"No, no," Jean shook his head as soon as Marco began to describe how he died. He drew him in close, and lifted his hand to guide his face to bury into his shoulder. He couldn't bear to see him cry anymore. Jean was the one that discovered his body, and in that moment he already knew how much he had to have suffered. "Don't talk about it. You don't have to tell me..."

The hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood up straight as Marco recounted what he feared to have happened. Those three were the cause-- and of all the shit they'd done, all the hundreds of thousands of people they killed, none of it mattered as much to Jean as this one thing. The one person he thought he'd lost in carelessness had actually been taken away from him. He'd been robbed, and he'd been blaming himself for it this whole time.

Rage coursed through his veins. But he couldn't vent it now. Marco, for whatever small amount of time he might have here, didn't deserve it. Maybe in a week's time, he'd go and make his first visit to the Destruction Room and break everything in sight. For now, he had to smother the fire as best he could.

"We know," he answered Marco, his voice strained. "We've known for a long time. We captured Annie and Bertholt is dead. Reiner got away. But he's far, far from the Walls. now. You don't have to worry."