Childish Games

Childish Games - Nine

-Chapter Nine-

A/N: So! I wrote this chapter before I watched the snk special involving Jean's actual mum so some of this may seem kinda weird to you guys who have watched it but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! (I basically tried to make you fall in love with her in less than a chapter. I have no idea if that's gonna have worked but it was worth a shot!)

On with the show!

--

Dead. He couldn't believe it. His mother, the one woman who had influenced his life so much was actually dead.

'I'm terribly sorry for your loss. A funeral service is being held in two days' time. Both yourself and Bodt have been requested there.' Jean nodded but he was still stunned, shocked and traumatised by the news he'd been given. Erwin and Levi both walked off again and Jean thought of finding himself a bench to sit on but couldn't find the will to move to one, instead just dropping to his knees, putting his face in his hands and curling in on himself in a ball. He knew people would be looking at him but he didn't care. Not now. His mother had just died and he couldn't be expected to just continue as normal, act as if nothing had happened because a lot had happened and it was physically ripping him apart inside.

'Jean..?' Marco murmured, having crouched down to wrap an arm around his shoulders, kneeling as well and allowing the shorter boy to just bury his face in his thigh and not exactly sob but just let the occasional silent tear slip from his eyes. He didn't want to have a complete breakdown in front of everyone so chose to hold it in until they were more private. He wasn't embarrassed to show such weakness in front of Marco but to show that in front of all the others was near unthinkable to him. 'Do you want to go back inside?' He asked, gently stroking his hand through his hair to soothe him. Jean nodded and got himself to his feet, wiping at his eyes and starting to walk off without a word as he wasn't sure how long he could keep himself composed but he was sure that Marco would be polite enough for the two of them before following him.

When they reached the room and closed and locked the door behind them, Jean turned and tightly clutched onto Marco's torso, burying his face in his chest and just crying. More than he had done in all his life bar from being a baby but that couldn't be helped. Marco wrapped his arms around him, one hand cradling the back of his head and the other gently rubbing over his back as his body racked with the surprisingly powerful sobs. Marco hadn't thought that Jean could cry at all. Let alone cry this much.

'I- I can't belie-eve she's actually dead- Sh-she's gone Marc-Marco.' He ululated, gripping onto the freckled male's shirt so tightly that his knuckles must've been white.

'It'll be okay...' Marco whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Jean's head. 'I promise it'll be okay.' But he didn't know how it would be. He hadn't lost a parent so he didn't have the experience and therefore couldn't really promise Jean that it would be okay. He could only hope. The fact that it was one of their 'Happy Days' benefited Jean in a way that he could be left in peace to mourn as much as he needed to without needing to train and just deal with it.

They just lay on their pushed together beds, Jean's face buried in Marco's chest almost the entire time, until they were called down for dinner. They both went and thankfully, nobody asked Jean if he was alright. He knew that if anyone aside from Marco showed him sympathy he'd just lose it again. He couldn't explain the theory behind it but that was what he believed. Dinner was its usual lovely self of half-stale bread and grey looking soup that was apparently potato and leek. Yeah right. It didn't taste pleasant but it also didn't taste disgusting. It had no flavour but a hideous texture. Luckily, it didn't last too long and they were soon excused to do as they pleased, a couple of people staying behind to chat but others going off in their own directions; Marco and himself back to their room again.

He figured that the reason he could trust Marco with his display of emotions is because he'd told the boy all about his family, his mother in particular. So the brunette knew everything from her hair colour right down to what nursery rhymes she'd sing to Jean when he was little. He knew about when Jean had come home one day covered in scrapes and she'd convinced him that he wasn't stupid but he struggled walking because angels are used to flying, so it'd take him longer to learn how to walk properly than the other kids; and how she'd slept on his bedroom floor countless times to protect him from any monsters lurking under his bed or in his closet. He'd loved his mother dearly and he made sure to show it as often as he could, picking flowers from a young age even if they turned out to be dandelions or weeds, but she still put them in a vase on display anyway and tried to keep them alive for as long as she could. Marco knew all of these things and more, so he could trust the boy as much as he could trust his mother, trusting him to protect him from any monsters at night, especially in his most vulnerable state. He cuddled up close to the boy when it came to the time they went to sleep, clutching onto his pyjama top and closing his eyes, only for Marco to hold him closer and start quietly singing into his ear, the nursery rhyme he was so familiar with:

'Baby dear, good night, good night,

Doggie lies in slumbers deep;

Hush-a-bye, my treasure bright,

Pussy, too, is fast asleep.

Don't you wake them. If you do,

Pups will bark, and Puss will mew.

Go to sleep, and never fear,

Mother will call when morning's near.'