the inhaler drop from his fingers onto the wood, allowing himself another peek at Jean’s regretful eyes. They were still the most distracting thing about Jean's face, and the brilliant morning sunlight was causing them to glow in that beautiful shade of gold that Marco always saw in his dreams.

Silence followed, and they studied each other's faces. They breathed heavily together as one, and as Jean winced as sweat rolled down Marco’s brow. The morning birds chirped way, and fog dew dropped from the roof of the treehouse as they stayed tense together. 

Jean didn’t ask for permission before he held the napkins to Marco’s neck, mildly horrified at the scratch he had etched into his freckled friend. He leaned in closer, testing the boundaries of Marco’s comfort, carefully wiping the edges of the scratch. His nose was inches from Marco's ear as he played nurse, and Marco could hear his pulse beating behind every breath.

The silence between them was deafening. Jean still hadn’t answered Marco’s question, but the teen already knew the answer.

He didn't mean to do it, it was an accident. Just self defense, thats all.

Jean didn’t let the dead air between them carry on for too long.

“I’ve just... I've been nervous that I could be next too, I guess. Or that I'll get caught up with the cops again. I don’t know what’s happening, I’m just so fucking scared. And I’m worried that it doesn’t matter, if I get murdered or I get arrested."

Jean rocked on his knees. "I’m damned if I do, damned if I don't.” 

He caught Marco's jaw between two tender fingers, gritting his teeth shamefully. He was begging for forgiveness.

The soft touches from his best friend caused Marco’s heart to beat irregularly, and his mind was totally screwed. Jean was so careful, as if one wrong move would unravel him like a slipknot. It was almost endearing.

“Armin was found murdered this morning, about an hour ago. They found his body in the school parking lot.” Marco blurted. His eyes blew wide after exposing the news, was it smart to tell Jean what he knew?

Jean’s hand stopped, and Marco felt his bony fingers twitching against the thin skin by his ear.

“Fuck.” Jean cursed, falling back on his own ass.

He was completely unresponsive, covering his eyes and neck as he rubbing his own skin anxiously. Marco wanted to lean forward himself, to say something to reassure Jean, but how do you reassure someone you aren’t even sure you trust is telling the truth?

Marco pressed the napkins to his own neck now. He watched Jean unravel, listening to his whimpering and whining.

It was unbearable.

“So that’s why you came here… Y-you think I did it.” Jean said weakly, fisting his hair.

He was falling apart, and that almost frightened Marco more than the knife. There was still a chance this conversation could take a complete turn for the worse, that Jean could snap any second and the last thing Marco would see are Jean's crazy bold eyes.

“I hoped that if I came here, you could tell me that you didn’t kill him.” Marco whispered, leaning forward into Jean’s space. “How am I supposed to believe you're the one doing this shit? But also, how am I supposed to determine that you aren't? The police sent out a warrant for your arrest, thats fucking bonkers!”

Marco got louder, removing his fingers from his neck to grab Jean’s wrists and pull him forward. His nails dug in deep, until Jean's focus was entirely on Marco.

“I swear to god Jean, if you are lying to me, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. I don’t think I could take it, actually.” Marco hissed.

“Did you kill Armin? Or Eren?”

Again, no response.

Marco was heaving his chest again, the exhaustion fueled by nothing but anger.

"Answer me, Jean!" He yelled.

Jean flinched, but he didn't turn away. His eyes darted between Marco's as he searched for the words. But when words failed, he took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He pulled one of his hands free from Marco's to grasp the freckled boy's wrist in turn.

Jean placed Marco’s trembling palm over his rhythmic heart, and let his arms drop to his lap. The beat of the organ was steady, strong, and significantly slowed.

Jean opened his eyes, and with a dramatic inhale, he gazed into Marco’s.

“I did not kill Eren, and I did not kill Armin.”

There wasn’t a hint of dishonesty, there wasn’t a jolt in his heartrate. Marco didn’t know if Jean could somehow still be manipulating him, but he didn't care. This confirmation meant everything to him, and he wanted to trust that his intuition was stronger than his fear.

He fell forward into Jean’s chest, with hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Thank god..." Marco whined.

Jean wrapped his arms firmly around his friend, rocking him gently from side to side. He rubbed Marco's back until he stopped crying, and didn't speak until he was spoken to. It was an involuntary break in character, but Marco didn’t know how else to react. They were still back at square one, no closer to the answer than they had been before.

Marco stayed hidden in the crook of Jean’s shoulders until he could breathe clearly. Until his tears dry sticky against his skin.

“I have to get back before mom notices I’m gone. She put me under house arrest, I had to sneak down the trellis.”

Marco's whisper sounded numb, or the volume was far away. He was utterly exhausted, and the day hadn't even begun.

Jean leaned back, pulling Marco up with him until they both sat straight. He rubbed the brunette's shoulder gingerly, and glanced to the wall where the radio hung.

“Will you be coming back, or does this mean you are going silent for a while?” He asked.

There was something desperate in the way Jean begged the question. It implied that Jean needed Marco on his side as much as Marco needed him to be innocent.

Marco shook his head, clearing the mucus in his throat.

“No, I'll... I'll come back. But it might be difficult to sneak out again, so I can’t make any promises right now.”

Jean stole a deep breath and nodded. His smile was small, but it was there. This wasn't the last time they were going to see each other, just goodbye for a while.

“Ok.” He replied.

Marco grabbed his bag and pulled Jean into a hug of his own, squeezing the boy tight. He tried not to stare at the knife that was still resting in the corner of the treehouse. 

The freckled teen descended the ladder and retreated into the woods after swapping goodbyes with Jean.

Marco left with a reignited determination to find out who was behind the murders, because he refused to believe his best friend had any part to play in it all.

I'll get us out of this one, my darling.

Climbing back up the trellis and balancing along the slated tiles of the roof, Marco managed to sneak back through his bedroom window with the stereo still booming loudly in the corner. Mrs. Bodt was downstairs, pacing the floor with Sasha's mom on the phone. As he listened in closer, he realized they were discussing the murders, but if she wasn't talking to the police it meant that Marco's little act of rebellion had succeeded in remaining a secret.

It was next to impossible for Marco to collect his thoughts for the rest of the morning, his mind was troubled with 'if not Jean, then who?' Or If Jean was still even safe at all. The guy's behavior earlier had been mildly erratic, and Marco couldn't get the alert article headline out of his head.

The police think Jean is involved.

Marco scratched at the small scab that was forming over his throat, and squeezed his eyes shut. That made it easier to re-live being under Jean’s blade. He swallowed thick, as the weight of the cold metal poked against his thyroid.

It's not him, it can't be.

Eren's vigil was to be held later that evening, in the front yard of the Jaeger residence. Marco hadn't been planning to attend at first, he thought it was eerie to be amongst the Trost townsfolk barely ten inches from where Eren was murdered. But he decided he would go after all, the moment Armin's murder was featured on the news.

He'd just have to convince his mother to let him go.

Marco's investigation in this case wasn’t just about honoring Eren or Armin, this was also about clearing Jean's name. And, he had to start looking for signs somewhere. He had to find something that would point him in the next direction, something that began to explain who was actually involved. Too much precious investigation time had already been wasted.

While brushing his teeth and plotting his evening, there was a loud knock at the front door.

“This is the Trost County Sherriff’s Office.” A voice boomed from the other side.

Marco felt heat flash down his spine, and he peeked his head out of the bathroom door to watch his mom answer the door.

His mom answered, in her sweet and hospitable tone. "Hello, how may we help you sir?” 

She hardly spoke that way anymore, Marco only noticed her use that inflection when she was speaking to authorities or cashiers. Her voice used to have a sing-song type of sound to it, But it bottomed out when her family life was uprooted by her husband’s act of marriage insubordination.

“Hello. Is a Marco Bodt home?" A male voice asked. "We’d like to ask him a few questions.”

Marco's scalp was on fire. He was sweating, staying frozen still where he was. The teen made no attempt to greet the officer.

“Well yes, he’s my son. May I ask what this is concerning?”

Her tone remained sweet, and she glanced down the hall to where Marco was peeking.

Marco tensed up, and the guilt of his knowledge on the case formed a heavy knot in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know if he could speak with them, he was a horrible liar. Did he even want to lie to an officer? What the hell did they want to question him on anyway?

“Hey son,” The officer called out, gesturing for him to join them in the foyer. “I’ve got a few questions for you regarding Eren Jaeger’s homicide."

"Specifically,” He started, removing his sunglasses and stepping into their home. 

“About the whereabouts of Jean Kirstein.”

Chapter Text

Marco rubbed his shoulder uncomfortably as he seated himself across two Trost PD investigators.

The living room, which on most days gave Marco a warm sense of safety and security, now served as a claustrophobic prison. He eyed the officers up and down carefully, hoping they couldn’t see through his eyes and walk right into his thoughts.

Hey, I know where Jean is!

The man on the left started. "We apologize for the intrusion, I’m sure you feel restless right now with all that’s been going on.”

Marco glanced up at the picture frames that surrounded the teal blue walls, all the random bits of decor that his mom had so meticulously arranged just for guests to admire.

“And we’re aware that Jean is your friend, yes?” The lady on the right chimed in cheerfully.

Marco took in a deep, shaky breath, and nodded in reply.

He wasn't prepared for any of this, but what could he do, say no? That would look suspicious as hell, especially in front of his mother. She was smarter than that, she'd see right through his act.

“I see. Do you happen to know where he was on the night of September fifteenth?” The man asked.

His tag read Deputy Ackerman, and the lady’s read Officer Zoe.

Marco fidgeted with the fabric on his pants, thinking back to the night of the fair. The night he was rejected, and so was Jean. The night Eren was murdered.

“Jean, he… went to a local fair with some friends. That was the last time I heard from him though, he hasn't called me since before school that day.” Marco answered.

He crossing his arms over his lap, trying to contain his nervous energy. He had to stop moving, or it was going to look weird. Instead, he settled for making direct eye contact with Deputy Ackerman.

The man was short, shorter than the female officer that sat next to him, but that didn’t mean his aura didn't exude that of a threat. He had a steel gaze that could slice right through Marco, if he wasn’t careful around the edges.

“What was the last thing he said to you that night, before he disappeared?” Officer Zoe asked, pushing up her glasses and leaning forward curiously.

Marco subconsciously scooted backwards, away from her. She had reddish brown hair tied up in an unkept ponytail, with a few strands sticking loosely out of the clips she had attempted to shove the flyaways into. She had a wild fire in her tawny eyes, and her lips practically quivered with the anticipation of each question.

Marco held up his phone for the officers to see.

“He messaged me before he disappeared, saying he was having fun on the teacups.” He responded plainly, his big toe twitching.

It was a massive lie.

“Really? Deputy Ackerman asked, eyeing Marco cautiously. "So, you haven’t heard from him since then?”  

Marco swallowed thickly, but forced a smile.

“Yeah, I really wish I could offer more information. He is-… well, he was one of my best friends. I don't exactly know if that's true anymore... You guys don’t really think that he could be involved in all of this, do you?” Marco fiend concern, leaning back against the couch to bounce his leg.

The room felt frigid, Marco was trying his best not to shake.

Or maybe that was just his nerves.

“We don’t know yet. He could be involved, that’s what we’re trying to figure out. One of our officers mentioned to me that you stopped by Jean’s house, late afternoon on the sixteenth?” Deputy Ackerman asked.

Marco’s mom shot him a look, one that seemed to say explain yourself.

Shit, he had completely forgotten about the officer that took down his information.

His cheeks bloomed a deeper shade, but the reaction alone wasn’t enough information for them to catch Marco in any lies. He just had to press on, and get this over with.

“I was checking on him. He wouldn’t respond to any of my messages, and one of our friends had just been murdered. Is it a crime to check on your friends?” Marco asked bitterly.

He didn’t know why he was acting so brash, he had every reason to believe Jean could be involved. He could even save the officers time, and send them out right to Jean’s location. Jean didn't do himself any favors by holding Marco at knifepoint, he was outright asking for it.

But something inside of Marco told him that giving Jean up wasn't the way. The freckled teen was determined to solve this, and he'd do it himself if he had to. He was sure that Jean wasn’t responsible, and he hoped to any god that would listen that this decision wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

“No, it isn’t. I suppose.” Officer Zoe answered, sounding confused.

She leaned back and glanced over at Deputy Ackerman, and they exchanged a quiet nod as if they were drawing their own mental conclusions.

“So, you don’t know where he was just this morning either? I presume you’ve heard about what happened by now, since classes are canceled.” Deputy Ackerman asked, challenging Marco once again with his icy stare.

Marco felt sweat from his scalp start to drip down his neck and spine, and he shuddered lightly.

The sharp blade at his throat again. Marco hoped the officers didn’t notice the scratch, he did everything he could not to reach up and touch it.

“No. I’m afraid I don’t know where he is. But Eren and Armin were his friends.” Marco answered firmly.

He swallowed back any decision he might have been calculating about telling them the truth. He just couldn’t yet, he was close to a break.

Even if lying had consequences eventually, at the very least Jean wouldn't be framed for murder.

“Ok. Well then, do you mind telling us your whereabouts on both of these dates? You have connections to the victims too, so it seems.” Deputy Ackerman asked.

The accusatory switch in conversation provoked Marco’s mother to ball her fist against the doorframe. Marco shot her a warning glance, shaking his head.

Don’t interfere. I can handle this.

“Sure,” Marco started, stretching out his arms. “I was here at home on the fifteenth, and I’ve been on mandatory lockdown since then. Mom is a little… tense right now, I’m not allowed to be out and about until you guys can find the guy who did this.”

Marco offered his mom a small but supportive smile. He hated lying like this, to her. She didn’t deserve it, and it would crush her if she found out Marco wasn’t being truthful. But he had no choice. He made his bed, and now he was going to lie in it.

“Ok, mom is this correct? You’re his alibi, you know.” The Deputy mused.

Mrs. Bodt scoffed, her pride offended.

“You need me to clear my own son for murder? Are you fucking serious?”

Her face turned red, and she crossing her arms.

“He has been home all day, in fact he's been terribly worried about his friends and the school. You know what, I think you two have overstayed your welcome.”

Marco smirked at her sudden outburst. He hadn't seen her fight that hard for herself in ages. But it fell off of his face when he realized just how loyal she was to him, without knowing he had actually snuck out to see Jean earlier that morning.

Deputy Ackerman held up his hands, rising to his feet and gesturing for his partner to follow his lead. 

"We apologize if we have caused you any trouble, we're just trying to keep the neighborhood safe. Thank you for your time."

Marco followed the officers to the foyer. As they crossed the threshold over the door, Deputy Ackerman turned back around. He eyed Marco strangely, and the silence that lingered made everything all the more uncomfortable.

“...If Jean tries to contact you, please alert us immediately. He is innocent until proven guilty, but we have to do the right thing.” He reminded.

Marco nodded, rubbing his shoulder in shame. He opened his mouth to wish the officers a good day, but before he could, his mother slammed the door.

“Just who the hell do they think they are? Accusing my son of murder...”

His mother sucked on her tongue, and a disappointed sound echoed against her teeth. “Are you ok baby?” She asked, cupping his cheeks and checking him out.

Marco pushed her hands away. The guilt was eating him alive, he didn’t know how much longer he could put up his act. He left her side to rush to the stairwell, risking one more reassuring smile in his mother's direction.

“Yeah, I’m just tired. I’m going up to rest, if that is ok with you?” Marco asked.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to meet her eyes. Like if he made one wrong move, or if he blinked wrong, she might figure something out. He had to move faster, because he was running out of time and freedom.

“Sure, okay. I’m sorry they were so… invasive.” She apologized, kissing his cheek.

But before she could pass him by, he grasped her by the arm.

"Mom?"

His sudden tone shift had his mother eyeing him in confusion.

"Hmm?" She asked.

Marco bit his lip, his knee bouncing slightly. "I do have one request...."

Mrs. Bodt crossed her arms expectantly, her head tipped over to one side to demonstrate her skepticism.

"Yes, what is it hun?"

Marco braced his arms against the stairwell, his chest clouding up again. He was going to need his inhaler in a minute, there were too many stressors happening for one person to handle in a single day.

"Can I go to Eren's Vigil tonight?" He begged, clasping his hands together for her. "I promise I'll be careful. Besides, half of the town and a majority of Trost PD will be there, so nobody would dare to try something. It'll be on the news too, you can watch the report if you want to make sure I'm okay!"

His mom scrunched up her nose, scoffing.

"Marco, we talked about this. You aren't going out until they catch this guy, that’s the end of the story."

She turned around to leave, but Marco clutched her shoulder gently, spinning her to face him again.

He sighed. "Please. I know you're scared. But as I said earlier, I'm eighteen. I can handle myself, and right now I want all I want to do is grieve with my friends. Please.”

She studied his eyes for a moment. They had begun to gloss over as he remembered everything that happened for the fifth time that day, and he swallowed down the choking sobs that threatened to surface.

"Its really important to me."

Mrs. Bodt considered his words for a brief period. She scratched her hair, and her conflicted eyes were searching for something to read on the wall.

"Oh hell...” She sighed finally.

”I can't believe I'm going back on the rules I just set. This is it Marco, and so help me God if you are not home by sundown I will be out there on that porch with a shotgun in my lap."

Mrs. Body shook Marco’s shoulders aggressively, her eyes wild and serious.

"Do you really want me to act crazy, to do something stupid like that?"

Marco shook his head quick. "No ma'am."

She let him go.

"Then you better be home by sundown."

Mrs. Bodt exhaled shakily, kissing Marco on the cheek and squeezing his hand. "I love you."

Marco squeezed back. "I love you too."

And with that, he bounded up the stairs.

His stomach was churning with the regret of lying to the police, of lying to his mom. And what made things even worse, if it all backfired and Jean really was the murderer, then Marco's fate was sealed.

He had the sinking feeling that if he couldn’t solve this case soon, he would either be murdered like Eren or arrested with Jean.

As the evening hours hit, Marco prepared to attend Eren’s vigil.

Walking to Eren's house wasn't an option, but the crowd would be too dense to drive through, so he decided the best choice was to take his bike. As he rolled up to Eren’s cul-de-sac, his mouth ran dry.

The turnout was nothing short of impressive for the size of their town. It seemed that everyone in Trost had come to light a candle for Eren, or to gift him flowers and kind words. Eren really was the heart of Trost, so who would take him away like this?

Marco spotted Carla Jaeger, who was holding a fragile-willed Mikasa close to her chest. The two of them had been crying all day it seemed, and yet, they still had tears to spare.

his heart ached just by looking at them, watching as they rocked back and forth in front of a photograph of Eren, Armin and Mikasa when they were all just toddlers.

It felt so sneaky, standing there, knowing everything he knew. All of these people were devastated by Eren’s loss, they were angry. They all wanted answers, to find the suspect. And unfortunately for Jean, the cops had given everyone a name to direct their aggression at.

Marco watched as countless people came up to bow their heads at the sea of gifts that lined the block of the Jaeger household, and rows of camera crews were filming people as they grieved.

He noticed his friends were all huddled together in the corner behind Carla and Mikasa, and thought about approaching them. He thought about wishing them well, and checking in on the people who still lived to see another day.

But Marco wasn’t there to grieve with them.

He had to do whatever was necessary to solve this case, and right now, that meant focusing on the evidence he could find.

Marco started by inspecting all of the gifts that people had given, checking for any  strange letters or notes. When he had no luck there, he tried instead to eavesdrop on the crowd of townsfolk as he made a lap around the residency.

He didn’t manage to collect any evidence other than how fucking depressed everyone was.

Marco searched the scene for thirty whole minutes, before any of his friends noticed him. But once Sasha made eye contact, she pointed him out for the rest of the group of students.

Everyone in the circle perked right up, and Sasha gestured for Marco to join them where they gathered behind the podium.

Reluctantly, Marco nodded his head, slumping over to their arrangement. He wasn’t getting anywhere by himself anyways.

“Marco,” Reiner spoke. “I didn’t know you’d be coming.”

The blonde offered him a tender smile and a caring thumbs up.

Marco shrugged, rubbing his shoulder anxiously. “Yeah, here I am.”

The freckled teen stole the opportunity to search their faces, to gauge their expressions and their emotions.

It appeared as though the only people who had actually been crying were Sasha and Mikasa. Bert, Connie and Reiner were solemn, but stiff.

The three guys had been the last people to hang out with Eren and Armin, to enjoy the fair and revel in their company. They were the last to see Jean too, so they must be worried about him as well, in their own ways.

Sasha and Connie held each other and rocked back and forth as a local choir sang a piece dedicated to Eren. The two held back their tears as Carla talked about her son, and showed the town of Trost all of his baby photos.

”This is my baby boy. His name is Eren Alexander Jaeger, and he made me smile every day.”

Carla sniffled, holding the photo in a shaking hand. She fiddled with the edge of the film, and smiled down at the image as her tears fell and bled the ink.

“He was my miracle boy, my sunflower. He was supposed to live a long, normal life, and give me many grandchildren. He was supposed to play football for a big school, and go on to try out for nationals. He was supposed to spend every holiday at home, dotting on his wife and kids and making so many precious family memories.”

Marco felt every inch of her pain. He listened to the way Carla talked about Eren, and the weight that came with her words were almost too heavy to bear. His lungs twinged and compressed, and he knew he would need to find his inhaler soon.

“Eren was so young. I was going to watch him graduate, and now, I’ll have to bury him in a garden where the flowers and the weeds grow. Mothers aren’t… aren’t supposed to bury their sons.” Her voice trembled as she gripped the podium.

Carla gasped out in shock, and Mikasa swooped into her side. She held the woman up and nodded to her, encouraging her to finish.

Eren’s mother moved a piece of dark hair out of her face and swallowed her tears hard. She stole a moment to compose herself before continuing.

“W-we will not rest until my baby’s killer is found, not until they’re put behind bars for life. They will never have a chance to steal anyone else’s son, or anyone else’s daughter ever again.”

She ended her statement on a strong note, and everyone bowed their heads in respect as she departed the podium and returned to the safety of her home.

Mikasa followed Carla soon after. And there weren’t many townsfolk who wanted to stick around to see what happened next, so the crowd began to thin. The sun was starting to set, and the darkness was uncertain, a breeding place for evil.

There were a few people who stayed behind though, to offer their final condolences to Eren. But it was clear that Marco wasn’t going to get any more evidence from the scene.

He just wished he could ask Armin for help. He wished he could do anything useful, really.

“Hey man, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Connie interrupted Marco’s self loathing, by poking his arm from behind.

Marco turned around to face the buzzcut boy just as the deep discomfort returned to his lungs.

“Yeah, what’s up?” He asked.

Connie glanced around for a few seconds, watching the others. He leaned into Marco’s space, and spoke in a hushed tone.

“I just thought you should know. Jean wanted to ditch the fair to go watch that movie with you, but Eren wouldn’t let him. The guy started saying some really touchy stuff about you, and it seemed to upset Jean quite a bit. They got into a fight, and that’s when Bert and I ditched.”

As Connie explained, Marco felt his stomach flipping over and over.

The reason Jean and Eren got into a fight was… because of Marco?

“Reiner separated them, and Armin stayed behind to help patch em up, but I can’t help but wonder…” Connie gulped, grabbing Marco’s wrist.

“Just watch your back, man. I’m not saying I heard anything weird from them afterwards, but I would be gutted if this killer went after you next.”

There was a certain severity to this information that Marco found difficult to process.

The sun was lowering under the horizon, and the candles that had been lit for the vigil had all been extinguished by a strong gust of wind.

In the midst of his swarming thoughts, Marco pulled Connie in for a hug. He pulled back about five seconds later to give him a thankful nod.

“You need to be careful too, you were also at the fair that night. If… if Jean really has something to do with this, you could still get hurt. Any of you guys could get hurt, we still have no idea what’s going on.” Marco stuttered.

He didn’t know what to believe. Every day, it seemed like they would need a miracle to clear Jean, and it could only get worse.

Connie pat his shoulders firmly, and disappeared down the street with Reiner, Bertolt and Sasha, leaving Marco alone on the sidewalk to think about the revelation.

He needed to get home before his mother went hunting.

Later, in the confines of his room, Marco was packing a bag.

He filled it with two notebooks, his class notes, a couple of pens and pencils and some snacks. He also stashed his phone deep into the bag, and grabbed the jacket he had hanging up on his bedroom door.

It may have only been September, but the nights would become chillier as they grew longer.

Marco glanced out into his backyard, and into the calm street of his neighborhood. It was nearly ten in the evening, but he was determined to check on Jean. He had to tell him about the officers that had paid his home a visit that morning, and he had to help Jean study.

But most importantly, he also had to share with Jean what he had learned at the vigil, and they had to make headway on solving the case.

How badly did Eren tease Jean, in order to initiate a fist fight that aggressive? And why did it have to revolve around Marco and the movie?

Marco unlatched the window when he could hear his mom snoring down the hall, and crept down the trellis in the same fashion he had been sneaking out for days.

He hadn’t given much thought to how useful the route was, at least not until the manhunt was declared for his best friend.

Marco didn’t want to think about how his own recent actions reflected on his character at all. He never ever behaved this way, he wasn’t disrespectful to officers, or a bold liar in any form.

But, sometimes one has to make sacrifices for the people they love, and Marco couldn’t help but feel trapped by his own feelings.

It just had to be Jean, didn’t it?

He threw his bike over the fence again and made his way through the dimly lit streets, gliding safely out of the neighborhood and onwards to the Shire.

The chill of the night and the eerie sounds of various nocturnal creatures forced the hair on Marco’s arms stand on edge. He was paranoid, eyes flicking left and right to ensure he was alone. If he was correct, and the killer wasn’t Jean, who was to say Marco really wasn’t next?

The teen held his breath between each street lamp, and felt the goosebumps creeping up the nape of his neck as he stared out at the dark forest in front of him. He knew better than to sneak up on Jean that time, but his fear was still paralyzing him from entering the woods.

The last time he had been there, he was held under the blade of Jean’s knife. He was made into a hostage, and potentially a victim. The image of Jean’s intense eyes would never fade from the freckled teen’s memory.

Marco gulped down any remaining hesitation. He forced himself to step forward, letting the sound of rustling leaves and twigs snapping fill up his mind like static.

At the bottom of the ladder, Marco called out this time.

“Jean, are you there?”

His eyes were darting from left to right, as the dark shadows closed in around him. He was so intensely creeped out, it wasn’t even remotely funny.

“Marco?” A voice called from the top, and a few seconds later, Jean leaned out over the ladder and smiled down at him.

“I wasn’t expecting you to come by again tonight.” He finished.

Marco glanced at his watch, which read quarter before eleven. He clicked his tongue.

“Me neither. I just… wasn’t going to be able to sleep unless we worked this whole thing out a little.”

His answer was vague, but truthful. Jean helped him inside once he reached the top rung, and they both found a seat; Marco sat close to the beanbag, and Jean was in it.

Jean aided Marco in unloading his bag, with his fingers brushing the papers where Marco had taken class notes. His best friend appeared disgruntled, but otherwise unharmed.

Marco felt the relief flowing through his veins. He had been worried about the Jean all day, and the stress wasn’t letting him eat or sleep.

Marco studied Jean’s golden eyes, which had lost their usual glow and warmth in recent days. He watched Jean sift through the various items he had brought with him from home, and snorted when the guy pulled the snacks out and stashed them in a box by the window.

When he was finished snooping, Jean folded his arms and leaned back to listen to Marco.

“So… any updates?” He asked hopefully, kicking away an empty bag of chips.

Marco grunted in affirmation.

“The police came to my house today.”

Jean’s eyes widened in alarm. He sat forward, with his arms rigid at his sides once more.

“What did they ask you?”

Marco had pulled one of the notebooks out and a pen he had brought with him, clearing his throat in the process. He flipped open the pages and hovered the ballpoint over the first line.

“They asked me where you were…” He began, writing down Case evidence/notes at the top.

Jean hugged his knees. “And? What did you tell them…?”

Marco frowned, tapping the ink against the page.

“I told them I hadn’t seen or heard from you since the fifteenth.”

He still didn’t know how smart it was, admitting to Jean that the police realistically had no idea where he was or what he could be hiding. The information made Marco an extremely easy target, or at least a gullible accomplice.

Jean’s eyes lit up, and his grin stretched wide across his face.

“You… lied to the fucking police?”

Jean couldn’t help but laugh in shock. Marco, sweet innocent Marco, lying to the pigs about little ol’ him?

Marco covered his face in embarrassment.

“I mean what was I supposed to do Jean? This is all so impossible!”

He was yelling now, lying back against the wooden floorboards.

“I couldn’t tell them I know where you are, because I’m trusting you here and I believe they’re searching for the killer in the wrong place. But we still have no idea what happened to Eren, and now Armin is gone, which is just fantastic because that means we also have to worry about being murdered too! And, I spoke with Connie today at the vigil, and he told me you had fought with Eren at the fair because of me!” Marco rambled.

Jean ducked his head at the aforementioned fight. It was still a sensitive subject, figures.

“Oh… and what did he tell you?” Jean sulked.

His face was flushed, his eyes conflicted. There was something he was hiding.

Marco wondered if it was wise to put Connie on the spot. He could picture Armin, dead in his sedan with the answer to this case still on the edge of his tongue.

Marco flailed his arms and groaned.

“He said Eren was teasing you, and it was over that stupid movie I wanted to see. But Connie said it was you who started the fight.”

Marco sat up to look at Jean, his fists balled.

“I mean what the hell, Jean! It might not be nice to tease, sure, but you can’t just start throwing punches because you were mad at his jokes!”

Jean rubbed his temples. He shut his eyes, wishing everything would just go away.

“That’s fair, I know. But I didn’t kill him Marco, I swear to God. I just wasn’t thinking!” He pleaded.

Marco was so confused. He didn’t know what narrative he believed, or who’s perspective he could trust.

“Stop it! I’m going to split into two, oh my God.” Marco begged in anguish.

Jean fell silent.

Inhale, exhale.

Marco started with the simple things. “Armin is dead because I believe he was close to solving Eren’s case. He had this whole thing figured out, and you can’t convince me otherwise, which means this killer is extremely dangerous if he is willing to kill just to cover up the truth.”

The freckled teen held his own face between shaky fingers, swallowing the thick lump that had formed in the back of his throat.

“We have to figure out what Armin knew, and find Eren’s killer. Or we’re going down with them.”

Jean’s expression was bleak, like he was going to cry. And he did, a few tears slipped past his cheeks, much to Jean’s displeasure. He furiously wiped them away, sweeping his nose with the back of his hand.

He didn’t speak again for a long time.

The two of them stared deeply at each other in the pause, studying features and expressions again.

Sleep did not come to Jean easily after the fair, if Marco had to guess. His eyebags were heavy, and vibrantly pigmented. his bruises were turning a yellowish-green, and Marco reminded himself to bring Jean a bottle of painkillers next time he stopped by.

He hated watching his best friend writhe in that much pain.

“I want to solve this case just as much as you do, Marco. I miss your trust, and I miss you.” Jean muttered finally.

Marco’s heart skip a beat. He closed his eyes so he couldn’t witness Jean’s pitiful expression, and shook his head a few times.

Jean’s presence came even closer. “I know you won’t believe me until there’s any hardcore proof, and listen, I get it. But I’m also confused, and I’m just… sorry.”

Marco reopened his eyes and jumped up from the floor, pacing against the wood.

“And I’ve never had my best friend mixed up in a murder before, but here we are!” He huffed.

Marco was frustrated. He had never been that panicked before, not in his life. Not even when his father left home.

Jean stood up and entwined their fingers, just to stop Marco from pacing. He brought him back over to their investigation setup, and soothed him with a glint of reassurance.

”Hey, it’s gonna be okay. We’ll fix this. Remember?”

Marco tried to his best to calm down. He yanked his inhaler out of his pocket to inhale medication, and the effects of the drug soothed his lungs instantly. Jean watched on with unwavering interest, and waited patiently for him to settle.

“I’m sorry too. I’m just, God this is too much for me.” Marco answered.

Jean tapped Marco’s foot gently with his heel, trying anything to constitute a gesture of comfort.

“It’s ok. Other than… all of that,” Jean made a wide gesture with his hands, “Is there anything more that you found?”

Marco bit his lip, thinking behind and recounting the events of his day. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically, and the evening cicadas were lulling him into a sleepy daze. All he wanted was to give in and curl up on the floor.

“Not that I can think of.” He replied instead. “I just wish I knew where to start from here, without raising any suspicion.”

Jean tapped a finger to his chin in thought.

“Maybe you could talk to Mikasa? Connie? Or Bert and Reiner. Armin drove me home after my fight with Eren, but those guys were at the fair too.”

Marco waved the idea off.

“That would look weird if I just started asking them questions, after I haven’t really been involved in this case publicly.” He explained.

It was Jean’s turn to frown.

“Yeah.” The teen sighed. “Maybe you don’t have to ask them anything, maybe they’ll tell you what they know voluntarily. I think the answer is a lot closer than we realize.”

Marco leaned over the growing evidence pile, and his eyelids drooped.

“I hope you’re right. I just want this to be over.” Marco lied.

Truthfully, he was afraid this wasn’t going to end well for either of them.

Chapter Text

Marco ate his breakfast absentmindedly that morning.

He had woken up about an hour before six, after leaving Jean in the Shire just a half hour past twelve the night before.

And he had hardly slept a wink.

The stress from the case was eating him alive. He didn’t know how to manage being a student, a son and a detective all at the same time.

Marco was in way over his head.

As the sun peaked over the horizon, his mom came shuffling down the stairs in her pink bunny slippers, squeezing his shoulders in an act of comfort once she had reached the kitchen.

“How are you feeling baby?” Mrs. Bodt asked, in her scratchy morning voice.

She fixed part of his hair before moving on to make herself some breakfast.

“I’m fine,” he lied, “How are you?”

She smiled. “Oh, you know, the usual. But I am still worried about Jean…”

Mrs. Bodt treaded lightly on the subject of Jean as she cooked herself some bacon, and Marco felt his own shoulders sagging sadly to the floor.

Me too mom. Me fuckin too.

Despite the overwhelming stress that had stemmed from the conversation he had shared with Jean the night before, Marco actually found himself enjoying the rest of the time he had spent in the Shire afterwards.

The two teens ran through Marco’s class notes, they bounced investigation ideas off of each other, and they even shared a little laugh while they listened to the music from Jean’s pocket radio.

Marco recalled fondly how Jean looked when he laughed. He reminisced on how the guy’s whole face crinkled inwards, how his cheeks became rosy and vibrant from the lack of oxygen.

It filled him with drunk happiness, to distract Jean from the case even if only for a moment.

Marco also felt it was safe to assume that Jean was being sincere with his promises last night.

I did not kill Eren. I did not kill Armin.

Despite all the evidence pointing to Jean as the suspect, there was something else to it. The answer wasn’t as easy as the police were making it seem, there was an illusion or a manipulation somewhere in the story. 

“Yeah. I miss him.”

Marco swirled a spoon against the half sized portion of cereal had had poured for himself. He hardly had an appetite anymore, how could he eat when his friends were dying?

”They want us to think Jean had something to do with the murders, but I just don’t believe it.”

Marco shook his head, his fist clenching around the utensil. He scooped the soggy grains angrily into his mouth.

Mrs. Bodt scowled, but she hummed in vague agreement and left it there.

Marco had decided enough was enough. He needed to begin the second half of his investigation before more harm could come to his friends. He needed to go through Armin’s things, and gather whatever the police hadn’t already taken into evidence.

Maybe Armin would have left a message, something only he trusted his friends to find.

Marco groggily hopped into his car and took off down the uneven pavement of his neighborhood, counting the street lamps that passed overhead as he sped to the school.

Marco glanced down at his knuckles over the steering wheel, and recalled how purple Jean’s knuckles were last night. He tried not to imagine how painful the bruising on Jean’s ribs must’ve felt too.

Marco bit his lip. Why did Jean have to act like a fucking idiot at such a bad time? What did Eren even say in the first place that could cause Jean to start swinging?

Marco and Jean had been best friends for many years. Whatever anyone had to say about Jean, so long as there was no real threat behind it, wasn’t anything worth fighting over. All they needed was each other, and they could face anything together.

Eren was still good friends with Marco until the day that he passed, too. Surely there was no bad blood between them, nothing to cause Eren to be hyper-critical like that.

The faster his heart rate accelerated, the heavier his foot weighed on the gas pedal.

Marco hadn’t noticed he was speeding until he flew past a stop sign, and a lady gave him the finger. He slowed himself down significantly, both on the road and in his racing mind. He stole three deep breaths, and grounded himself.

Marco had to focus, he was no use to anyone if he suddenly perished a la car accident.

The teen reminded himself that he could simply ask Jean his questions later, instead of allowing them to plague him now.

Marco rolled up to the school with a queasy feeling in his stomach. Classes had all been cancelled yesterday, due to Armin’s untimely murder. But they were all resumed as usual, hardly twenty-four hours later.

Marco surveyed his head in the direction of Armin’s parking spot, and his heart sank when he found it empty.

He prayed he wouldn’t lose any more of his friends in this killing spree. One was already enough, and two was too many.

Marco entered the academic building and began a long walk to the west wing, where Armin’s locker sat completely unguarded. Starting there was guaranteed to yield the best results, but he was afraid to appear suspicious as a result of snooping.

He knew he had to be insanely careful. If the killer was somehow another Trost High student and they noticed Marco peeking around, he was at risk of death by caesarean fashion.

Marco glanced back and forth in the hallway in front of Armin’s locker, but paused when he noticed the girl who was standing in front of it with the door open wide.

Mikasa was shuffling through Armin’s things, her eyes bleary and clouded. Marco was reminded of his immense pain for her, but he pushed it down momentarily to qualm his curiosity about why she was there.

Marco had also made a fair assumption that she was not the killer. Those two boys weren’t just her best friends, they were her brothers. She wouldn’t hurt a hair on their heads, and would’ve sacrificed her life for theirs if given the chance.

“Mikasa?” Marco cleared his throat, drifting up to stand on her left.

She looked up from Armin’s things to meet Marco’s eyes, and offered him the tiniest of smiles.

“Hey.”

She was quiet, pushing her scarf up over her chin and picking at it between her fingers.

Marco snuck a glance into the open locker. “Are you… looking for something of Armin’s?”

The deceased teen still had a jacket hanging up on the back hook, a few books from literature and history piled up on the shelf, and a couple of photographs taped up against the locker wall.

Marco couldn’t see anything else of interest inside the locker, but he knew Armin probably wouldn’t have left his findings with his school things, not to mention that the police would have already raided it for evidence.

He would just have to dig deeper.

“Actually, I just came to get these.” Mikasa whispered, pulling one of the photographs out of the locker. The blue tack stayed on both the back of the photo and the wall of the locker, and Marco leaned in closer.

It was a picture of Mikasa, Armin and Eren, all dressed up for prom back in May.

She smiled at the print, rubbing Eren’s face with her thumb as she sniffled.

“I think I’ll be selfish a little and take them home. Maybe I’ll even make a scrapbook.”

She plucked a few of the other photos out of the locker, and tucked she them safely into her bag. As her fingers trembled and struggled with the clasp, Marco’s heart squeezed.

He rubbed her shoulder gently to offer his comfort.

“I’m here for you, if you need anything.” He notified, allowing his hand fall back down to his side.

Mikasa nodded, but tipped her head over in accusation.

“Thank you… but what are you doing here?” She asked, gesturing to Armin’s locker. “Came to be selfish too?”

Marco grinned, grabbing the wool jacket out from the back of the locker.

“Something like that. I think it’s about time someone got to the bottom of this whole thing. Don’t you?” He asked, giving her a hopeful gleam.

Mikasa’s eyes shined up at him, and she smiled wider than she had in days.

“I think you’re right.”

Tears were already gathering in her eyes again.

Classes passed by like sand in an hour glass: so painfully slow. 

Marco stared at the wall for most of the lecture, having no patience to take notes or do much else besides wonder to himself about the case. To wonder about Jean.

He hadn’t quite confronted his feelings for Jean yet, mostly because there were bigger problems at hand. But he knew he couldn’t ignore them for long.

The thought of being in love with a murder suspect made Marco both nauseated as fuck, and shiver with excitement.

He knew Jean probably didn’t have a murderous bone in his body, which made his feelings somewhat easier to cope with.

But that didn’t mean by any measure that Jean wasn’t guilty.

He imagined writing Jean letters while he was locked away in prison. Marco would confess how he felt for him in the pages of his notebook, with hearts and doodles like a psycho-obsessed girl.

Would he be able to get over Jean, if it was true that he was the murderer?

Marco doubted it. There probably wasn’t anything Jean could do that would cause Marco to love him any less.

Maybe Marco wouldn’t even be absolved of the guilt himself. If the police did catch Jean, and he decided to take Marco down with him, they’d be in orange jumpsuits together. They’d spend the rest of their lives stuck behind bars, sharing a cell.

None of those pathetic scenarios included the fact that Jean would never return his feelings anyways.

It was just terrible, two of Marco’s friends had been murdered a mere day ago, and the most important question on his mind was if Jean wanted him in the way he wanted Jean.

Why did everything always have to be so complicated?

Marco desired so badly for there to be a positive outcome to this, or something that didn’t add up to Jean being the one to stab Armin and Eren.

Marco needed Jean, more than anything else in the world. He needed him more than he needed his inhaler, more than guaranteed safety and wealth. He needed him more than he needed his own father.

It would be one hell of a quarter life crisis: Marco coming to terms with being in love with a serial killer.

So in the mean time, he was going to pretend as if that wasn’t a genuine possibility.

Marco rushed out of class with Armin’s jacket in his his arms. He rubbed the fabric gently between the pads of his fingers, pretending he could still feel the warmth of Armin’s body heat in it. The material was incredibly soft, and Marco teared up as he held the article to his cheek.

He would never see his friend wearing it again. Armin was anemic, he had worn that jacket just about everywhere. And now he was dead, and would be cold forever.

Marco missed hearing Eren and Armin’s stories at lunch. He wanted to watch Eren lead a legendary game again, or witness Armin’s next big art project.

What could they have possibly done to deserve their fates?

Marco rushed out of the academic building and back to his car, where he hopped in and plugged in Armin’s address into the GPS. He hadn’t been there since Armin’s birthday last year, a fact that haunted him even more. 

Armin hadn’t made it to his eighteenth birthday, which was just around the corner. He hadn’t been able to go to college abroad, and explore the world like he wanted.

Death was such an abstract concept.

Armin’s neighborhood was on the north side of town, where he lived with his grandfather in a little retirement community. Armin’s parents had both passed away when he was younger, so his grandfather claimed sole custody until he was graduated.

Armin’s grandfather was a sweet old man, one of those types who checks in on you every fifteen minutes. One that asks if you want any milk and cookies, or maybe a glass of water. One who was always down to assemble a puzzle on the coffee table.

He adored Armin, and loved to entertain the other Trost High students who hung out for study sessions.

Marco prepared himself for the state he might find Armin’s grandfather in, or if he would even be let into the home at all.

He was grasping for straws in the case at that point, trying desperately to keep up with the police.

Marco knew that Trost PD weren’t looking in the right place, call it intuition or whatever fit. They were too blinded by the obvious. Jean wasn’t the Titan Killer, and he was determined to prove it.

Marco pulled into the driveway of the single-story brick foundation, and he took a deep breath. He ensured his inhaler and notepad were both tucked up safely in the back pocket of his jeans before stepping out.

The freckled teen strolled up to the front door, and glanced down at a brown shaggy door mat that read ‘Wipe your paws!’

Marco smiled at the personality of the decor, and knocked firmly thrice before stepping back. He waited thirty seconds, debating if he should knock again, until an older gentleman unhooked the latch and opened the door.

The man was haunched forward with age, a cane grasped firmly in his right hand. He was balding at the crown of his head, but he had little light and dark grey whispies that covered up the rest of his scalp. His silver square-frame glasses made his blue eyes so bright and bold that it was kind of hard for Marco to look at him directly.

Under his frail legs, A little shih tzu breed wagged its tail furiously and barked in alarm. The little creature decided to begin jumping and scratching against the glass, once he noticed Marco standing there in front of him.

“Quiet, Agent!” Mr. Arlert commanded, waving his cane angrily.

Agent ducked his head and backed away, obeying the instruction with a whimper as he sat by the old man’s side again.

Mr. Arlert swung the glass door wide and squinted up at Marco, his eyes softening in faint recognition.

“Marco? Lad, what are you doing here?” He asked softly, faltering when he noticed Armin’s jacket tucked under his arms.

Marco smiled mournfully, holding out the jacket for him to see.

“I uh… came to return this to you. I also came because I hoped you might let me come in, to say my goodbyes? I know it’s a weird request, but…” Marco fumbled, his eyes glancing back down at the doormat.

He wondered how many times Armin wiped his shoes on that very mat.

“I just wanted to see Armin’s room again, if you’ll allow me to have a minute. And I want to find a few photographs for Mikasa.”

Mr. Arlert’s expression was meek, but he was smiling. He grasped Marco by his shoulder with the hand not holding the cane, his grip shaky and dependent.

“Come in, son.” He invited.

“Thank you.” Marco nodded, stepping through the door into a warm room that smelled like whiskey and moth balls.

Marco subconsciously counted all of the glass display cases in the room, and each were filled with a bunch of old china and fancy bottles of alcohol. The doors rattled when you walked by, and the glassware bounced and shuddered.

He remembered this living room from Armin’s birthday, but all of the parcels and letters on the kitchen table and by the foyer were new. Several white and pink envelopes were either addressed to Armin, or they were notices from the Police department, or they were bills from the Coroner’s office.

Marco felt uneasy, standing in Armin’s home and seeing all this personal shit. It was as if there was a hidden secret, waiting to jump out and bite Marco.

Agent howled himself into a barking fit again, which was enough to scare Marco out of his daze.

He jumped backwards at the sudden noise, and Mr. Arlert waived his cane at the dog once more.

“I told you quiet now!” The old man complained, but continued to lead Marco deeper into the hallway.

“I’m sorry for his fuss. He isn’t fond of anyone that isn’t Armin or I.”

Mr. Arlert’s voice wavered at the mention of his grandson. He seemed taken aback for a moment, but he recovered himself quickly.

”Once he get’s to knowin’ ya though, he won’t leave ya alone!”

Marco turned his attention to the walls of the hallway, investigating the photo frames that hung on the walls.

He examined all of the pictures of Armin when he was a toddler, and something twinged painfully inside his chest at the sight of them. There were a few that featured Armin’s parents, and both of them wore similar wide frame glasses with great big smiles.

Marco wondered if maybe Armin was with them now, reunited somewhere. It was a thought that threatened to make the teen cry, so he immediately dismissed it.

Once Mr. Alert stopped in front of Armin’s bedroom door, he made no attempt to open it for Marco. This was the one tour he wasn’t going to give.

The old man cleared his throat, his mustache twitching.

“I haven’t been able to bring myself to go in there, since…”

Mr. Arlert trailed off, his eyes lost.

Marco decided to pat his shoulder in tender acceptance, diverting his attention.

“I understand.” He squeaked. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Mr. Arlert nodded, but wandered back down the hallway as to avoid the complexity of his emotions.

And with that, Marco took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The curious teen was immediately greeted by a dozen movie posters, maps, prints and other various papers displayed over every square inch of the walls.

There were hanging lights and lamps strewn all over the ceiling, in no particularly organized fashion. Armin’s bed rest in the corner, still totally unmade. Half of the blanket draped against the floor, as if the teen had just woken up for school a few hours ago.

Armin’s desk was a mess of a million papers and pens, and his bookshelves were littered with many colorful copies of various subjects and works of fiction.

There was a method to the madness that only Armin knew, and Marco swallowed sand once he had full visualization of the scene.

There was a ton of ground to cover, and Marco wouldn’t overstay his welcome in their home. It was only by Mr. Arlert’s grace and kindness that he was even there, and part of his reason for visiting Armin’s room was a total lie.

Marco felt absolutely filthy about the whole ordeal, so he tried not think about morals at all. He had important business to attend to, this lie was for investigation purposes only.

Marco began by rummaging through Armin’s desk, reading the obscure headlines on the newspaper collections and thumbing through field notebooks and sketch pads that had fallen behind the furniture.

He opened up drawers sifted through rows and rows of useless cryptic files that Armin kept.

The blonde used to dump about his outlandish theories on museum field trips. He’d talk to his friends about how he planned to gather evidence to support his hypothesis. He gushed about all of the places he’d travel to investigate, all the ruins and dig sites he’d document.

But Armin never actually would live to see any of that through. All of his research was so incredibly detailed, it was lost talent really. Ancient lore wasn’t what Marco was looking for, so he closed the drawers.

There were bushels of homework notes and practice equation sheets in the mess, and a few articles about anthropology topics here and there. Marco had even managed to discover a treasure map, with an x circled over some specific beach on the coast of Italy. But once again, it wasn’t what he was looking for. So he put everything back and left the desk.

Marco moved on to Armin’s bed and his backpack next, but just found more of the same.

There was a book the blonde had been reading, resting unfinished on his nightstand. Marco flipped through the pages to find whatever he could, reading brief sentences in attempt to gather the substance of the material. The description of the title was sort of interesting, but it wasn’t anything that he could draw connections from.

Armin had left off in the middle of the novel, there was still two-hundred odd pages left to read.

Marco placed the book back on the night stand with the bookmark still in it’s rightful place. Armin might never come home to finish the book, but he decided to save the spot for Mr. Arlert. Maybe the old man would pick it up where Armin left off, once he was finally brave enough to explore his grandson’s room.

The book on the nightstand drew Marco’s attention to the shelves of novels on the west side. He didn’t have much time left, Mr. Arlert might start to suspect something strange was going on if he risked taking any longer on this investigation.

So instead of sifting through each book, he decided to read only the titles, searching for anything that might jump out or speak up.

That’s when his eyes landed on a bright red book spine. The title of the novel read Kill Your Darlings, by Max A. Collins.

Marco pulled the book off of the shelf and read the synopsis. It described the book as a fiction novel about a murder mystery, in which each chapter brings the reader closer and closer to the criminal mastermind behind it all.

He opened the book and thumbed through its pages, until he came across a chapter with a piece of notebook paper tucked between the lines.

He unfolded the paper, and read the words marked in dark red ink.

I am a Wolf in Sheep’s clothing, and You’re the Boy who cried Wolf. So, tell Me, Who’s going to believe You now?

Marco’s hands shook, and he braced himself against the wall as he swallowed back bile.

This note wasn’t in Armin’s handwriting.

The Titan Killer had addressed this threat directly to Armin.

“Marco, are you ok in there?” Mr. Arlert called.

Marco practically jumped out of his skin. Talk about impeccable timing!

He tucked the paper back into the page of the novel and slipped ‘Kill Your Darlings’ into his back pocket, right beside his notepad.

“Yes, just grabbing one more photo, sir!”

Marco called out to the older man as he frantically searched the walls for his alibi.

It was an experience identical to finding a needle in a haystack, with all of the movie posters and prints scattered around. Seriously, how hard could it be to find one singular photo?

He finally laid eyes on a dusty, faded polaroid of Mikasa in Sasha’s pool, pinned just above Armin’s headboard.

In the photo, Mikasa was all drunk and giggly, and Eren had her thighs hoisted above his shoulders as if they had just played a game of chicken. The ocean eyed boy was rocking a pair of swim shorts with an absurdly colorful print.

Marco burst through the bedroom door and sped back down the hallway, his palms and hips had been sweating profusely towards the end of his in-home investigation.

He couldn’t handle the weight of the paper tucked in his back pocket.

There was something ominous and foreboding about the message, something that had kept Armin from speaking out.

He wondered if Armin had felt this same fear, as he was stalked and preyed upon by his killer.

Why couldn’t he have tried to get help? What did the note even mean?

This was some horrifying shit. Shit that could get Marco killed, if he wasn’t chary.

Mr. Arlert lead him back from the living room to the front door. He passed Marco a caramel candy before he could leave, and clapped a heavy hand over the teen’s shoulder.

“Thank you for being a good friend to Armin. He didn’t have many of those, but you’re a sweet boy Marco. Please, come by anytime.”

Marco bowed his head respectfully. Before he could walk halfway down the drive, Armin’s grandfather called out one more time.

“Rest assured, the police are going to find who’s responsible!”

Marco yearned for that to be true, but he was one-hundred percent sure that the officers in question were looking in the wrong place.

The teen pulled out the red-spined novel from his pocket once he had escaped the neighborhood. He pinched the threatening note out from between the pages, and unfolded the edges.

Marco read the words inked onto the page over and over again between glances at the road, and he ran through a list of all the handwriting he had seen before.

He was sure it wasn’t Armin’s. Marco remembered every single group project that he and the blonde had ever participated in.

The other students always shoved the pen into Armin’s clammy fingers, because he had the neatest and most satisfying handwriting out of anyone at Trost High.

The book Marco had found amongst Armin’s belongings chilled him to the bone. That title…

Kill Your Darlings.

Who threatened Armin like this? Why fuck with him, why treat him like he was-

A Sheep.

Marco made a sharp turn towards the school.

He had to speak to Jean, immediately.

He wanted to show him the note, to feel safe in his decisions for even just a moment.

Mostly he needed to compare Jean’s handwriting, to gather actual confirmation that Jean wasn’t this… ‘Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing’.

Or maybe it was only because he wanted to see Jean.

He couldn’t remember the last time he watched Jean actually take notes. If the guy ever did write anything down, the paper was always discarded later.

Lectures practically went in one ear, and out the other with Jean. Marco had to help him study almost every other week, but that didn’t mean it was annoying to be of assistance.

The freckled teen slammed the car door shut at the edge of the forest, practically sprinting through the trees. He shouted “It’s me!” As he climbed the ladder with haste.

Marco caught Jean completely by surprise as he emerged from the trap door. The tan haired boy appeared to be napping in the bean bag before his best friend had showed up, listening to whatever was playing on the radio. Another sketch of Marco lay on the floor by his feet.

Marco ignored the illustration. He pulled the novel out of his back pocket for Jean to see, waving it before his eyes as if it were some trump card in their investigation.

And it absolutely was.

Jean finally moved from his seat, picking himself up out of the bean bag to glance between Marco and the bright red spine. He squinted, and Marco could practically hear the gears turning in his brain.

“Ha?” He asked, quirking a brow in confusion.

Marco held it out to him, pointing to the title on the front cover.

“I found this at Armin’s place.”

Jean snatched the book from him, pressing his fingers against the woven hardcover.

“Kill your Darlings. That’s a bit morbid.” He coughed, frowning. “What’s it mean?”

Marco gestured to the book again. “Go ahead, open it.”

Jean obeyed, unfolding its pages until the note fell onto the floor.

The teen stooped down to pick it up, and he unfolded the page just as Marco had done.

Jean’s face paled once he finished the last sentence. He lowered the note to meet Marco’s eyes.

“This isn’t Armin’s, I’m willing to bet.” Jean realized.

“No, I’m afraid it isn’t.”

Marco bent forward to grasp a pencil from the floor, the one resting by the new sketch of Marco. He held it out to Jean, adapting a critically icy stare.

“Please copy that note for me. You have to understand, I just need to make sure it isn’t yours.” He begged.

Jean was suddenly wounded. He didn’t argue against Marco, or even sigh offensively as he loved to do. He simply closed his mouth in disappointment and scribbled down the words.

Marco watched over Jean’s shoulder as he wrote out the same exact sentence, breathing against the back of his friend’s neck in eager anticipation.

Marco studied Jean’s shoulder blade instead of his hand, noticing a yellowing bruise fading below the neckline of his t-shirt. The muscle was tensed up as Jean scribbled away.

Once he was finished, he held the paper out for Marco’s approval, his face screwed up and ticked-off. Jean then turned his back and crossed his arms.

”See? Not mine.”

Marco held the copies up to each other. He was pleased to find they did not match.

The freckled teen heaved a sigh, and surged forward to hug Jean from behind, dropping the two versions of the notes in the process.

Marco buried his face deep into his friend’s shoulder and squeezed him tight. His whole body was vibrating like the strings of a guitar, he was desperate to plant his roots in safe soil.

“I know it isn’t fair of me to keep asking you to prove yourself, but I’m just so scared Jean…”

Marco whispered the words softly against the shorter boy’s skin.

Jean lean back into the touch, expressing his forgiveness the only way he could. His thumb swirled over Marco’s arm in gentle circular motions, as the limb snaked its way around Jean’s waist.

“I know Marco. Its ok.” His breath hitched.

Jean tipped his own head back to rest on Marco’s shoulder. 

They rocked for a minute or two, and Marco didn’t care how intimate the position might be.

He needed the comfort, the care that only Jean could provide. He had been deprived of quality time with his best friend for almost a week, and he missed the guy badly.

He missed feeling safe, too. Back to the days when all they ever did was watch tv or craft terrible jokes about the teachers at Trost High.

“What else can we do? How can we find this guy, how do we stop him?” Marco begged emotionally, turning to look at Jean’s mouth.

His lips were chapped and cracked, and his facial hair was starting to grow back in patches. Jean hadn’t exactly had the opportunity to shave, or practice any kind of skincare at all since he began his stay in the Shire.

Not that Marco minded his appearance, really. Jean was still considerably handsome, even whilst a bit dehydrated and edgy.

He was just making observations.

“We just have to be patient, Marco. I know it’s hard, and I’ve kind of made an ass of myself by running away… but the real killer will have to slip up soon.”

Jean turned his way too. He watched Marco’s eyes dance, and tapped his forehead gently to his friend’s in mutual respect.

The sensation of Jean’s breath tickling Marco’s lips was literally electric. He could taste the heat of Jean’s mouth. But he resisted whatever urge he had to capture Jean in a lip-lock, and adhered to the task at hand.

Marco pulled away from Jean to pick up the sketch.

“Hey, this look’s good,” he switched. “Did you just use graphite for it?”

Jean flushed at the compliment, stealing the paper away from Marco to hang it on a push pin. He stabbed the pin into an old corkboard on the east wall, alongside cutouts of magazine strips and coloring book pages. The sketch provided a desperately needed facelift to the whole treehouse, it breathed new life into it.

“You said I could make shit look good with a no. 2 pencil, so that’s what I did.” He smirked, ruffling Marco’s hair. “Want some of my chips?”

Marco smirked. “Yes please.”

The two teens sat back down to share the snacks. As they munched, Marco thought about all the other questions he wanted to ask Jean.

It was now or never.

Marco swallowed a few more crisps and cleaned his fingers. He cleared his throat politely, situating himself in front of Jean.

“Hey, Jean… what did Eren say to you that made you wanna… you know?”

Marco kicked Jean’s foot gently with his own. He tried his best for the question to read off as simple interest, rather than disappointment.

Jean frowned. His eyes searched the floor for something to adhere to.

“You’ll just be disappointed in me if I tell you.”

There was a time when Jean’s violent behavior might’ve turned Marco off.

But that was a long time ago. There wasn’t a damn thing this boy could do to make Marco walk out on him, and recent circumstances continued to prove that point.

“Try me. As long as you didn’t kill him, there isn’t a lot I could be disappointed by.” Marco encouraged.

Jean stayed silent for a second. His knee bounced anxiously as he considered his next words carefully, and he crossed his arms as he leaned back, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Ugh, ok where do I start?” He chuckled, rubbing his face and groaning.

“Eren was teasing me, about wanting to go see that… movie with you.” He began, picking at the bean bag.

“He just thought it was odd, that you wanted to go see a romcom. So, he started saying some stupid shit.”

Marco did not understand.

“What kind of stupid shit?” He asked, letting his foot rest against Jean’s.

The contact wasn’t much, but it encouraged Jean to keep going. The tan haired boy shook his head, exasperated.

“He was saying that you liked me or something, that it was some kind of a date. He wasn’t being very considerate that maybe you aren’t out to everyone, and he made a few disrespectful comments about you. Well… about us.”

As Jean continued, his face darkened, fueled by his anger of the recollection.

Marco’s ears burned up, and he hugged himself.

So… he knew it was a date.

“Wait… you beat him up because he accused me of being gay in front of the guys?” Marco croaked.

Jean nodded, balling his fists tight. 

”I mean, that brat doesn’t use his brain when he goes on tangents, he just says whatever-… well. I guess it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it.”

Jean paused himself, unfurling his fists. He inhaled deeply through his nose, and exhaled dramatically out of his mouth.

“He didn’t just accuse you of… ya know. He was prying into my own feelings. And I guess I just wasn’t… really ready for him to do that yet.”

Marco’s heart sink with the realization of what Jean was implying.

Eren was teasing Jean for wanting to be alone with Marco. Romantically. On. A. Date.

“Oh Jean,” Marco breathed, leaning forward to squeeze his arm.

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation, you don’t owe anyone your feelings. Besides, we go see movies all the time. It’s not like you haven’t hung out with me before.”

Marco couldn’t help but chuckle, but the sound died in his throat. He cleared his pipes again.

“Eren shouldn’t have pried, and I’m so sorry that he did. I’m sure it would have ruffled my feathers too.”

In their brief silence, Marco investigated Jean’s knuckles. The bruising and swelling had come down a lot since yesterday, but they were still cracked and tender.

“I’m sorry for making you choose between me and them, I shouldn’t have abandoned you guys that night…” Marco trailed off.

“No!” Jean shouted, taking Marco’s hand firmly. “You don’t have to apologize, please Marco. I wanted to go with you, I really did.”

Jean blinked in frustration, his nose scrunching up. 

”But I owed it to Connie to go out with them. He wanted me to try to get along with Eren, and I can’t imagine what he could be thinking about me right now…”

As Jean delved deeper into the situation, he cursed and tightening his grip on Marco’s hand.

“The point is, the county fair was one massive fucking shit show. And I can’t wait for this whole thing to end, so I can go back to watching movies with you. Horror, Action, Romcoms… whatever you want.”

Jean finished his sentiment by offering Marco a shy smile.

It was almost too intense.

The electricity caused his skin crackle where Jean was still holding his hand, and he wondered if Jean could feel it too. He wished Jean would just go on talking forever, he was addicted to the melody of his words.

”Neither can I.”

Marco reveled in his touch for as long as he could, until Jean finally let go.

Later that evening, Marco said his goodbyes, and decided it was best to return home. The sun was nearly set, and he would have a lot of explaining to do if he didn’t get a move on.

The freckled teen climbed down the rugged ladder and waved to Jean, who watched with his hands folded over the wooden banister.

Jean waved back to him, and rested his head atop his arms once Marco disappeared into the woods.

Marco jumped into the drivers side and started up the engine. It took all of two seconds to realize he had forgotten the copy of ‘Kill Your Darlings’ back at the treehouse, but figured it would be safer where it was hidden along with Jean.

Once he was a couple miles down the street, Marco’s phone rang ominously from the passenger seat.

He scooped up the device read out the caller ID, his heart calming down once he recognized the name.

Connie Springer is requesting to call.

Marco picked it up.

“Hey Connie, what’s up?” He asked.

There was an awful wail on the other line, followed by a deeply guttural sob.

“It’s Sasha, Marco. The bastard that got Eren took Sasha too!!”

Chapter Text

Connie’s cries echoed over the grainy phone receiver. The frightening sound left Marco with no other choice but to slam on the breaks.

The freckled teen breathed deeply through his nose, whatever was necessary to keep him from passing out. His world was swimming and swaying through the windshield.

The killer had snatched yet another one of his friends; at that point it seemed almost personal.

In a manner of seconds, Marco had rerouted his whole navigation system to take him to Connie’s house, further disobeying the curfew his mother had put in place for him yesterday.

She was going to be absolutely furious, especially after she found out another student had turned up dead on the weekend news. But, quite frankly, he didn’t care about her future reaction at the moment.

What he really cared about was making sure Connie wasn’t next.

The will to make it to Connie's house completely took over his body, and before Marco could pull over and puke again, he had fully disassociated and engaged his auto pilot.

He didn't know what else to do.

Sasha was dead. Sasha had been murdered, and he didn’t know any of the circumstances, or how long ago police had found her.

But one thing was for sure: Trost had a massive problem on their hands. Three dead high school students, and the origins of a serial killer on the horizon. The death toll did little favors to garner hope.

Nobody was safe anymore.

As Marco rounded the corner of the Springer/Blouse neighborhood, his phone shrieked.

The message was an alert, information about a mandatory city curfew from 7pm until 7am. He checked the clock on the dashboard; the current time reading half past six.

He would probably still be at Connie’s place after the curfew hours began.

Marco would just have to be extremely sneaky on his way out. Even if he was caught or pulled over, he could always get a free police escort home.

But right now Connie was all that mattered. The poor guy was frightened, distraught, and alone.

Marco had spent entirely too much time away from his friends. He could put Jean on hold and set aside everything else for at least an hour or two, he was sure the Shire would still be there when he came back.

As he rolled into the driveway of the buzzcut boy's home, the front door swung open to reveal a teary-eyed Connie still in his school clothes.

Marco’s heart broke, seeing the way he held himself as he sobbed. But he hardly had the chance to offer condolence before Connie pulled him inside and shut the door.

“Thank god you’re here.” Connie choked, hugging Marco tight.

The buzzcut boy was hyperventilating, and shaking underneath Marco's tender grasp. Marco stroked Connie’s shoulder blades over his shirt.

“Connie, what happened?? Are you okay?”

Marco’s eyes were darting around the main hallway, searching for signs of life in the home. “Are your parent’s here?”

“No, they’re still at the hospital. Th-they can’t get home until eight, I don’t think they know anything yet…”

Connie was sobbing again. ”They got Sasha Marco. She’s gone, she’s-“

He grasped the fabric of his shirt as his body rocked and convulsed, clenching it tight in his fists.

Marco lead Connie to the couch. He sat with him there, swaying and soothing the boy as he cried. As they both cried.

Sasha was Marco’s best friend too. She would be the third friend he was forced to grieve over that week.

Connie’s weeping was audibly comparable to that of a wounded, dying dog. It was a sound that Marco had never wished to hear from his friend, but it was completely deserved in that moment.

Sasha was one of the only people who knew how to calm Connie down, and she wasn't here to help this time. 

“What can I do?” Marco whispered.

He was gentle with Connie, rubbing his back and reining him in.

Connie blinked dejectedly, shaking his head. He opened his mouth as if he was actually going to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

He closed his mouth again.

After a long pause, Connie rose to his feet. He balled his fists, just as Jean did earlier.

“I can tell you’re trying to solve this case by yourself,” He mumbled. “Mikasa mentioned she saw you at Armin’s locker today.”

Connie pulled a notebook out from his school backpack. He flipped open to the first page, and penciled in two words at the top.

Case Evidence.

Marco felt a shiver run through his body.

He figured as though trusting Mikasa had been a safe bet, that by wooing her with his resolve that he could fly under the radar.

But he didn’t think she’d share the details of his snooping with anyone, let alone Connie.

He also realized that if Connie was onto him, then anyone could be.

Marco had to solve this case quick before the wrong person found out.

Maybe Connie could provide the insight Marco was searching for, maybe he could trust him.

“Am I wrong, or right?” Connie furthered.

Marco sighed in defeat.

“Yeah… you’re right.”

Connie grimaced.

“Well then… what can I do to help you solve this? I can’t keep living in fear that the people I love are gonna die, or that I’m not gonna get to graduate high school, for fucks sake.” He stressed sincerely.

Marco debated feigning ignorance, but eventually gave up. The buzzcut boy wouldn’t have brought any harm to Sasha. He loved her more than anything, and that love was no act.

Marco wandered closer to Connie’s side, offering him a pen.

“First, tell me what you know about the fair. Tell me what everyone said or did that night, and be as accurate as possible.” He encouraged.

Marco circled around the table. He halted in front of Connie, eyeing the notebook on the table.

“It would be nice for you to record it there too, so I can take it with me for reference.”

Connie frowned.

“What else do you need? Surely you can let me in on a little bit of your own findings. I know you know more than you’re telling everyone, but I can’t figure out why. I haven’t seen you this determined about anything in a while, unless it’s related to Jean.”

The accusation forced the hairs on Marco’s neck to stand on end.

Was Connie implying that Marco knew where Jean was hiding? Did he already figure that out too?

Marco inhaled sharply, and listened to reason. There was no need to incriminate himself just yet, Connie simply knew how Marco felt about Jean that’s all.

“I need you to tell me everything you know about-… about how Sasha died, and all the details they found at her crime scene. My involvement in this case has nothing to do with Jean. I am worried about him, sure, but Jean isn’t the ‘Titan Killer’.”

Marco eyed Connie cautiously.

“I want to know the true identity of who hurt my friends. I’m utterly terrified that the killer could be using Jean as a scapegoat, that he’s pulling strings to frame him behind the scenes. And I might not know where Jean is hiding, but I’m sure he’s scared as hell, just as the rest of us are.”

Marco finished, adding a taste of the truth to the end of his sentence.

The freckled teen had become quite good at lying, or more so bending the truth to fit his cover for Jean in recent weeks. It was a shameful skill, but rather practical for now.

Connie bit his lip, whispering “fuck” quietly under his breath.

Marco knew the weight of the information he was asking for; Sasha wasn’t a simple subject to discuss.

Connie and her had a plan to get the hell out of Trost after graduation, and to sustain their own homestead lifestyle together out in the countryside.

But the second after Sasha had been pronounced dead, Connie’s whole future had crumbled. He couldn’t leave Trost without her.

Sasha would want Connie to live for himself. It was a fact both of them knew for sure, but all they could do now was cry about how she was gone.

The thing is, Marco knew Connie would comply and help him solve this case. He wanted Sasha for to be at peace, and peace was only found in justice.

Connie stole the pen from Marco, scribbling furiously.

His handwriting was nearly illegible, but that was thanks to the tears gathering in his eyes and blurring his vision. He pushed them away before they could fall onto the pages and smudge the ink.

“Monday night we were all having a good time at the fair, until Eren decided to tease Jean sometime around eight thirty. That’s when everything took a turn for the worse." Connie's cheeks were sullen and grim.

"Jean swung first, and they kicked each other around for maybe five minutes until security threatened to call the cops on us if we didn’t leave.”

The teen leaned back, bracing himself against the banister by the stairs.

“Bertolt and I decided to get out of there, because Armin and Reiner had told us they would handle it. I remember getting a few texts from Armin saying that Jean would be staying with him for the night, and Reiner said that he had dropped Eren off at the hospital. I remember Bertolt let me know that Reiner had made it home safely just an hour after we had left the fair, and that was the last I heard from everyone.”

As he jot down Connie’s perspective, Marco hummed in thought.

Aside from the fight, the fairgrounds were a dead end in both Eren’s case and Armin’s. This was information Marco already obtained, Connie’s testimony matched up to Jean’s perfectly.

What had happened to Eren between the hospital and getting home? Somebody in Trost knew the answer, and it was clasped trightly between their bloodstained hands.

“Sasha was…” Connie tried to continue, but had to take a pause to breathe.

Marco folded his arms over the same banister Connie was using to support himself, waiting for him to continue.

“…She was found out behind the bleachers on the football field of the school. She was stabbed four times, and-“

Connie covered his mouth as he choked, his eyebrows and lips quivering.

“And her mouth was bruised from pressure, as if someone held her mouth closed to k-keep her from screaming.”

Marco wiped his eyes. He could practically see the scene playing out in his head, and he wished to run in the other direction.

“Annie on the cheer team was the one found her. She had forgotten her Pom Pom’s by the bleachers at cheery practice, and ran out onto the pitch to retrieve them. They say she found Sasha around five, after mostly everyone had left for the day.”

Connie finally finished his story with trembling fingers. He stared at the ground, his eyes completely glazed over.

“That’s all I know.”

”Now…” Connie turned to Marco, pointing a shaking finger at him. “Talk.”

Marco pursed his lips, choosing his words carefully. What information could he offer Connie, and what did he need to keep to himself?

“...I searched Armin’s locker for any clues he might’ve left behind, to see if he knew who was targeting him. I think he knew who killed Eren, and was doing an investigation of his own. It’s just a haunch, but his behavior was so strange on Tuesday, so I returned Armin's jacket to Mr. Arlert this afternoon in exchange for permission to look through Armin’s belongings.”

Connie was totally focused on him, writing everything down in the evidence notebook.

As they discussed Marco’s private investigations, both of their phones continued to chime and beep with texts from their friends, new articles and headlines that had recently been posted, and a half a dozen curfew alerts.

Marco checked his tiny screen for a just a moment. He noticed a couple missed calls from his mom, but chose to ignore them. Instead, he powered the device off and turned back to Connie.

Connie waited for him to finish checking.“What did you find at Armin’s?”

“I… I found a note.” Marco answered hesitantly. “A note from the murderer, it was in a book on his bookshelf.”

“Do you have it with you? We have to give it to the cops!” Connie yelped, searching Marco’s figure for the note.

Marco held up his hands, shaking his head dramatically.

“I don’t have it here, no. It’s… it’s somewhere safe. I can’t just give it to the cops.” Marco answered, grasping Connie’s wrists.

“Trost PD doesn’t have any of the facts right, I can just feel it. Armin knew it too, it’s why he hid the note from them. We have to keep this whole discussion under wraps, can you do that for me?” Marco pleaded.

Connie ripped his hands away and moved back to the couch to fall into it, covering his eyes in disbelief.

“Marco, I can’t even function right now. And you expect me to hide stuff from the police that could help them find this guy?”

Connie growled. "We are all already covering as best we can for Jean, but if they think he's responsible, then who’s to say he isn’t? Jean has every reason to want Eren dead, especially after Monday. I don’t want to think he would kill Armin or Sasha just to keep things quiet, but he ran, Marco, he-“

“Oh would you fuckin’ leave it? Jean didn’t do this!” Marco shouted angrily, startling Connie.

The buzzcut boy uncovered his face to stare idly at the freckled teen.

“How the fuck could you possibly know that Marco?!” He snapped back. “He hated Eren’s guts!”

“Because, the Jean I know wouldn’t go around putting a knife in all his problems. He does get into trouble from time to time, mainly for attention from his parents. But he would never hurt anyone like that!”

Marco’s chest surge with the weight of all he had been carrying that week.

“He’s probably out there, scared to death and confused. But he loves you guys, and he would never do anything to betray you! He is...” Marco gulped, tears springing into his own eyes.

“I know you loved Sasha. And I know she meant to you what Jean means you me. But all I can think about right now is how we’re all being used!”

Marco gripped Connie’s shoulders, his sanity gradually unraveling.

“Can’t you see that?!”

Connie’s eyes were huge, blinking up at Marco in dazed confusion.

“What do you mean? How do you assume we’re being used?”

Marco shook his head and fell backwards, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“I don’t know how to explain it. Whoever is behind this, they’re weaponizing the town’s assumption that Jean is prime suspect. They know everyone has their suspicions, and has composed a false narrative around those suspicions. You have to trust me on this.”

Connie inched to the ground, kneeling to sit beside Marco. He bumped his shoulder against the other’s.

“I trust you Marco. I don’t trust a lot of the things I've been hearing about this case, but I do trust your judgement. So please, just figure this out.” Connie pleaded.

Marco rubbed his eyes, but he nodded heroically.

“Shall we go over more evidence?” He asked, hoping to brush past the emotional outburst.

He hadn’t meant to be so fired up.

Connie looked off towards the kitchen, and paused for a moment. The house was all quiet, aside from the hum of the AC and the droplets of the water acclimating a fish tank.

The local curfew had hit just a few minutes ago, and Marco knew he was going to be in a heap of trouble when he finally made it home.

“No, I think I’m over talking about what happened today. I'm over talking about this week in general.” Connie replied shakily.

“I… don’t want to be without her, Marco. I can’t live without Sasha.”

Connie wailed again, grabbing hold of the fabric over his heart.

Marco’s own heart shrank back painfully at the sudden the display of grief, but he pulled Connie into another big hug.

“You will.” Marco answered.

“She needs you keep going, you have to share her amazing stories with everyone. You're the only one who's heard them all, so let that be your new purpose.” 

Connie didn’t argue further, or even hum to agree.

He just cried.

After an evening of holding each other, Connie checked the time.

“Jesus Marco, you need to get home. The curfew, plus my parents will be here any second…” Connie huffed, wiping the dampness away from his cheeks.

Marco checked his own watch. It was ten minutes to eight, and completely dark outside.

He sighed, realizing it was time to face the consequences of his actions.

“My mom is going to kick my ass.” Marco groaned.

His dread caused Connie to chuckle.

“Well, thank you. For coming over, and being here. I’m sorry I couldn’t provide more input for your investigation.”

Connie apologized with a bow, helping gather Marco’s things.

Marco waved his hands. “You've helped me plenty. I’m going to figure this out, Connie. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else I need from you, or if I find something groundbreaking.”

Marco made the promise as he followed Connie to the front door.

Upon opening it, Marco caught the scent of rain in the breeze, and peeked out to find droplets beginning to shower down onto the driveway.

“I’ll be here,” the buzzcut boy replied. “At least, as long as the killer doesn’t intent to get me next.”

Marco expression evolved to sadness and bitters.

“You won’t be next. Just stay inside, and stay safe. We’re close to the end of this; I can feel it.”

The freckled teen gripped Connie’s shoulder. He offered a stiff nod, before rushing out into the rain and jumping back into his car.

Marco pulled out of the driveway, but waited until Connie shut the door to exit into the neighborhood.

He glanced back and forth as he drove, keeping an eye out for cops or serial killers in general. It was about a fifteen-minute drive from Connie’s place to his, and he didn’t love his odds of making it there undetected.

And just when Marco assumed it couldn’t get any worse, there were the red and blue lights flashing in his rearview mirror.

Marco cursed, checking everything he had with him in the car. There was nothing out of the ordinary, and luckily, he didn’t have the book from Armin's place with him.

Marco veered off the road, engaging his hazard lights and rolling down his window. The rain was steady, but didn’t threaten to get any worse, so he made no attempt to cover up.

The officer strolled up to the door, and once Marco made the connection, his face fell.

He had been pulled over by none other than Deputy Ackerman.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Bodt. Aren’t you aware there is a curfew in effect?” The deputy asked, shining his flashlight in Marco’s eyes.

Marco winced, squinting.

“No sir. I just came from my friend Connie’s, now I’m trying to get home.” He responded quick.

“There’s a curfew?”

Mr. Ackerman’s lip twitched. The officer nodded in doubt, eyeing Marco suspiciously.

“Yeah. Seven pm to seven am. You know, because of the murders?”

His answer was cool, icy. He checked the rest of Marco’s cabin with the flashlight beam.

Marco held his gaze, quirking a brow. “I see. I don’t suppose you could give me an escort? My mom must be worried sick about me.”

Mr. Ackerman stared him down for a few seconds, glancing back and forth across the road.

Nobody else came.

“I’m sure she is… Take it slow, kid. I won’t be finding you out and about after seven again until the cases are solved, correct?” The deputy glared.

Marco gave the deputy a cheeky thumbs up.

Deputy Ackerman left the side of Marco’s car to get back into his. The blinding lights finally came off, and he followed behind Marco as the teen completed the rest of the drive.

Once Marco pulled up into his driveway, Deputy Ackerman sped off in the opposite direction, leaving him to stand alone in front of the residence.

As the teen searched the property for his mom and her aforementioned shotgun, he noticed an unfamiliar car in the driveway.

It was a black SUV, with California plates.

Marco felt his stomach begin to churn.

There’s absolutely no way he’s here right now.

A few more steps up the driveway, and the front door was thrown open by his mother.

“I swear to god you had better get your ASS in this house OR ELSE!” She shouted.

There were tears and aggression in her tone, but as Mrs. Bodt approached her son, her anger melted away and she hugged him tight.

”You scared me half to death!”

Marco squeezed her back as the rain came down on the two of them, further soaking their clothes. 

“You couldn’t have been asked to answer your damn phone? I gave it to you for that reason!! Get inside and explain yourself.”

She hissed the command into his shoulder, grabbing his ear to yank him inside.

“Ouch! - yes ma’am.” Marco responded, defeated.

He imagined his punishment would be extreme, and rather lengthy. She was not often forgiving.

When Marco came into the foyer, he noticed a briefcase he didn’t recognize sitting by the front door, and a pair of men’s dress shoes unlaced on the shoe rack. His suspicions were further worsened by the fact that his mother still seemed reserved and uptight, prior to Marco's disobedience.

Something wasn't right.

Once in the kitchen, Marco’s mother whipped her head around and crossed her arms at him.

“I don’t ask you for much, and I never have to be hard on you. So, what has gotten into you lately? Especially now that kids are dying, this sort of disobedience is dangerous!” She whined, pointing her finger down on the island counter.

Marco bit his lip, avoiding eye contact.

“I know I missed curfew today, I’m really sorry. It was Connie, he really needed me. His parent’s work late, and he was scared-“

“Don’t you think I was scared too, Marco? That I needed you?” She cried.

“Another one of your friends are dead! Do you know how afraid I was that it was you, when you wouldn’t respond to my calls?”

Her eyes were a waterfall.

Marco cast his eyes down even lower in guilt, too sad to watch her writhe. He hadn’t thought about her feelings at all, it was really a shame.

“I know mom, I’m sorry.” Marco answered, hugging himself.

But he had already rode this heartache pony back at Connie's house, and was desperate to get out of an earful without crying anymore.

He had to find something to change the topic.

“Whose stuff was that in the foyer?” Marco asked, quirking a brow at her.

His moms’ lips pursed, eyes twitching at the question.

“That isn’t what this is about, Marco. You aren’t being let off that easy-“

She was interrupted when another figure joined them in the kitchen.

It was a man, as tall as Marco with the same hair cut and freckles splashed across his cheeks. He was pudgier, with more wrinkles and sun spots than Marco could ever compete with, but the resemblance was uncanny.

It was Marco’s father.

He was dolled up in a nice dress shirt and clean khaki pants, and his tie gave Marco the impression that the man had just decided to drop by after a long day at work.

He remembered the last time he saw his father in this kitchen. He recalled the last words he ever said.

You’re no son of mine. You’re a pansy, and and a whimp. Your mother has made you soft.

Marco’s stomach fell through to the floor, and he froze in place.

His assumptions had been correct. What was the deadbeat doing in their kitchen, after no word from him in five long years?

“Gloria, Marco has the right to know that I’m here.” His father’s voice boomed.

The sound was was sourly unfamiliar in the space. It had been a long time since the house had sheltered this man, and the walls echoed his words disharmoniously.

It was just as Marco remembered it.

“Hodge, please.” Marco’s mother tried, but Hodge held up a hand to silence her.

Mrs. Bodt shrunk back, her hands fidgeting just above her belly button.

Marco felt an intense anger stir within him. He sharpened his eyes on his father, his forearms tensing painfully.

“What are you doing here?” He hissed, his words were laced with poison.

Marco’s harsh tone seemed to surprise his father, but the man didn’t step back or stand down.

“Well Marco, I saw the news about the Titan Killer. I thought I’d come down here and try to help you and your mother adjust.”

The explanation was beyond pathetic.

Marco glanced down at the metal water bottle, resting on the kitchen island. It must’ve been Hodge’s, as he had never seen it before. Marco read the quotes on all of his stickers, gauging the new life his father had adapted.

One of the stickers read ‘103.5, The Brilliant Broadcast’.

“Help how? What could you possibly do to help catch a serial killer?” Marco spit, crossing his arms and glaring up at his father.

He observed mother shrinking back further into the dining room as their argument intensified. Who was this man, to come back into their home after abandoning them for the sake of some hero complex?

Their last discussion as a family had gone exactly like this. Marco was finally sick of his father’s shit, just like he was now. He fought back once before, he shoved him out half a decade ago.

He didn’t want to hear the sound of his father beating up on his mother ever again.

“I just thought this household needed a man to look after it again. Your mother tells me you’ve been worrying her, that you’ve been acting strange.” Hodge responded.

His father was manipulative, narcissistic, and above all else abusive. There was no way he was here for protection, he absolutely had ulterior motives. Marco just had to figure out what.

Marco glared sideways at mom, searching her for the truth.

Did you really call him?

Mrs. Bodt frowned. Her eyes fell down, confirming the statement.

Why call him, of all people?

“Well,” Marco sniffed.

He turned back to his father, tucking his arms under themselves in mild discomfort.

“We haven’t needed you for years, and we certainly don’t need you now. So, you may leave.”

Marco gestured to the door, making no attempt to move closer to his father.

He killed off any happy memory he had of Hodge, and buried them the day that he left.

There would be no redemption that Marco could trust. His father would just give up on them, as he always did.

“Marco, the FBI are on their way here, to Trost. This case is trending in the media because of how tricky it is! Surely you both would feel safer-“

“Is that why you came back?” Marco interrupted, pushing past his father to grab the water bottle.

“Is it because our town has a big story? Something you can profit off of?” He accused, shoving the bottle into his father’s hand with intense force.

Mr. Bodt turned it around to reveal the broadcasting sticker.

The man glared at the metal and grimaced.

“So what, I’m a reporter. It’s part of my job to follow the hottest topics. But I came here to protect my family, and to make sure you don’t cause your mother any more stress. You’re grounded, and until they catch this killer you won’t be going anywhere but school. No clubs, no hanging out with any of your friends.” He grumbled.

Marco threw up his hands and laughed in disbelief, turning towards his mother. His father was just repeated the same garbage she had fed him yesterday, not making any difference.

“Mom, you can’t be serious. You really think he’s here for us?” Marco asked.

She didn’t meet his stare, or dare to speak up.

Marco turned back to his father, eyes darkening.

“You don’t get to come back and make demands. The last I remembered, you said I wasn’t your son, so that doesn’t make us family now does it? Is that what all this case is to you, a hot topic???”

Marco slammed his hands against the metal sink. His mother’s teacup clattered violently against a plate, and fell into the basin.

”My friends are fucking dead!”

…

”They’ve been murdered, and the piece of shit that did it is still out there. It isn’t a joke, or a highlight for your stupid broadcast.”

Hodge finally fell silent. He hadn’t seen Marco in five years, and he was about to learn just how much his son had grown.

Marco panted.

“If you won’t listen, and if mom can’t realize that we don’t need you, I’ll just have to demonstrate that I can handle myself.”

The determined teen shouldered past his father, and ascended the stairs to his room.

He threw the door closed behind him and locked it swiftly, grabbing up his backpack. He tossed extra clothes and snacks into it, and tucked anything else he might need for a night in the side pockets.

While he packed, he could hear his parents arguing in the hallway outside of his room. Their volume was drastically high, but he wasn’t listening to anything they were saying.

None of it mattered anyway. The only path forward in this case was to become a part of it himself. He would have to continue the investigation, only this time, he wouldn’t be coming back home.

Not until it was all solved, and his father was gone.

He hoped his mom would forgive him. That was, if he could forgive her first for calling his father for help.

Hodge only operated on his own greed, and this issue was no different. Marco didn’t know how she couldn’t see that.

You better not put your fucking hands on her, or so help me god.

As his parents struggled to find the key to his room, Marco unlatched the window and jumped out, his bag resting safely against his back.

He slipped quietly down the trellis and through the backyard, unlocking the shed and searching its contents for more supplies. There were a few extra sodas and snacks to score, but nothing else of value.

Marco stopped to grab the sketch Jean had completed of Marco, from earlier that week. Maybe the picture wasn’t of value literally, but it was sentimental.

Marco was quite fond of the drawings Jean featured him in, and he would be damned if his father somehow got ahold of his things and burned them in a fit of mindless rage.

It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened.

Marco shoved the drawing into his bag. He un-racked his bike, throwing it quickly over the fence with a grunt.

Pedaling away, he could still hear the sound of his parents’ arguing aimlessly with each other. He hoped they would be stalled long enough for him to slip into the night, to put some off miles between them and to stay hidden.

As Marco pedaled faster, he grew paranoid. The sun was completely gone, the streets were quiet and empty again. Nothing but a dog barking and crickets chirping could be heard, and Marco was filled with the sense of dread and unease.

He heard twigs snap to his right, and it caused him to whip his head around. He could swear there were shapes in the darkness, figures staring back at him. But he assured himself it was all just his imagination.

Marco picked up the pace.

He made it to the woods in just under twenty minutes, pulling the bike with him into the tree line so nobody out there could find him. He parked the bike at the base of the treehouse, and panted up at it’s entrance.

Marco hadn’t given much thought to what story he was going to spin for Jean about why he ran away from home, nor had he come to terms with the reality of spending the next few nights sleeping against someone who could still be the murderer.

But at that point in the case, Jean was mostly cleared in Marco’s mind. The evidence didn't solely point to the tan haired boy, it was all too vague.

“Jean! Are you awake?’ Marco called out.

A few seconds later, Jean peered hesitantly out over the side.

“Marco?” the teen called, breathing a hefty sigh of relief when he recognized his best friend.

“Freckles, you keep visiting me so late. Can’t sleep without saying goodnight huh?”

He was teasing of course, but Marco ignoring his comment and climbed up the ladder.

“Listen Jean, I’m in a… predicament.” Marco started.

He brushed himself off and set his backpack down by the bean bag, gesturing for Jean to take a look at what he brought with him.

Jean opened the pack eagerly, but frowned in confusion when he noticed the spare clothes and the sleeping bag buckled to the side.

“What kind of predicament is this?” Jean asked, holding up Marco’s night shorts.

“…It’s the kind where I ran away from home, and sorta need a place to crash.” Marco explained, coming to kneel next to Jean.

The other boy searched his expression for a hint of humor, but adapted concern when he found none.

“Ah. I seem to be a bit of an expert in that area myself, so I could advise you on a thing or two.” Jean hummed, nudging Marco gently.

“You are, aren’t you?” Marco chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

Both of them had committed more illegal activities that week than they ever had in their entire lives.

Jean moved to turn the radio off, where it hung by the window. He threw the thing onto the beanbag chair, and peeked back down at Marco.

“I know it’s still sort of… hard, to trust me and all, but you could stay here with me in the Shire. I won’t complain, it’s been quite lonely here.” Jean suggested sadly.

He was sitting on the table space and swinging his feet back and forth now, hands clasped together in his lap.

The rain pattered quietly against the tin roof of the treehouse, and reminded Marco to wipe the moisture off of his face.

“I… would be interested in staying here. I trust you, Jean.” Marco whispered.

He didn’t know if he had actually meant it, but the words came with surprising ease. He wondered if maybe it was already something he truly believed.

“What happened that made you want to run away...?” Jean asked cautiously, tilting his head. “Mom acting crazy?”

Marco pulled a towel out of his bag and stripped his shirt, drying off the rain water that soaked his skin. He watched as Jean avert his eyes gently, and he wished the guy hadn’t.

It’s ok, you can look.

“My dad.” Marco answered shortly, tossing the towel by the trap door.

He knew Jean hated Hodge just as much as he did, if not more.

Marco slipped on a clean shirt to sleep in, ignoring the glitch in Jean’s expression.

“Like, your mom was talking about your dad and you couldn’t take it anymore?”

Marco hissed. “No, more like he came back to our house to get his money’s worth out of this town, out of the cases.”

Jean straightened up. He was no longer fidgeting with his fingernails.

“Hodge came back?”

Marco nodded his head, meeting Jean’s cold orbs. The teen was seething inside.

“That bastard.” Jean concluded, his knuckles gripping the edge of the table.

“Yeah.” Marco said. “He has my mom believing that he's here to help us. But I know he’s just in Trost to milk every cent out of the 'sob story of a small town plagued by a serial killer'.”

Marco held up his hands in frustration.

“I left home because I knew I had to make a choice, fix my family or fix our lives.” Marco said, gesturing between himself and Jean.

When Jean didn’t respond, Marco covered his face with his hands. “This is insane. I have no idea how to solve a case, Jean what am I doing?”

Jean jumped down from the table to stand in front Marco, grabbing his freckled wrists and pulling him to attention.

“You are doing what you feel is right, and I see no wrong in that.” He encouraged.

Marco turned pink, nodding in response.

“I gave him a piece of my mind before I left, though. I showed him how the years have made me hate him.”

Marco gazed into the pits Jean’s eyes, searching for a hint of pride or achievement.

Jean’s lip twitched slightly upwards.

“Good. That coward deserves to feel like shit. He deserves worse in my opinion, but I think you know that.”

Marco pulled Jean down to sit beside him in the beanbag, leaning into his side. Jean was so warm, and Marco was exhausted.

“I talked to Connie too. Jean… Sasha was murdered. It happened right after we hung out, just a couple hours ago…” Marco trailed off.

The times for Sasha’s murders were still too close to tell, he had only one piece of evidence that negated Jean being the killer: the note.

Jean covered his mouth, tears immediately pooling in his eyes.

“Sasha…? That can’t be right. She would’ve given them hell, she would’ve…”

Marco hugged the teen close as he let his sentence die off.

“She tried to, Jean. She had defensive wounds. She tried.”

Jean let himself go, crying into Marco’s shoulder as his body reeled in pain.

Marco soothed his friend for a while. He waited until he had calmed down significantly, before reaching forward to grab the radio.

Together they wheeled through stations to find something soft. The whole day should have been scrapped, it was terrible from start to finish.

“Did Connie say anything? Anything that could tie someone else to the murders?”

Jean had asked, once he finished remembering how to breathe. He rubbed his eyes aggressively, and cleared his nose by snorting it all in.

Marco shook his head in denial.

“He nailed down a few events for our timeline, but it’s nothing I’ve been able to connect so far.”

Jean pushed himself up and removed his shirt too, changing into his own night clothes.

Marco seized the opportunity to roll out his sleeping bag, unzipping it so it would cover the floor. He pulled a blanket out of his backpack to lay over the sleeping bag, smoothing the bedding tediously.

He grabbed a pillow from the weathered outdoor couch in the corner, placing it on his set up and fluffing it till he was satisfied.

Jean found his seat in the beanbag again after he had finished changing. He leaned back in the chair, rocking to-and-fro in a self soothing attempt.

Marco watched him sway from where he lay on the floor, and the lamp in the middle of the room flickered dimly.

The batteries were going out.

“Do you not have a blanket? Or a sleeping bag?” Marco asked, looking at Jean in confusion.

Slowly, Jean shook his head.

“The one I had got muddy, I tried to use it outside once and I totally ruined it.” He admitted, crossing his arms.

“Well…” Marco began. “I mean, you could always come share my bed with me. It’s big enough for two.”

The freckled teen pat the spot closest to himself with a shy hand. Maybe this would give Marco a better sense of trust, to share the bed.

Jean eyed him questionably for a few seconds, but he ultimately crawled under the blanket next to Marco without a word.

As he did, the lantern batteries finally expired, leaving the room to be lit by nothing but the pale faded moonlight.

The raindrops on the window panes made shadows on the wall. The droplets were pretty, and soothing as each one slid to the bottom of the glass.

“Marco?” Jean called out nervously.

“I’m right here, Jean.” Marco replied, taking Jean’s bruised hand and squeezing it gently.

The two of them burrowed comfortably under the sheets, and the rain pelted harder against the windows.

It was terribly chilly that evening. Marco found himself shivering, despite the blanket and shared warmth.

As if he could sense Marco’s discomfort, Jean tapped his fingers gently against Marco’s palm, and they lie awake together.

Jean was humming a tune amidst the storm, easing them into a state of relaxation.

Marco realized, for a long and profound moment, he was actually happy to be there with Jean. He was thrilled to not be at home, to deal his dysfunctional parents.

No matter the current circumstances, running away was a definitive need for Marco to feel safe.

It had been so lonely without Jean coming over to hang out like they used to. And ever since the first night of the case, Marco had found himself missing the feeling of sleeping next to Jean.

He missed the excitement of being a part of something bigger than himself. He missed his other half of a perfect pair.

Him and Jean were going to put an end to all the murders. They would do it together, or not at all.

Marco was in this to the end with his best friend.

“Are you still awake?” Jean asked, his nose turning towards Marco’s in the darkness.

Marco shifted his focus to Jean, trying to tell apart his features in the moonlight.

The teen looked utterly exhausted, but somehow still awake.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Marco moved a piece of Jean’s hair out of the way, and Jean closed eyes as Marco did so. He opened them again once the freckled hand had returned to its side.

“You said you finally trust me again?”

Marco searched Jean’s face, and his lips. The boy before him was on the verge of something.

“Yes, I do.” Marco answered truthfully.

The air around them was changing, clearing up.

Jean sighed. “I can’t tell you how much I needed to hear that. That’s all I care about.”

Jean cupped a hand to Marco’s cheek with a sad smile.

As Marco leaned into the hand, he furrowed his brows.

“Why does what I think of you even matter? Why do what others say about me get you so riled up, Jean?” He asked.

Jean’s thumb brushed over the freckled teen’s lips to silence him. He admired Marco in the dark for a little while longer, cherishing the moment they were sharing before he answered the freckled boy's question.

“Because I care more about you than I ever have about anyone else in my entire life.”

Jean admitted breathlessly, chucking as he did. He sat up in the sleeping bag to lean down over Marco.

“It’s both terrifying and amazing to feel that way.”

Marco searched for a tone indication in the other teen’s expression, while Jean's thumb still rest politely against his eager lips.

Experimentally, Marco kissed the pad of the Jean’s fingers, eyes closing as he did.

Jean made a small noise, something that Marco might’ve missed if he wasn’t paying attention. The tan haired boy no attempt to move away from Marco, to reject the gesture.

So, Marco continued.

He kissed Jean’s arm, in the place where he cradled Marco’s cheek.

The sensation caused a tremor to spread throughout all of Jean’s body, from the top of his spine down to the tip of his toes.

Slowly, Marco sat up until he was in front of Jean, eye to eye with the boy that he loved.

He leaned closer, glancing down at Jean’s lips and back up at his golden eyes.

He had asked simple a question. Permission.

Jean’s chest rose and fell faster than ever before. He bobbed his head once, and braced himself for impact.

Marco leaned the rest of the way forward, catching Jean’s lips against his own and closing his eyes once more.

Marco had wanted to do this very thing, for as long a he could remember. And at long last, he finally could.

The freckled teen shifted his weight to one side, so he could lift his other hand to cup Jean’s cheek. His hand grasped Jean’s chin as it travelled lower, coming to a halt over his best friend’s ever beating heart. There, he savored the heat of his skin.

He felt the percussive rhythm of Jean’s pulse as he kissed him deeper, his lips ravenous by the second.

Was this real?

Could Marco already be asleep, and dreaming up this scenario?

No, that wasn’t the truth.

Marco was awake. He was alive.

Jean moaned quietly, the sound vibrated against the Marco’s lips. He pushed back feverishly, and tangled his nails in Marco’s hair.

Gasping for air between kisses, Marco decided to sneak his tongue behind Jean's teeth.

Jean’s throat produced a pleased noise, once a wet warmth clashed against his own.

Marco had given up on trying to win against Jean's fumbling hands, so instead, he laid back against the makeshift bed and brought down Jean with him.

“Is this ok…?” Marco asked, hazily looping his legs around Jean’s waist.

Jean nearly cut him off, whispering a “Yes please” In a whiny tone. He leaned forward to reconnect.

They kissed for a while. They grabbed each other’s shirts, pulled each other close, fought for control. They stole time to explore, to breathe each other in and eat each other out.

Marco kissed Jean’s lips, his jawline, his cheeks, his forehead. He moved elsewhere, and he didn’t stop until he was completely satisfied.

As the night carried on, Marco held Jean close to his chest. He played with his stiff tan strands as they drifted off into peaceful sleep, and for just a little while, Marco was thankful for everything he had.

Chapter Text

Marco blinked his eyes open, grunting as the dawn in the 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 you have 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 chose 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 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, and 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 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.” 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 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 this. 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 their 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 sudden change in behavior was doing crazy things to his brain.

Marco furrowed his brows. “Of course… I might be little nervous, 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 know a single 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 the place 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 and unfolded it for Jean, who shined down at him upon it's 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 a thud.

Marco shook his head. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. Apparently, mom called him about my '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 call him, why she wouldn’t just talk to me about her concerns first…”

“She should know by now, that asshole only thinks of himself. Even if he came close to meeting the real 'Titan Killer', he’d just turn tail and flee." Jean's eyes flared, arms crossed. "He isn’t here to protect you. He’s here to fuck up everyone’s perception of Trost, from the outside.”

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 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 new hot topic 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.

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 Marco or bust.

“Well, I can’t go out. So I guess it’s either you go, 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 took 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 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, 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 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 temporarily. He 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, that they might survive this hell and live happily ever after. 

Marco was stranded in the 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.” He laughed.

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 moves.

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 much 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 kissed. 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 feeling of Jean’s affection.

Jean leaned up on his tip toes to kiss Marco one more time, but he set the pace slower. And after they parted, Jean looked 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 any 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 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, 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 was orphaned, about 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 hasn'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 back around the place Eren that had been murdered. He also didn’t know if Mikasa would be inclined to help him, 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 at 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.

Mikasa signaled ok with her thumb finally, backing away from the window. She would agree 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 the 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 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.

It wasn't Jean's.

Chapter Text

Marco found himself standing across from Reiner Braun, his friend and classmate.

Reiner looked petrified, but Marco couldn't tell if it was due to his surprise entrance, or if it was because of something completely unrelated.

Jean was nowhere to be seen, yet everything else in the treehouse looked untouched. Marco stitched his brows together in confusion, hesitating by the ladder.

“Marco? Thank god you’re okay, I was so worried Jean had somehow managed to kidnap you before I could get here.”

Reiner rushed towards Marco, grasping the boy’s shoulders. Marco might’ve been just a hair taller than the blonde, but Reiner was way stronger.

Marco searched Reiner’s expression, confused by his statement. “Reiner, what are you talking about? How did you…” He asked, looking around at their surroundings.

Everything again was exactly where he had left it, but the sleeping bag him and Jean had shared last night was kicked away, crumpled in the corner. The sketches Jean had drawn of Marco swayed in the faint breeze; a new, half finished one of Marco sat still in the beanbag.

There was blood speckled on the wooden floor, not a lot, but certainly enough to notice.

Marco grimaced, His thoughts taking off. Reiner slid an arm over his shoulder to guide him away from the ladder and over to the south wall, looking out the window as if he was checking for someone.

What the hell happened?

“Jean could still be nearby, Marco we need to get you out of here. Jean is behind everything, and he’s been targeting you next!”

Reiner was frantic.

”He attacked Eren at the fair, and came back later that night so he could finish him off... He killed Armin and Sasha too, the guy has been sneaking around us this whole time!”

He gestured desperately to the drawings Jean had done of Marco.

“Just look at the way he is obsessed with you, he’s clearly wants you next. The evidence is all here.”

As Reiner bent over, Marco noticed the faint shape of a book in Reiner’s back pocket, the spine peeking out. It was bright red.

“Jean hasn’t been…. How are you here right now, Reiner? What happened?” Marco asked, his heart was hammering in his ribcage.

Jean was missing, again.

“Connie mentioned you were working on the case. He told me that you and Jean had a secret hideout by the school, and that you were most likely hiding here, so I came just to make sure you were okay.”

As Reiner carried on explaining himself, Marco palmed his aching chest.

”You’ve been reported missing dude, I was so worried Jean had made it to you next.” Reiner turned to face Marco. His expression wielded sincerity, but his darkened eyes were sharp as daggers.

The tone of it all unsettled Marco deeply.

Marco glanced at the other boy's shirt, where a small bulge protruded out of the bottom half fabric.

It was a holster.

Marco felt the goosebumps spread across his skin in waves, and he was frozen in place.

“Connie doesn’t know about this place, Reiner, what’s going on?” Marco begged.

He didn’t know whether or not to start retreating to the ladder, if that might somehow alarm Reiner.

“You must've told him, maybe you don’t remember. Marco, we have to leave before Jean comes back.” Reiner pleaded right back.

The blonde's eyes were still piercing through Marco, contradicting the caring tone of voice he was using. In the low light of the treehouse, his smoldering orbs read this is your final chance.

Marco swallowed thickly, backing against the desk of the west wall. His hand’s searched the space behind him carefully, and he found what he was looking for: a pair of craft scissors.

Marco exhaled deeply, his legs were beginning to tremble. He didn't know how to defend himself, nor did he want to swing on his friend if it came to it.

What was Reiner hiding?

“Reiner, where did you take Eren after you left the fair?” Marco forced himself to ask the question that had been bothering him the whole way from the Jaeger residence to the Shire.

He had been debating the possibility that one of his friends could be lying to him, but he didn’t think it would be someone he saw every day.

Reiner stiffened, straightening up. His fingers flexed, and he tilt his head at Marco.

“I took him to the hospital, then drove home.” He assured.

Another lie.

Marco felt his terror threatening to shut him down.

He didn’t know where his inhaler was. He didn’t know how many feet were between him and Reiner. He didn’t know what Reiner’s intensions were.

I don't know if Jean is even alive.  

“Reiner, where is Jean.” Marco asked another question, realizing there was a good possibility that he might not be making it out of the treehouse with his life.

Reiner stayed quiet for a long time, holding Marco’s stare, unmoving. He was standing so close to the trap door, Marco didn’t think it would be possible to escape until the blonde moved. He had to keep him talking.

“Marco… are you really sure you want to know?” Reiner finally asked, his tone darkening to the same extent as his eyes.

Marco felt heat rippling down his spine, and the hairs raised on every part of his body. He felt cornered, as if he were an animal of prey. There was a sinister taste to the air, something sour and nasty.

All he could think about was how unkind he had been towards his mother, before he ran away.

“Yes.”

Reiner smirked, crossing his arms and stiffening. He made no attempt to move away from the exit.

“You’re a lot more observant than I ever gave you credit for.”

Marco’s lips stitched together tight. He made no sudden movements, afraid to trigger Reiner.

Think Marco, how do you get him to move?

“Why don’t you help me piece everything together, it’s the least you could do. If you’re going to try to make me believe that Jean would be cruel enough to murder his friends.”

At that point, Marco was only operating on pure adrenaline. His chest was squeezing, he still had no idea where his inhaler was. This would be a really stupid way to die, and nobody else would find his body here.

He was going to rot amongst the weeds forever.

“Okay,” Reiner agreed. “If you're sure you can really handle it, I'd be glad to fill you in. But I think you might want to sit down for this.”

Marco whimpered as Reiner came forward, grabbing Marco’s shirt and shoving him forcefully to the floor. The freckled teen cried out in pain as his ass smacked against the wood, but he didn’t have much time to react before the blade of Reiner’s knife was against his head, playing with the dark strands of his hair.

“And don’t go anywhere, okay? I’m not monologuing for free. You’re stuck here.” He lulled, slicing Marco’s cheek with a massive swing. Marco hissed in pain, squeezing his eyes shut as he kneeled over.

The urge to escape left Marco completely, for a moment. Marco's worst fears were confirmed, he would be the next one of his friends to die.

At least it wasn’t Jean, behind everything. Marco could die peacefully, knowing Jean was innocent.

“A long, long time ago, three orphans escaped an orphanage in Marley, starting a tiresome trip to Trost. Not only were they on the run, but they were also harboring a secret. Before they left for good, a fourth orphan discovered their plan, and begged to go with them. Working together, all the kids planned their escape." Reiner began, casting a regretful glance down at the floorboard.

"But as soon as the day arrived where we would be granted our freedom, the three orphans realized that the fourth was going to report their plan to the director in exchange for more meal rations.” Reiner spoke, swaying on his knees in front of Marco.

He held Marco’s head up by a fistful of his hair, causing Marco to cry out again. His head was pounding.

“So, one of the orphans, a little girl, decided to silence the traitor before he could blow the whistle. It wasn’t her fault, they had been planning their mission for many months. That, and the director of the orphanage was known to be extremely unforgiving, at times even abusive. So, the three ran away from the scene of their crime, and decided to lead new lives with new names.” Reiner’s voice boomed, and his smile was minacious.

“Bertolt had the hardest time adjusting. He was quite fond of Marcel, and couldn’t really come to terms with us getting away with his murder.” He explained, and Marco was trying his best to take everything in. he was in so much pain.

“Annie adjusted in no time, she had a strong sense of purpose, and very little guilty conscience. But, she still has trouble sleeping at night, constantly reliving the same memory of killing an orphan for the sake of freedom.”

Reiner pulled Marco forward by his shirt to knee him hard in the stomach, causing the wind to leave his lungs entirely. He was gasping for air, and his vision swam.

“So, you can see how we’re all very protective of our new identities. It can’t have all of been for nothing, surely?"

Reiner rested a hand atop his own head, the other on his hip. He appeared winded.

"Eren was always a soft spot for me, I saw so much of myself in him.” He spoke, frowning as he did. Marco felt simmering anger in him flare up at the mention of Eren.

“He was so easy to talk to, easy to get along with. I messed up, I told him about my past while I was driving him home from the fair.”

Reiner circled back around to the east wall of the treehouse and stared out the window. He braced a hand against the wood, and Marco noticed nail scratches spanning over his arm. He shivered, wondering who could have put up the fight.

“I figured, if he was like me, surely he would understand. I only wanted to sympathize with him, he seemed so upset after his fight with Jean. But when I finally realized what I had said, Eren was sooo quiet."

Reiner's eyes were bitter.

"He stared ahead, not scared, but angry. I knew he would tell everyone what I had admitted to him, and he’d try to bring me to ‘justice.’” He made air quotas as he spoke.

“I became just like Annie that day. A warrior, fighting to keep our futures safe.”

Reiner laughed breathlessly, shaking his head.

”Eren was… difficult for me to kill, mentally. But he didn’t scream, didn’t fight. He just told me that I would get what was coming to me.”

Marco wanted to scream, he wanted to move. But he hurt too much, and he needed to figure out where Jean was before he could attempt to run.

He was starting to wonder if he even wanted to try. Reiner was tactfully trained, and had successfully killed three of his friends already. It was a nightmare Marco couldn’t wake from.

Reiner pulled the book out of his back pocket and held it up for Marco to see. He grinned like the devil, flipping the page open and catching the ominous note as it fell out.

“You see, I knew Armin was the loosest thread in this giant tapestry of a case. He had been with Jean for majority of the night after the fair, and was able to give him an alibi. He also knew I was the last person to see Eren that night, and that simply wasn’t going to do.”

Reiner sighed, reading his own note over again.

“I tried my best to save him, I really did. I wanted him to believe it was the work of some random serial killer.” He gestured to the copy of Kill Your Darlings.

Marco felt sick.

“But I knew Armin would figure out it was me eventually. I asked to meet with him the next morning before school. I made quick work of it though, don’t worry. He wasn’t in pain for long, he didn’t suffer.”

Marco felt his stomach coming up, and before he could hold back, he puked against the floorboards. Reiner sneered at him in disgust.

“Eugh, c’mon man can you handle this or not? We don't have a lot of time, I could just make this quick-“

“No!” Marco held up a fearful, trembling hand. “Please, why did Sasha have to die…?” He begged again.

Truthfully, he couldn’t handle any more. But his survival depended on keeping Reiner busy.

Reiner scoffed, shrugging his shoulders.

“She was an accident. She heard me talking to Bert about the case, and I didn’t hear her coming. We were behind the bleachers, the poor girl forgot her pompoms at cheer practice.”

Marco realized that was the same story Annie had given to the police, when she claimed to have found the body.

He wondered if Bertolt had been the one to “anonymously” report Armin’s murder as well.

What was the point in all of this? Why did they have to sacrifice his friends, just to keep their little secret?

His blood was boiling, but he was too afraid to move.

"When Mikasa told me you were working on the case, I didn't believe her at first. But that's when I realized; of course! Jean had never fled town, you loved him too much to let him suffer this burden alone."

Reiner chuckled, covering his eyes and shaking his head. "But unfortunately, that meant that I had to add you to the list of mistakes I still had to clean up!"

"It was easy, finding ‘the Shire’. I waited until you left home again last night, and followed you all the way here. You lead me right to Jean, I gotta hand it to y'all, this is a convenient little hiding place." Reiner clicked his tongue, tapping his foot against the wood.

Marco realized, with a chill, he hadn't been as careful as he thought when gathering evidence.

“All in all, I really didn’t see you coming. I knew you had a thing for Jean, but I didn’t believe in any of my wildest dreams that you would be willing to do all of this, just to keep him out of trouble.” Reiner groaned, pointing at Marco and leaning back against the wall of the treehouse.

“For the love of god, how romantic. You're like his little puppy, or something."

Marco's eyes prickled as he was being taunted. Why couldn't the suffering just end?

"I’m sure he's touched, but regrettably so, someone still has to take the fall for this. Even if I can’t save you, I can make the town believe that Jean killed you because you got too close.” Reiner finished. He spat against the floor, the thick clump of saliva landing next to Marco’s shoe.

Marco shrunk back fearfully, but his eyes lit up once he had made the connection.

Jean was alive.

He was alive, but Marco didn’t know where Reiner was keeping him.

What’s worse, the orphans were planning on framing Jean for everything, and they were going to get away with it too. They had everyone in Trost wrapped around their fingers, their loose ends were cut.  

“Jean is going to prison. who knows, maybe he’ll even earn himself a death sentence." Reiner imagined. "And, you two were dumb enough to forge another note in his signature, just for me!"

Reiner was beginning to close him in. “Wow, poor, poor Marco. I guess sometimes you really do have to kill your darlings.”

Marco would be the nail in Jean’s coffin, sealing his fate.

What have I done?

There was a sudden urge inside of Marco, something he had never felt before. Seething violence, pure and unfiltered.

Jean wasn't going to be Reiner's savior, nor his sacrifice.

Marco directed his rage to spread throughout his body like venom, converging with his blood and giving him the vindication he needed to get out of that treehouse.

“How could you, we all trusted you!” Marco screamed, pushing himself off the floor with newfound strength.

In a flash, he saw every memory he had of Reiner and Bertolt that past week.

He remembered how Reiner had been the first one to defend Jean, how sickeningly sweet he had been at Eren’s vigil, in the same place the blonde had killed the teen barely 48 hours ago.

He realized how blind they had all been, the answer was in front of them the whole time.

Who was the last person to see Eren alive?

He gripped the handle of the craft scissors tight, and surged forward at Reiner.

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

Reiner’s teeth bared in an excited grin, and braced himself.

Jean watched Marco disappear into the woods, his heart sinking. He hated when Marco had to leave. It made him feel useless, like a burden. He was absolutely no help for the case, stuck in the treehouse having to sit back and watch as Marco did all the work.

Don’t get him wrong, the Shire was absolutely one of Jean's favorite places to be, but it was too lonely to be in without Marco.

Jean was guilty of hiding out alone in its walls, that whole week and even before the case too. Marco hadn’t visited their old spot since he started high school, but Jean was there if he wasn’t at home, or at Marco’s.

What used to bring him comfort, now creeped him out. The Shire might need to be retired once the case was solved.

Jean backed away from the window to find another piece of paper, deciding another sketch would fill his time. He assembled the materials he would be using for the drawing, turning on the radio as he carried on gathering everything he needed.

He hummed as he worked, deciding to sketch Marco in first person, his eyes closed but his chin tipped up. His lover's lips were parted slightly, in a half sigh.

Jean smudged the graphite, shading it, sticking out his tongue as he honed into his craft. His head bobbed to the beat of the song as he worked, and imagined what him and Marco would get up to once the freckled boy returned.

When he sat back to check the sketch overall, he took in the pose. He hadn’t intended on the positioning to come off as sensual as it did, but he knew Marco would love it anyway.

Marco was Jean's precious secret. Jean hadn't intended to fall so hard for the guy, but who does intend to fall for someone like that?

Marco came completely out of left field, and knocked sense into Jean with how kind and empathetic he was. And little did Marco know, he had helped Jean in all kinds of ways, even when he wasn't even trying to.

Marco was the most interesting and important thing in Jean's unbearably boring life.

Marco was what Jean would consider his kryptonite. He was amongst the most strong, charming, and intelligent men alive.

It was sickening, he thought, just how much he adored Marco. How much Jean thought about wanting a life beyond Trost with him, how he wanted to go and see movies with him every night just to spend the time with him. He loved that Marco challenged his own limits just to stay by his side.

Nobody else in Jean's life had ever come close to winning his heart, but Marco had it completely. he was grateful for the friends he had now, but that was nothing compared to the compassion and kindness Marco had showed him years ago. 

Jean had a similarly rocky relationship with his parents, just as Marco had with his.

His father put immense pressure on his shoulders, constantly reminding him that he had to set an example worthy of following.

His mother thought he was a pussy.

Jean didn't know why everything he did was wrong to them, or why they were ashamed to call him their son.

With him always getting caught up in disputes with local officers, or answering stupid questions with his sharp tongue before thinking first, Jean was always having to pick himself back up from his own failures.

He refused to fuck things up with Marco, though. Marco chose him out of anyone in the whole town to play with ages ago, and Jean would never, ever forget that.

After a few minutes, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the ladder. Had Marco come back? Did he forget to take something with him?

“Marco?” Jean called out.

There was no answer.

Jean was instantly on alert, standing up out of his chair and crouching behind the beanbag. The sketch fell out of his lap, onto the chair.

The trapdoor suddenly swung open, and Bertolt’s shaggy head popped up through the entrance.

Jean’s eyes blew open, staring at the senior in shock.

“Bert?” He asked, in utter disbelief. 

How had he found the Shire? Marco and Jean had sworn as kids never to tell anyone about it. There was not another soul on the planet besides theirs who knew where it was located.

“Jean, I’m really sorry about this...” Bertolt said, his voice quivering in fear. It confused Jean, his guard didn't slip.

The teen fully emerged from the ladder, and in his right hand was a baseball bat.

Jean could hear pulse starting to rocket upwards in his ears.

“I hope you can forgive me!” The tall boy yelled, swinging the bat at Jean with full force.

It cracked against Jean’s cheek with a sickening crunch, and Jean fell back against the floorboards, spitting blood against the wood. He coughed, blinking the stars out of his eyes.

Jean had just enough time to glance back at Bertolt, before the teen swung up on Jean’s jaw.

The impact on his chin sent Jean flying backwards, and his vision completely blacked out, the radio fading to silence.

He fell unconscious.

...

♪ Stars shinin' bright above you
Night breezes seem to whisper, "I love you"
Birds singin' in the sycamore tree
Dream a little dream of me ♪

...

Jean didn’t know when he fully regained his sense of awareness, but for what seemed like hours, he faded between states of being.

There was something pulled over his head, a shirt or a bag. He was being dragged presumably by Bertolt, but he couldn’t see a damn thing other than the faint light of day straining through the fabric.

His ears were ringing, making it too hard to make out any individual sounds or voices. He could only note the occasional grunt from his classmate carrying him through the mud, but he was too weak to understand what was going on.

Jean felt blood crusting under his nose and lips, and his face throbbed dully.

Where… am I?

Eventually, he noticed they began to climb a flight of stairs, as his head thudded painfully against each step.

Bert, you jerk. Lift this hood and talk to me!

Once they were at the top, Jean tried his best to wiggle, and get a grasp on the situation he was in. His hands were zip tied behind his back, and his legs were also bound by something uncomfortable.

Jean wondered if he was going to be killed soon. How was it that he had been the best hidden, but the next person to die? What was even happening to him in the first place?

“Bert?” Jean called out again, coughing roughly.

A blood clot flew out of his mouth, ruining the shirt he had over his head. It was becoming harder to breathe behind the fabric, and the humidity caused his sweat to pool above his eyebrows. The salt stung his eyes as it dripped down.

“Jean, please don’t move. Don’t make this hard.” Bertolt begged.

Jean groaned, clenching his jaw. His face hurt like a motherfucker.

“What are you doing? Why am I tied up?” Jean demanded angrily, trying to squirm.

He heard the sound of wood being picked up from a table nearby, and had no time to react before the baseball bat from earlier came down forcefully against his ribs.

Jean’s sharp cry echoed throughout the empty room. He curled in on himself, and a string of curse words followed.

Bertolt pulled up a chair, the sound that the wood made as the legs scraped against the floor grated painfully Jean’s head. The teen finally settled again while his classmate winced against the floorboards.

“Like I said, don’t make this hard please. Stay still.” Bertolt pleaded, his voice sounding more distant.

He was totally withdrawn, as if this wasn’t something he was comfortable with.

Jean searched his memories for any connections to Bertolt and the murders.

The boy in front of him had no reason to want Eren dead, at least no reason Jean could conjure. Not to mention, the taller boy mostly lacked the nerve to actually harm anybody, or lead anything.

That’s when Jean remembered Bertolt’s lover and counter part, Reiner Braun.

Then the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

Reiner was the last to see Eren alive that night, of course.

“You guys killed Eren, didn’t you?” Jean said coolly, stilling his movements. He tried to breathe deeply without wheezing, but one of his ribs were definitely broken.

Man, he had almost fully recovered from his fight with Eren, too. The ebb from the bruise caused by Eren's shin was brutal, it hurt him to breathe or move for the first two days.

Jean had tried to hide those indicators from Marco, but when he was alone, he had to distract himself from the pain by sketching.

“Please, Jean. I really don’t want to knock you out again, just be patient.”

Jean didn’t understand.

Before he could ask another question, he heard Bertolt’s phone ringing.

The teen cursed, standing up out of the chair and leaving the room.

Jean had a brief chance to try to break free. He didn’t know how long Bertolt would be distracted, and he was damned if he was going to give up and let himself die.

He grunted as he tried to pull his wrists out of the zip tie. It was too tight to pry himself out of, he would just have to break them.

“Are you there? Is he back yet?” Bertolt spoke into the receiver, from the outer hallway. His voice was hushed, and filled with anxiety.

Jean quietly centered himself, trying to pull his weight onto his knees. He struggled to relax himself, his right side felt like it was actively on fire.

He was using every fiber of muscle in him not to cry out in pain, forcefully bringing his arms down against his heels. The restraints immediately snapped, allowing him access to his arms once again.

“Ok. Are you going to… you know?” Bertolt asked.

Jean perked up curiously, listening to the conversation with interest now. Who was it that they were they talking about? The person on the other end had to be Reiner, it was the only thing that made sense.

“Yeah, he’s secure. The cops will be here soon… Just make it quick.”

Jean felt his heart stop beating.

They were talking about Marco.

The connection was purely instinctual, he had almost nothing to go off of before coming to that conclusion. But if Bertolt and Reiner knew where Jean had been hiding, who’s to say they didn’t know Marco had been helping him hide too?

The cops are on their way…

Marco had not been careful enough. Jean knew he shouldn’t have let Marco leave.

He felt the steam building up inside of him. It wasn’t quite the same feeling as he experienced when Eren had poked fun at him for liking Marco.

The guy claimed to have it all figured out, and had no problem telling all of his friends how obvious it was.

This was a different emotion altogether. This was unbridled rage, coming off of his skin in radiant waves. He could only think of one reason why he was being kidnapped:

They were planning to kill Marco, and frame Jean for all of the murders.

Jean forced his knees apart, breaking free of his leg restraints. He gasped as quiet as possible while pushing himself to his feet, knees wobbling with the weight of his aching bones.

He could hear Bertolt finishing up the conversation. He didn't have much longer to think of an escape plan.

Jean ripped the shirt off of his head and spat the blood out of his teeth, grabbing bat off the table and rushing to hide behind the wall nearest the door.

He waited for Bertolt to wrap up, and when the taller teen re-entered the room, he gasped at Jean swung the bat down on him with all his might.

The aiming hadn’t been the best, but he managed a hit on Bertolt’s leg.

The bone snapped clean, causing Bertolt to fall to the floor and scream. He bit into his palm to silence himself, turning to face Jean in wide eyed shock.

Jean’s white tank was stained red, with a mix of his and Bertolt’s blood. The speckles spanned from the nape of his neck down to the pockets of his blue jeans, fitting him of the title of Murderer.

But that wasn’t the truth, Jean knew that he himself hadn't killed anybody. He had known this all along of course, But nobody in Trost ever took him seriously.

Nobody except for Marco.

He just had to trust that Marco would hold on, to keep fighting for him. Everything they had done to solve this case couldn't be for nothing, right?

“Fuck you!” Jean yelled, and brought the bat down hard over Bertolt’s head.

The teen crumpled all the way to the ground that time, and didn’t move again. Jean kicked his shoulder, waiting a moment to see if he was still breathing.

Bertolt’s chest rose, then fell.

Not dead, but he would be slumped for a few hours at least.

"And by the way," Jean muttered, picking Bertolt's head up by his pitch black hair.

"I don't forgive you."

Jean tossed the bat to the side, it clattered loudly as it rolled off. He let go of Bertolt's hair as he bent over to rustle through his jeans, finding the boy's phone in his back pocket.

Jean flipped it open and scrolled through Bertolt’s contacts, trying to think of anyone he could call for help. Who would believe that Jean wasn’t the killer? Who could he trust?

Jean couldn’t stay there for long. He didn’t hear sirens yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Jean's finger hovered over the call button of his chosen aid, and he held his breath as he sent it.

He had to try the only person Marco had trusted in all of this, and he had to pray it was the right choice. Marco’s life truly depended on it.

Jean held one hand on the phone and one on his ribs as he made his way down the stairs of what looked like an old, abandoned house in the farmland area of Trost. Nobody out there was really close enough to their neighbor to hear any chatter, and yet this place was still close enough to the school to put Jean at the right place, and right time.

He was so sick of people trying to paint him as a killer. He felt as though his parent's shameful view of him had somehow spread across the entire town, and painted even the nation at large. Jean wasn't who they said he was, why was it so easy for everyone to just accept?

Easy for everyone except for Marco, he reminded himself. Focus.

“Hey Bert, what's up?” Connie answered, sounding dutifly cheerful.

Jean gulped, retracting his hand from his rib and balling it into a fist against his teeth. He prayed to any god that would hear him.

“Connie, it’s Jean. Please do not hang up, Marco is in huge trouble and he could die if you do.”

Jean grunted in pain as he slipped through the back door. He had to shuffle his way through litters of empty cans and shards of broken glass from tossed beer bottles. The wooden doorframe around the back entrance was cracked and splintering, with vines crawling up the sides.

“J-Jean? What do you mean, are you going to hurt Marco? And why do you have Bert’s phone, did you do something to him?” Connie squeaked.

Jean groaned, forcing himself to move faster out the back door.

“No, I wouldn’t- I’m not going to hurt him! Listen, I know Marco told you he was working on the case. But he hasn’t told you that he has been helping me hide away, while we try to solve this case together.”

Connie waited a few seconds before he responded.

“Are you saying Marco is helping you? With the murders?”

Jean smacked his forehead in annoyance. “No, Connie, I didn’t kill Eren! Or Armin, or Sasha. I didn’t kill them! And he’s been out here, risking his neck to try to figure out who really did do this to our friends. He’s solving it so that I can come home again, don’t you get it?”

Jean huffed painfully, pausing to regain his composure against a tree.

That was when he could hear the sirens approaching. He wasn’t far enough yet, he had to pick up the pace.

Connie cried softly. “Marco said you didn’t do it… I trusted him, Jean. What’s happened to him?”

Connie was paying attention, finally.

Jean found the courage to run, his breathing trembled into the phone.

“He-, agh, he is in our treehouse, it’s a place we built together when we were kids. It’s, nggh, it’s by the school.” Jean moaned and tripped, catching himself before he landed in a ditch.

His right side was in so much pain it was almost numb. But Connie was giving him the strength to keep moving, faster.

Jean had to get to the Shire, at all costs.

“Reiner is going to kill him! Please, get everyone, Mikasa, Ymir, Historia, all of them to call the cops. Bert was trying to divert their attention to me, you have to, agh!”

Keep going.

”You have to tell them you know where Marco is. They need to get someone out there immediately!”

The phone battery was nearly drained, and he was afraid he would be too late.

“Jean, how can I trust you? How do I know you aren’t using me to harm him somehow?”

Jean bit his lip, trying to comprehend the question. What could he say to convince him?

“I will give myself over to the cops right after this, Connie. I don’t care anymore, I only care about him.” Tears prickled his eyes.

”He’s trusted me since the first day of this case, and he’s going to be the next to fall victim to it if you don’t move your ass!”

Connie groaned in frustration. “Okay, okay! I’ll get them to call, but what about you?You sound like you’re hurt-“

“Connie, please! Go!” Jean didn’t answer the question, hanging up the phone. He didn’t care about himself at all, he couldn’t conjure a single fuck about his own safety. What he cared about right now was what would happen to his best friend. 

What was going to happen to the boy that he loved?

He tossed the phone to the ground. His right hand adhered firmly to his right side, and he sprinted East.

Jean was going to make it, if it was the last thing he ever did.

Marco cried out in fury as he brought the scissors down on Reiner’s shoulder, but the teen simply leaned out of the way before the blade could find contact. He shoved Marco away calmly.

Marco spun around, recovering quickly and swinging and slashing at the blonde all while a guttural growl tore up his throat.

He thought about how none of his friends were given the opportunity to really fight for their lives like this. He was their only chance, for the truth to be heard. For vengeance.

Marco had to win this fight, or else he would be letting them all down.

Reiner dodged his attacks by leaning back, countering by swinging his own blade at Marco in between in the beats. Reiner scored a couple of cuts on his freckled forearms as Marco held them up to block his face.

They raced around the room, flinging themselves as each other with minimal caution, grappling for anything they could use against each other.

Marco yelled, landing the scissors into Reiner’s arm just below the pit. The blonde hissed in rage as he pulled the scissors out, and his eyes were blazing through Marco like lasers.

Reiner raised the knife high over his head and brought it down on Marco, but Marco reacted quickly this time.

He dug his palms into Reiner’s elbows, wrestling against him with everything he had to keep the sharp point away from him. They both shook and grumbled with effort, but Reiner was bringing the blade closer and closer to his midriff by the second.

Marco let out a cry in frustration as the cold metal entered his abdomen, as Reiner successfully pinned him against the wall.

The knife went in slow, painful, trembling in Reiner's murderous grip. It continued to sink in deeper and deeper, perforating the lining of organs and squelching against his skin.

”-Nnggh!”

This can’t be good. I think I’m actually going to die.

Marco could see white in the corners of his vision as the pain finally registered. There was no worse feeling than being stabbed, he decided. He felt the shock all the way up his spine.

Blood was rushing warmly down his leg, and he felt all choked up.

Reiner leaned in close, his cheek brushing against Marco’s.

“Say hi to everyone when you get to heaven for me, will you?” He whispered against the shell of Marco’s ear.

Marco tears scorched his face as he screamed.

He kicked Reiner back with his right heel, but the blonde was quick to recover his faltered stance. The knife left Marco's abdomen as Reiner fell back, and Marco gasped, covering the wound near his left hip.

He was losing a lot of blood, and tons more energy. He had to try to run, it was his only chance at that point.

Marco aligned his elbow against Reiner’s face, and broke the fucker’s nose.

Reiner yelped, covering his face as fresh blood dripped to the floor. The freckled teen wasted no time sprinting to the ladder.

Marco allowed himself to fall all the way to the bottom, the wind once again being knocked completely out of him as he hit the dirt and the roots.

“Where do you think you’re going Bodt!” Reiner called.

His voice and face had lost all sense of reality as he peered down at Marco from the trapdoor. This was a version of Reiner Marco had never met, he wasn’t held back by morals or guilt.

Reiner's soulless eyes would haunt Marco forever, perhaps even after death.

Marco whined sharply as he made a dash for the trees, trying to lose him in the foliage. He could hear the other boy hot on his heels, chasing him deeper into the wood.

Marco gasped for air as he ran past the trees, hoping that wherever Jean was, he was fighting just as hard as Marco was to get back to him. He still hoped that somehow Jean could run away from this, and be free of the case.

Marco had to stop. He couldn’t keep moving forward with the stab wound in his abdomen, it was too deep. Every time he took a step, his guts rearranged themselves, sending shockwaves throughout his entire nervous system.

He was bleeding so much, the trail would just lead Reiner right to him.

Marco hid behind a tree and pressed a hand to his side, gasping for air as tears rolled down his cheeks. He refused to let Reiner make a victim out of him, if Jean was to take the fall.

This shit hurts!

“Marco, you have nowhere left to go! It’s over!”

Reiner laughed, the sound of his knife cutting easily through the branches made Marco feel like collapsing to his knees.

He had to be brave, for just a little bit longer.

“The police are probably arresting Jean as we speak, just give it up already! Aren’t you tired?”

Marco breathed deeply, closing his eyes.

Yeah, I am tired.

Marco thought about how happy Jean had made him feel, despite everything they had been through in the week of Eren’s death.

He remembered the way Jean kissed him the other night, how he had held him, how he promised to make everything right.

Marco wished for more time with Jean. It wasn't fair, he had just won him over. How was any of this justified?

Marco knew he had been right to trust Jean all along though. He just wished his mind had cleared far sooner, so he might’ve been able to act.

Jean had given Marco an experience that was worth more than a thousand days on earth, he was thankful for all of the days in his life that he had spent side by side with Jean.

Marco hoped his mom would find it in her heart to forgive him for all that he had said and did in his final days, and he hoped she knew how much he loved her.

Marco liked to imagine that she’d ditch his father for good, once he was dead and gone.

He stepped out in front of Reiner, glaring him down with a gaze of steel. He wasn’t afraid of dying anymore.

“This ends with me.” Marco wheezed.

Reiner smiled at him victoriously, kicking Marco to the ground as he held the knife high over his head.

“I sure hope it does.” Reiner agreed, baring his teeth.

“MARCO!”

A voice thundered from the woods, behind them.

Marco looked up to see somebody rushing towards their crime scene. The newcomer’s clothes were all bloodied and dirty, and as they came closer, Marco realized it was his best friend coming to save him.

Jean was sprinting as fast as he could towards them, holding a desperate hand to his side like he too was trying to hold in his organs.

Marco coughed as he remembered his own wound, shying away from Reiner. Maybe he was still scared to die.

“No! You aren’t supposed to be here!”

Reiner yelled out, and before anyone could act, he brought the knife crashing down on Marco.

Marco felt the blade enter through his right collarbone, and an intense shock electrified his entire arm. He gasped for air sharply, looking up at Reiner in disbelief.

They both watched eerily as blood flowed in quick succession from Marco's wound, drenching his shirt, pooling dreadfully in the pit of his neck.

Marco coughed and spluttered as he twitching, squirming under the blonde’s knife. He grasped the blonde’s arm, tears spilling as he gagged.

Reiner’s eyes were lifeless. He couldn’t even bring himself to smile anymore.

Jean cried, bracing himself against a tree just feet away. “Marco, No!” He screamed.

Suddenly, the sound of two gunshots filled the air.

Reiner gasped, dropping the knife as his body fell over to the side. His shirt blossomed with the same red as Marco’s where the bullets had hit him in the ribs; puncturing his lungs.

Trost county law enforcement were running through the woods, yelling at Jean to put his hands in the air.

Everything slowed down.

Marco looked up at the trees as he held his chest shakily, and studied the sky. It was almost turning purple in the evening haze, but you could still see the reddish-yellow layers that the sun painted in the clouds.

It was the prettiest sunset Marco thought he had ever seen.

His vision was starting to fading out at the corners, and he couldn’t hear anything except for the static of his own head.

No more crying or screaming.

He exhaled as dark figures gathered around him, and realized that it was finally over.

Marco could rest now.

Chapter Text

In the late hours of the day, Marco struggled to keep breathing.

The officers did their best to stop the bleeding while the EMTs were on the way, but there wasn’t much hope.

One of the officers restrained Jean by the wrists, and Marco couldn’t manage any words to reassure his lover as he pleaded with Trost PD to let him through.

They cuffed him, and dragged him away from the scene while he was still kicking and screaming Marco’s name.

Marco coughed, catching glimpses of faces he had never seen before. People who appeared to be calm, but were still visibly shaking.

He wasn’t seeing what they were seeing, but maybe that was a good thing. It didn’t seem like peeking at his wounds would help.

”Nngh- my mo-“ Marco tried, but the sound just gargled and died in his throat.

He knew that whatever had happened, his odds weren’t great. He was more than likely going to die.

He didn’t remember the ride to the hospital, or anything after that really.

For what seemed like days, Marco thought that maybe he was already dead.

Marco dreamt (do you dream when you are dead?) that he saw Eren, Armin and Sasha.

He saw them smiling at him, laughing, pointing. But they too were distant.

For the most part, everything was dark.

Marco didn’t really feel alive anymore, he could feel nothing at all. He heard faint whispers, he saw vague shadows, but he knew he was all alone in his mind.

Marco was lost.

Jean hugged himself in the corner of the interrogation room.

His face was raw from hours of constant tears. His eyes were puffy and swollen, and his lips quivered as he tried to hold himself together for a little while longer.

Jean had been allowed to clean himself up before an investigator could question him. He changed into whatever they had floating around in the lost and found bin: a pair of denim shorts and a stupid graphic tee that he was too emotional to read.

Why hadn’t they allowed him to stay with Marco, to make sure he was okay?

Jean had been waiting for what felt like days to be questioned. He had been provided with a cup of water when he was first locked into the room, but he had finished it off ages ago, and was dehydrated from all the crying.

Jean didn’t know what the point to anything was anymore.

He had seen Marco get stabbed, it was an image that replayed over and over and over in his subconscious, as he sat waiting.

It Tortured him. Taunted him.

The state Marco had been in when Jean last saw him wasn’t promising at all. There would need to be a miracle performed in order to save him.

All Jean could do was put his head down and pray that Marco was alive.

The longer Jean waited, the colder he felt. He was trembling, cooped up in the corner, and he wished that there was someone around to tell him when he could go home.

If he could go home, at all.

Reiner and Bertolt had been behind everything all along. How could they all have been so blind?

Jean didn’t fully understand why. He didn’t know if he’d ever be given the opportunity to learn, as Reiner had been shot dead just seconds after stabbing Marco.

Jean felt fresh tears fill his eyelids, and his grip tightened drastically on his knees. He bit his lip, holding a hand tenderly to his side.

He had been seen by an on-site medic briefly, and they wrapped his ribs up tight and administered him pain meds. He knew they would need to take him to the hospital eventually though, after they had their investigation.

They were probably making him wait so he would feel more unstable during questioning. More prone to slip ups.

The door suddenly unlatched, and a detective peaked in. She glanced at Jean from the doorway with a neutral expression, her silver eyes shining behind her small-frame glasses.

“Hello Jean,” She said.

Her voice was deeper, and smooth like velvet. She flicked a piece of grey hair out of her eyes, and closed the door behind her.

“I’m glad to finally meet you. My name is Ms. Brzenska.”

Jean watched her enter, nodding in response as she spoke. Despite how friendly she appeared to be, he knew she was over-analyzing his every move. 

That’s what detectives do.

“Hello.” He answered her respectfully, and subconsciously straightened up.

Mrs. Brzenska crossed the room to pull out the chair opposite to Jean, and made herself comfortable.

“So, Jean, first let me start out by making you aware of your rights. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? And with these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

Jean clenched his jaw, feeling his spine prickle.

He had never been in this much trouble.

“Yes.” He answered.

“Good.” Ms. Brzenska confirmed, pulling out a notepad and clicking a pen.

“Let’s start with your whereabouts on the night of September fifteenth. I want you to tell me everything you can, and don’t be afraid to include every detail.”

Jean gave her everything he knew about that night. He told her about how him and Eren had fought each other after the fair, he explained how he spent the night at Armin’s. He said that when he tried to return home he noticed how many officers were waiting for him, he fled.

“Okay, tell me more. Where did you go after that?” She urged, her eyes searching Jean's.

Jean thought about telling her about Marco. He thought about telling her how Marco had been helping Jean that whole time in secret, how he had lied to the cops about knowing where Jean was, and how he had run away from home just to keep working on the case with Jean.

He thought about it, but he didn’t. There was no reason to take Marco down with him for a lying and evading charge.

If he was even alive anymore.

Jean bit back more of his tears at the thought of Marco, cold and dead on the coroner’s table.

“I ran to my childhood treehouse, one that I built with Marco. It was the only place where nobody would come looking for me, nobody else knew where it was.” He admitted shakily, pinching his fingers together under the table to try to keep himself from unraveling.

He detailed how Bertolt had attempted to kidnap him, and that he had fought against Bertolt in order to escape being framed for murder. He theorized that Bertolt must have stalked him prior to kidnapping him, and that must’ve been how the murderous duo knew where to find him.

“And how did you know to come back to the treehouse? How did you know that Reiner would be there, with Marco?” She asked, tapping the pen to her lips.

Jean tapped his foot gently by the leg of the table, not meeting her eyes.

“I heard Bertolt speaking to Reiner on the phone while I was breaking out of my restraints, he said they were planning to… to kill Marco and frame me.” He summarized.

That wasn’t exactly how Bertolt had said it, but he had been correct in piecing everything together.

“I stole the bat that Bertolt had whacked me with earlier, and used it to defend myself against him. Then I borrowed his phone to call for help, and tried to make it to the treehouse to save Marco before Reiner could….” He trailed off, the memory playing again.

He choked.

Mrs. Brzenska interrupted Jean, placing her hand over his gently. “Jean, thank you for telling me everything that you have so far.”

She looked as neutral as she had when she walked in, but she seemed less careful around him, determining he wasn’t really a threat.

But the female detective was still trying to read him, unsure of if he was telling the truth.

“We will get you to the hospital soon, but we have a little more paperwork to file before we can get you out of here.” She reassured.

Jean frowned as she stood up to leave, reaching out for her hand.

“Wait, please, can anyone tell me if he’s alive? If Marco is ok?” Jean begged, his lip quivering.

Ms. Brzenska grimaced, hesitating in the doorway. She turned to Jean, eyeing him slowly.

Why was nobody telling him the truth?

“I’ll see what I can find out. Wait here, I’ll come back when I get an update.”

She left through the back door, and disappeared into the office.

Jean sat down angrily in the interrogation chair, cursing and whining. He stomped his foot against the cold tile and covered his face, crying into his fingers.

Why couldn’t anyone seem to answer him? He didn’t know what to do without Marco, and if he had lost him to Reiner, he didn’t know if he’d be able to survive it.

For another hour or so, Jean laid his cheek down on the cool, metal surface of the investigation table. He watched as his breath fogged up the reflection, and he  grew even colder inside.

Maybe he would allow himself to die here, at that very table. He sure felt like if he spent another minute there, his ribs would finish him off.

How did it all come to this?

The door opened again as he debated death, and in came two officers.

One was a shorter, sharper looking man with dark hair and grey eyes. The other a woman about the same height with red hair, styled in a bob.

They came in and held out cuffs for Jean, eyeing him suspiciously.

“My name is Deputy Ackerman, and this is officer Ral. We’re here to escort you to the hospital.” The man explained, looping the cuffs around Jean’s wrists.

The teen's heart pounded fearfully. He was so over the restrains, all the distrust.

“Okay, but does anyone have an update on Marco?” Jean begged, looking between them desperately. “Please… it’s been hours.”

They both eyed each other carefully, but the girl nodded, giving the shorter officer the go ahead.

The deputy sighed, glancing back at Jean wearily.

“He’s in critical condition at Trost General. He’s had emergency surgery, and he’s in a coma. They don’t know if he’ll survive the night.” Deputy Ackerman explained.

There was a lump form in Jean’s throat. His eyes watered again, but he nodded in gratitude.

Marco was still alive.

“Thank you. And which hospital are you taking me to?” He asked, as they lead him carefully out of the interrogation room and around the office.

“Trost General.” The Deputy answered, punching the down button on the elevator.

Jean’s knees buckled from exhaustion, his ribs were throbbed painfully. His head and nose were on fire.

“Okay.” Jean agreed.

He asked them no further questions as they put him in the cruiser, and the officers made their way to Trost General Hospital.

After another three hours of waiting to be seen, and single hour of being treated by nurses, Jean was scheduled for an X-ray.

They hooked him up to an IV, allowing him to drink water and administered more pain medication for his ribs and his headache.

The time between his ribs breaking and the time he was finally treated by hospital staff had been significantly too long, and Jean's condition was worse off because of it. He was angry with Trost PD, for forcing him to wait for answers and for treatment.

Jean prayed the precinct wouldn’t steal all the credit in the investigation. Marco did all the work for them, and he bled for it.

It would be another long wait before anyone would be seeing Jean for the X-ray, the hospital was crowded for the weekend so it was all hands on deck.

He tried hard not to think about how somewhere, in the same hospital, Marco was fighting desperately for his life.

Jean wanted to see him more than anything, but Marco was far from out of the woods yet.

Jean was also being monitored around the clock, there were officers posted at his door at all times. He wouldn’t be allowed to leave or to do anything without police escort, and he doubted that they would grant him the ability to see his best friend anytime soon.

He allowed himself to rest instead, for as long he could.

Fueled by the environment of the hospital, Jean was plagued by nightmares and visions of being stabbed.

He was still too frigid to be comfortable, and the pathetic little hospital blanket hardly provided the warmth he craved.

When he awoke next, a nurse was preparing his bed to be wheeled down the hall for the X-ray.

He tried to wake himself up, but the medication would just knock him right back out.

During the examination, Jean stared at the wall in weary silence. None of the pain he was experiencing compared to that of the overbearing weight of exhaustion, and grief.

Everything was over, wasn’t it? They could all finally go home?

Who knew. With Reiner dead and Bertolt being unwilling to talk, Jean didn’t know if he’d be able to go home at all. Maybe he still would end up in prison, at fault for all of this shit.

The X-ray displayed images of two broken ribs, a few cracked facial bones, severe bruising, and a fractured jaw.

Jean looked at the black and white photos lit by the backboard, and sighed in disappointment.

He held a hand to his aching torso and fell back against the bed.

“Can I go back to my room please?” Jean asked

The nurse was removing her radiation apron. She glanced at him, and then at the officer outside the door.

“I suppose, there are no more tests for us to run right now. Just rest up.” she advised.

Jean followed her orders.

While they wheeled him back to his room, he stared up at the florescent lightbulbs, counting them as they passed by.

He was in and out of sleep for several hours, but despite that he still didn’t feel well rested, or even safe. Fight or flight had kicked in when Jean had been kidnapped, it was lucky for him that Bertolt was a little slower to react to things than most. But now Jean was having trouble turning it off, his heart palpitated at random.

The teen couldn’t help but wonder what could have happened if he hadn’t managed to escape the farmhouse. He didn't want to know would have happened if Reiner and Bertolt were successful in framing him for murder.

Jean would hate them until the day he died.

Reiner and Bertolt killed his best friends, whatever reason they had as to why wouldn’t ever be enough for Jean to forgive them.

Jean read the clock on the table next to his bed. It had been almost two whole days since Marco had been stabbed, just how long had he been out?

Why hadn’t his parents come to visit him yet?

He figured they wouldn’t want anything to do with him after, he had been named a suspect. The accusation had been the most shameful thing he could have garnered in his folk’s eyes, and was the limit of what they would tolerate in their house he supposed.

Jean was completely on his own.

The teen sat up and waved one of the officers into his room, grunting as the pain from his ribs throbbed angrily again. His bones almost felt worse off than they had at the moment of impact, but he figured that they only felt manageable before due to adrenaline.

“What, Kirstein?” Deputy Ackerman peered into his room, his expression was no longer defensive. If anything, he was bored, unamused.

“Can I visit Marco?” Jean asked, shakily swinging his legs over the side of his bed.

Deputy Ackerman gave him a pitiful look.

“You know we can’t let you do that. You’re only here because of your physical state, when you’re cleared to be discharged we’re heading back to the precinct.” He reminded, checking his nails.

Jean huffed in frustration, gripping the white sheets by his legs.

“Listen, I am not trying to run anymore. I don’t care what happens to me, but I haven’t seen Marco since... since Reiner drove a knife through his chest.”

Jean found it hard to form his sentence, but he hoped Deputy Ackerman would still sense the urgency in his tone.

“I just want to see him. Once. You can follow me, to make sure I don’t try anything. But I…” Jean hesitated.

He had never said this next part out loud before, and the importance of the word had Jean hoping that Marco was still holding out for him.

“I love him. He’s everything I have left.”

Deputy Ackerman quirked a brow, thinking quietly to himself.

“...Fine,” He answered, after making Jean wait.

“Officer Ral will be following you, you’ve got five minutes only. If there is anyone already visiting Marco, there’s nothing I can do. No other short cuts, you will be back in here quickly or this will be added to your report.”

Jean felt relief, finally.

He tried to push himself to his feet, his knees straining under the weight of the rest of his body. He felt like utter garbage, but he found the will to keep moving.

Jean was going to see Marco.

“Thank you.” He breathed.

Officer Ral gazed upon Jean in sympathy, placing a hand on his shoulder as he wheeled his drip medication out of the room beside him.

Jean used the metal stand as a support, leaning generously into it as he trembled.

“Lead the way, Kirstein.” Officer Ral acknowledged, and they began their brisk walk to the elevator.

Jean read the hospital directory before they hoped in, and they rode it down to the second floor, where emergency surgery inpatient and outpatient stayed.

At the front desk, Jean approached the counter shyly with officer Ral right behind him.

He asked the nurse at the desk where Marco was staying, and she gestured down the hall, to door 218.

“He currently has a visitor, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait-“

“I’m not a visitor, I’m a patient. We were… injured in the same accident." Jean interrupted.

"I just want to see if he’s okay, for myself.”

He was praying that officer Ral wouldn’t make him leave.

Deputy Ackerman had said that he wouldn’t be allowed to visit if anyone else was already visiting, but he didn’t care. Fuck that, he had come far enough.

Officer Ral offered the nurse a thumbs up, and the lady at the desk heaved a sigh.

“Alright.” She answered. Her head dropped back down at her work computer, where she began typing dutifully once again.

Jean bowed in thanks to officer Ral, and shook off his nerves.

He limped down the hall, and his hands were vibrating like rubber bands as he prepared himself for what he might see. He was afraid to alarm whoever was already visiting, or if he could be strong enough to handle the sight of his love, all battered and bruised.

As he neared the door, a shorter lady with Marco’s same dark hair slipped out of the room.

It was Marco’s mother.

She walking in the opposite direction, towards the lavatory. She didn't seem to notice Jean coming her way as she slipped past.

Jean gulped. He firmed himself in front of the door, adjusting the collar on his nightgown. He had a chance to be alone with Marco, or as alone as the officer would allow.

Outside of room 218, officer Ral posted herself near the wall rack with Marco’s patient information contained inside.

“Be quick. Levi will report this, he doesn’t play around.” She stressed, nodding at him to go on.

Jean’s eyes shined at her, and he let himself smile sadly in gratitude once again.

“Thank you. Seriously.” He answered, before taking a deep breath and swinging the door open.

When he entered the room, his heart swelled with all sorts of emotions.

Marco was in a bed similar to Jean’s, but his setup was way more complicated.

He was ninety percent gauze; the tape was wrapped carefully around his entire chest and abdomen, keeping him glued together. He was connected to some breathing tubes that reaching in through his mouth, and his eyes were closed peacefully, as if he were just sleeping.

Jean hoped if Marco was dreaming, that he wasn’t scared. He prayed it was a good dream.

Marco’s blanket only covered half of his legs, and his hands lay gently at his sides like two dead weights.

The pressure reader was hanging off of his left pointer finger, beeping away dutifully.

The pulsing heart monitor read steady, but Marco didn’t wake when Jean approached his bed.

“Oh Marco…” Jean cried, approaching the side of the bed.

He didn’t know how long he had until Marco’s mother returned, so he cherished every second he had with the freckled boy. He grasped Marco’s right hand, the warmth was still prickling against his skin.

The boy Jean loved was alive, but barely holding on.

Jean brought Marco's hand up to his lips. He kissed his skin gently, and caressed it against his own cheek. He closed his eyes and breathed in his scent, tears falling down his face and soaking his hospital gown.

“Please come back to me. Fight, as hard as you have to.” He begged, resting Marco’s hand by his side again.

Jean leaned over Marco’s body to brush a piece of dark hair away from perfect face, and he let his thumb ghost over the deep gash on Marco’s cheekbone with a solemn hum.

“I’ll be right here when you come back.” He whispered deep into Marco’s ear, kissing kissing his freckled cheek tenderly.

He grunted as he leaned up and attempted to stand again, and he glanced back at Marco in slight hesitation.

Jean was glad to have been able to see Marco, but his fears that his lover never waking again still plagued his mind.

He forced himself to leave room 218, and he relinquished himself over to officer Ral with blurry vision.

“I’m ready to go back.” He lied.

Truthfully, he wanted to curl up into that bed with Marco. He wanted to sleep beside him, to find an ounce of safety in this god forsaken place.

But that was just a foolish wish, Jean wouldn't be freed for a long time.

Officer Ral bit her lip when she noticed Jean's dewey eyes, but she nodded. She glancing into the room to check on Marco before preparing Jean’s IV stand again.

It was offensive, that they still believed Jean intended to hurt Marco. But he knew they were just doing their job, so he let it go.

“Okay.” She answered. "Let's go back."

Marco hated the void.

He had been waiting for days for something. Anything, a sign of life, or an indicated exit.

He waited for God and the angels to take him up to heaven, he waited for the Devil and his mongrels to carry him off to hell.

But there was nothing but silence, and nobody else around.

Marco wondered, if this was hell. If hell was a great big nothing, just a wide expanse of empty.

The loneliness baited him further and further into insanity. He didn’t know how much longer he could bear to stay, he had forgotten what he was waiting for.

Who he was waiting for.

The only sound he could hear was his friend’s laughter from behind, beckoning him to join them.

It would be so easy for Marco to follow them beyond the veil. He thought, maybe he had earned his ability to relish in their company. So he stood up and turned around.

He could see a small light, growing the further he walked towards it. He realized, then, that there wasn’t any reason to stay behind at all, and there never was.

There was nothing he was fighting for, and nobody fighting for him.

As he picked up the speed, he heard a familiar voice appear in the space behind him.

“Oh Marco…”

The whisper on the breeze had made it to Marco’s ears.

He stopped in his tracks.

Marco turned around to see who had called out to him. He took a few steps back, and a few more, feeling drawn to the voice. He didn’t know who it belonged to, but he knew he loved them very much.

The feeling was hardly there, something small. But it was exactly that, something.

As he re-entered complete darkness, he felt an embrace ghosting over his fingers.

Lifting up his own hand, Marco could see nothing, but felt everything. Somebody was squeezing his hand.

Where were they? Why did they sound so sad, why were they looking for him?

What did they mean to him?

Marco tried to squeeze back, but he felt the ghost disappear from his fingers.

“Please come back to me. Fight, as hard as you have to.”

It whispered again. The voice was a so quiet, Marco thought might just be his imagination at first.

He knew who this voice, how could he have forgotten?

This person had meant everything to Marco.

There was nothing, suddenly, that interested Marco more than the voice. He fought hard to bring it into focus, to let everything else fade out. He concentrated, trying to bring the visual to life.

He searched his tongue for a name.

“I’ll be right here when you come back.”

The voice was amplified tenfold. The ghost was right against his ear, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Glancing to his left, he finally remembered the name of the voice he longed to remember.

It was Jean, the boy he loved.

Marco was awake. He was alive.

Marco’s eyes were finally open.

He stole a minute to blink, trying his best to make out the shapes and figures in his dimly lit room.

He heard beeping to his right, and attempted to glance over, but his eyes grazed the breathing tube he was connected to.

Marco’s eyes widened in shock, and he decided not to move anymore.

He glanced down at himself as much as he dared to, and noticed the gauze covering his entire upper body. There were some areas of his chest that were splotchy, spotted red and brown. He took in a deep breath, but grunted when pain exploded from his collarbone.

His eyes teared up, and a voice in the room alerted him that he wasn’t alone.

“Marco…?” The voice hesitated.

Marco glanced as slowly as he could to where it originated from, and made direct eye contact with his mom.

He felt like crying.

“Mm…” He tried, but couldn’t get anything out while hooked up to the machine that kept his lungs in action.

“No, don’t try to speak honey. You’re still really delicate… You could reopen a stitch.” She soothed between sobs, coming to take Marco’s hand gently.

Mrs. Bodt moved the hair out of his face, and caressed his cheek. She let her tears fall but she was smiling.

Her disbelief provoked a laugh.

“I’m so glad you’re awake.” Her voice cracked, and she rest her head against his shoulder.

Marco let his own tears go. He draped his left arm over her shoulder to hug her closer.

She sat back after a few minutes, pressing the nurse call button.

“You aren’t done with treatment yet.” She explained, her hands were wrapped around Marco’s left wrist. 

Her eyes searched her son, her nerves were obvious in the way she sucked on her tongue.

Marco was confused. They had closed all of his stab wounds, right? What else did they need to fix?

He didn't dare move his body, or attempt to figure that out himself.

He tried to convey his question in his expression instead, and Mrs. Bodt shook her head with an apologetic grit.

“Your right arm, sweetie. They are going to try to save it, your nerves were mostly severed…” She tried to explain, but shook her head.

“Don’t you worry. They saved you from bleeding out, they can save your arm.”

Marco glanced down at his arm. It was slightly bruised, a reddish purple color. He had a few scratches over his forearm, remembering how Reiner had been swinging his knife easily against Marco’s skin.

The issue he was now suddenly becoming more aware of, was just how much he couldn’t feel the limb. How much his right side felt unbalanced, the weight of it all.

Marco’s right shoulder sent out painful shockwaves the further he attempted to peek down, and he reminded himself not to let his eyes wander there again.

It was a frightening sight to behold.

He remembered how the serrated edge of Reiner's blade felt when it entered his body, when it plunged through his bone.

Marco was gonna be sick.

“Everything ok in here…?”

Carla Jaeger peeped her head through the doorway, smiling when she saw Marco’s eyes open. She was wearing her purple nurse scrubs, her face hidden behind a giant N95 mask.

“You’re awake!” She exclaimed, rushing up to stand behind his mother.

Carla checked his vitals and fluids frantically. “This is great news, I’m going to let the doctor know that you’re up. He wants to book your surgery as soon as possible.” She explained, patting his mother on the shoulder.

“You’re so very lucky, Gloria. Take care of your baby boy.”

Marco listened to her with regret, realizing that she would never get to see her own baby again. He swallowed the reality of just how fortunate he was to survive.

And it was all thanks to Jean.

He wanted to ask Eren's mother if she knew where Jean was, if he was okay, but he couldn’t talk until after his surgery.

He would just have to wait, so he tried his best not to panic.

Jean was alive, and best of all, he wasn’t guilty. The jury would have to see that, wouldn’t they…?

Shortly after Marco awoke, they started to prep him for surgery.

His eyes were blinded by the lightbulb hanging over him in the room where they would soon attempt to reconnect his nerves. He was free of the breathing tube, and his pain had only worsened the longer he was awake.

A different nurse now hovered over him, with anesthesia mask in her hands.

Marco glanced at it fearfully. Would he be able to wake up this time? Jean had pulled him out of the darkness before, but who would be there to pull him out again?

She brushed a hand against his hair, and squinted at him behind her mask. A smile.

“It’ll be okay.” She reassured, pulling the mask over his face.

Marco trusted her.

He dreamt he was holding Jean’s face between his hands.

Ive never met a soul as exquisite as yours.

Marco woke again.

He was back in his room, with more gauze covering his shoulder than ever before.

He was light as air, floating on a cloud in the middle of his room. He had thought he couldn’t feel his arm before, but the drugs were making it impossible to feel the rest of his entire body.

Marco wouldn’t be able to tell if surgery was a success until he came down from his medically-induced high.

They had him connected to an oxygen tank, but this time in exchange for tubes, he wore a mask instead. He was grateful for that change; the tubes were freaking him out more than he cared to admit.

Anything hospital related freaked him out. He was ready to go home, to see Jean again.

Anytime he drifted off, he would dream of Jean again and again. There wasn’t one specific thing he dreamt them doing in particular, other than the usual strange dream stuff.

But seeing his lover’s face was all the motivation Marco needed to heal up.

He wanted nothing more than to see Jean, to tell him that he had fought hard enough to survive. He wanted to kiss him and hold him, to keep him safe. It was his hope that they would never have to face something that traumatizing ever again.

Marco knew he couldn’t make any promises, and that traumatizing things happen in life all the time. But at least from now on, they would face the world together.

A full day after his surgery, the doctor came in to test Marco’s arm.

Marco listened to his instructions, and agreed to the tests. He would try his best, and maybe through discipline, he would be able to rebuild the shambles his life had fallen into.

When the doctor tapped his pen to Marco’s fingertips, the teen felt essentially nothing.

Marco’s heart began to sag with the realization that maybe they hadn’t been able to save his arm. It was just the beginning of their tests, but the expectations were suddenly on the floor.

“Okay, and what about here?” The doctor asked, tapping the pen against his right forearm.

Again, nothing.

Marco began to tear up, shaking his head.

The doctor eyed him carefully, but made no attempt to change his expression.

“Here?” He asked, bringing the pen up to his bicep.

Marco felt a tingle, but not as strong of a sensation as before. Essentially, it wasn't enough to mean anything.

“A little.” Marco whispered hoarsely, clearing his throat.

The doctor nodded, writing something down in his notebook. He read over his notes, and nodded some more, looking back up at Marco.

Nod nod nod. Pretend as if everything is going according to plan.

“Can you try to flex your hand for me?” The doctor asked, tapping his pen to Marco's palm.

Marco tried to send a signal down to his right side, anything to make his fingers so much as twitch.

But nothing came.

Marco grunted, shaking his head.

“I can’t.”

The doctor hummed, jotting down even more notes. He clicked his tongue, pressing a knuckle to Marco's right palm.

“I’m going to push back against you, don’t let me.” He instructed.

As soon as the test began, Marco failed.

His arm went limp, and fell down to his side, flailing lifelessly. The impact made Marco wince, bringing his other hand up to the shoulder to brace the shock.

The doctor watched, pursing his lips and glancing back down at his notes.

It was then that Marco knew the surgery had failed. That was it, he wasn’t going to get his arm back. 

“We’re wasting our time.” Marco whispered numbly, meeting the doctor’s eyes.

“It’s okay, really. You all tried your best, and i’m grateful to be alive.”

The doctor frowned at Marco, knotting his eyebrows together. “We can try this again tomorrow-“

“I can’t feel anything at all, just as I did before. I don’t think it’s worth any more of your effort, but thank you for trying.” Marco interrupted.

He glanced sadly at the appendage. He thought, in utter dismay, about how he’d never be able to hold Jean tightly in both arms ever again.

Marco knew it wasn’t the fault of any of the doctors that his arm would never work again. Truthfully, it was Marco who hadn’t been quick enough to figure things out, to put a stop to Reiner before he could kill any more of his friends.

Before Reiner maimed his arm.

He would just have to learn his way around everything with just the one. And that would be okay.

“Alright.” The doctor pushed up his glasses, setting his notepad down on the bedside table. “We could always amputate it, if it’s causing you discomfort. we can figure out where would be best to disconnect it.”

Marco thought about that decision, and if it was something he would actually want. Sure, it would be annoying for the limb to just hang there, but he also thought about what the reminder would mean for him. How he would think about his friends, and never forget them whenever he looked at himself.

Besides, Marco knew Jean would still love him, no matter what he decided. And he didn’t want to go through even more surgery and recovery.

He wouldn’t let Reiner have any more pieces of him. He would keep this one thing, even if it wasn’t useful anymore.

“No. I do not wish to amputate it.” Marco answered, shaking his head.

His shoulder throbbed, and Marco grit his teeth as he sat back against his hospital bed. He was paralyzed by his pain, unable to relax.

The doctor simply stood, taking his notepad with him and humming in agreement.

”Rest easy, son.”

And Marco tried.

Three days after surgery, Marco’s arm never regained feeling.

He knew it wouldn’t, though he had been hopeful that maybe the sensation had just been delayed.

It an outcome he wasn’t pleased with, but he would be damned if he let it get in the way of living his life. Nothing else had changed, he was just slightly handicapped now.

Marco vowed to make a conscious effort in getting know people, before trusting them with anything. No matter who they may be.

He still couldn't believe Reiner was dead.

Marco’s mom had come back to see him after the doctor cleared him for visitation, and she brought him some new clothes from home.

He was allowed to change in a few days, but his nurses wanted his wounds to have a chance to heal before he was allowed to shower and dress himself.

He watched his mom unpack the clothes into the hospital dresser, and frowned.

“Mom… where is dad?” Marco asked.

At that point, he already knew his father was gone.

Mrs. Bodt paused, not allowing herself to look at him for a minute. Marco hated the avoidance, it was her way of concealing how she really felt.

She scoot her chair up next to his bed, and took his hand gently.

“He didn’t stay long after you snuck out. He said that you were right.” She rambled, squeezing his hand.

His mom was bitter, angry. Like she was finally understanding how Marco felt.

Marco smiled at her, pulling her hand to his cheek.

“Good. I was right.” He joked.

His mom thought to scold him for the sass, but she couldn’t hold back her laugh. She shook her head instead.

“Don’t get full of yourself now, we still haven’t discussed your punishment for sneaking out. But baby… I’m so sorry for how I handled things.” She admitted, looking down at his bed regretfully.

“If I hadn’t have called your father, maybe you wouldn’t have run away. You might not have been in this whole mess in the first place…”

Marco dropped his smile and furrowing his brows.

“No mom, that isn’t true. I was just… ugh, you know what it’s all very complicated. I will tell you about everything, but first I have to ask you a question.” Marco begged, bracing his palm against her shoulder.

She met his eyes again, tipping her head to the side.

“What is it?” 

…

“Where is Jean?” Marco asked.

His mother raised her guard. “He’s at the juvenile detention center, awaiting trial.” She huffed, crossing her arms.

Marco gulped down his fear, squinting at her.

“They don’t seriously still think he did this, do they?” Marco whispered.

His mom was weary.

“I don’t know baby. They’re keeping another one of your friends there too, Bertolt Hoover. Jean is insinuating that he was kidnapped, and now everyone is confused as to who the real killer is. Their court date is soon, I'm so sorry I know that's a lot to process.” She sighed, brushing his hair away as she stood back up.

Mrs. Bodt continued to put away his clothes, busying herself so she didn’t have to confront the questions about his best friend.

Marco grimaced, clenching his left fist tightly. It sent tingling pain down his right side, to flex that way.

“Why haven’t I been called as a witness yet? I’m the one who heard everything.” Marco growled.

His mom whipped around, her ears perked up in shocked.

“What do you mean by that?” She asked, standing at his side.

Marco raised his head up to level with her. His mind was melting against the heat of everything Reiner had said.

Marco had actually lived to tell the tale.

“I know everything.”

Chapter Text

Two Trost PD officers were inside Marco’s little hospital room, within in a manner of minutes.

They were ready to take his statement. If Marco knew everything about the murders, he could still be in mortal danger.

Deputy Ackerman wanted to ensure Marco’s safety first and foremost, but they also wanted to check in, and to see if he was well off enough to provide his testimony.

“Marco, long time no see.” Deputy Ackerman mused.

Him and his colleague, Officer Zoe, were sat across from Marco once more. He recalled the last time the two officers had questioned him, in a similar situation.

The only difference being that Marco now knew the weight of the full truth.

Before, when the teen had been questioned about Jean’s disappearance, their investigation style had been quite overwhelming.

One might even say distressing.

Now, they dulled their faces, knees crossed respectfully at the end of Marco’s bed.

Deputy Ackerman’s eyes searched him, and glanced off to the side. The reflection within his irises was guilty, as if he placed the blame for Marco's condition on his shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I broke curfew again.” Marco grinned. He was trying to add some levity to the situation.

The deputy cracked a smile too, shaking his head as he rubbed his chin in thought.

“Finally growing a sense of humor, I see. The doctors tell me you have information about the case?”

Marco folded his left arm over his midsection, grunting in pain when the skin grazed against his abdomen.

His torso was so fragile, it was only being held together by a miracle. One sneeze and he could bleed out all over again.

“Yeah,” Marco confirmed. “I have the detailed confession of Reiner Braun, and the timeline for all of the murders up to this point.”

Marco was unable to contain a triumphant smile.

The deputy’s eyes widened, and Officer Zoe’s jaw fell. Judging by their reaction, Jean must have done an excellent job of keeping his mouth shut.

Seriously, why did he feel like he needed to take the fall for everything? If that was how he felt, by keeping Marco out of his statement.

The guy deserved to be a little selfish is all, and Marco was more than willing to open that door for him.

“W-well, do you think you are fit enough to give a statement?” Deputy Ackerman asked.

Marco stared down at his bruised body, an unpleased expression painted on his freckled face. He would finally be allowed to shower later that evening, but for the present moment he was greasy, tired, and crusty.

His head ached something awful, the pain medication could only do so much for him before it stopped having an effect.

Marco was scared to see his wounds up close and personal. He knew they’d be nauseating, and uncomfortable. He might even be unable to bear the sight of the gore without his stomach coming up, and that alone could reopen a stitch.

Marco gulped.

“Yeah, I’ve been ready to share it since I woke up.”

Marco reached out to the officers for a notepad, to which they granted him.

He thanked his lucky stars that he was ambidextrous. Having to learn to write without his dominant hand would be just downright annoying. There was still a lot of other skills he would have to find a work around for in the future, but he would jump that hurdle when he came to it.

Marco scribbled a bit, before he spoke.

“You may want to sit down, it’s a long story.” Marco said.

His eyes were glinting with sadness.

Marco remembered how Reiner had said essentially the same thing to him, right before he assaulted him.

Reiner had been someone Marco considered to be one of his best friends at school. But instead of treating him with kindness, Reiner was ready to kick him down at the first chance he could.

All because Marco asked too many questions.

Marco had never been that terrified in his life; no amount of therapy could ever erase the experience from his mind, or allow him to move on from that feeling of being inches to death.

He would be haunted by this case for the rest of his days.

The officers leaning forward, eagerly awaiting Marco’s testimony. They were ready to pay attention.

“Well, let’s start with the night of the fair.”

Marco began his retelling of everything that happened. He gave them the timelines for Jean, Eren, Connie, Bertolt, Armin and Reiner, and where everyone had dispersed to after the fair had ended.

He explained how Jean had nowhere else to go after the fight with Eren, and with officers swarming his home, he came to Marco's house to enlist his help.

Marco knew for sure that Jean had left him out of his own statement, otherwise there would have been officers handing Marco his subpoena notice days ago.

The freckled boy was going to leave no stone unturned, no evidence unheard.

“Alright… How did you know you could trust Jean, since you didn’t seem to have this information until after you were stabbed?” Mrs. Zoe asked, tapping her pen to her lips.

“Jean and I have been best friends since we were kids. And Eren, he was a big part of our social group, so I trusted that Jean wasn’t capable of murdering him. I just felt it.” Marco urged, shaking his head.

“It sounds stupid, and dangerous. Believe me, I had those same thoughts every time I snuck out to see him. But the deeper I dug in this case, the abundant evidence continued to prove Jean’s innocence.”

The two officers glanced at each other, quirking a brow.

Deputy Ackerman turned back towards Marco, tapping his foot gently against the tiles.

“So, that would mean you lied to us when you said you didn’t know where Jean was on Wednesday.” He asked, blankly.

Marco’s cheeks were flaming. He knew he would have to admit at least partial guilt, if he was to tell the whole story.

He prayed that his testimony would be enough to remove Jean from the chopping block.

“Yeah, sorry about that... but you have to understand.” Marco begged. “I didn’t lie because I was hiding something, I lied because if I would have given Jean up, the real killers, Reiner, Bertolt and Annie would have fled town. They were using Jean as their scapegoat, and the last step in the plan was for him to take the blame for my murder.”

The officers nodded in thought. Deputy Ackerman sighed, smoothing his hair over.

“I see. Continue.” He urged.

Marco grunted, moving on to tell the officers exactly how he had kept Jean hidden, and the confessions he had received from Connie at the vigil. He explained how he discovered the biggest piece of evidence in the case, the piece that Armin had been concealing within the pages of a book from his bookcase.

“I’m sure you guys already filed everything away, and collected all the stuff at the treehouse. One of those notes about the wolf allegory… it’s a replica, proof that I demanded Jean give to me to demonstrate he wasn’t the murderer. The real note is in red ink, the one that Reiner forged.”

Marco fumbled, realizing that he had actually set his team back by having Jean copy the damn note.

He should have destroyed that copy, when he realized it wasn’t a match. They needed to be found innocent of the murders, before they could get anywhere around the lying and evading charges.

“I found it inside of a novel, titled Kill Your Darlings. It’s a murder mystery novel.”

Marco tried his best to paint them a clear picture, his left hand was still furiously etching down his own statement.

“Reiner had used it to try to steer Armin off of his course, but it backfired, causing Armin to focus more on him. Reiner stole Kill Your Darlings back when he invaded the treehouse…”

Marco squinted, trying to remember the specific details of the fight. Everything Reiner had confessed to him occurred just before he was stabbed for the first time. 

His memories were still just a bit fuzzy.

“He tucked the book in his back pocket, but showed it to me before he attacked to provoke me. He was going to use the replica as proof that Jean was the real killer, but I just couldn’t let him.”

Marco’s voice quivered.

He felt his blood pressure rising, he had to calm down before his heart monitor gave him away.

“Shall we call it here? We can collect the rest of your statement when you’re feeling a little better.” Officer Zoe asked, looking at him with a pained expression.

The most frustrating thing about being wounded was how Marco couldn't control his own stamina anymore. Everything he did made him shaky and weak, or writhe in utter agony.

This testimony wasn't going to be optional though, so he had to push through that wall of pain and get over it. Jean needed him now more than ever.

Marco shook his head, grunting angrily.

“No. Jean’s court date is too close, he needs this testimony in order to be judged fairly.”

Deputy Ackerman looked as though he was tying the pieces of the case together, and with the timeline Marco had provided he was one step closer. His eyes cleared, and he nodded, holding up his notepad.

“Ready when you are.” The deputy said, sure of himself.

Marco retold the story Reiner had given him about Sasha. He gave the officers the details of Reiner’s plan to frame Jean, and kill Marco off to bury the rest of their crimes.

Marco relived his entire fight with Reiner from start to finish, and disconnected himself from reality as he did.

Every time he reminisced on the attack, he could still visualize the unhinged vindication in Reiner’s eyes as he chased Marco through the woods.

His shoulder suddenly ached. Marco had lost his sense of security, and his arm.

What a pain.

“Well… I just seem to be missing one thing.”

Deputy Ackerman read over the statement Marco provided, his expression hardened again.

“What?” Marco asked.

He had given them exactly the proof they needed, to clear Jean of all involvement in the homicides.

Officer Zoe pursed her lips, shrugging at Marco.

“Motive. What did Reiner have against Eren, why did he kill him?”

Marco frowned. 

He did his best to remember what Reiner had said about his and Bertolt's past, but that branch of his memory was still difficult to access.

He was being kicked to a pulp and sliced up throughout the retelling, so could you blame him?

“All I know is Reiner said that him, Annie and Bertolt aren’t from here. They escaped from somewhere… I think he said it was an orphanage?”

Marco groaned in frustration, trying to bring their conversation back to him.

“They said Annie… killed another kid on accident. I just know that Reiner slipped up, and told Eren the full story. Eren gets all vindictive, he tells Reiner he’s ‘gonna get what’s coming to him’. And Reiner just...”

Marco bit back tears. Deputy Ackerman notated the motive at the bottom of the page, and sucked up a deep breath.

“So… Bertolt Hoover and Annie Leonhart? Are you implying they also had a part to play in all of this?” He asked.

Marco tried to connect the other two to Reiner’s story, searching through the facts he knew for sure.

“Annie reported Sasha’s body, and Bertolt helped Reiner lie about taking Eren to the hospital. That, and Reiner said they all escaped the orphanage together. But it is to my understanding the murders in general were all committed by the same person: Reiner Braun.”

Marco's hand was trembling. He remembered the look Reiner had given him while he lay helpless in the dirt, at the bottom of the ladder.

The blonde above him was absolutely insane, madden by the rationalization of everyone’s murder.

The attempt on Marco's life had serious consequences for his mental health; Reiner was never going to come out of this with his sanity.

Maybe, neither was Marco.

Reiner had smiled down at him on that fateful evening, in the way someone does when they have nothing left to lose.

“Reiner had no help when it came to taking Eren’s life, he hardly had assistance with Armin and Sasha either. But Bertolt and Sasha were definitely helping him cover up his tracks, and Bertolt was directly involved in the attempt on my life.”

Marco had finished his testimony at long last.

Officer Zoe smiled, rising to her feet to bump Marco’s fist with her own.

“Way to go Marco, you’re gonna be a hero!”

She laughed amidst the tragedy, and Marco smiled up at her, feeling his chest unclog hopefully.

Finally, some good news.

Marco crossed his fingers that his statement would be enough to convict Bertolt and Annie. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at night until they were convicted, and behind bars for what they had done. Bertolt didn't seem like the type to hunt an individual down and seek revenge, but Marco didn’t even want there to be a chance.

“Rest up kid, the trial is soon. You’ll need to be back in stable conditions if you want to testify.” Deputy Ackerman encouraged, guiding Officer Zoe out of the room to give Marco quiet time.

Before he could slip out, the deputy turned back to Marco, giving him a tender smile as he pat the doorframe.

“I’ve never met teenagers like you or Jean. You two put up one hell of a fight, and I hope to say that you two can actually come out on top of this.”

The deputy filled Marco with a sense of pride. The freckled teen watched him disappear, leaving him to be alone in the little white room with his thoughts.

“Thank you.” Marco whispered genuinely.

He slept again.

When Marco woke again, Connie had fallen asleep in the chair next to his hospital bed. There was a Gameboy loose in his hands, Little Magic still up and running.

Marco grinned, leaning over as much as he dared just to poke Connie awake with his left hand.

His right arm lay rigid at his side, feeling no different as it did the day before.

“Connie,” Marco complained, flicking his forehead.

Connie woke with a start, rubbing his eyes. “Wha?” he asked, setting his Gameboy down on the table. When he turned back to Marco, his eyes widened.

“Holy shit, you’re awake!” Connie said, his smile lighting up the entire room.

It had been a long time since any of them had actually smiled.

The expression was refreshing, a little splash of color to brighten Marco's monochrome world.

Connie leaned forward to hug him, and when the freckled teen winced, he let off.

“Oh man I’m sorry, I know you’re still kind of half held together... But I’m just so glad you’re alive!” Connie mused, backing off of Marco to stoop eagerly at his side.

Marco chuckled, shaking his head and relaxing back against the bed.

“Yeah, you could say that. I feel like a leaky boat.”

Marco pat his torso gently, and coughed.

Connie shook his head in disbelief, scratching his head as his eyes grazed over Marco’s body.

“I still can’t believe this happened. Marco I… I’m so sorry, I should have trusted you. I can’t believe Reiner…”

Marco furrowed his brows, bracing his hand against the shorter boy’s shoulder.

“I’m not upset, Connie. You did what you could, under the circumstances.” Marco said, frowning down at his limp appendage.

The teen had actually been more upset about the outcome of the surgery than he let on. He was rather disappointed he would never gain the feeling back, that he’d never experience a two-handed hug again.

But he didn't blame Connie, or anyone else other than Reiner for his handicap.

At least his arm still worked in his dreams.

“I am upset, though." The shorter boy challenged. "I stalled Jean, I might’ve been able to get police to you sooner if I just trusted him too.”

Connie groaned angrily, balling his fists. “I still can’t believe they were both behind everything.”

Marco was confused.

How did Connie know it was Reiner and Bertolt? What did he mean that he stalled Jean?

“Connie, what are you talking about?”

The bile rose in Marco’s throat again. Was Connie working with them?

Connie smacked a palm to his head, and laughed.

“Oh of course, nobody told you. I’m the one who called the cops, Marco.” Connie grinned, giving Marco a thumbs up.

“Jean told me everything, he called me using Bertolt’s phone after he had escaped. He told me… you were in serious trouble.”

Marco’s heart flared. Jean had escaped capture, and incited the help that prevented him from dying by Reiner’s hand.

They had both been fighting for each other all along.

Marco teared up, smiling happily at Connie. There was no reason to fear the boy in front of him, not when he was only reacting to the information he was given. Connie wasn’t working with the three: Reiner, Bertolt or Annie.

They worked alone, and Marco realized it had almost always been that way since the very beginning.

“You guys actually saved me. I would’ve been dead if you hadn’t have called the station, so thank you. Really.” Marco said, his tone drenched thickly in gratitude.

Marco would never be able to pay the two of them back properly, but he knew they never expected him to.

He had some of the most amazing friends.

“Don’t thank me, thank Jean.” Connie sighed, getting comfortable in his chair again.

Marco felt a pang. Jean was in a juvenile hall, all alone. He was awaiting trial for crimes he did not commit.

“Connie, can you do me a massive favor?” Marco asked, grabbing the hospital-provided notepad that staff left on his tray.

Connie was now confused.

“What kind of favor? I’ll do it.”

He watched as Marco wrote down the hospital room’s phone number with his left hand, awestruck.

Marco ripped the sheet off, handing it to Connie.

“Take this to Jean. Have him call me, please.” Marco begged.

Connie bit his lip, taking the paper from Marco.

“But Marco, are you guys even allowed to talk to each other before the trial? Isn’t that, like, illegal?”

Marco shook his head, dropping his arm again. He was exhausted, even from this small interaction.

“I don’t want to talk to him about the case.” He answered shortly, and that was true.

Marco wanted to tell Jean that he was okay. He also wanted to reassure Jean that he was going to help him out of this mess.

Connie stood, pinching the paper tenderly between his fingers. He folded it and shoved it in his pocket, and snatched up his Gameboy shortly afterwards.

“Okay. I’ll take it to him.” He agreed, squeezing Marco’s arm.

As they were saying their goodbyes, another familiar face entered Marco’s hospital room.

“Hello Connie, Marco how are we doing?” Carla Jaeger asked, coming in to check his medication and vitals once again.

Connie’s face had adapted a mournful expression, but he smiled at her anyway.

”Doing well, ma’am.” He answered.

“I’m achy. Connie was just leaving, thank you for coming to see me.” Marco explained, glancing up at Connie.

He urged him to remember his favor, eyes flashing sharply.

Connie straightened up, bowing to Marco.

“Of course. I’m glad you’re still here Marco, stay strong. I’ll see you at the trial.”

He slipped out of the room. 

Carla tidied up Marco’s bed and checked his bandages, clicking her tongue.

“Are you ready to try a shower?” She asked, giving him a hopeful nudge.

Marco grimaced. His eyes wavered fearfully, as he considered the pain and potential large-scale emergency that could arise from this decision.

He couldn’t exactly say if he was ready or not.

The shower had been on his mind all day, but taking one meant that he had to view all of the damage done to his body.

“We’ll see.” He offered her a lopsided smile.

She worked on gathering his things with dutiful disposition, and Marco found her routine entertaining as she moved around his room.

He couldn’t help but think about Eren, and how the trial might be making her feel.

Carla Jaeger would be there amongst the people of Trost, listening to her son’s story and Marco’s testimony. She was the first person to learn of the horrors of the case, so she was bound to be there.

Marco had been the last victim to face the wraith of Reiner Braun. He was going to bring him to justice.

“Mrs. Jaeger, Your son was a great friend to us all. I’m really, really sorry for your loss.”

Marco apologized to her without second thought, feeling the hole in his chest ever growing. He wished there was more he could say or do to comfort her.

She faltered, staring at Marco with a bleak expression. But a second passed, and she smiled at the happier memories of her son.

“Thank you. I’m just glad you survived, because now Eren has someone to fight for him.” Carla reassured, coming to take Marco’s right hand and squeezing it gently in her own. Her eyes were shining at him, and they filled Marco with a sense of purpose.

He was going to fight for them all. He would be their voice.

Marco couldn’t feel Carla’s touch, but he could understand her conviction.

“I will, everyone is going to see how brave he was. They’ll see how brave they all were, and the people who are responsible for taking them away... they’re going to pay.” Marco promised, nodding at her.

She pressed a button on his bed, which pushed him forward until he was fully sitting up. The position was wildly uncomfortable for the wound on his abdomen, but it would be worth it to shower.

Marco felt disgusting.

“The town is coming together, to sign a petition to the state. It’s for the pardon of all the crimes you and Jean stand accused of.” She said, offering Marco a look of optimism.

The freckled boy’s eyes widened, and he moaned in pain when she tried to shift him to the end of the bed.

The throbbing was everywhere, there wasn’t a single bone in his body that didn’t ache. How had he even managed to survive the stabbing?

“They can do that…?” Marco asked, grunting in effort. He strained as his legs swung over the side of the bed.

His body was already too tired to keep moving; he was panting heavily, sweat beaded dramatically against his forehead. But Marco was not ready to give up yet.

This was the step he needed to take, to prove to himself that he could take on the whole trial. He just had to push through another hour or so.

Carla brought a wheelchair over to his side, angling it so she could carefully lift him into the chair. She looped her arms under Marco’s armpits, connecting them behind his back.

With a swift pull and a grunt, she hoisted him down.

Marco whined softly as his spine came in contact with the chair. His collarbone sent shockwaves piercing pain down right side, but the ache subsided after a few seconds.

Carla wiped her brow, smiling in success and heaving a sigh.

“We can absolutely try.” She promised, grasping Marco’s left shoulder as she guided him into the double wide shower stall.

Carla situated him under the faucet, and made herself comfortable in a chair in front of Marco. She stripped him of his pathetic hospital gown, leaving him nude everywhere except for his torso.

Marco shivered, painfully aware of his naked body.

“This part is going to be a little tricky. I have to unwrap your gauze and re-wrap them in waterproofing, so they don’t get wet.” She explained, a pair of scissors already in hand.

Carla eyed Marco carefully, pinching her lips together in a tight line.

“If it’s at any point too uncomfortable, or you think you’re going to be sick, tell me and we will take a break.”

Marco tried his best not to panic.

He had been bracing himself for this part for the past few days, but nothing had actually worked to reassure himself that it wouldn’t go all wrong.

He was afraid to watch, so he closed his eyes and nodded, swallowing thickly.

She cut the gauze from the bottom up, starting just under his belly button. Slowly, she sliced the white cotton up until it passed over his ribs, and continued over his pectoral muscles and against his neck.

Marco glued his lids shut, assuming that if he didn’t see the stab wounds, then there would be no sensation of getting stabbed again.

There was an urge within him to scream.

He cold metal of the scissors tingled against his skin, and he wanted to cry out for it to stop.

Marco wasn’t under Reiner’s blade anymore. He was completely safe, but there was nothing he could do to remind himself of that fact at the present moment.

She set the scissors down off to the side, and began the tedious effort to peel away his gauze.

When it grazed over the stab wounds, a sticky, ripping velcro sound rang clearly in Marco’s ears. He tried not to imagine what the scene looked like, but he ultimately dared a peek.

His chest was finally exposed to air, looking ghastly white, and in some places soggy and mushy from the bandages. The two stab wounds were still concealed in another layer of gauze, and the stains over those areas caused Marco to feel like squirming and crying.

His skin reminded him of the texture of a rotten fruit, and the fluid reeked of festering meat.

“Okay, so this is the part where you need to be more vocal with me, if you think you’re going to be sick. Straining your stomach muscles could reopen a stitch, so no puking.” She instructed, looking into Marco’s eyes and patting his leg gently.

Marco felt uncomfortable exposed, but he didn’t exactly mind Carla being the one to help him shower.

Carla had a tender touch just like his own mother’s, and he knew she would take good care of him throughout the whole process. Marco always remembered how sweet she was to everyone at Trost High, and he could see where Eren learned his humor from.

“Okay.” He agreed shakily, taking a deep breath.

He didn’t want to die in the shower. That would be beyond embarrassing.

Slowly, Carla peeled back the wrapping on Marco’s abdomen, over his hip.

He winced at the sensation of his skin peeling  apart from the gauze, and balled his left hand up to brace himself.

Her taking off the wound dressing was more painful than when the knife originally had gone in, though Marco supposed he hadn’t allowed himself to feel anything in the moment that it happened, so of course it would flare up later.

His eyes searched wound, and his head began to spin.

The cut wasn’t big, maybe two or three inches wide and shaped like an oval. But the bruising around the area made everything seem worse than it was. His veins were red and irritated, and the stitches sealing it up were crusted black.

He had a spider web of trauma deep beneath the skin, and his nerves were fried.

Marco trembled, but he didn’t salivate too much. He could do this without throwing up, he was determined.

There was one more bandage to remove, and Marco nodded at Carla for the green light.

“I’m ready.”

She huffed and bobbed her head, working on unwrapping the other wound.

When Marco’s attention fell on his collarbone, that was when he knew he wouldn’t be okay. 

Throwing up wasn’t necessarily off the table, and he decided he could possibly be sick again.

“Wait-“ He breathed, vision swimming.

Bracing against her shoulder, he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes in an attempt to banish the picture from his mind.

The injury on his abdomen was child’s play compared to the stab wound in his shoulder.

The skin where his shoulder used to be completely overlapped itself, and the stitches that held it together spanned unnaturally from the base of his right bicep, all the way across his chest and up onto the left side of his neck.

There were two incisions in the ball of his shoulder, where they had attempted to reconnect his nerves.

They failed to bring his arm back because Reiner had completely killed it.

The gash itself was deep, and came in a variety of different blacks, blues and purples. The impact from the knife had caused his collarbone to concave on itself, and Marco had no idea how his entire right side was still attached.

It bled a little as he flinched at it, and Carla frowned, pressing a cotton pad against the freshly opened spot to keep the bleeding to a minimum.

“Okay. Take as long as you need.” She said grimly.

Marco gulped, feeling his stomach trying it’s hardest to come up. He had to swallow down the heaves, thinking about whatever he could to banish the image from his mind.

He thought about what he would say to Jean when the guy finally called him.

He wanted to tell Jean how much he loved him, to gush about how much he missed him.

“Keep going.” Marco grunted, biting his tongue.

He kept his eyes closed, figuring that blocking his sight would be the safest option.

Marco could still feel the tingling sensation of the fresh air reacting with his blood, and the sting of the cold exposure nipping at his flesh.

It wasn't so much the idea that he was wounded as it was actually seeing gore that made Marco feel sick, so he wouldn’t be opening his eyes again for a long time.

He still had to last throughout the whole shower.

“I’ll tell you when you can look.” Carla sympathized.

She continued dressing the holes in his body, preparing him for the shower.

He furrowed his brows once she began wrapping the gashes in something that was stiff, more durable than the cotton from earlier.

He disconnected himself from real life as much as he could, and tried to imagine himself in the courtroom, where he would be defending Jean in just a few days.

Marco thought about what he would say to the jury, how he would explain who the real evil was.

Jean was innocent, and Marco would force everyone to believe it. He had every detail, perfectly placed down to the date, time and witness. There was no way they could lose.

Carla had left Marco’s side; he noticed her position shift subconsciously to his left as he kept his eyes shut tight. She was now over to the faucet, testing the temperature.

He still didn’t open his eyelids, afraid one little glimpse and it would be over.

“Ok hun, are you ready for the water?” She asked, turning on the shower head and feeling out the heat with her hands.

Only then did Marco allow his eyes to open, and he glanced down at his unsightly body.

He had become incredibly skinny, and pale. His stab wounds were hidden behind the thick plastic wrapping, and he sighed in relief when he saw no more blood, no more stitches.

“Yes, thank you.”

Marco rest his shoulders back against the wheelchair, pushing the stress out of his lungs with a single exhale.

She brought the shower head over to him, and began to hose his hair down.

While the water beat down over head, he let the sound of the droplets fill his ears and his mind.

Marco imagined the water not only cleansed his body, but his soul too. He was haunted by the case, by everything he had seen and learned while trying to save his friends.

He was going to have homicide related nightmares for a long time.

At least nobody else has to die.

Marco lay awake, staring up at the ceiling of his hospital room. His mom had gone home to sleep already, leaving Marco alone with his thoughts once again.

The buzzing from the sick bay machinery around him made it hard for him to sleep most nights.

His surroundings were so different from home, and nothing like spending the night with Jean either. There was no human element to bring him comfort here.

He was glad to be wearing his own clothes again at least, with clean and fresh bandages.

Marco’s mind was on the same subject as it had been since he began his stay at the hospital: he wondered how Jean was doing at that very moment.

Marco was curious if Jean was being held in the same place as Bertolt and Annie, and the idea made him shaky with anger.

If Jean was unfortunate enough to find himself in that situation, Marco prayed that neither of them would touch a hair on his head. Him and Jean were so close to the end, they could put the whole case behind them in a few short days.

As Marco fumed, the bedside phone rang. The freckled teen leaned over with a grunt to grab it.

“Hello?” Marco answered frantically.

Please, let it be Jean.

He held the phone up to his left ear, the cord tangling itself around his arm.

“Marco?”

It was Jean’s desperate voice.

Tears sprung into Marco’s eyes. He whimpered into the phone, unable to hold back the wave of emotions that whisking him away.

“Jean, you finally called.” Marco smiled as fresh tears stained his cheeks.

“Of course I did, Marco, you’re alive! I can’t believe it, you were in a coma.” Jean croaked, his voice sounding equally broken.

They were both so far from being okay, and they still had the biggest hurdle of all to jump over: the conviction.

“It’s been days, nobody has been able to tell me anything.”

Marco laughed, squeezing the phone tightly in his hand. He was absolutely thrilled.

“Yeah, but I fought hard, Jean. I thought I was dead, but I heard your voice.” Marco explained, curling in on himself and listening to every breath Jean took with eagerness.

Jean was silent for a minute. Marco heard a couple muffled sounds, and a whine. Then the regular static of the phone again.

“You heard me?” He asked, finally.

Marco grit his teeth, crying harder.

“Yes Jean. I heard you.” He confirmed, again. 

Jean laughed abruptly on the other end, and Marco’s chest swelled with pride.

Marco realized, then, that he was going to see Jean again. And, if everything went their way, they were going to be okay.

“I love you, Jean.” Marco whispered over the receiver.

Jean cried. He cried and cried and cried, and Marco hated that he couldn’t be there at Jean’s side to comfort him. They had to wait just a little longer, but Marco had faith.

“I love you too.” Jean said, finally.

Marco heard a loud shout in the background.

“I have to go, someone else needs to use this phone. Just hold on a little longer.” Jean begged, and Marco felt panic.

“Jean, wait! Before you go.”

He leaned in closer to the phone chord, and Jean hummed for him to continue.

Marco prayed that Jean would do everything he asked. Otherwise, there was still a chance they could lose it all.

“Tell your investigator everything, and I mean including everything about me. They’ve already taken my statement, and I don’t care if it’s on record that I lied to them about hiding you. We have to do this the right way.” Marco instructed, making a small noise when his shoulder throbbed at his movements.

Jean breathed in deeply on the other line.

“Marco, you shouldn’t have…. Ugh. Alright, but do you really think that’ll help?” He asked. The shouting in the background grew louder, and Marco knew he had to wrap up.

“Yes. They can still somehow try to pin this back on you if we don’t tell them everything. Just… trust me.” Marco urged.

Jean groaned, and answered “Okay, I’m coming!” Presumably towards the guard telling him to finish up.

“I’ll see you soon.” He promised, and the line clicked dead.

Marco let the phone fall into his lap, his heart beating too fast to think.

The whole town would just have to wait to see what happened next.

Jean turned to face the guard who had been chastising him for going over his allotted call time, and crossed his arms.

He had tried his hardest to keep Marco out of trouble, but he should have known that the freckled boy would never let him go through anything alone.

But, Marco was right. They had to tell the truth.

“I would like to speak to an investigator, please,” Jean requested. “I seem to have left some of my statement out.”

As the sun rose the very next day, Connie burst through the door into Marco’s room, his panicked face conveyed his urgency.

“What is it?” Marco asked, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and settling back into the bed.

“It’s Bertolt.” Connie panted breathlessly. “He’s going to give his statement.”

Chapter Text

Marco eyed his own reflection with tingling annoyance.

It was the eve of the big trial, and Marco's skin was practically rippling with anxiety as his hand ghosted over his lower torso.

He had been attempting not to think about his extensive injuries, ever since after his first shower about a week ago. But all his willful ignorance would be for not once he took the stand tomorrow.

The Judge and jury would have to dig everything back up one more time, to put Trost’s fears to rest.

It was a daunting task. Marco hadn’t even been scheduled for physical therapy yet, or any therapy for that matter.

And even so, he was prepared to deliver his horrific statement. He was ready to be picked apart by lawyers, and to assist the jury in arriving at a proper verdict.

Marco had to display his broken body, for the entire courtroom was to see. They’d attest to the damage that Reiner had done to him, to the trauma he caused.

He hoped, maybe his scars would be enough evidence to convict the other two teens responsible.

And maybe, if he was being optimistic, they would even be supplemental to absolve Jean’s of all blame.

Marco wrestled with tufts of brown hair, working tediously to shape the waves around his anxious eyes. The length of the strands had grown since he was first hospitalized, and he was even starting to sprout a shadow of stubble on his jawline and upper-lip.

The facial hair completely ruined his baby face, and add that with his freshly traumatized eyes, Marco was suddenly an eighteen year-old boy in a forty year-old’s body.

Marco would have to ask for Jean’s help with the tedious task of shaving, if they miraculously won the case.

Tomorrow, Jean and Marco would be the prosecution side of the case against defendants Annie Leonhart, and Bertolt Hoover, for the cooperation and part in the murders of Eren, Armin and Sasha.

Reiner’s accomplices would be tried for the damage they had done to Marco’s body, and what they have done to alter to his life permanently.

The main goal of the prosecution was to clear Jean of all involvement in any of the murders, but also to shine a blinding spotlight on the true story.

Reiner’s story.

Marco’s story.

Everyone’s story.

Marco was honestly disappointed that Reiner hadn’t survived the fight. He found himself wishing that the blonde could still be there, so he could’ve burned under the smoldering hate in Marco’s eyes.

He imagined Reiner would’ve cried as the Jury convicted him for triple homicide.

Marco’s right arm hung sadly off of the right side of his wheelchair. He frowned down at it, using his other hand to lift it back into his lap.

It had been weird, to see his whole hand still connected to his body, but not be able to feel it whatsoever.

The loss of Marco’s arm was a concept with which he was slowly grasping. He had to discover ways to work around the dead limb, and for the most part, the new short cuts worked great.

But Marco still found it complicated to remember catching the appendage from falling into his way.

Marco snuck a peek at himself once more in the silver frame, and breathed a deep sigh.

He still looked like shit. He wasn’t as greasy as he had been before, but his deep sunken eyes were tired and his clothes all smelled of hospital.

Marco’s chest was completely wrapped up, to keep his injuries from getting worse. Those wounds were healing up, but not fast enough for Marco’s tastes.

He wore what he normally did lately, some stupid black graphic tee and his boxer shorts. There was no point in wearing anything super formal. He spent most of his days in his room, tucked safely under the covers of his bed.

Marco fingers ghosted over the gash on his cheek, and the scar that was peeling and flaking there.

He would have that massive mark on his face for the rest of his life.

Marco un-parked his chair to wheel over to the dresser, where his mom had unpacked clothes from home. He sorted through the colorful garments, to find himself a nice outfit for the courtroom visit tomorrow.

It was late, the sun had set about an hour ago. Marco was relying on the poor-quality lighting of the hospital room’s lamp to see, flinging garments frantically as he searched for anything that made him look like he meant business.

He was so nervous.

It’s wasn’t like Marco believed that him and Jean didn’t have enough evidence against the other two teens. They had essentially a mountain, the jury would be stupid to believe anything else.

But it was a terrifying thought, being forced to relive the scariest moment of his life in front of an audience of strangers.

The freckled teen’s statement would be the most valuable in the entire room. But that also meant he was painting a bright red bullseye on his back, for everyone to observe.

Marco also worried that Annie and Bertolt had an ace hidden up their sleeve, to weasel their way out of guilt.

They’re going to get what’s coming to them, Eren. I swear it.

Marco laid out the outfit he had decided on. He rolled himself over to the bed, situating himself next to the mattress.

He hoped Jean was ready to see him tomorrow. He prayed that Jean wouldn’t be scared of him, and the horrible condition he was in.

Also, Marco wanted to prove to Jean that he had the will to keep living, and the courage to finish this mess with him.

He wanted to bring justice to Eren, and to Armin and Sasha. His best friends couldn’t physically be there for him, sure, but he knew they were watching.

He was going to do whatever it took to bring them closure, and to bring them peace.

Marco hoisted himself into the bed with a grunt and a wheeze, shuffling his way to the headboard. He wiped the sweat that dripped off of his brow, and clenched his fist.

It was time to rest. He had a big day tomorrow.

Jean squinted up at the building in front of himself after stepping out of the containment van.

He blocked the sun with one hand, and read the words above the doors.

Trost Courthouse.

Jean swallowed, ducking his head as deputy Ackerman lead him in through the sturdy main doors.

Bertolt and Annie were handcuffed behind him, he could hear their chains rattling with each step. He glanced back at them to read their tone, or just to glare at them in general. 

Bertolt was eyeing Jean nervously, his expression regretful.

Annie’s was cold.

Jean grit his teeth, whipping his head back around. He didn’t care what they would have to say today, or what reason they would come up with to get out of punishment.

He was going to make sure they never saw any outside world other than the prison yard for the rest of their miserable lives.

The wheels on Marco’s chair squeaked as he his mother rolled him in through the sturdy courthouse doors.

With the effort it had taken to get in and out of the car, as well as the inconvenience of his right arm being tied closely to his chest by a medical sling, Marco was wildly uncomfortable. 

The freckled teen hadn’t wanted to wear the device, but his mother had insisted it would be more comfortable for him during the trial.

And that’s the last time I take her word for it on what’s ‘comfortable’.

The wrap around his shoulder wasn’t even remotely pleasant. Though the sling wasn’t hanging off of his concaved shoulder, it still put a strain on the skin by his stitches and pinched his nerves.

It’s going to be a very long day.

As he entered the courthouse main hall, he recognized the faces of his friends that remained, and he smiled despite the ache.

Connie, Mikasa, Ymir and Historia were all there for him.

Most of them weren’t there just to watch, regrettably. Marco had involved his conversations with both Mikasa and Connie in the statement that he had given to the police, and the two of them were quickly called to the stand as witnesses.

Ymir had been called upon by Bertolt, for whatever he had included in his testimony.

No matter who was there to play witness or just to observe the case, everyone was waiting eagerly to hear what Bertolt would say to the jury. Would he claim responsibility, or would he fight back?

Marco hated involving Mikasa in all of the drama.

She had remained quite fragile. Her behavior was predictable honestly, after three of her closest friends had all bit the dust and left her behind. But Marco knew she wanted the exact same outcome as he did: for this investigation to be done the right way.

She would just have to cope for a day.

All of Marco’s friends wore sad smiles as he approached them.

Connie placed his hand on the freckled teen’s unharmed shoulder, as carefully as he could. Marco flinched back at the icy coolness of his friend’s fingers, but he allowed Connie to touch him anyway.

“Are you ready?” Connie asked.

Marco had walked in with empty masked confidence, so he grinned and gave them a thumbs up.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

They all hummed in agreement. Together, they cleared the security checkpoint, and made just outside of the courtroom. As they waited for permission to enter, the AC kicked on in full blast.

Marco was as frigid as Connie had been earlier. That, or maybe it was his anxiety that caused him to shake.

There were many curious people in the halls, waiting along side them. It seemed as though all of Trost, and maybe even half of the state itself were wanting answers to the case that had terrorized the town for nearly a week.

Some of the reporters tried to approach Marco as he sat, waiting. They shoved their microphones in his face and asked him all kinds of stupid questions.

‘All of Trost wants to know, are you certain it was Reiner who committed these senseless murders, or are you still covering for Jean?’

’What does it feel like, to be paralyzed? Are you expected to fully recover?’

The reporters left with their questions unanswered, as Mrs. Bodt chased them away with a rolled up program pamphlet.

Marco’s heart was hammering now. Did people really believe that he was covering for Jean? Why did the reporters always have to say the wrong thing?

The freckled teen asked his mom for his inhaler. He puffed it once, waited thirty seconds, and puffed it twice before returning it to her.

Once was no longer enough, lately.

Marco could sense Jean was nearby, somehow. The tan haired boy was locked up in a temporary cell somewhere, heart likely beating out of control.

Marco hoped that Annie and Bertolt kept their distance from Jean, if they were stuck in the same cell. He didn’t trust them one bit.

Regardless, Jean and Marco had the evidence to prove that Bertolt and Annie guilty. They had to succeed, it was the only reality Marco was going to accept.

After more than half an hour of waiting in near complete silence, the doors to the courtroom opened, and a gust musty air flowed out into the hallway.

Marco’s shivers intensified as he was wheeled down the center aisle.

The courtroom was much larger on the inside than Marco imagined it to be. The walls were decorated by granite pillars that doubled as support beams, and the ceiling had wooden archways lining the central roof, giving it the same appearance as the worship room of a chapel.

His mom parked his chair next to the prosecution’s table, and he met face to face with his lawyer.

“Hello,” The man said. “My name is Marlowe Freudenberg. I will be assisting you and Mr. Kirstein in the prosecution of Miss Leonhart and Mr. Hoover.”

The lawyer’s smile was more of a sneer than anything. He had black hair shaped in a sharp bowl cut, and the rest of the underside was shaved closely to his scalp. He donned a basic suit, with a green tie and a white button up. His eyes were narrow and witty, and his nose took up most of his face.

Mr. Freudenburg held out a hand to Marco, and the teen took it, smiling up at him.

He hoped he didn’t look as afraid as he felt.

“Hello. I’m Marco.” He stated.

Mrs. Bodt smiled at the lawyer as well, and she kissed Marco on the cheek.

“Good luck baby. I’ll be sitting up front, I’m here for you.” She whispered.

His mother squeezed his shoulder gently, and moving back behind the bench.

Marco gulped. He glanced to his left, curious to see if Annie or Bertolt had arrived yet. But the only person who sat on the defense side was a lady with fluffy blonde hair that came down to her shoulders.

The defense lawyer had cute bangs, and soft, cat like eyes. Her aura was moderately friendly, and at the very least cheerful.

Marco was threatened by her instantly.

She was about to defend the very people who aided in killing three of his friends.

She must be good too; Annie’s father had hired her, and was paying her handsomely to win.

Historia had been filling Marco in on all of the latest drama, when she occasionally visited him at Trost General.

Marco turned to glance over his shoulder, watching as his friends piled into the same pew together. They would almost all be called up for questioning, at some point or another.

Marco prayed his friends were ready to give their all, too. He needed them to be strong, to be truthful and vindictive.

Droves of people who had come to watch the case unfold began to file into the courtroom as well. Carla Jaeger had found her way through the crowd, finding her seat beside Marco’s mother. They both exchanged a quick hug and hushed greetings, and Marco’s chest surged with pride.

Carla trusted Marco to bring Eren’s killers to justice, and he was determined to demonstrate why he was worthy of her faith.

The whispers that filled the courtroom made the hair on Marco’s neck stand on end.

All of these people were there to judge him, just as much as they were there to judge Annie and Bertolt.

’Are you still covering for Jean?’

Maybe ten minutes after Marco had arrived, a door to the right of the Judge’s booth opened. The sound of chains rattling echoed loudly throughout the room, causing heads to turn and silence to fall.

Marco’s attention was immediately drawn to that door.

The first head to appear from the other side was Bertolt. He was so tall, Marco had seen his eyes above the pews the very second the door had swung open.

The tall teen was sweating profusely. He wore a tan jumpsuit that looked too lanky for his body, but suited him well in guilt. He was wielding crutches; his right leg was encased in a large cast.

They had chained his hands together, presumably because handcuffs weren’t accessible enough for his leg-situation.

He was followed by Annie, who sported the same jumpsuit. The color clashed horribly with her pale complexion and sharp nose.

Her dull yellow strands were tied up in a messy bun atop her head, and her sleepless eyes were lethal as ever.

She was afraid too, despite how hard she tried to play it off.

Marco felt his heartrate skyrocket, seeing the two of them being guided out of the holding cell of the courtroom by their shackles.

He locked eyes with Bertolt as the two of them made their way to the defense side, but Bertolt couldn’t handle it. The taller teen turned away.

Coward.

Marco glanced back at the door just in time to watch Jean emerge, with Deputy Ackerman in tow.

Jean was in rough shape. His face showed telltale signs that he hadn’t been sleeping; the bags under his eyes were deep and bruised, and his golden glow had faded.

But he was walking straight at least, and his ribs appeared to be healing well. He took each step with purpose, and that was the thing Marco noticed most.

Jean then noticed Marco in turn, and paused in his tracks.

Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, and his smile was infectious.

Marco’s heart did him no favors. It was thmp thmp thmp thmp thmp thumping away in his chest, steady as the beat of a drum.

Deputy Ackerman urged Jean forward, and Jean shook Mr. Freudenberg’s hand through his cuffs as he approached the prosecution’s table.

The deputy unlocked Jean’s cuffs shortly afterwards, and Jean made room for himself at the table.

Jean had planted himself at Marco’s right side. As he sat down, he placed a gentle hand against Marco’s thigh.

At long last, the warmth Marco had been craving.

“I missed you so much.” Jean whispered, against Marco’s ear.

The freckled teen longed to collapse. He was exhausted, and frankly, he wasn’t prepared to face his memories yet.

But there wasn’t a choice, so Marco would just have to push on a little longer. It wasn’t only justice for himself that he was fighting for.

“I missed you more.” Marco hushed back, pressing a kiss against Jean’s cheek.

Jean flushed. He tucked some hair behind his ear, and smirked knowingly.

Marco adored him.

“We’ve got this, remember?” Jean encouraged, scooting his chair even closer to Marco.

The freckled teen was thrilled to be at Jean's side again. He hated sleeping in the cold, lonely hospital room without him.

“Yeah. We do.” Marco bobbed his head in agreement.

As they were studying each other with interest and concern, the jury filed in through another door off to the right.

There were maybe ten people present amongst them, but Marco didn’t recognize any.

Those were the people who would have the power to put Bertolt and Annie away for life. They might even have the power to do the same to Jean and Marco, if they weren’t careful.

Marco crossed his fingers. He prayed that the jury would understand everything they had all just been through, and would end the pain.

“Just remember, we have everything we need to win at our disposal. Don’t let the defense scare you into silence, say what you need to say.” Mr. Freudenberg whispered.

The lawyer’s courage inspired Marco. The teen nodded, and focused himself on the task at hand. 

Deputy Ackerman posted himself in front of the bench, puffed out his chest.

“Please rise.” He commanded, his voice projecting through the already anticipatory courtroom.

Everyone but Marco was on their feet, and silence swept through the corridor.

The Judge entered through the back door. His long white hair and beard reached the collar of his robes, and his hardened eyes scanned the pews with scorn as he approached his desk.

“The Court of the Second Judicial Circuit, Criminal Division, is now in session, the honorable Judge Dhalis Zachary presiding.” Deputy Ackerman informed.

“Everyone except for the jury, you may be seated.” the Judge's deep voice echoed.

Marco felt himself shaking with anxiety. Judge Zachary turned his head towards the jury, and addressed them formally.

“Do you solemnly swear that you will truly listen to this case, and render a true verdict and a fair sentence, as to these defendants?”

The jury swore in.

“Members of the jury, your duty today will be to determine whether the defendants are guilty or not guilty based only on facts and evidence provided in this case.” The Judge’s eyes flicked across the room, at the table where the defense lawyer sat.

“The prosecution must prove that a crime was committed, and that the defendants are the persons who committed the crime.” Judge Zackery’s eyes then swept over to their table, resting on Marco for a couple of seconds.

Marco bit his lip, clenching his left hand in his lap to stop himself from shaking. They had everything they needed.

“However, if you are not satisfied of the defendants guilt to that extent, then reasonable doubt exists and the defendants must be found not guilty. Mr. Ackerman, what is today’s case?”

Deputy Ackerman addressed the courtroom again, loud and clear.

“Your Honor, today’s case is the state of Paradis versus Bertolt Hoover and Annie Leonhart.”

Marco’s eyes darted to the left again, over to where the traitors sat.

Their heads were bowed in front of their notebooks, studying the lies they would feed to the jury to twist their perspectives.

Judge Zachary sat back in his chair. He brought his pointer finger to his lips, scratching his chin as he considered both teams and their lawyers.

“Is the prosecution ready?”

Mr. Freudenberg rose to his feet, and Jean copied him.

Marco felt awkward, being the only one seated at the table. He let his eyes burn into the Judge instead, going for a bold smolder.

He would be taken seriously in this courtroom.

“Yes, your Honor.” Their lawyer spoke, and he was seated again along with Jean.

“Is the Defense ready?”

Marco watched the left table rise to their feet, and their lawyer answered the same.

Everyone was officially seated, and the entire courtroom had gone quiet except for the occasional sound of a cough or clearing of throats.

“We will now begin opening statements. Prosecution, please proceed.” The Judge commanded.

Marco and Jean’s lawyer rose to his feet again, and pointed his feet to the jury.

“Your Honor, members of the jury, my name is Marlowe Freudenberg, and I am representing The State of Paradis in this case. I intend to prove that on September Nineteenth, please find Annie Leonhart guilty of Accessory to Murder, and on the days of September Fifteenth, Eighteenth, Nineteenth, and Twentieth, please find Bertolt Hoover guilty of Accomplice to Murder. Thank you.”

Mr. Freudenberg departed, and the defense girl with wavy hair approached the podium behind him.

“Your Honor, members of the jury, my name is Hitch Dreyse, and I am representing Annie Leonhard and Bertolt Hoover in this case. I intend to prove that on September Nineteenth, please find Annie Leonhart not guilty of Accessory to Murder, and on the days of September Fifteenth, Eighteenth, Nineteenth and Twentieth, please find Bertolt Hoover not guilty of Accomplice to Murder. Thank you.”

She smiled politely, and stepped away to prepare her defense.

Chaos ensued.

It was suddenly time to enter evidence into the record, and the lawyers submitted in the items that best sold their story.

Folders, packages and photographs were shown to the jury, most of everything they needed to refer to was displayed.

Marco could do nothing but sweat as he watched the envelopes with photographs and hard drives enter into the record. The files that detailed the visuals of his wounds were amongst them, as well as full lists of medications he had taken and surgeries he had undergone.

Marco would see everything later, as it’ll be projected to everyone in the courtroom. He prayed he wouldn’t projectile vomit over the jury as the lawyers tortured him with his past.

Jean placed a sturdy hand on Marco’s kneecap, under the table. He didnt turn his head, but he squeezed his skin there.

Marco took a deep breath, and reminded himself that he wasn’t alone anymore.

The prosecution was allowed to call four witnesses, and they were as followed: Mikasa, Connie, Annie and Marco.

Mikasa approached the Deputy, and they stood eye to eye.

“Please raise your right hand.”

She did.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

She swore.

Deputy Ackerman then lead her to the witness stand, where a chair and a microphone were staged.

Marco would have to make his way to the same stand later on. He crossed his fingers under the table and wished for the strength to convince the jury.

Mr. Freudenberg was back on his feet again, walking to the podium once more to examine the first witness.

“Please state your name for the court.” He asked.

“Mikasa Ackerman.” She stated, straightening up as she did.

“Miss Ackerman, would you please detail to the court your record of Mr. Arlert’s behavior prior to his murder on the morning of September Eighteenth?”

Mikasa’s eyes flickered. The first question had come on a bit strong.

“Armin was withdrawn from his friends, and secretive. He had told me not to trust everyone I knew, hours before he was-“

She paused. Still sore.

“Before he was murdered.”

“After Mr. Bodt approached you at Mr. Arlert’s school locker, who amongst your friends did you tell that Mr. Bodt was potentially working on solving the case himself?” he asked.

The hairs raised on the back of Marco’s neck at the mention of his name, and he realized where that line of questioning would end. His heart hammered, waiting for Mikasa to respond.

She cast a sad glance at Marco.

“I told Connie, Reiner, Bertolt and Sasha.”

Marco felt his chest explode with regret.

If only he had begged her not to tell anyone, then maybe none of this would’ve happened. But then again, she might’ve suspected Marco was up to something if he had asked her to remain secretive.

He didn’t blame her for telling his friends though. After all, most of them were truly concerned for Marco’s health and wellbeing.

All except for three.

The jury glanced amongst themselves quietly, but the lawyer continued right on to the next question.

They had a lot of ground to cover.

“It says here in your statement that you explained to Mr. Bodt that Mr. Jaeger had never been delivered to the hospital before coming home from the fair on the night of September Fifteenth?”

“Objection, Relevance.” Ms. Dreyse chimed in.

Her voice had the same vibrato as a prissy feline purr.

“Overruled. Continue.” The Judge dismissed.

Mikasa waited for the dispute to end, before she answered.

“Yes, Reiner never took Eren to the hospital. Eren didn’t have a hospital wristband on when he was taken to the morgue.” She croaked.

She still had to last through the cross examination, Marco sent her as much mental encouragement as he could from where he sat.

“Thank you, no further questions, your Honor.” The prosecution lawyer took his seat.

“The Defense may cross-examine.”

Ms. Dreyse took to the podium, and stacked her notes in a straight line. Her eyes met Mikasa’s, and she smiled.

“Miss Ackerman, you said in your statement that Mr. Arlert may not have been mentally stable at the time he was avoiding your friend group?” She began.

Mikasa’s brows furrowed at the lawyer, and she leaned forward into the microphone.

“Yes, but he was probably-“

“A yes or no is all I’m looking for.” Ms. Dreyse interrupted, her smile baring into Mikasa.

There was a tonal shift, in the silence that followed.

“Yes.” Mikasa answered flatly.

“And, Miss Ackerman, it says here in your statement that you had doubts with trusting Mr. Bodt at first. Was this because you believed that he and Mr. Kirstein could have been involved in the homicides?”

“Objection, Speculation.” Mr. Freudenberg called, and the Judge considered it.

“Overruled.”

Mikasa glanced to where the two boys sat, and she picked at her scarf gently.

“Yes.” She answered, backing away from the microphone.

There were whispers, filling the courtroom.

Marco was plagued by anger at the lawyer’s sudden jab towards them. She was attempting to win the case via deflection.

He wouldn’t stand for that.

“Order in the court. Please, continue, Miss Dreyse.”

“No further Questions, your Honor.”

The Judge glanced at a disturbed Mikasa.

“You may step down.” He instructed, and she obeyed, parting from the stand to return to her seat. She sunk into the pew when she came in contact with it.

“Prosecution, you may call your second witness.”

Marco glanced out into the court, where Connie sat behind him.

“Thank you, your Honor. I call to the stand Connie Springer.”

Connie jumped up a little too eagerly, striding to the bench and swearing in. He strolled his way up the ramp and to his chair, collapsing into it next as Marco and Jean’s lawyer returned to center stage.

“Please state your name for the court.”

Connie grinned, pointing a thumb at his chest.

“Connie Springer.”

Marco shook his head.

Even in the severity of the situation, Connie couldn’t help himself but try to act cool.

Jean shared Marco’s expression of disappointment.

“In your statement, you claimed that Mr. Hoover had been the one to notify you that Mr. Braun and Mr. Jaeger were en route to the hospital, on the night of September Fifteenth?” The man with the bowl cut asked.

“Yes, Bertolt messaged me about Reiner’s activity that night. He made me aware of the exact time Reiner had returned home, too.” Connie answered, looking smug.

The buzzcut boy thought he had all the answers, but he was underprepared for cross-examination.

“And, you also stated that on the night of September Nineteenth, Mr. Bodt visited your residence to comfort you after the news of Miss Blouse’s murder?”

“Yes.”

“You wanted to help him with the case, but you also wanted in on the case yourself. So, you asked Mr. Bodt to share his findings with you?” The lawyer asked.

Connie glanced hesitantly at Marco, and the freckled teen urged his friend on.

“Yes, I wanted to do whatever I could to help.”

Marco watched as the defense lawyer furiously scribbled her own notes, listening to his testimony with her full attention.

“On the morning of September Twentieth, you recorded in your testimony that you shared these same findings with Mr. Hoover, trusting him with the knowledge that Mr. Bodt had asked you to keep private?” He pressed.

Marco stared at Connie in disbelief.

Connie had been the one to spill everything. He had been the one to instill a sense of urgency into Reiner and Bertolt’s plan, and was the reason Marco was attacked.

Sure, the two murderous teens may have been suspicious of Marco’s investigations pretty early on, thanks to Mikasa. But he could have had more time to piece things together if Connie hadn’t had given Bertolt the evidence, and betrayed his position.

“Objection, Relevance…”

“Overruled.” The Judge waived off impatiently.

Connie looked down at the ground, his enthusiasm crushed.

“Yes, I told him everything Marco told me. I thought I could trust him with the information.” Connie admitted remorsefully.

He betrayed me…

Jean was seething by Marco’s side, enraged that Connie would have shared their secrets. But Marco didn’t let him simmer for long.

He pressed his heel gently against Jean’s from under the table, and glanced at him in warning.

Jean wiped the look off of his face quick, and turned forward once more.

“In your statement, you detailed that my client, Mr. Kirstein, called you with Mr. Hoover’s phone on the evening of September Twentieth. Was it to your understanding that my client had been kidnapped by Mr. Hoover, and the defendant and Mr. Braun were working together to orchestrate and stage Mr. Bodt’s murder?” Mr. Freudenberg asked.

Connie nodded his head, his fists squeezing at his sides.

“Yes. I called the police and alerted them to Marco’s location, but it was only due to the information Jean had given me that they found him.”

There were gasps amongst the courtroom again, and the jury were all leaned forward with desperate interest.

“Order in the court!” The Judge demanded once more.

“No further questions, your Honor.”

Marco felt a headache coming on.

“Defense may cross-examine.”

Ms. Dreyse shined identical eyes at Connie as she had with Mikasa, and Marco tried to imagine how he would handle her snarky-ness when his turn to testify finally came.

“When you stated that Mr. Hoover informed you about Mr. Braun’s timeline, including the insinuation that Mr. Braun had dropped off Mr. Jaeger at the hospital, could it have been possible that Mr. Hoover was not made aware of Mr. Jaeger's murder at that time?”

“Objection, Speculation.”

The Judge pursed his lips. “Abstained.” He decided. “Next question.”

Ms. Dreyse’s expression faltered, but she cleared her throat, and continued.

Jean smirked.

“Did you have any doubts when Mr. Kirstein called you on September Twentieth? Any assumptions that he might’ve been lying about Mr. Hoover’s involvement?” She moved on.

Connie listened to the question, and then shook his head.

“At first, I was just afraid of trusting anyone, and that included Jean. But as he explained everything to me, I doubted him less and less.” Connie finished.

He had complicated his answer, but it worked out in their favor.

Marco nodded, feeling satisfied with the response. Jean wasn’t involved in any of the murders, and he hadn’t lied about being kidnapped either.

The lawyer had no further questions for him.

Annie swore in next, taking her seat. She stared out into the courtroom with her steel gaze, and cut through the crowd like butter. She was wearing her bravest face.

“State your name for the Court.”

Mr. Freudenburg had returned to the podium.

“Annie Leonhart.” She answered, in a low tone voice.

Marco hadn’t seen Annie in a long time.

She had been friends with everyone in their group, sure. But she was the most lone-wolf of them all, hanging back on the sidelines for most of their interactions.

He supposed that was because she had been the first of her friends to get blood on her hands. Marcel’s blood, to be exact.

“In Mr. Bodt’s statement, his words were that Mr. Braun explained the story of yours and Mr. Hoover’s escape from a Marley orphanage.” He began, Annie eyebrow twitching when her old home was mentioned.

“He stated that Mr. Braun implied a little girl had murdered another orphan, so that you three could escape. Was the girl he mentioned in his statement you?”

“Objection, hearsay.” Ms. Dreyse crossed her arms.

“Abstained. Next question.” The Judge agreed.

Mr. Freudenberg didn’t let the objection get the better of him. He had asked what he needed to ask to get the jury to question her.

“In your statement, you claimed to have left your pompoms behind at practice on the afternoon of September Nineteenth, and that was when you happened upon Miss Blouse’s body. This doesn’t match the evidence provided in Mr. Bodt's statement, however, as he stated that Mr. Braun confirmed that it was actually Miss Blouse who had left her pompoms at practice that day, and that was the moment she overheard Mr. Braun and Mr. Hoover talking about their involvement in the case.”

The lawyer cleared his throat.

“Were those really your pompoms, Miss Leonhart?”

The courtroom fell eerily silent, as everyone waited patiently to hear how Annie would respond.

“No, they weren’t mine.” She said finally, through grit teeth.

She had taken an oath, not to lie. She was cornered.

“Thank you, no further questions your Honor.” Mr. Freudenberg said contently, returning to the prosecution table.

Marco glared at Annie, his heart ablaze. Jean sat equally fired up beside him, his flame flickering against Marco’s.

Annie had helped the other two murder Sasha, and the whole room had to see that.

“Defense may cross-examine.” The Judge repeated, bored.

Marco didn’t understand how Judge Zachary could be so nonchalant about being in a room with two murderer accomplices. He wondered just how many people the Judge had sentenced in that very courtroom, before the date of their trial.

“Miss Leonhart, would you please describe to the court, what you had known about Mr. Braun’s mental health history prior to the murders?” the defense lawyer began.

“Absolutely. Reiner was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and depression, and he had been admitted to several psychiatric wards during his time at the orphanage.” She described, glancing at the jury.

“He had a habit of making things up for attention, or making situations feel more severe than they were. He was his own compass, we used to say.”

Marco was furious. She was trying to disconnect herself from Reiner, to omit herself of the guilt.

She wanted the jury to believe that Reiner worked alone, and that his plan was as a result of a routine mental health episode.

“Thank you, no further questions your Honor.”

Marco’s lawyer rose to his feet once more.

“I call to the stand Marco Bodt.”

Marco took a deep breath. It was his turn.

Jean gave him an encouraging nod, and squeezed his knee once more.

“You’ve got this.” He whispered, against the shell of Marco’s ear.

Marco wished to be anywhere but there.

His mother asked for permission to approach the bench, to which the deputy agreed and drew it open for her. She unlocked Marco’s wheelchair, swiveling him to sit in front of deputy Ackerman.

The deputy lifted a bible, and Marco removed his right arm cautiously from his sling with his good hand to swear on the book.

“Do you swear to give the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?” Deputy Ackerman asked.

“I do.” Marco stated firmly.

He grabbed his wrist back gently and guided the limp appendage back into the sling.

The whole courtroom watched with interest as Marco was called to the stand. His mother wheeled him to the microphone, and parked him there, where he sat in front of the full courthouse.

Their eyes scanned his damaged figure.

His mom backed away from him to sit on a bench behind him, smoothing out her skirt to remain professional.

“Please state your name for the court.”

Marco could hear the sharp ringing in his ears. He had to convince the jury who the real enemy was, because their peace depended on it.

“My name is Marco Bodt.”

Marco allowed himself to observe the jury, studying their faces. They looked back at him grimly, at all his bandages and cuts.

Marco’s lawyer glimpsed at him, and nodded in affirmation.

“Mr. Bodt, up until the time of the attempt made on your life, had anyone other than you and Mr. Kirstein been aware of the location of your treehouse?”

“No.” He answered, shaking his head. “Jean and I swore as kids never to tell a soul about the Shire.”

Jean smiled fondly at him, urging him forward with his shining eyes.

“In your statement, you confirmed Mr. Braun had confessed to Miss Leonhart and Mr. Hoover involvement in covering up the murders of Mr. Galliard, Mr. Jaeger, Mr. Arlert and Miss Blouse?”

Ms. Dreyse looked frantic. “Objection, hearsay!” She called.

“Your Honor, respectfully, Mr. Braun is deceased. My client here is the only one who verbally heard his confession, before he passed.” Mr. Freudenberg argued back.

Annie and Bertolt twitched, as if they had the audacity to act upset that Reiner was dead. After all the horrible things he had done to Marco, and to their friends. 

Judge Zachary took both of the lawyers’ perspectives into account for a minute.

“Overruled. Please proceed.” He concluded.

Marco breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced at the Judge, and then back at the jury.

“Yes, and Reiner gave me specific details, which matched up to case evidence that implies all three of them were involved.” Marco agreed.

“Would you say that Mr. Braun was of sound mind before he attacked you? Was he speaking clearly, did you conclude that what he was telling the truth?”

“Objection, compound question.” Ms. Dreyse interrupted again.

she was annoyed now that her line of questioning was being used against her.

“Abstained, Next question.”

Marco grunted quietly. He was glad to not have to answer the question, however.

There was nothing sane in Reiner’s eyes, the evening Marco had fought for his life.

“Would you please detail to the court, the injuries you were inflicted with as a result of Mr. Braun and Mr. Hoover’s plan on September Twentieth.” Mr. Freudenberg asked.

Marco heard the awful sound of the knife crunching through his bone, loud in his right ear.

He froze.

Marco found himself back at the Shire, once the images of his wounds were pulled up on a screen in the top corner of the courtroom.

The entire courtroom gasped, and Marco heard a gag somewhere in the back.

Marco forced his eyes to stay locked on Jean, but even the tan haired boy was staring at the screen. His eyes were horrified, his mouth agape.

Jean glanced back at Marco, and tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

“I…” Marco began, trembling.

He gulped down any fears or uncertainties he had, coming in.

“Objection, Relevance!” Mrs. Dreyse tried, interrupting Marco.

Marco glared daggers at her, and his head flitted to the Judge. He would be damned if they let her silence him, after everything he’d been through.

The jury would hear his testimony.

“Overruled.” Judge Zachary’s voice boomed, looking up at the screen himself.

Everyone else’s attention was focused directly on Marco. So, he sucked in a trembling breath, and squeezed his fist.

“I was forced down to the floor of the treehouse, where Reiner proceeded to kick me in and cut me up.” He began.

His left hand subconsciously reached up to his freckled cheek.

The gash was still peeling, as it had the night before. The dryness of it pulled the skin taut around his mouth and nose.

“He attempted to stab me several times, but I fought back. He managed to… to pierce my abdomen. But I broke his nose to get away.” Marco explained, shivering.

He remembered painful it had been to struggle against Reiner, as the cold knife plunged further into his guts.

“I attempted to run, but I was in too much pain.” Marco spoke hoarsely, looking out at the jury once again.

“Reiner explained to me that Bertolt was holding Jean captive, and that they were going to frame him for my murder. But Jean had escaped, and had informed the police that Reiner was actually planning to kill me all along. He-“

Marco felt his shoulder burst in pain, and he grit his teeth.

The crowd watched in horror as Marco shrunk back, holding his left hand to the affected area.

“Mr. Bodt, are you feeling well enough to continue?” Judge Zachary asked him.

Marco grimaced, but he nodded, repositioning himself to sit more comfortably in the chair.

Marco cleared his throat, and finished the retelling.

“Reiner stabbed me through my chest as to silence me, once he realized he wasn’t going to win.”

Marco’s eyes were dark, vicious. He turned them on Bertolt, who refused to meet them in turn.

"But I survived." He smiled triumphantly.

“Thank you, your Honor, no further questions.” Mr. Freudenberg finished. 

“Cross-examine may proceed.” The Judge confirmed, and Ms. Dreyse scoot her chair back loudly, approaching the podium with a look of annoyance.

She knew how much of a pain the teen would be to crack, it was just as Marco intended.   

Jean glared at the defense lawyer, sneering. He knew how rotten she was too, how nasty she played.

“Mr. Bodt, you stated that nobody knew of the location of your hideout. But if Mr. Braun was easily able to follow you and locate it himself, is it plausible that any of your friends could also have known of its existence?” She began.

Marco opened his mouth, but his lawyer interrupted.

“Objection, leading question.”

“Abstained. Next question.”

Ms. Dreyse tucked a piece of hair behind her ears, and shook it off.

Marco prepared himself for her next question.

“Was every injury documented into evidence as a result of your fight with Mr. Braun on the Twentieth? Specifically, the scratch on your neck.” She referenced, looking up at Marco with a smirk.

Marco frowned at her, and cast a hesitant glance at Jean.

Jean returned his look with a fearful expression. Marco had to try his best to steer this question away, as it bordered dangerous territory.

“The scratch on my neck was Jean’s attempt at self-defense. I spooked him the night after Eren’s murder, and he thought I might be the Titan Killer when I climbed into the treehouse without warning. It isn’t relevant.”

The jury nodded their heads, and Marco watched Ms. Dreyse turn red with frustration.

She had let him answer her question the way he thought best.

“In your statement, it says you had been providing food and shelter throughout the timeline of the investigation to Mr. Kirstein. Did you lie to the police about Mr. Kirstein’s whereabouts when they paid you a visit on September Eighteenth?” She challenged.

Marco glared at her.

“Yes, I did. Because they didn’t have any of the right evidence, at the time.”

The jury whispered amongst themselves doubtfully, unsure of what to believe.

Marco hated that of all people to be asking him questions, he got stuck with this brat.

“How did you come to the conclusion that Mr. Kirstein was not guilty of the murders, or did you just assume he was being truthful the whole time?” She furthered.

Marco closed his eyes for a moment, and drew a deep breath. He reminded himself who he was fighting for, and formulated his next words carefully.

“I’ve known Jean for a great portion of my life. If he had been behind everything, he never would have asked for my help in any of it. But he did because he trusted me, so I knew I had to trust him too.” Marco answered.

Jean’s eyes were wide with wonder.

Marco wished they could take intermission, so he could kiss the stupid expression off of his face.

He had been wanting to explain everything to Jean, but he’d just have to keep waiting for a little while longer.

“Thank you,” the defense lawyer said bitterly. “No further questions, your Honor.”

She sat back down.

“You may step down.” The Judge instructed Marco.

Marco gestured for his mother, who came up to un-park his chair and wheel him down from the stand.

He watched the jury pass with hopeful eyes, as his mom returned him to the prosecution table. When he was situated with his council again, Jean smiled at him, placing his hand back in Marco’s lap.

“I’m so proud of you.” Jean said.

He gently cupped Marco’s cheek with the other hand. And Marco leaned into it, not responding. Instead, he vetoed words, to suck up the warmth Jean’s touch.

The hand fell away shortly after he raised it, as the court returned to order. They were only halfway through the mess that was their case.

As the lawyers were given ample time to write notes and prepare themselves for the second round of witnesses, the Judge cleared his throat.

“Defense, you may call your first witness to the stand.”

Ms. Dreyse smiled up at him, and leaned into the podium.

“Thank you, I call to the stand Ymir Fritz.”

Marco swallowed thickly, and watched as his other freckled friend took to the stand next.

Ymir swore in, and was seated. She had been sweating horribly while she was waiting to be called, so she sat with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“On the night of September Sixteenth, my client Mr. Hoover expressed a great deal of fear to you about Mr. Jaeger’s death, saying he feared that he could be next. Did you have any reason to suspect that Mr. Hoover was aware of who was behind the murders, or could even be aiding in them?”

Ymir considered her for a minute, lips pinched tightly.

Marco knew that her and Historia were a lot closer to the trio than the rest of the group. Her and her girlfriend spent a great deal of time with Reiner and Bertolt, prior to the murders.

“No, on that night I didn’t suspect he was involved.” She confirmed.

Bertolt was still not meeting eyes with anyone.

His head had been faced down at his lap for the entire trial, but Marco knew he would have to talk soon. He would be a witness for the defense side, his turn to testify would was on the horizon.

“Thank you, no further questions your Honor.”

“The Prosecution may cross-examine the witness.”

Mr. Freudenberg hopped up to his feet, and set the notes he had scribbled down against the wooden speaking post.

“Miss Fritz, I only have one question for you. After Mr. Arlert and Miss Blouse’s death, did you see Mr. Hoover or Miss Leonhart, or hear from them at all aside from school hours?”

Ymir let her eyes fall regretfully on the defense. She had been blindsided by people she assumed to be friends, and Marco was sympathetic in that regard.

“No. They were all very close during school hours, but they seemed to distance themselves from us when they talked outside of class, the night after Eren died.”

She was permitted to leave the stand.

Marco watched her leave, her hands were trembling at her sides. Her eyes were unreadable, almost petrified as they glued themselves to the floor.

He turned to his right, where Jean sat tense as ever.

It would be his turn to go next, and Marco prayed he wouldn’t lose his temper during the examination.

Jean was extremely defensive. Marco had seen the guy throw a punch over the last slice of pizza at lunch before.

“I call to the stand Jean Kirstein.” Ms. Dreyse voice floated through the room, sweet and soft, but still incredibly powerful.

Jean rose to his feet, and carried himself to stand before deputy Ackerman. He swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Marco watched him with crackling anticipation. He hadn’t yet had a chance to ask him what happened when they were separated, but Jean hadn’t been able to ask Marco the same question either.

They had a lot of life to catch up on.

Jean was seated at the stand. He gazed out into the courtroom, with a firm expression and determined golden eyes.

“Please state your name for the court.”

“Jean Kirstein.”

Marco smiled. He loved the sound of Jean’s voice, he could listen to it all day. He just wished the circumstances weren’t so grim.

“Is it true that you knowingly ran from the police, upon finding them at your residence after your fight with Mr. Jaeger? This would be morning of September Sixteenth.” 

Jean nodded.

“I had assumed that they were there to ask me about the fight, and I was afraid my parents would kick me out if they knew I screwed up again.”

The lawyer eyed him with a ticked off expression.

“When Mr. Bodt visited you on the morning of September Eighteenth, what was the reason you decided you had to defend yourself by knifepoint?”   

Jean glanced sadly at Marco, but Marco had already forgiven him. The poor guy was just really frightened at the time, it wasn’t his fault.

“I was worried I too could be targeted by the killer. If he had killed Eren on the same night all of us had been to the fair, who was to assume I was safe too? Marco came up the ladder unannounced, and that wasn’t usual. So I got a little jumpy.”

Marco nodded at him, proudly.

Mrs. Dreyse moved on. “There were two notes located in the treehouse, one claiming to be the work of the killer. The other was a note forged by you, is that correct?” she urged.

Jean quirked a brow at her.

“Yes, it was-“

“So how is it, Mr. Kirstein, that we are supposed to believe that yours is the replica, and not the other? We don’t have an identity match from the other copy to Mr. Braun, but we can confirm yours.”

Jean’s eyes were blazing.

Marco grit his teeth. Jean had to keep it together, and not let her blow his top.

The teen exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Marco had asked me to copy the note that he had found amongst Armin’s belongings, the one that Reiner had tried to forge to scare Armin. He wanted me to prove that the handwriting wasn’t a match.” he explained coolly.       

Marco could practically see the restraint it was taking Jean not to fly over the stand and fight the lawyer where she stood.

He was so proud of Jean for keeping calm.

Hey, progress!

“Thank you, your Honor. No further questions.”

"Prosecution may now cross-examine the witness."

Mr. Freudenberg strolled up to the podium, approaching Jean with sharp eyes.

"Mr. Kirstein, would you please describe to the jury your mental and physical state throughout your time hiding out in the treehouse?”

"Objection, Relevance." Ms. Dreyse sounded bored, again.

"Abstained. Next question please." The judge agreed.

Jean sighed gently.

"In your statement, on the afternoon of the Twentieth, Mr. Hoover worked alone when he knocked you out with the bat?"

The courthouse all turned their eyes on Bertolt, who shrank further and further into his seat.

Jean glared down at Bertolt, eyes squinting at his leg cast.

He had fucked him up good.

"Yes, Bertolt operated as the second half of a two man mission to kill Marco, and frame me for the murder."

The jury murmured to themselves, and nodded their heads as they collected Jean's testimony.

"When you escaped the old farmhouse on the same day, you called Mr. Springer to inform him that co-council Mr. Bodt was being targeted at the treehouse. Was this because you made the connection that Mr. Hoover and Mr. Braun were working together to kill him through their phone conversation?"

"Yes." Jean confirmed.

"Thank you, your Honor. no further questions."

Jean left the stand, and Marco watched as his partner returned to the seat next to him.

Jean smirked at him, and Marco shook his head in shock.

“How did you not blow up on the defense lawyer? She’s actually evil.” He asked in a hushed voice, grinning at Jean with a teasing glint.

Jean rolled his eyes, pressing a finger to his lips.

“A secret.” He answered simply.

“Defense, you may call your third and final witness.” Judge Zachary instructed.

Marco’s throat swelled, and his attention was brought back to the case.

Bertolt was last. His testimony would be the very thing that padded or destroyed everything they had built so far.                                                 

“Thank you, your Honor.” Ms. Dreyse bowed her head to the judge, her fluffy strands falling in her face.

“I call to the stand Bertolt Hoover.”

You could hear a dime drop in that room if you tried.

Nobody moved, nobody spoke.

Bertolt stood, and his chains rattled once again as he limped his way to the stand.

The teen’s eyes were darkened, a dull void.

“Please state your name for the court.” Ms. Dreyse asked sweetly.

Bertolt finally looked up.

He was completely empty inside.

“Bertolt Hoover.” He answered, weakly.

“Mr. Hoover, were you aware of Mr. Braun’s involvement in Mr. Jaeger’s murder on the night of September Fifteenth?”

Bertolt was silent for approximately ten seconds, before he stared straight down at Marco.

“Yes.”

Gasps and mutters erupted from the crowd behind them.

Judge Zachary smacked his gavel, which lowered the noise substantially, but did nothing to slice the growing tension between Bertolt and the rest of the courtroom. 

“Order!” He commanded.

Ms. Dreyse shook like she might faint. It wasn’t an answer she had practiced for, Marco assumed.

Bertolt was giving up.

“Did you, Mr. Braun and Miss Leonhart work together to cover up the murder of Marcel Galliard?”

“Yes.”

Annie stood up abruptly, but the deputy swiftly moved to the table to hold her back. She was shoved back down into the chair.

“Did Mr. Braun ever force you to cover up murder for him, or was it your will to aid him in these acts?”

“Yes, it was my will.” Bertolt deflated.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he was shivering violently. The chains clattering under the table was a haunting sound.

Marco didn’t know how to feel.

On one hand, Bertolt had once been considered a best friend of his. He saw Bertolt as an equal, someone who was also nice but almost too nice, a borderline pushover.

But Bertolt was no pushover. He was a snake, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“N-no further question, your Honor.” Ms. Dreyse slumped back into the seat as prosecution was called up to question him next.

Mr. Freudenberg cleared his throat, prepared to finish things.

“Mr. Hoover, did you give Mr. Braun the location of my client’s treehouse, after learning of it from Mr. Springer on the morning of September Nineteenth?”

“Yes.” He answered again.

Bertolt’s tone remained consistently stale.

“And did Miss Leonhart aid in covering up Miss Blouse’s murder?”

Annie tried again to fight against the Deputy again, her eyes were stabbing into Bertolt.

Marco glanced out at the jury, who were seeing everything.

“Yes.”

Marco breathed clearly, for the first time in weeks.

They had won.

At least, they would win. Bertolt had given the jury everything they needed to make the right choice.

The final blow was on them now.

“Thank you, your Honor. No further questions.”

Jean looped his hand in Marco’s from across his lap, squeezing his fingers tight. He smiled, practically beaming.

Marco thought that he might cry, but this time they wouldn’t be tears of sorrow.

“Both the prosecution and the defense have now rested their cases. The attorneys will now present their final arguments. Prosecution, you may begin.” Judge Zachary’s voice interrupted Marco’s emotional outburst.

Mr. Freudenberg walked to the podium, placing his hands against the wooden sides and lifting his back leg so his toes pointed to the floor.

“Thank you, your Honor. Members of the jury, today you have heard testimony about what my clients had to go through, and what Mr. Hoover and Miss Leonhart did to aid in these injustices.” He explained, the words rolling smoothly off of his tongue.

“I would like to remind you of some important information that you should consider in your decision. These facts include how Mr. Hoover was aware of the murders and knowingly helped in covering them up of his own will, and how Miss Leonhart assumed she would be able to live a life of secrecy by covering up a fellow orphan’s murder.”

Marco’s eyes wandered back over to Annie. Her hair hid her eyes, but her shoulders were tightly wound up to her neck, and she hugged herself as best as she could through her handcuffs.

“Please find the defendants, Miss Leonhart and Mr. Hoover, guilty of Accessory to Murder, and Accomplice to Murder. Thank you.” He concluded.

After he reseated, the Judge turned to the defense.

“Defense, you may proceed with your closing argument.”

Ms. Dreyse arose, her cheeks pale. She was flabbergasted by the sudden change in plan, but he knew she didn’t necessarily care about what happened to the two teens behind her.

She cared about what effect the sentencing would have on her paycheck.

“Thank you, your Honor. today you have heard testimony about… how my clients were involved in the plotting and cover up of the murder of three teens. And, I would like to remind you of some important information that you should consider in your decision.” She stuttered, blinking at her notes.

“Mr. Braun had a difficult mental health history, and it isn’t far off to say that this situation is traumatizing to young minds such as my clients. Please find the defendants, Miss Leonhart and Mr. Hoover not guilty.” She begged, backing away.

The Judge covered his mouth with a knuckle as he thought.

“Members of the jury, you have heard all of the testimony concerning this case. It is now up to you to determine the facts. You and you alone, are the judges of the fact. Once you decide what facts the evidence proves, you must then apply the law as I give it to you to the facts as you find them.”

He explained to the jury how they would need to pick a spokesperson, to deliver the verdict. Marco could feel his skin prickling, and he gripped the armrest of his wheelchair to try to calm himself down.

Everyone stood again as the jury disappeared, and the Judge turned back to the courtroom.

“We will take a brief ten-minute intermission. Please return to your seats before the doors close again, or you will not be permitted re-entry. I have a feeling the verdict will not take long.” Judge Zachary spoke, and Marco turned to face Jean.

Jean pulled Marco’s head into his shoulder, and embraced him as tight as he dared to without potentially popping him open again.

Marco laughed, and cried into his shoulder.

“You don’t know how hard it’s been.” Marco whimpered against his neck, his voice heavy with grief.

Jean shook his head, kissing Marco’s hair.

“Trust me, I think I do.” He reassured.

They pulled back to look at each other admirably, in the sunlight coming through the stained-glass windows nearest to them.

The place really did feel like a chapel more than a court.

It certainly was holy enough, with Jean at Marco’s side.

Jean rubbed Marco’s cheek, and before they both could sense it, Marco’s mother was standing behind them.

Jean peeked at Mrs. Bodt with red cheeks, as Marco stayed where he was, tucked safely in the crook of the other boy’s neck.

“Ahem.” She said, and Marco pulled back to look up at her too.

He tucked a piece of his own hair behind his ears, and shot her a questioning look.

“Yes ma’am?” Marco asked.

Mrs. Bodt gave them both a small smile, and crossed her arms.

“I just thought, you know… I haven’t exactly been filled in about this development in your relationship.” She said, tipping her head at Jean.

“Also, hello Jean, good to see you. I’m sorry for thinking you might’ve murdered my son’s friends, and maybe kidnapped him too.”

Jean shook his head, a nervous laugh bubbling up.

Marco grinned politely at her, and placed his left hand on Jean’s knee.

“Jean has… become a lot of things for me in recent weeks. But can we save this for another day please...? I haven’t been able to see him since I was, y’know.” He explained, eyeing his arm that was tied up in the sling.

Marco’s mom studied the two of them for a minute, but she reluctantly nodded.

“I guess you’re right. We will talk about this though, later.” She promised.

Marco watched her leave, then snorted at Jean.

“She is so nosy. I hope you’re prepared for all her questions.” Marco teased, kissing his lover’s jaw.

Jean turned red again, and nudged Marco.

“Hey, we’re in a court of law. Behave yourself alright? You can hardly keep your grubby hands off of me.” He joked.

Marco grinned.

"So? Neither can you."

But he leaned back and turned his attention instead to the other side of the courtroom, where the traitors sat.

Their faces bore the same expressions as Mikasa’s, when she had shown up to school the day after Eren had been murdered. Disheveled, in disbelief.

Serves them right, Marco thought.

He didn’t know if he’d really ever have the heart to forgive them. Whatever desperation they felt that drove them to go to such lengths to keep their past hidden would never be excusable to him.

Jean followed his stare to where the two sat, and he sent his signature look of disgust their way.

Marco forced himself to turn away from the defense side, and decided to check behind him.

Carla Jaeger waved at him once he rested his eyes on her, and he nodded once towards her in silent thanks. Without her tender care, Marco wouldn't be sitting there, testifying.

She of course had motive to help him, for Eren. But Marco chose to believe that another one of her driving factors was simply the will to commit an act of kindness.

Marco tried to imagine how he and his friends would be returning to their lives, once the case was settled. He didn't know for sure if he would be pardoned for lying to the police, but he had hope that things might be okay after all.

The doors closed again after ten minutes, and in came the jury.

Marco held his breath as they were seated.

The spokesperson stood, holding a piece of paper in her hands.

“Have you reached a verdict?” Judge Zachary asked.

“We have, your Honor.” She answered.

“What say you?”

The silence was deafening.

Marco crossed his fingers.

“We the jury, in the state of Paradis versus Annie Leonhart and Bertolt Hoover, find the defendant Annie Leonhart, guilty of Accessory to Murder, and defendant Bertolt Hoover guilty of Accomplice to Murder.”

Marco could hardly contain a noise he was dying to make. He wanted to scream and shout, but he still had to wait for the sentencing.

“Thank you, Jury, for your service today. As for the sentencing,” The Judge turned towards the table where the defense sat.

Marco watched him with bated breath.

“I sentence Miss Leonhart to life without the possibility of parole.”

Annie sobbed.

“And, Mr. Hoover to four consecutive life sentences, without the possibility of parole.”

Bertolt didn’t move.

The two were finished. They would be locked away forever, where they could never hurt anyone ever again.

“As for the prosecution, it is still a crime to lie and evade police capture. But the community came together to sign a petition to the state for your pardon.” The Judge spoke, looking down at Marco and Jean.

The two of them gulped.

This was it, the question they had been asking themselves for days: Are we actually free?

“Lying and evading is no petty charge, I’m afraid I can’t let it go un-sentenced.”

Marco’s heart sank.

“Mr. Bodt and Mr. Kirstein will carry out three months of community service. The two of them will act on this sentence, as soon as Mr. Bodt is back in stable health.”

“Court is adjourned.” Judge Zachary smacked his gavel once more.

As he exited, Deputy Ackerman lead Bertolt and Annie back through the cell block, and Marco knew that once he didn’t see them anymore, he would never be seeing them again.

It was finally over.

The courtroom was buzzing again, as the town began to talk. It wouldn’t be quiet again in Trost for months.

"Congratulations guys, it was a pleasure to work with you." Mr. Freudenberg shook both of their hands, and offered a sincere smile before he packed up.

Marco sat, shocked.

“What do we do now...?” He asked, astounded by how little of a punishment they got off with.

Jean smiled, unlocking Marco’s wheelchair and leaning down to kiss his cheek.

“How about… we go see a movie?”

Chapter Text

Two weeks after the trial, Marco was finally permitted to leave the hospital.

He had spent the last half of his stay at Trost General focused on recovering whatever physical abilities he had left, and they gave his mom pamphlets with detailed instructions on how to change and dress his wounds.

But while Marco’s mom continued to care for him, Jean’s parents had disowned him.

Jean never heard another word from either of them ever again, after the night of the fair. He was only months away from being eighteen.

Marco couldn't believe it. After everything the two of them had been through, Jean was still being rewarded with nasty looks from townsfolk who were too ignorant to understand that he wasn’t a suspect anymore.

Marco had begged his mother to let Jean stay with them, until he could get back on his own feet.

However long that took.

“Please mom, he has nobody he can turn to right now. And besides, this case is going to make it hell for him to find a job any time soon.”

Marco squeezed her hand gently in his own.

Mrs. Bodt studied him, defensive again. She still had a hard time understanding how her son had feelings for someone like Jean, especially amidst a case as wild as this one had been.

More so, how Marco had managed to accomplish everything he had in the case, right under her nose.

“You really like him that much?” Mrs. Bodt asked, quirking her brow at him.

That interaction had taken place moments after the trial had ended. Jean had been dismissed by the Judge, only to realize he wouldn’t be going home with anyone.

The expression on Jean’s face broke Marco’s heart.

Pleading with his mother wouldn't be easy, but for Jean, Marco would do anything.

Withholding knowledge from Mrs. Bodt was a bit unfair at that point. She deserved to know exactly how her son felt about Jean, at least.

Mrs. Bodt had to bear witness to Marco’s generous displays of affection, all from the sidelines for the entire duration of the trial. There were a few revelations between them that she had missed out on, when Marco ran away from home.

Marco nodded at her with warm eyes, and he glanced behind to where Jean stood rekindling with their friend group.

The five of them were finally making up, and things might actually be okay.        

“I love him, actually.” Marco grinned. “And it’s what we should do, mom. He saved my life.”

It was true, it wasn’t like the words needed to be said aloud or anything. But Marco knew saying so influence her decision.

His mother slumped her shoulders dejectedly, and exhaled.

“Okay… he can stay with us. But you guys will be staying in separate rooms.”

Marco shook his head at her, and smiled knowingly.

“We’re not kids anymore, mom, he’s staying in my room, if that’s what he wants.”

Before she could interject, he continued.

“He cannot be made to sleep on the couch for a whole year.”

Marco pushed her boundaries just a little further. When she gave him frustrated eyes, he pursed his lips.

“We won’t do it under your roof–"

"Okay! Jesus! That’s enough, he can stay in your room; but please keep in mind I sleep right down the hall.”

Marco grinned smugly, pulling her down to his chest for a one-armed hug. 

“Thank you. Really, this means a lot to me.”

She exhaled her stress, and hugged him back, rubbing his back gently.

They left the courthouse with Jean in tow.

Marco’s physical therapy sessions leading up to his discharge date had included walking, balancing exercises and weight training for his left arm.

Jean had been staying at Trost General with him every night, waiting patiently alongside Marco for his release date.

He had been present for all of Marco’s routine checkups and physical therapy exercises, and Jean even aided him in changing at night, when it was time for bed.

Marco didn’t know what he did to deserve someone as caring and loyal as Jean. 

Finally, the day had arrived when they could all return home.

Jean, Mrs. Bodt and Marco approached the front door to the Bodt residence.

Marco hadn’t been there in weeks. Not since he had cussed out his own father.

The chunky black SUV with Cali plates was nowhere to be seen, and that instantly raised Marco’s spirits.

Good riddance.

Jean carried Marco’s bags under his straining arms, having a conversation with Mrs. Bodt about what he would be expected to do around the house while he stayed with them.

Marco’s mom had packed a myriad of clothes and things for them to have only spent less than a month at the hospital.

Who actually needed fifteen pairs of socks?

Marco felt awful he couldn’t help Jean carry the bags. He wasn’t permitted to lift more than twenty pounds until his stitches fully healed up, so instead, he watched Jean struggle and held the door open for the two.

“Thank you, baby,” His mom chirped, entering the house first with a deep sigh.

Jean followed behind her, sneaking a kiss on Marco’s cheek as he slipped past.

“Thanks babe.” He winked.

Marco swooned, but he checked to see if his mom was looking before flipping Jean the bird. He stuck out his tongue too, for good measure.

He had to prop the door open with his foot in order to use his arm, while the right one hung limply at his side.

Jean feined a silent gasp, and scoffed at Marco as they stepped through the doorframe.

Once everyone was inside, Marco dragged his fingers over the splintering wood of the banister as he climbed the stairs. Jean dropped the bags by the laundry room door, removing his shoes and following eagerly behind Marco.

“Aren’t you two going to help me unpack?” Mrs. Bodt called out desperately from the kitchen, as the boys continued their ascent.

“Tomorrow, mom.” Marco answered. “I’m ready to lay down in my own bed for a little bit. Just go relax for a while.”  

Mrs. Bodt didn’t protest.

They had plenty of time to unpack, because Marco and Jean wouldn’t be returning to school until January. They had a couple of makeup tests to take in December to satisfy their absences, but they still had a few months to rest and recover.

Recovery seemed like the most challenging step for Marco. It had been only a week or two since he had been stabbed, but he was still reliving the memory over and over again as if it had happened yesterday.

Marco tried his best to keep his cool when his mom was around, but when it was only Jean there, Marco didn’t care if the tan haired boy knew how much the trauma kept him up at night.

The face Reiner had made right before carving him up was the same face the monster wore in Marco’s nightmares.

Jean and Marco burst through the bedroom door, practically throwing themselves onto the mattress. Marco grunted painfully when the impact sent tingling sparks up his shoulder.

Jean leaned over him to check on him, his eyes concerned.

“Are you okay?” Jean asked, searching Marco’s expression.

The freckled boy smiled, pulling Jean down to his side.

“Better now that I’m home.” He replied, kissing Jean’s cheek.

Jean grinned at him, looping a hand around Marco’s waist under his jacket and tucking himself into Marco’s chest.

“I agree.” Jean heaved a deep sigh.

They lay there in silence for a while, eyes closed, hearts beating. Marco cherished the moment, as he didn’t know how long it would last.

While breathing in the scent of Jean’s bold cologne, Marco considered trapping the boy there on the bed with him forever. But he would have to try a shower soon, if he wanted to smell as decently attractive as he looked.

It had been a few days since his last one, and his body was ripe.

This would also be the first shower for Marco to perform himself, without a nurse there to help him.

Well, he had Jean, who counted as a nurse at that point. But neither of them had ever tried to dress wounds of his severity before, so it made Marco’s stomach roll to even think about.

He hoped Jean was stronger than him, when it came to gore.

Marco leaned forward to catch Jean’s lips while they laid there on his bed. He cupped Jean’s jaw with his left hand and leaned into him with a grin, tasting the sweet essence of his soul.

Marco was also glad to finally be able to kiss Jean whenever he desired, and so he did.

Jean kissed him right back, supporting Marco with his arm so they wouldn’t fall. He laughed against Marco’s lips and backed up to swipe his fingers over Marco’s chin.

“You have got to shave, freckles. You’re scratching up my face!” Jean complained.

Marco rolled his eyes, but he let go of Jean’s to feel his own jaw.

Jean was right, but the thought of shaving distressed Marco more than he cared to admit.

Ever since he had woken up from his coma, anything that appeared remotely sharp freaked him out drastically.

The scissors used to cut his gauze, the scalpels they trimmed bits of his skin with… even a butter knife brought up some unsavory ideas in Marco’s head.

A razor against his neck again wasn’t the feeling he was chasing, fresh after being discharged.

He offered Jean a lopsided grin and laid back against the mattress, looking up at the ceiling.

“Want to go get everything ready for a shower? I’ll let you help me shave…” Marco promised, before he could fully make up his mind on if he was ready or not.

He needed to get the trim over with, sooner or later.

Jean nodded. He leaned down to peck his lover again.

“I mean, it’s not that you aren’t handsome, with the beard and all. But I like kissing you without getting a rash.”

Marco playfully shoved him off the bed.

“Oh, get to it, before I decide to change my mind.”

Jean smirked as he tumbled backwards. He reached for the bedroom door and jogged down the hall, where he turned into the bathroom at the farthest end of the second floor.

Marco judged the cracking paint on his ceiling while he waited for Jean to prepare the grooming scene, and he discussed his concerns with himself.

Was he ever going to feel normal again? He was being babied by practically everyone, even Jean was guilty of it at times. Everyone was treating him like he would shatter if they gave it to him straight, or if they said the wrong thing.

Marco prayed he would at least be able to get over the sight of his injuries one day.

Throwing up every time he looked down at himself wasn’t a problem he needed in his day to day life, and the scars from those wounds would never fade away.

“Ready when you are!” Jean called.

Inhale. Exhale.

Marco was as ready as he’d ever be.

The freckled teen stood, checking his reflection in the wall mirror as he swung the door wide. He wouldn't miss the beard that much, it freaked him out more than anything.

Marco padded down the hall, glancing at the setup Jean had prepared.

His lover had laid down a few trash bags on the floor around the toilet, and had placed a towel on the lid so Marco could sit clean and comfortably.

The shower wraps for his injuries were prepared on the sink surface, and Marco was suddenly sweating.

Jean really had to be stronger than Marco, if they hoped to get through this. The injured teen had barely made it through the last shower without throwing up.

“Welcome to my barber shop.” Jean grinned, his hands on his own hips over his light wash levi’s.

Marco shook his head as took a seat in front of his boyfriend. He looped his hand around the backside of Jean’s thigh and pulled him closer, nails scratching against the denim.

“Do right by me please, Mr. Barber sir.” Marco hummed in a mock British accent.

His jaw was pressed up against Jean’s stomach, and his half lidded eyes wandered over Jean’s body.

Marco was tired, ready to turn in for bed and perhaps even cuddle for a while.

Jean flushed down at him. He removed his shirt and leaned down to kiss Marco one more time, before he began his work.

“I don’t want any of your micro-hairs in my nice shirt, so I hope you don’t mind abs in your face.” He joked.

Marco laughed lazily, tipping his head back as he did.

“Lucky me!”

“Yeah yeah, just try not to drool all over me while I’m cutting.” Jean teased some more, holding Marco’s attention away from the razor.

But when Marco noticed the shape in Jean’s hand, his skin was immediately covered in goosebumps. His breath hitched in his throat.

Jean noticed Marco’s demeanor change around the razor, and the corners of his lips turned down.

He set the handle on the counter again, and grabbed Marco’s right hand tenderly between both of his. He brought the knuckle up to his lips, meeting Marco’s eyes again he planted a kiss there.

“You can do this.” Jean promised.

Marco still wasn’t fully convinced.

Jean let Marco’s hand fall to his side. He grabbed the other’s wrist, guiding it up to his hip bone and resting it there.

He then pat his hand over top of Marco’s.

“If you want me to slow down, or you need a second, just squeeze me. I’ll put the razor down.”

Marco exhaled, rubbing the skin of Jean’s hip with his thumb anxiously as he leaned back against the tank of the toilet.

“Okay.” He affirmed.

Jean offered him a brave smile again, and prepared Marco’s face by lathering it with shaving cream.

Jean tilted Marco’s jaw upwards towards his face as he worked, and he started out slow near the base of Marco’s throat. He hummed to Marco softly while he moved the razor up, some happy little tune that had been stuck in his head.

Marco tried not to swallow too thick, but the blade against his neck gave him squeamish urges. He shut his eyes tight as the other boy meticulously shaved the hairs off of his face.

Marco was trying desperately to lose himself in the song Jean was humming.

When Jean moved the blade up closer to his jaw, Marco squeezed his hip, a quiet whine escaping him.

Jean lowered the razor from Marco’s neck. He ran a hand through his boyfriend’s scalp, and his lingered for a while against the thickness of the Marco’s hair.

He dipped the razor in the cleaning solution, swishing the blade around and leaving it in the cup for a moment to return his attention to Marco.

“You’re doing a great job.” Jean offered, but Marco felt the tears welling up in his eyes from panic.

The freckled boy hated the intense fear, he longed to escape from the miserable mindset he was stuck in.

“Thanks.” Marco croaked, his hand trembling at Jean’s side.

Jean directed Marco’s chin up at him again, firming his eyes and resting his forehead against Marco’s.

“I’m serious.”

Inhale. Exhale.

“I know. I am too, I’m just terrified.” He admitted hoarsely, his breath hot.

Jean chuckled, nodding at Marco.

“I can understand that. I’ve got you.”

Marco eventually nodded back, and they continued.

When Jean had finally finished, Marco checked his reflection in the mirror. He moved his head all around to comb for any missed patches, and he pat his face to feel how smooth it was.

He noticed how the scar on his cheek stood out more without his facial hair. The color had shifted from a dull red, to a tanner version of his skin tone, with the white line spanning from his ear almost to his nose.

“Not bad, You might actually have a future in barb-ology.” Marco mused, glancing back at Jean.

He eyed his partner’s lips, and bit his own.

Jean shook his head at Marco’s greedy impulses.

“Look at you, you’re all desperate! At least get through the shower before you contaminate me.” The boy teased, bringing Marco closer still and inspecting his jawline himself.

Jean nodded, mostly pleased with his work.

“Not bad, eh?”

Marco laughed. ”Not bad at all, I’d say.”

The freckled teen backed away, gesturing to his own shirt expectantly.

“Will you help me out here?”

Jean clicked his tongue, his fingers fondling the fabric.

“Ask me out to dinner first, jeez.” He whispered sarcastically, gathering the shirt and rolling it gently over Marco’s head.

Jean untangled the tee from Marco's unresponsive arm, and admired his boyfriend’s freckled chest. The guy didn’t have to wear the gauze around his entire torso anymore, just the places where his stitches held his collarbone and abdomen shut.

He clicked his tongue. “Talk about Bodt-y.”

Marco groaned loudly, closing his eyes in disbelief.

“Do you hear yourself right now?” He asked, covering Jean’s mouth with his left hand.

The other boy leaned into the hand and licked it, and Marco yelped and pulled his palm back.

“Now look who can’t keep their hands to themselves?” Marco complained, rubbing the spit back on Jean’s chest.

Marco left his hand to rest over Jean’s heart as he did, and felt the pulse thrum against his fingers steadily.

“Can you blame me?” Jean asked, kissing Marco’s cheek.

Marco tried to turn to catch his lips, but Jean was faster. He avoided him, ducking away.

“Cheater! I said after your shower.”

Marco turned to point at the plastic wrap for his wounds, gesturing impatiently.

“Then hop to it, Skippy.”

Jean then helped him bathe.

It was the teensiest bit embarrassing, being completely naked at eye level with Jean. But they had known each other for a long time, and cared deeply for each other.

Besides, they were boyfriends now. Marco was confident Jean would like what he saw, and the guy had already snuck a few peeks at Trost General when he didn’t think Marco would notice anyhow.

Jean must’ve thought he was being slick, or maybe he just didn’t care if Marco knew he was looking. The attention still turned Marco red, and Jean would tease him every time he noticed the change in complexion.

After Marco finished his shower, Jean helped him re-dress his wounds. He attempted to check them himself, to catch a glimpse, but Jean cupped a hand against his eyes and blocked his view.

“Not right now.” He instructed weakly.

Judging by the waver in his voice, the sight was still horrific.

Marco decided his boyfriend was right, and he kept them closed. It would be helping nobody if he threw up now.

”Alright.” He agreed.

The gashes stung as Jean re-applied the wrapping, but they settled once the changes were made. Jean helped him dress himself in a pair of night shorts, and Marco voted to let his chest breathe after the shower.

Jean smirked once he had finished toweling his boyfriend off. He pulled Marco to his lips, locking them together harmoniously.

Marco gasped, but leaned into the embrace, allowing Jean the opportunity shower him in all love and affection he could give.

They were right back to it, as always.

Jean had promised after the shower that there would be a lip locking reward.

The tan haired boy panted against Marco’s lips. He closed his eyes again as he had moments ago, and mumbled against his boyfriend’s mouth.

“Much better now, no scratching.” He chuckled breathlessly.

As they snuck back into the bedroom, Jean grabbed Marco’s bad hand to guide him.

“I may have accidentally asked the others if they wanted to go see the movie with us tomorrow night, and I told them they could pick the title. I hope you aren’t disappointed.” Jean glanced down at the floor, his big toe nervously tapping against the carpet.

Marco grinned, shaking his head.

“Not at all, I’m glad they want us to come along. Besides, we all know what happened the last time I ditched the group. I won’t let that ever happen again.” Marco lamented regretfully.

Jean was confused for a minute, until he remembered the fair.

Marco's absence from the event had essentially catapulted the fight between Eren and Jean, which then trickled down to Reiner sympathizing with Eren on the drive home, and ultimately ended with Reiner killing Eren to silence him.

Talk about a tricky timeline!

“Hey, none of that was your fault. You hear me?” Jean begged, grasping Marco’s shoulder.

Marco shook his head.

“It’s hard not to feel like it is.”

“Well it isn’t.” Jean frowned. “Maybe Reiner wouldn’t have killed Eren that night, we can never know for sure. But the guy would’ve hurt someone else later on regardless. Reiner was a ticking time bomb, Marco.”

Marco sighed, but didn’t argue with Jean any further. He was too tired, and unbelievably sad.

Marco tipped his head at Jean, switching back to the more lighthearted topic.

“What movie did the gang pick?” He asked.

That’s when Jean’s snarky grin reappeared.

“That new Brad Pitt movie, Fight Club.”

Marco wished he could say he was prepared to go back out into the world and be himself again.

When him and Jean pulled up to the little theater in downtown Trost, Marco whispered a silent prayer to a higher power that he wouldn’t freak out and ruin the whole night. Jean parked crooked against the curb, and waited for Marco to finish.

Fight Club was an interesting choice, Marco knew it was probably a Connie and Ymir pick. Maybe even Jean’s, after all Brad Pitt was yummy as he liked to joke.

Marco would have preferred something more tender-hearted or comedic, but he tried not to let his questions about their choice dictate how his whole night would play out.

Jean slid a hand into Marco’s lap in the car, squeezing his inner thigh and turning to check on him.

“You can say you don’t want to go, if you want us to turn around.” He suggested, nodding at Marco’s trembling hand.

Marco shook his head, glancing out the window to where his friends were waving on the curb.

“I want to watch.” He reassured, smiling at Jean and leaning across the middle dash to kiss his boyfriend on the cheek.

Jean exited the car and walked around to let Marco out, taking his hand to help him over the curb.

Marco eyed his boyfriend as he assisted him out of the vehicle, and the butterflies fluttered around persistently in his stomach.

Jean had chosen a rust colored turtleneck, but the sleeves were only half length, coming to his elbows rather than his wrists. He wore his brown corduroy pants, tied together by a black belt around his waist with his shirt tucked in loosely. He was laced up in his black hunting boots, and he had Marco’s medication tucked deep in the pockets of his art deco canvas bag.

Jean’s hair was messy, and mullet length. He hadn’t yet cut off the new growth in the mess of the case, but Marco prayed that he wouldn’t at all.

Jean looked so handsome, and somehow more edgy without the spike gel.

Marco's cheeks warmed, and he distracted himself by waiving to his friends.

They all looked somewhat dressed up for the occasion too, with warm jackets and a little makeup. The Trost theater dropped dramatically in temperature after the sun went down, so jackets were decidedly the move.

“Hey guys!” Marco greeted them energetically, once he and Jean were on the curb.

Historia and Mikasa both offered Marco a hug, as Connie greeted Jean with a fist bump first.

Ymir sat leaning causally against the brick.

“Finally, we were nervous y’all were going to miss it.” She chided in a sassy voice, pulling Historia back into her arms as soon as the blonde parted from Marco.

Marco chuckled nervously, the toe of his shoe digging into the cracked concrete.

“We had some technical difficulties with my injuries.” Marco gestured to his body.

False.

Marco had been leaving tiny little love marks on Jean’s neck that whole afternoon, and they had simply lost track of time.

(The turtleneck was fashionable, yes, but also practical for hiding bruising.)

Jean scratched at his neck, smiling slyly to himself as Marco spoke to their friends.

"Yeah, save your excuses."

Ymir eyed the two of them knowingly, and a smirk unwrapped against her face.

“What are we still doing waiting out here then, let’s go take our seats!” Connie joked, looping his arm in Mikasa’s and guiding her into the theater first.

The smell of buttered popcorn and the sound of soda machines buzzing hit Marco hard, as him and Jean pushed through the doors next.

They were followed by Ymir and Historia, who intertwined their fingers as the group wandered into the concessions line.

Everyone bought themselves a snack and a couple drinks, and they piled quickly into their theater seats as the ads were finishing up.

They snuck single-file into their row, which was the aisle one step down from the middle, relatively closer to the screen.

Marco slumped into his seat next to Jean closest to the end of the row. They situated themselves as an extremely catchy and dramatic intro song played, with cool visuals that listed all the actors and the producers.

Marco was already pumping with adrenaline, as he had no idea what to expect. He was just glad to finally have a date with Jean, to enjoy something normal.

Jean threaded his right hand in Marco’s left, squeezing him and tossing him a sweet smile before turning to focus on the screen.

This was everything Marco had always wanted, since he realized how he had felt about Jean.

Marco decided to turn towards the screen too, no matter how much his brain was telling him to keep his eyes trained on Jean. He was there to enjoy a film, not ogle. But in his mind, he was doing joyful little cartwheels.

The first half of the movie was hilarious, and incredibly fast paced.

Marco found charm in some of characters, and was even smiling to himself at one point. He lowered his guard as the film progressed, and when Brad Pritt’s character entered on screen, Connie and Ymir shook each other’s shoulders aggressively. Their popcorn flew as they did, flying into their laps and spilling onto the floor.

Marco stifled a giggle, shaking his head.

It was an appropriate reaction, but an inappropriate time.

Then, an explosion scene happened. The violent and sudden volume increase caused to Marco flinch, but it wasn’t anything too triggering.

It was just a loud noise.

Jean noticed Marco jerk, and stretched his hand to grasp Marco’s tighter. It was small gesture, but it had been helpful. It re-centered Marco’s attention, and he was back into the film.

As the two main characters were having a an urgent phone conversation, Jean slid his foot up against Marco’s, tapping his toes against the other’s gently.

Marco slow turned back to him, and Jean winked in the lighting of the projector.

Marco felt flush. Had the theater actually been a bit warmer this time? He grinned back at Jean, before leaning his head against his boyfriend’s shoulder.

It had come to a point where Brad Pitt’s character asked the other guy to punch him, and a fight onscreen broke out.

Marco watched with his undivided attention as fists flew and connected with body parts, blood splattering against the sidewalk.

His heartbeat raced, and there was a ringing sound in his left ear. Marco knit his eyebrows together as he watched the fighting intensify.

His grip on Jean tightened, and the boy beside him turned his head to check on him. Marco was trying to hold it together, his fingers trembling in Jean's hand.

He could do this.

Marco had thought that maybe he could handle a little violence after the case, if it was just movie violence. There was no knife fights, so he didn’t assume he would have a reaction to the movie.

But less than an hour in, and another much larger fight scene later, the film had threatened to upheave his guts.

The bile rose in the back of Marco’s throat. He flashed back to the time Reiner had thrown himself at Marco, similarly to how the characters were fighting each other in the film. He remembered the fists flying at his stomach, the knife cutting up his arms.

Marco remembered the knife that penetrated his abdomen.

His vision began to sway, and Marco knew that if he didn’t leave right that instant, he was going to throw up on the second row and ruin their Fight Club experience.

And what a damn shame that would be!

It wasn’t their fault that Marco didn’t consider he might not be able to stomach the movie. He just thought he would try, the last thing he wanted was to upset any of his friends by isolating himself.

Marco’s legs reacted before he could really even think.

Hearing another sickening crunch sound of a character punching another’s nose in, Marco sprung out of his seat and was carrying himself through the back doors.

Jean eyes widened in alarm as Marco departed, their hands ripping apart in the process. The guy was shocked and confused, whispering Marco's name as he left.

Marco hoped Jean wouldn’t be offended, but he couldn’t handle any more. He would explain himself later.

Marco burst through the back doors and out into the back alleyway of the theater. He gasped for air and leaned against the brick exterior wall, heaving his chest and searching for his inhaler.

He listened to the wind whip through the crevice between the theater and another other massive building, and he finally found the device in his back pocket.

Marco took a puff, waited thirty seconds, and puffed again.

Inhale, exhale.

A moment later, and Jean appeared in the alleyway too. 

He approached Marco carefully, reaching out to guide the freckled teen until they found a seat on a red milk crate beside the dumpster.

“Hey… what happened?” Jean asked carefully, pressing his heavy hand against Marco’s frantic chest.

Marco clawed at his own shirt, tears staining his eyes as his body shook. He leaned into Jean, and decided to breathe first before trying to speak.

“I can’t do it. I’m so sorry.” He gasped.

Jean shook his head, guiding Marco’s cheek until they met each other’s eyes.

“Don’t apologize,” He soothed. “I should’ve told Connie that graphic movies were off the table for a while.”

Marco closed his eyes and leaned into Jean, commanding his stampeding heart to slow the fuck down. He swallowed the vomit that had threatened to escape him earlier, and allowed himself to cry.

Jean wrapped his other arm around Marco’s back and rubbed small little circles, waiting for his boyfriend to gather his speech again.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Jean.” Marco whined, balling his fist. “I just… I can’t move on!”

Jean hushed him, rocking them together gently as they sat in the alley.

“There’s not a thing wrong with you.” Jean replied, tilting his chin up at the stars.

The brilliant things were so dim in the city lights, but there was no moon in the sky that night, so they were as bright as they could be. The view from the back of he theater was a quaint one, but pretty regardless.

Marco followed Jean eyes, blinking the moisture away and sniffling as he studied the constellations.

“I can’t even go watch a movie anymore, for crying out loud.” He grunted in frustration.

Jean chuckled, smiling down at Marco again.

“You’ve only tried one film, love. And a really violent one at that. Why don’t we… sneak into another one? Maybe we could still see that romcom you were talking about?” Jean suggested, nuzzling against Marco’s cheek.

Marco laughed as Jean collected the tears from Marco’s face onto his nose.

“I’m pretty sure But I’m a Cheerleader is still playing now. And the best part is, the theater will probably be empty.”

Marco considered it for a moment.

Jean had successfully distracted him from the Fight Club, and a comedy might actually do him some good.

“But wont the others be upset that we ditched?” Marco asked, wiping his face dry.

Jean shook his head again.

“No, I think they’ll understand. I’ll explain it to them later.”

Marco rose to his feet, pulling Jean with him as he did.

The freckled teen tucked his inhaler back into his back pocket, praying he wouldn’t need it anymore that night. He brushed off his own jacket with one hand, then wiped the tears out of his eyes and composed himself again.

Jean watched him patiently as he calmed himself down, and waited until he was ready.

Marco reached out to take Jean's hand after a few minutes had passed, rubbing his thumb against Jean’s gratefully once they had connected.

“Oh-kay then. Let’s go have our movie date.”

Later that same night, Marco lay awake in bed, staring up at his cracked ceiling as he thought to himself.

The case was solved, and yet Marco hadn’t felt a strong sense of closure. He couldn’t reassure himself that the violence was actually over with, that there wasn’t still an element he had to solve.

Bertolt and Annie had been arrested, and Reiner was shot down right before his eyes. There was nobody else associated with the three, so who could be left to fear?

Eren, Armin and Sasha were all able to have their funerals too, and sadly Marco had to miss it.

He was in a coma when they were buried.

Marco thought his own death would have been a more satisfying finale to the case. And because he survived, there was this sickening guilt inside of him.

Why did I get to live, when everyone else perished?  

Jean leaned his head against the palm of his hand to look down at Marco, tracing an amatory finger against his lover’s bare chest.

Marco shivered, glimpsing at Jean in the darkness of his bedroom. He could barely make out Jean’s golden eyes, but his swollen lips were illuminated by the moonlight.

They had been catching up on kissing.

Marco also noticed the faint sun splotches on Jean’s cheeks, faded but still visible. He loved every detail of Jean’s skin, and would waste hours just studying it if he could.

Jean’s eyes were softened, his guard fully down around Marco.

There was no dire need to impress Marco anymore, he had no act to play. Jean could be as open as he wanted around Marco, and the opposite of which could also be true.

“What’s bothering you? I know that look.” Jean commented quietly.

Marco could hear his mother snoring peacefully down the hall, while they lay together, unclothed and bare in Marco’s bed.

The fan buzzed persistently in the corner of his bedroom. New sketches of Marco flapped gently in its breeze, swinging on the clothesline above his and Jean's closet.

He promised his mom that they wouldn’t do it. But he made no promises that they wouldn’t mess around a little.

Maybe that was sneaky of him, but he didn’t care. Jean was all he wanted.

Marco pinched his lips together, inhaling  softly through his nose.

“Nothing gets through you, huh.” He commented.

Jean smiled lazily.

“You solved the case, not me. So, what are you thinking about pretty boy?”

Marco shrugged, bringing up a hand to trace the skin against Jean’s jaw. His fingertips brushed over Jean’s lips, and Jean kissed the pad of each one as they passed him by. He moved forward to kiss Marco’s palm too, for good measure.

Marco couldn’t believe he had once thought that Jean could have been the murderer. 

“I just feel like I’m missing one final piece. Like somehow, if I find it, it’ll make me feel better about everything.” Marco simplified.

He clutched Jean’s chin, and rubbed his thumb over the peach fuzz on his cheekbone.

Jean leaned into his hand, moving his own hand down Marco’s chest to grasp his right hip. He yanked Marco closer to him.

“Connie and the others are going to visit their memorial tomorrow. Want to come with, and maybe say a few words? That could bring you some sort of peace.”

Jean breathed against Marco’s ear, cuddling up to him.

Marco wound his arm tightly around his boyfriend’s ribs, scratching his nails down Jean's back.

Jean shivered as Marco grazed the spot between his shoulder blades.

Marco grinned at the noise Jean made against his ear, as his lover’s hand snaked lower.

“I think that’s a good idea.” Marco agreed, wrapping his legs around Jean’s and entangling himself with the other boy.

They had cuddled like this in Marco's hospital bed. Well, maybe not exactly that intimately, but it was a great comfort to have skin to skin contact Jean. 

"I never imagined my boyfriend would be this handsy. You are making a mess out of me, freckles.” Jean breathed.

Marco smirked.

"I've always been touchy, it's just more obvious now."

Jean inhaled against Marco’s hair, pressing kisses against his scalp quietly. Each time he planted his lips against the freckled boy's skin, a feverish shiver ran throughout Marco's body.

“Admit it,” Marco whispered playfully, “You’re a homosexual!”

Jean gasped, leaning back and pressing both of his hands to his heart. He popped his hip, causing Marco to giggle.

He hoped they wouldn’t wake his mother with all their laughter.

“I’m a homosexual!” Jean sighed dramatically, falling back down next to Marco and rolling his eyes at the movie callback.

Momentary silence followed, as they studied each other some more.

“If you really think about it, we have an insane love story.” Jean chuckled lowly.

His eyes were lapping up Marco’s body, and his fingers brushed against Marco's dead arm with love.

Marco glanced up at Jean. His arm splayed lifelessly against the sheets, unable to reach up and brush the hair out of his boyfriend’s eyes. Unable to trace the bone of his brow.

“Oh yeah? You think so?” Marco asked.

“I know so.” Jean mused. “I can’t wait to tell my kids that their dad confessed his feelings, before the case was even fuckin' solved!”

Jean moved on to press smaller kisses against a cluster of Marco’s chest freckles.

Marco’s temperature had reached a boiling point.

“Kids?” He croaked pathetically.

Jean laughed quietly at his boyfriend’s reaction, nuzzling his chest.

“What, freckles, did you seriously think I didn’t want to have kids?”

Marco shook his head. He whined as Jean’s hand traveled past his hip, to grip his backside.

“Behave yourself!” He hissed, smacking Jean’s chest gently with the back of his hand. “My mom is sleeping next door, show some respect!”

Jean winked at him again, and glanced up at the door to listen out for Mrs. Bodt’s snores.

A small cross necklace, one that Jean’s mother used to wear, hung down near Marco’s face. The freckled teen took the pendant gently between his teeth, pulling Jean’s attention back downwards with furrowed brows.

Jean examined Marco lustfully, blinking the misty haze out of his eyes.

“There aint nothing respectful about what you do to me. God, were gonna have some beautiful babies, Bodt.” He sung.

Marco smacked his shoulder again, but he laughed that time, and pulled his boyfriend down into a long kiss that finally shut him up.

They made out again, as if Jean’s lips weren’t already swollen enough, and Marco fell asleep when he finally wore himself out.

Jean watched Marco as he snored peacefully; his good arm was splayed out above him against the headboard, and the other remained still at his side.

Jean rested a cheek against Marco’s ribs, moving with him as his freckled chest rose and fell. He listened to his sturdy heart beating.

He was so thankful Marco was alive, functioning arm or not.

Jean grabbed the arm with tender ease, and draped it around his shoulders, holding Marco’s scarred fingers close to his own beating heart.

You never could have killed him, Reiner. And you were a fool to try.

Jean hoped Reiner was rotting in the deepest depths of hell.

Marco watched the sign pass as Jean drove his car through the main gate:
Trost Cemetery.

After a nearly a month of being locked up in a morgue freezer, Eren, Armin and Sasha had finally been allowed to rest.

They had all been buried beside each other, and Marco had been asleep throughout the entirety of their end of life ceremony.

Marco saw their sites almost immediately from the entrance to the cemetery.

Every headstone had an arrangement of flowers in front of it, something sweet and small. But by the back, there were many candles, stuffed animals, and even food packages laid out for the three deceased teens, as well as extravagant flower arrangements surrounding their stones.

The gifts were vibrant in hues, which contrasted how colorless the town was amidst their deaths.

It had been a very bleak September.

Already waiting for them, Marco’s friends stood by a tree that marked the start of a new row of graves. The freckled teen hadn’t seen them since the movie yesterday, and his nerves spiked as him and his boyfriend approached the four.

Would everyone be upset Marco ditched last night?

After Jean parked, Connie bounded up to Marco’s side of the car, hugging him tightly as he climbed out of his seat.

Marco winced in pain, but he hugged Connie back with his left arm.

“Im sorry I couldn’t stay for the whole movie.” He apologized.

Connie stared up at the freckled teen, shaking his head vigorously.

“No, Marco, I’m so sorry. I really should have thought about everything we just went through while considering films, Ymir just said Brad Pritt and I said ‘I’m in!’” He laughed, scratching the back of his head. "Besides, I kind of hated the ending anyway."

Marco grinned, tucking his good hand into his jean pocket as they spoke.

"I wish I could say I was curious, but man, that was all a bit much for me." He admitted, his eyes wandering the property and the headstones.

“That's okay, you didn't miss much. Listen… I’m just. I’m sorry I talked to Bertolt.” Connie apologized, kicking the dirt on the ground and hugging his shoulder anxiously. “I was concerned for you, and I knew you and Bertolt-“

He stopped himself before he could say the words ‘used to be friends.’

Marco waved it off, his expression faltering. He wasn’t there to talk about Bertolt, or Annie, or Reiner.

He was there to mourn over his friends.

“It’s alright, everything is in the past now. Besides, they were able to use your testimony to sentence… him correctly.” Marco forced himself to take a pacifist stance, moving on to give the girls all a hug and an apology.

Marco heard Jean scalding Connie for hugging too tight, as he was giving the girls his attention.

“You dumbass! Marco is literally stitched together right now; do you want to pay for another stay at the hospital for him?”

Marco smiled. He was just happy to be there, with all of them. Everything felt sort of right for once.

He moved on to stand in front of the freshly covered dirt of his friend’s memorial sites, and the group followed close behind him. Every one of them had already had their time to say something to the headstones except for Marco.

Except for the individual who had solved their cases.

Marco glanced between each stone.

Eren and Armin were laid to rest beside each other. Sat between their grave markers was a large leather book, with gorgeous embroidered detailing.

Closer to Eren’s side, Mikasa had tied her scarf into a bow in front of a flower arrangement. Armin had a couple of caramel candies in a jar, as well as a few books by his.

Marco picked the leather book up, forcing his eyes away from the sacrificial possessions and flipping through its pages.

Inside, several hundred polaroid pictures, photographs and mall photo booth snapshots were taped up of Mikasa, Eren and Armin in various situations.

This must be the scrapbook Mikasa had mentioned she wanted to make, that day at Armin's locker.

Marco glanced over his shoulder towards her, and she smiled shyly back at him. He held it up to her, and gave her a thumbs up.

“It’s beautiful.” He said.

Mikasa began to cry, stepping up to take the book from Marco. She wanted to flip through it all over again.

Jean wrapped an arm around Marco’s waist as they stared at Sasha’s grave, who was a few stones over. Their hearts were hollow, Marco still had trouble believing that he would never see her again.

“I miss her.” Jean said, frowning. 

“She was annoying, but she could play so mean in Super Mario Kart. And, she was always making up some excuse for Connie and I so we wouldn’t get in trouble when we ditched school.”

Marco read the carvings on the stone, and observed the large basket of fresh baked bread resting against the base. He noticed her pompoms as well, and tears welled up in his eyes again.

“I miss her too.” Marco whispered, pulling Jean closer.

He leaned his head against top of his boyfriends’, his good hand twisting the strands of Jean's hair.

“What would you say to them now, if you could say anything?” Jean asked, urging Marco forward.

Marco glanced amongst all of his friends, and up at the enormous trees that shaded the cemetery.

It was a sunny day, but the October air sent a chill down Marco’s spine. He stepped forward, placing a hand atop Armin’s headstone.

Where do I even begin?

“I don’t know if you guys can hear me, but I just wanted you to know this…” Marco started, lowering himself to his knees.

Ymir, Historia, Mikasa and Connie gathered close behind, and Jean placed his hands in his pockets as Marco spoke.

“Even though the case is solved, I can’t help but feel I’ve let each of you down in some way. For instance: Eren, if I had gone to the fair with Jean, you might not have been stabbed.” He admitted.

Mikasa glanced at Marco in confusion.

“If I had just tried to confront Armin, and made him tell me what he knew, I could have reported Reiner sooner. And Sasha…” Marco trailed off, dropping his hand from the stone to pick some of the blades of grass at his knees.

“I wish I would have fought harder to make the school see how much of an internal threat this was. I wish I spent less time reacting, and more time doing.” He finished, rising to his feet.

“I’m sorry that I am here, while you guys didn’t even get a chance to fight back at all. And I hope you can forgive me.”

Jean pulled Marco to face him, shaking his head frantically.

“Marco, their justice was thanks to your survival.”

Jean furrowed his brows, and Marco’s eyes widened.

“What?” He asked.

Jean gestured to the graves of the fallen, and his friends watched quietly from behind them.

“You worked day and night to solve their cases, and you fought like hell so you could tell their stories, truthfully. You’re the reason that all three of the suspects were charged.” He furthered.

“Don’t feed them this bullshit. They certainly wouldn’t stand for it if they were here. You’re a hero Marco, their hero.”

Tears tumble down Marco’s cheeks. He mumbled, unsure of what else to say.

“You’re also proof that Reiner and the others didn’t succeed. Your arm? It’s a trophy, that’s proof of your resilience. Don’t you understand?” He laughed, taking Marco’s hands in his own.

“You are exactly who you were meant to be, right now. Damaged or undamaged. You did the very thing the police couldn’t do, you put an end to the murders.”

Marco pulled Jean into a hug, and gestured for all of his friends to join them.

“I'm so sorry. I wish I could bring them back.” Marco cried.

He gave into their touch, weeping over his friends’ graves.

When all was said and done, Marco had one more thing left to bury.

Jean drove him to the Shire one last time, so he could cover up the final piece. 

The two stepped out of the car, chasing each other as fast as Marco dared into the fimiliar woods. The freckled teen was breathless by the time they made it to the base of the treehouse.

Jean climbed the ladder to collect his old drawings, and the radio he had left up there. There was still caution tape surrounding the area, and Marco found himself glancing at the exact spot he had been stabbed.

There were chills shuddering up and down his body.

Marco swallowed hard, recollecting the fear of being chased through those trees.

“Are you done yet?” Jean asked, following his boyfriend's eyes to the dirt indent.

Marco shook his head, grabbing the shovel out of his pocket and digging up the spot feverishly.

The teen placed a folded photograph in the dirt: a shot that his father had taken of him that day at boy scouts.

It was the one with Marco’s goofy grin and naive optimism.

He buried the print in the same place he had essentially died a couple of weeks ago. The place where his old self had died.

Marco was leading a completely different life now, and he had everything that he could possibly need in it.

There was no room for someone as selfish as his father.

“Now I am.” Marco agreed, pulling Jean in for a kiss.

The two of them would never be coming back to the Shire. The place was too tainted, so everything they needed to stay dead would belong there.

They had to say goodbye to a place where they had forged an unbreakable bond, and that fact caused a feeling of sadness to spread throughout Marco’s chest.

He loved the Shire, it was the place where he had first discovered the possibility of loving Jean deeper.

The memories in that treehouse would always be special, but Marco could still feel the shadows of his paranoia licking at him from the edge of the forest.

It was about time to make new memories with Jean anyhow.

Marco understood then, more than ever, what it meant to kill your darlings.

He didn’t understand what Reiner had meant on the day Marco had been stabbed, but he was finally beginning to grasp it.

It wasn’t about killing off those you have attachments to, in your mind or otherwise; but to let go of the things you love, when they’re only harming you.