9.1.13

I'm sorry I don't know what this is

all that matters is that they're together rite?

The tears are thick in his throat. "Please, please, take me with you," he sobs. He collapses onto his knees, unable to stand any longer. "H-haven't I done enough?" he shouts angrily towards the sky. "Haven't I lost enough? Please... just come take me with you."

The pain in his side is overwhelming. His vision is swimming. His voice is hoarse, his breathing heavy and labored. He knows he's slipping away, but he doesn't want to do it alone. Can't do it alone.

"I've... gone for this long without you," he says, and tears, heavy and hot, are rolling down his cheeks, down his neck, mixing with the blood. "P-please... Marco..." He falls to his hands and knees, his entire body heaving. "I've done my job, haven't I?... Haven't I?"

Jean squeezes his eyes shut, gasping for breath, and still the tears are falling, falling, dripping down his face and into the dirt. He drags himself towards a nearby wall, the remnants of an old, abandoned home, and lets himself lean against it, clutching his side.

"It hurts," he moans. "It hurts, Marco." Can Marco even hear him? he wonders. No. No, of course he can't. Marco isn't here. There is no one but himself. "Please... come find me."

Jean thinks of the rest of his team, Eren and Armin and Mikasa and Connie and... and... he can't think of the names anymore, but the faces swim in his vision. He doesn't call for any of them, knows that they aren't here, knows that it's too late anyway.

"Marco..." he says weakly, his voice soft as a breath. "Hey, Marco... did I make you proud?" He brings his blood-soaked jacket up to wipe his face, wipe his eyes and his running nose. "I hope I did... I hope I didn't disappoint you." He lets out a broken sob. "Where are you? Didn't you wait for me?" And this is the thought that hurts the most.

He isn't afraid of dying, not really. Not anymore. Because he'd always been so sure that there would be someone waiting for him, that he wouldn't be alone...

Now, as his mind begins to fade, he wonders if it was all a silly make-believe. He'd been so desperate to believe that that day all those years go wouldn't be the last time he'd see Marco... that there would be something else after this... that Marco would be waiting for him at the end. But maybe it was all childish fantasy... this was real life. This was death.

"Marco," he says again, and now he's certain that Marco is not waiting for him. There is no one there. "Marco, please." And still he begs, unable to believe that there is no one here but himself. That Marco is not here.

The pain is fading now... his breaths are shallow... He closes his eyes, waiting. Alone.

"Jean."

His eyes snap open, but for a moment he sees nothing.

"Jean."

"M-Marco," he croaks out, and he wants so badly to believe.

"Hey."

Jean's eyes focus, and then he can only see one thing. A face fills his vision, a face, solid and whole, unmarred by injury or scars. Dark eyes crinkle at the corners as the face breaks into a grin, and Jean can see each and every individual freckle that's splashed across the cheeks and nose. He drinks in the sight like a man dying of thirst, wondering if it's an illusion created by his fevered, dying mind.

"Marco."

"I'm here." Marco reaches up to trace Jean's jaw with the pad of his thumb, Marco lets his hand slide down Jean's neck and to his shoulder, Marco is the one smiling at him.

Jean closes his eyes and begins to sob, reaching up to clutch Marco's hand in his own. "Marco," he says again. "You waited..."

"Of course I did... I'd wait for you for a thousand years if I had to. Don't you know that?" Marco's other hand comes up to wipe away the tears on Jean's cheeks. "Hey, I'm really proud of you, Jean," he says softly.

Jean nods, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that he's left, he's gone, the same way Marco has, and his friends are going to find out soon and maybe they'll mourn him and maybe they won't - but none of that matters now, because he's here with Marco. "We'll be together forever, right?" he asks, and he realizes that he can't bear it, the thought of losing Marco again. It doesn't make sense, of course, but right now he needs to be sure, that Marco is here to stay.

"Of course," Marco says, and the familiar grin is back. "Of course, Jean." He leans over and envelops Jean in a hug, and Jean's still crying, but this time he isn't scared or confused or lost.

Safe. Warm. Together.