#jasmari

This is what they deserved for hanging her parents under the accusation that they had set their own bakery alight. As if they would ever so recklessly endanger their sole livelihoods like that? It was sickening.

Her eyes, usually such a clear, crystal blue, gleamed gold in the lights of the flames. Why shouldn't she burn this place to the ground, and rejoice in the ashes? They'd taken everything from her. Her parents, her livelihood, her future...

Why shouldn't she take away theirs? There were no innocents in this. No one had said anything as the guards held her back, as she screamed and sobbed as two kind, gentle people gasped and choked for air.

It hadn't been a beheading. It hadn't been quick. Marinette wondered who pulled the strings to make it that way.

She'd burn them. The scent of charred skin was already becoming familiar enough.

Ashes choked the air. Good. They deserved to know how her parents had felt, desperate for air yet unable to breathe.

The crackling of bodies and buildings burning was loud, but not loud enough to disguise the crunch of soft footsteps against death baked soil, followed by the near silent swish of a cape.

“You're here to stop me.” She muttered hollowly, gaze not wandering from her flickering flames.

“What makes you think that?” An unfamiliar accent responded. “Maybe I'm here to join you.”

She snorted. “You're a Bat. Are you not? Bats stop that which they believe to be injustices.”

He chuckled. Against her will, she turned to look at him.

Poison-green eyes gleamed in the roaring fire's light. ... Perhaps this one was on her side. Still.

Best to make sure.

A man stumbled out of the wreckage, eyes wild, nearly out of his mind from pain.

"Please," he said, "Please save me. I can't -- I'm not -- I'm a good man, I promise, please --"

Marinette tilted her head at him. "Save you, hm?"

The Bat brushed ashes off his shoulder and nodded his head at her, as if to say, 'Go on.'

"Who saved my family?" she asked the man, and saw no recognition in his eyes. "Who saved Tom and Sabine Dupain-Cheng?"

"Make it stop!" the man pleaded again. Marinette tsked and threaded a soothing hand through his hair.

He sobbed, going lax under her hand.

She tightened her grip and yanked his head up. "Wrong answer."

The scent of burnt hair and charred, cooking flesh filled the air.

"Efficient," the Bat said, as she tossed the body to the ground. "Screaming was a little inconvenient, though."

Marinette gestured at the carnage around her. "Convenience wasn't exactly my goal, here."

He snorted. "Sure, it's not now. But later? It will be."

Sending a glance at him through the corner of one eye, she caused the fire to ripple and writhe around her hand and to rise from the ground, licking at the air around her boots. Casting her in a brilliantly searing glow.

She hummed, closing her eyes for a brief moment as she breathed in the scent of smoke. “And, what do you exactly propose that later will require my goal to change to one of convenience?”

The Bat sauntered closer. “Awww, c'mon. Don't tell me this is your one and only grand plan? To burn one little village to the ground and then what? Let yourself get captured by a Bat?”

“You sound so certain that I wouldn't fight back.” She pointed out. “And yet you saw what I just did to the waste of life.”

“You didn't immediately try to attack me.” The Bat countered.

Marinette hummed.

“I could help you, if you were to so wish it.” The Bat offered, a teasing lilt to his tone, eyes glimmering not unlike hers as he watched the flames swirling around her.

“I have other targets.” She admitted. “Not everyone responsible was here tonight.”

“Then,” The Bat started, moving even closer, unphased by the risk of burning, “let's enjoy tonight, the other Bats, Ladybug and Batgirl specifically, won't arrive til overmorrow at the earliest. Afterwards, we can begin making moves towards our next targets.”

She nodded, lips uncurling into a feral grin. “That sounds a wonderful plan.”

The Bat bowed. “The name's Jason.”

“Marinette but I think Phoenix is a little more fitting for the both of us now, don't you think.” She answered.

“Oh, I agree.” He reached one gloved hand out towards her. “To the start of a beautiful alliance.”

“To the start indeed.” Marinette clasped his hand, flames dancing and playing harmless around them both.

———

"What," Steph said, "The fuck."

She was staring at a heart burned into the ground. A perfectly-shaped, coal-black heart. That was somehow gouged into the cobblestone road.

Cass hummed. "Not natural, Ladybug" she said.

Steph spluttered. "Not -- not -- NO DUH! Batgirl! What -- "Cass's giggle cut her off. Steph pouted.

"Unfair," she mumbled, "You're so mean to me."

———

 The manor house's basement is a maze and she's oh so vulnerably lost. She can't afford to stay here—stay still—for long. Holding her breath for a moment, she waits. The seconds pass like the dripping of blood from the deep gash curled across her collarbone and throat. Luckily though, the other new injuries she awoke with—littering her arms, legs, chest, and throat, looking dreadfully like signs of torture—are freshly scabbed over and haven't seemed to have reopened.

 A small mercy.

 Perhaps a little too violently for the stealth she desperately needs, she slams her shoulders back against the stone wall inside the room and lets herself slide to the floor, legs giving way beneath her. The impact will probably bruise nastily, knowing her luck.

 She hasn't got time to clean the wound on her neck, meaning she'll still be easy to track via the scent of her blood but really, it's too late now all things considered, and there's no water or alcohol she could even use to do so in the first place anyway. Scrabbling for a scrap of cloth, she tears the bottom of her tunic and wraps it with practised deftness around her neck to cover the gash in a temporary bandage—better than nothing.

 In, two, three, four. Her shoulders shake as she struggles for every slow breath, desperately willing her heartbeat to steady from its frenetic rhythm.

 Out, two, three, four.

 Footsteps approach.

 Marinette freezes, pulse skyrocketing and breath hitching in terror. No, no, no! He's coming, he's coming, he's coming!

 Who, she doesn't quite know but what she does know, is that instinctual fear for her survival clouding her mind.

 Closer, and closer, floorboards groaning and moaning in warning. Only accentuated by the scraping prowl of hardened leather soles against the wood.

 Bloody fingers scramble at the crossbow resting on her belt, silver bolt at the ready.

 The footsteps reach the threshold of the doorframe, nails squealing in the floorboard beneath the boots. Hinges on the door wailing as whoever lurks behind, slowly begins prising it open like a coffin.

 Quick as a flash, Marinette yanks the crossbow from its belt hook and up at the now-open door. Without hesitating to aim, fires. There's a clunk of the mechanism activating and a twang as it shoots.

 Thunk, as it misses.

 “Shit! Fuck!” An almost familiar voice yelps, sounding strained with a growl between their teeth.

 She ignores the cursing and its accompanying sense of déjà vu, already reloading by habit and bringing the crossbow up to aim at the one tracking her.

 “Hey, hey, it's just me!” The person—a man with an unnervingly agnising streak of white in his black hair—stumbles back, raising his hands in surrender, near unnaturally bright green eyes apprehensively wide. He's grinning at her anxiously, making it more of an uneasy half grimace than any sort of smile really. “You recognise me, right? C'mon, Mari!”

 She doesn't. Her fingers tremble against the trigger, keeping the crossbow raised to shoot his heart at the slightest threat. Why does he know my name… Is he the one chasing me? The one I need to run from?

 “Marinette?” He pleads, fingers curling in slightly as his eyebrows furrow, a look of deep distress slowly etching its way across his features before the realisation crushes his hope and a wretched sort of dolorous dawns in his eyes. “No! No, please, come on!” He takes a step back. “I can't…”

 “Can't what?” She retorts carefully, not erring in her aim as she continues to hold the crossbow up and ready.

 He swallows a breath of air sharply at that, “you… fuck—you really don't recognise me, huh?”

 Licking her lip nervously, she squints at him. “Should I?”

 The man opens his mouth to speak then shuts it, biting his tongue and holding the unspoken words between his teeth.

 But Marinette catches a glint of something unmistakably amiss.

 And they can both hear the distant ringing of the death knell outside, marking the hours they have left to flee this place—to escape with their lives.

 They're running out of time.

 He sighs, closing his eyes for a brief moment before staring at her intently. “What do you remember?”

 “I'm a monster hunter.” She responds, eyeing him warily, finger twitching on the crossbow trigger.

 His face twists at her answer, “Yeah… yeah… but anything else?”

 “What's it to you?” Marinette answers unhelpfully, tone almost whingey in petulance.

  The man barks out an acerbic laugh of disbelief and shakes his head slightly but offers no answer.

 Tilting her head to one side, she nods stiffly towards him, switching the topic. “What's your name then? Since you already know mine?” She can't help the slight questioning lilt at the end of her words. The curiosity burns like the wound around her neck.

 “Jason.” He mutters lowly. “But, uhh,” the corner of his lips starts to curl into a frown before scrunching into a full grimace. “You used to call me Jay, among some other nicknames. We were close, you and I.” He breathes in slowly as if the words pain him to speak. “I'm your older brother.”

 A chill runs down her spine and it takes all her willpower not to shoot as she raises an eyebrow at him instead. “Uh-huh? Is that so?”

 Jason doesn't respond immediately but the grief-stricken stare he gives is answer enough. He takes a tentative step forwards again, reaching one hand towards her, the other still raised in a show of harmlessness.

 Watching askance at his movements, she holds herself perfectly still. Not daring to even breathe. Until the very last second, when he gets but a fraction too close.

 Violently, she flinches back. Heart racing, hands shaking.

 The crossbow fires.

  Thwonk, the bolt slams into Jason's torso, shadowed by a hiss of burning flesh.

 “Fuck!” He bites out, a snarl on his lips, accidentally revealing two inhumanly long fangs where his canines should have been. “I'm offended, Nettie.” He coughs, “your aim's gotten worse.”

 ‘You really wanna bet?’ is the snappy response upon her lips that dies like a bolt through the heart, as she stares, eyes wide in horror at the sight that answers her unspoken challenge.

 For, slowly a patch of dark crimson upon his sternum begins to stain and spread through the pale shirt.

 Marinette freezes again, unable to wrench her eyes from that bolt sticking out of his chest, skin smouldering on contact with the silver—she shouldn't be so surprised, so shocked by her own reaction, not when she can't recall ever being so distraught over hurting a monster before, in her blurry memories. So why is seeing Jason hurt different? He can't be telling the truth, can he?

 Still trembling, she reloads the crossbow yet again, between hesitant flickering glances up at him. “If you're really my brother then how come you're a vampire?” She demands, baring her own dull teeth back at him before adding on quickly, “because I'm still completely human. So either you're trying to take advantage of my memory, intact or not, or you should be dead.”

 “I ain't arguing with that.” Shaking his head, he scoffs. “Look, you won't be human for fucking long if we don't get out of here, okay.” He scowls, sending a dark look back down the shadowed hallway he came from, before offering a hand out to her once more. “I know a way out, I can explain shit afterwards. And we will find a way to undo whatever the fuck he did to you, alright.” Sighing, he swallows another heavy gulp of air, furrows his brows and grits his teeth. “And I'm sorry but I promise you, I've never used any of my vampire powers to hurt you, Marinette, never, I swear.”

 She scrunches up her nose and twists her lips at his words, shifting between a soft frown and a grimace. Fingers twitching on crossbow trigger, Marinette leans towards him just a smidgen as she voluntarily chooses to lower some of her guard—as a test obviously, definitely not because her instincts, despite all her training to the contrary, seem to be screaming that he, a deadly monster is trustworthy.

 Making a small noise of gentle distress at the back of her mouth, she drops the crossbow's aim to the floorboards. Softly, voice wavering like the candle flames lighting the room, she queries, “if that really is the case, then what other secrets did you keep from me?”

 Jason cocks his head to one side and hums, gazing over her shoulder unseeing for a split second. “Not a lot to be honest, apart from my… undeath at first but suffice to say I was in no state to even tell you. And the one who turned me, wasn't exactly planning on me being found, let alone in one piece.” With a small grave smile, he rubs his neck, clearing his throat as he does so. “I won't let you be hurt, or turned, like I was, alright. As I've told you countless times before, I'll protect you always, even if it kills me again.”

 It takes a moment for either of them to notice the deafening silence of the basement. Not a creak, nor groan to be heard from the wooden doors and floorboards.

 “Oh fuck. We're outta time.” He keeps his hand offered to her. “Please,” Jason begs, desperation shining in his eyes, “trust me, just until we escape at least.”

 Nodding gingerly, Marinette doesn't hesitate to clasp his hand. “I trust you,” she murmurs a little too softly—too truthfully—not quite half-believing herself, tightening her grip and adding with slightly muted vitriol, “but just until then! I'm only trusting you so I can escape. Nothing more, nothing less.”

 Jason bursts into a blinding grin, hauling her up to her feet easily by the hand.

 The action is so strangely familiar to her eyes. It hurts.

 Scrunching her nose up and grimacing, she grits her teeth and then bites her lips as she glances aside, muttering under her breath, “am I even safe with you, trusting you?” Clearing her throat quickly, she chews on the next words as she picks them ever so carefully. “You said,” she asserts, louder and clearer, intending for this to be heard and not her former words. “that you knew a way out, right?” Her voice pitching on the last word.

 Just barely catching the heart-sinking defeat flickering through his eyes as his smile wanes to a thin fragile frown. Jason shrugs his shoulders, tensing mordantly, then tugs gently on her hand in silent communication.

 When she hesitates, his frown deepens.

 He clears his own throat, pointedly looking away from her now. “C'mon, follow me. It shouldn't take long but we can't risk getting caught.”

 The second they cross into the hallway, a long low creak of a boot on a squeaky floorboard emanates from the darkness beyond their candlelit threshold.

 She exchanges a glance with Jason like second nature, the familiarity of the action aches like her scabbed over wounds.

 Nodding, he cocks his head to one side, raising his eyebrows briefly and throwing his gaze down the hallway in a half-roll, indicating the opposite direction from the creak. With the flick of his other hand, he makes a few quick gestures and begins speed-sneaking—steps silent as a bat—away from the encroaching threat, pulling her after him.

 Marinette lets him guide her as she focuses on keeping her own footsteps as quiet as his—and surprisingly achieving it despite her humanity. Daring not to dwell on the thought, she keeps her ear out for any further sounds in their surroundings.

 Near bolting down the corridor lined with blood and closed wooden doors that are also reinforced with more iron nails and bars, warped and gnarled like unburied coffins in a graveyard. The deeper they run, the more disconcerting it becomes. Light scuffs and scratches on the doors, walls, and floor bleed into gaping gouges clawed a merciless rusting crimson.

 The creaking floorboards remain a constant slow death knell behind them.

 A turn of the corner. Then down another long corridor with doors less tightly bolted—yet the fatal stains and jagged slashes only worsen. That which is kept down here struggled and fought. Where Marinette has run from, those signs are faint.

 It's a sickening sort of nausea to know by the context of this sight, that either she had been prevented by unknown means from fighting back like those before her, or… she had gone willingly down there. She doesn't know which implication is worse. She doesn't want to know the truth either. Because either way, it will hurt.

 The crossbow weighs heavy on her hands and the silver bolts burn painlessly.

 As they dart around another corner, a dangling bait of hope glimmers before them. Polished spiral stone stairs.

 The creaking fades.

 Only for laughter to creep in after.

 “Fuck!” Jason grunts, whipping around to glare behind them from where it comes from but not missing a step as he pulls her up the steep climb. “It's never a good sign when Crane laughs like that. We're nearly out though, just trust me a little longer, Nettie.”

 Nodding, Marinette stares up at him unguarded and, for a split second, she feels the phantom tugging of a distant memory that dissipates upon her grasp.

 The spiral staircase ascends into pitch darkness for far longer than she will ever dare be comfortable with alone.

 But… she's not alone. Is she?

 No, Jason's hand is cold but firm, wrapped around her own. So familiar yet so unfamiliar it hurts. But what in this place doesn't?

 The candlelight at the end of the spiral is more comforting than she's willing to admit at this moment—she's a monster hunter, and every monster hunter knows that the light can be just as much a sign of danger as the darkness but that doesn't stop that primal relief at light returning.

 Still, they're not out yet, they can't afford to get complacent and act like it's safe before they really are.

 Jason leads her down another two left turns—the walls, floors, doors noticeably undamaged up here—then a right as the hallway lined with richly woven tapestries and fanciful portraits of the Agreste's ancestors, splits into three, and then through an inconspicuous plain wooden door. Through it, is another long hallway decorated with all the finery of aristocracy, with a large window partially ajar at the end—large enough for two people to escape through.

 Thunder rumbles outside, and stormy clouds are visible in the sky through the window, even at this distance away.

 Glancing back at her, Jason bursts into another blinding infectious grin and starts bounding down the hallway like an overexcited puppy—or a werewolf—tugging her along with him.

 Marinette should still be wary of him, and yet, she can't help but start to smile along with him at his antics. They're so close to freedom, surely they can afford to get excited about it now, they're practically out already.

 Sooner than she expects, the large open window that leads to the outside is just within reach. Only a few more metres, only a few more steps.

 And then... Then she'll be free.

 But—

 —Her body—

 —It seems—

 —Has other plans.

 Collapsing to her knees. Her hand slipping from his grip, with only a shallow inhale of breath and the thump of her body against the wooden floorboards to indicate what is wrong.

 Jason hasn't noticed. Not yet. He's so close and yet so far with each passing second.

 Her fingers twitch against the grain. Sluggish and leaden as though there are chains dragging against her every movement.

 A rising numbness unfurls from Marinette's chest like poison, inciting her heart and mind to writhe—clouding them with a permuting toxin. Her heartbeat spikes with a violent staccato and the world shutters around her as darkness creeps into the corners of all that she can see. Slowly she loses her sense of touch, the floorboards beneath her fingers and knees no longer registering to her mind, no longer able to feel the movement of her lips parting or her chest heaving in breath. But she can still see, it, the phantoms of their movement at the edges of her tunnelled vision. Her breathing hitches as she realises, that with one sense gone, grounding herself will be so much harder now.

 And then… her breathing stops. Her heartbeat pounds in her head, the rushing of blood and the throbbing drowning out any other sound. Her vision starts to grey, colours bleeding like her hopes for freedom.

Can't breathe, can't breathe, can't— Marinette's mind screams.

 It is as if she's a puppet with her strings cut, unable to move or react, trapped in her crumpled body—helpless. She can barely hear, all she can do is watch with monochrome sight.

  “Fuck!” Jason yells as soon as it twigs for him that she's no longer beside him, pivoting on his heel to bolt back for her, a dawning dread in his eyes. “Nettie!” 

 She's just barely at the right angle to see his reaction, and the strangest thing occurs, Marinette doesn't so much hear Jason's words, as she knows he spoke them. Which means even though she can't hear anything in her mind above the beating of her pulse, she can still hear and understand outside sounds even though it doesn't feel like she can.

 It's weird. Disorientating. To lose another sense. And it's only in that knowledge of an absence, does Marinette notice another sense gone, and another. She can't smell or taste the mustiness in the air, or the acrid scent of freshly clotting blood clinging to her thanks to her wounds. She can't taste the dryness of dehydration or the otherwise unnoticeable taste of her own mouth anymore.

 It's all gone. Only the shreds of sight and hearing are left and those are nearly gone too.

 “C'mon, c'mon, I got you,” Jason mutters, desperation squeezing the words in a vice grip. “What the fuck did he do to you?”

 “I'm fine,” Marinette's body responds automatically—against her will. If she had control, her heart would've plummeted at the chains wrapping around her mind, caging her within as the body continues to repeat the words. “I'm fine.”

 Rattling like a rabid beast, she claws at the boundaries of her mind. ‘No! No, no, no, please! Let me go! I'm not fine! Stop! Don't listen, please!’

 But he can't hear her pleas.

 “Do you remember what's been done to you?” He questions, crouching down beside her and scouring every visible part of her up and down for anything concerning—pausing only for a moment to blow the white strands of hair out of his face that has fallen in the way. “Any other injuries, barring the obvious one on your collarbone and neck, if you've been drugged with any chemicals, and if you have what they are, or something?”

 Oh, how desperately Marinette wants to cry at him that she doesn't know. Her body doesn't respond against her will again, another small mercy.

 Though she cannot feel it, she watches his hands ghosting down her arms as he frantically looks her over and over again, eyes wide, brows furrowed, mouth half agape in horror and concern as he speaks.  “—And Leslie can help you once we get out, she can check you over to make sure you're okay and patch up any injuries, of the body or mind.”

 She's missed something he said. It's worsening.

 And all she can feel within her mind, are the phantoms of restraints tearing at her skin and needles piercing her flesh.

 “Would you just stop treating me like something you're trying to fix!” Her body snarls, though otherwise still not moving.

 How much longer…?

 Her thoughts trail to a stop as Jason gently takes her hands in his and shakes them softly. “I'm not trying to fix you, Mari. You're hurt and that means you need help—but it doesn't mean I think you need fixing.”

 “It's going to be alright, Nettie. I know you also hate how pitying this can sound like but B, A, and Leslie all have means of helping however you've been hurt by Crane. And we're nearly out of his laboratory, please just bear with me, with this treatment just a little bit longer.” He pauses to let the words sink before adding tenderly, “I'm going to pick you up and carry you out now, I've got you, okay.” Slowly, he reaches around her to scoop her up and haul her over his shoulders as carefully as possible to prevent aggravating any of her injuries. It's not the comfiest way to carry someone but it will at least let him safely carry her as far as needed.

 ‘Who's what?’ Marinette wants to ask as he moves her. ‘We're in the Agreste manor house, not a laboratory?’

 Jason still doesn't hear her, he adjusts his grip and starts speed walking towards the window. “No matter what, Mari, I'm not leaving without you.”

 “Is that so?” A voice that sends shivers down her spine calls out, his words cut through the throbbing heartbeat in her mind with surgical precision, “well I'm afraid I can't let you whisk away my favourite little experiment just yet, vampire.”

  Steps closing in. Slowly, patiently… tauntingly.

 “Back the fuck up.” Jason growls—sliding into a bloodthirsty hiss at the end. “Batman may have a rule against killing you rogues, but I sure as fuck don't. You ain't getting your hands on her again.”

 What little of the hallway Marinette can still see through her fading vision begins to distort, the trappings of a foreboding but opulent manor house bleeding away to a grim plainness now littered with gouges and dragged claw marks, not unlike the basement had held.

 Jonathan Crane laughs lowly—callously, “Did you know, that littlest bird of yours hits surprisingly hard for the weakest member of your team, when under the influence of enough fear? It's truly fascinating.”

 Unable to hold back a snarl, Jason's face twists as his control of his vampiric powers slip for just a moment. Acutely aware of Marinette on his shoulders still, he pulls a vial from his belt and lobs it violently at Crane's feet, immediately bursting into a sprint towards the window whilst swinging Marinette from his shoulders and into his arms.

 There's a hollow unbreathing second as the glass shatters upon the wooden floorboards before a shrieking roar that rivals the thunder begins to tear the building apart. A writhing mass of viscous starving flames burst from the point of shattering, sticky globs of oil splattering across the hallways, creating a sea of liquid fire.

 Marinette can just barely watch it from her position in Jason's arms, her sight burning like the laboratory's hallway.

 Angling his body to protect her, Jason leaps at the window. A cascade of glass showers around them. Glinting and glimmering in the reflection of the drowning inferno behind them. And for a second it almost looks as though they are falling with wings of smoke, glass, and fire outstretched from their backs.

 And then the world tilts violently. The earth comes rushing up to meet them. Jason hits it first, a sickening crack of branches shivering apart beneath him. But he keeps her cradled in his arms, shielding her from the worst of the impact.

 The laboratory above them crackles and screeches as it is swallowed to the bone by the insatiable fire.

 Slowly, Jason breathes deeply, making a sort of chuffing laugh between every other breath. “Fuck. We made it. We're out!”

 If she still had control of her body, Marinette would nod and be breathless in laughter too.

 Grinning blindingly at her once more, he hauls himself off the conveniently planted shrubbery—Most likely Poison Ivy's doing—that has broken their fall. Then turns and offers a hand to her.

 Marinette stares at him blankly.

 “C'mon,” he coaxes, still smiling at her like the sun. “Just a bit further, the others will have noticed the beacon by now. We'll take you back home, to safety. And Leslie and A can help you with your injuries. You'll be okay.”

 She can't even open her mouth to answer. Pitching forwards, her body crumples again. Like an unloved discarded doll.

 There's a look of flooding panic in his eyes, his mouth moving frantically with unheard words, as her eyes roll back and everything goes dark.

 Distantly, within the inky darkness, Marinette wonders why she never thought to ask why he came to save her from that place, or who those other people were.

 But… It's a little too late now.

 The pain of her injuries fade away along with her final bleeding thoughts—the darkness smothering it all as she's cradled ever so gently to the unwavering lull of her heartbeat—steadying itself from the staccato of before.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this very short little fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

“Graceful as ever, Mal.” A voice teases over her earring-comms. “Joking aside, didn't mean to spook you, sorry!”

Maladroit groans, “thanks,” and gingerly extracts herself from the vigilante limb pile.

“Gamer!” Chat Noir cheers, having heard him through his own disguised comms. “Got any crimes for us to fight tonight?”

There's a chuckle over the line, “Lucky you should ask, Chat, I do happen to have found some villainous plans for you to thwart.”

Chat Noir cracks his knuckles and stretches. “Oh? What are they?”

“Two which are time-sensitive.” Gamer adds.

Maladroit stifles a squawk, “Two! That are time-sensitive?” Her voice goes up a pitch on the last word, making it sound like a question.

“Uh-huh.” He confirms. “Chat Noir, there's a break-in at a jewellery store two blocks over from you. I'm sending you the directions now to your phone.”

Chat Noir does a two-fingered salute to the nearest security camera. “Got it, G! Detective Noir is on the case!”

“And Maladroit, we've got reports of sightings of Red Hood outside his usual area. By the Warehouses on fourth. There are no security cams around there so I've got nothing but rumours to go on. See if you can check it out and find out what he's up to.” Gamer informs her, sounding slightly irritated at the fact he's got little information to give her.

Maladroit nods, grumbling slightly. “When isn't he up to something.”

Slinging an arm around her shoulder, Chat Noir grins like the Cheshire Cat. “C'mon, Mal! It'll be a quick sweep and nothing will turn up like the last twenty times we've gotten this kinda tip-off!”

“You owe me ice cream from André's when we're in civvies tomorrow!” She huffs. “I made us macarons last time!”

“I haven't forgotten!” Chat Noir protests. “Anyway, see you tomorrow if we don't catch each other for the end of the patrol?”

Maladroit nods. “Yep! See ya later Minou!”

The two split. Chat Noir dashing after the directions, and Maladroit swinging towards the warehouses on fourth.

———

Breathe, Maladroit—reminds herself, perched on the rafters in one of the warehouses on fourth. Staring at the blood-red glowing mask of the red hooded villain, who happens to be oh so creatively named the 'Red Hood', leaning on the balcony railing on the opposite side of the warehouse to her rafter, and presumably glaring up at her.

“It's you again, Maladroit.” He growls, distorted by whatever voice modifier he's got wired into his mask.

She can't help but wince at the reminder of the word she had accidentally said the first time she had ever helped Chat Noir fight crime. Which irritatingly enough, stuck as her vigilante name. Especially since her second attempt at a name, Ladybug, didn't stick. She frowns beneath the black and red spotted bandana covering her mouth, and tightly grips her bladed yo-yo—with piano wire instead of string—of the same colour scheme.

“What are you planning, Red Hood?” She spits out, voice also modified by her bandana, a tad too grumpy and bitterly for the awkward-but-smiley "persona" she's supposed to act like (although it's not so much of a persona when that's just how she is almost all the time). But in her defence, she's had a rough day at uni, things have been awkward at home because of her crush on her roomie lately, and more importantly, Red Hood's lackeys have been a pain in the neck for the past week, so her reaction is more than warranted.

He has the audacity to laugh. “What makes you think I'm going to tell you, Pipsqueak?”

“Well,” Maladroit huffs, “I was hoping you were feeling considerate.”

Red Hood shifts his shoulders. “Aww, sorry Pipsqueak. I'm not feeling particularly considerate today.” In a split second, he slips both guns from his holsters, spins them, and shoots.

Maladroit squeaks, instinctively tugging on her power, and dives off the rafter to dodge the shot. “Rude!”

She's just able to shoot her grapple off and swing up to another metal beam.

“How the fuck do you keep dodging my shots?” He snarls, gesturing at her with his guns in short angry-looking motions.

In response, she throws her yo-yo at him, tugging on her power again. The yo-yo spins through the air, slashing through the Red Hood's jacket sleeve and slicing a deep groove into the gun, then rewinds on the wire back to her. “What makes you think I'm going to tell you, Bullet Boy!” She parrots back, cheekily.

“Hey!” Red Hood snaps, aiming another shot at her.

Tugging on her powers once more, Maladroit yelps as she swings to yet another metal rafter beam in order to avoid the shot. “Your aim sucks!”

“Fuck you!” He retorts, firing off four more shots aimed at her head.

There's a horrifying moment as she barely manages to tug on her powers in time. The bullets barely skimming past her hood, one even tearing the fabric slightly.

“Mal!” Comes Gamer's terrified voice over her earring-comms, “I need you to pull back immediately! Red Hood and his gang have been spotted nearby and Chat can't get to you in time to back you up if you do get into a fight!”

She raises a hand to her earrings and quietly laughs hysterically. “Little too late for that, G! I'm uh currently staring… face to gun to him”

“Oh, fuck!” Gamer responds, voice going up a pitch. “I'm contacting Chat now. Try and get out if you can but prioritise not getting yourself killed, please!”

Red Hood fires his guns again. “Eyes and ears on me, Pipsqueak.”

Squeaking yet again, Maladroit desperately tugs on her power once more and swings to another rafter. Her heart thunders in her chest as loudly as his gunfire. She spits out a frantic, “no promises!” to both of them.

“I've informed him, your backup is on the way.” Gamer tells her.

The main warehouse doors clatter open with a resounding slam! Followed by the stomping of multiple pairs of boots storming inside.

Maladroit waves at Red Hood, the quiet terrified hysterical laughter practically bubbling out of her mouth. “Haha, well I'm afraid that's my cue to Bug Out!”

“Oh, I don't think so, Pipsqueak.” Red Hood taunts, shooting six bullets at her, rapid-fire. “I ain't finished with our convo yet.”

Squeaking for the umpteenth time, and really just giving him even more reason to keep giving her that stupid pipsqueak nickname, she riskily shoots her grapple, aiming and swinging towards the warehouse's large balcony windows.

“Get the fuck back here!” He snarls, voice deepening with fury. Pausing to reload before firing off more shots at her with abandon.

Maladroit wriggles midair, tugging on her powers to try and dodge the shots. She curls into a dive forward roll as the grapple forces her to land onto the balcony. The same one that Red Hood has been stood on this entire time. Oh, help me! She thinks, eyes widening behind her makeshift red with black tinted lenses, goggles-slash-domino mask.

He aims his gun at her once more. “Move and you fucking die, pipsqueak.”

Putting her hands in the air, she swallows a gulp of air. Her body armour is padded beneath her red, and black spotted, hoodie but it isn't bulletproof. And she can feel the straining exhaustion of overusing her powers clawing at her.

They're at a standoff. Still as statues, the both of them. It's almost poetic how they parallel each other. He's got his gun aimed at her, whilst she's desperately clutching at her grappling hook gun in one of her raised hands. Both donned in red. Both committing crimes in the eyes of the law. Two sides of the same coin, one and the same.

Maladroit feels sick to her stomach, staring down the barrels of his guns. Ever so slowly, she tugs on her powers. The window a little bit behind her creaks quietly enough that Red Hood doesn't seem to notice beneath the clamour of his gang doing whatever it is they're doing below.

She counts her breath and tugs on her power. A minute passes with no movement, no words, nothing happening on the balcony. Out of the corner of her eye, she can just see that it's now open enough that she should be able to make it out unscathed. Or at least mostly unscathed.

Closing her eyes, not that he can see, her power snaps. Instinctively she doubles over and slaps a hand over her mouth. Barely in time as a stifled scream is yanked from her throat, leaving her panting for breath. Her knees crash onto the balcony flooring. A bullet whizzes past her neck.

“Shit. What the fuck was that?” Red Hood grumbles, sounding genuinely concerned. He storms across the balcony towards her.

Maladroit can't help but flinch, bodily throwing herself back as far away from him as she can. Mind racing in panic.

He stows one gun back into a holster then reaches a hand towards her. “Hey, hey, hey. Calm down.”

“Gotta go! Bug-bye!” She squeaks out, wrenching on her power with all her remaining strength, and bolting for the window.

“I think the fuck not! Fucking pretending to be hurt.” Red Hood barks, ripping the gun back out of its holster.

Narrowly dodging the spray of bullets shot at her, Maladroit dives through the window and fires off her grapple. Safely swinging far away from the warehouse.

———

Carefully Maladroit drops with the ease of far too many nights of practise, onto the fire escape outside her bedroom window. She crouches and lets the shadows of the night hide her form. Creeping closer, she checks the windowsill for any marks or signs of tampering but it all comes away untouched. Content with her quick security check, she fumbles for the disguised piece of string wedging the window ajar in a way that's barely visible unless you know where to look for it. Got it! She thinks to herself, grabbing ahold of it and prying it, and the window above it, up and open.

Slipping through the open window, she sits on the sill to rip her thankfully not-too-dirty studded steel-toed boots off. Picking them up in one hand, she wiggles the rest of the way into her room and immediately resets the security measures, yanking the curtain down for privacy.

Maladroit then shuffles over to her bed. Tikki—her gorgeous fluffy red and dark brown miniature dachshund—blinks sleepily up at her, from the dog bed next to it. The puppy yaps in greeting before snuffling and curling back up to sleep.

She coos at the cuteness before continuing on. With the other hand not carrying the boots, she pries the blanket covered duffel bag out from underneath. Wrestling to unzip it in one janky and awkward motion, grunting slightly at the exertion. The metal of the zip digs in but the discomfort is mostly mitigated by the padded gloves and wrist guards she's wearing. The easy to clean plastic bag designated for temporary storing of her boots is dragged out of the bag and said boots are tossed in without a second glance.

Huffing, she starts to take the rest of her cross between mostly homemade and refashioned sports kit vigilante gear off. First, tugging down the hood of her hoodie and unclipping the black scrum cap hidden under it. It's dumped unceremoniously into a secondary plastic bag in the open duffel bag. After that, Maladroit removes the black neck guard and pulls her makeshift goggles-slash-domino mask over her head. Those too, are dumped into the other plastic bag. Then she unties the bandana with the nose guard underneath, from around her mouth and nose. Unsurprisingly, they're also dumped in the bag.

Next, she undoes the velcros on her red and black padded gloves, black wrist guards, as well as black elbow, knee, and shin pads. Also dumped into the other bag. With the outer protective wear removed, Maladroit pulls her hoodie over her head. Continuing on, she peels the padded rugby body armour and shorts off, and then the thermal under-armour. All dumped into the third and final plastic bag. “I swear,” Maladroit mumbles to herself, “getting changed out my gear never gets easier. And to think back when I had my last P.E. lesson at school, I thought I'd never have to touch this kinda kit ever again. Rip me.”

Lastly, Marinette—no longer Maladroit seeing as she is no longer in her vigilante gear—throws on her running-to-the-bathroom spare bathrobe to cover herself. She hastily shoves the three plastic bags into the duffel bag and kicks it under her bed. Purposefully leaving it unzipped but quickly fixing the blanket covering the bag, so that she can more easily grab her kit to clean everything later, whilst keeping it sufficiently hidden.

With that mostly taken care of, she nabs the mouthguard case, some clean pyjamas, and dashes out of her room—clinging awkwardly to the bathrobe. She hops in the apartment's shared bathroom, the rest of the place is silent, meaning her roomie, Jason, must have gone out. Still, Marinette locks the door regardless. If there's one thing she's learnt in her foray into the nightly masked vigilantism, is that one can never be too careful.

“Shit! Nearly forgot to take this out.” She grumbles to herself, just as she was stepping into the shower. Prying the mouthguard out of her mouth as she shuffles over to the sink, she gives it a quick rinse under the tap. Followed by a thorough scrubbing with her toothbrush and glob of toothpaste. She pops it into the mouthguard case and leaves it on the side of the sink for now.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Marinette finally allows herself to indulge in a good half an hour-long hot shower to get the grime from a night of crime-fighting off of herself.

She's only just drying off her hair, having already changed into her pyjamas, when the blare of the TV echoes through the apartment. Tensing up, her anxiety runs wild. It's what they get for living in the cheaper but slightly dodgy apartments where the walls are thin and the doors are thinner. Grabbing the mouthguard case, she wraps it up in the bathrobe and peeks out the bathroom door and looks down the hall into the open plan kitchen lounge. Jason's back, he's sitting on the sofa watching the TV.

Shoulders untensing, she finished drying her hair and heads out into the hallway. In place of a greeting, she exclaims, “oh! Jason, you're back!”

Jason flinches slightly and looks over his shoulder back at her. “Yeah, a friend had an emergency so, y'know.”

Immediately, concern wrenches at Marinette's heart, “oh no, I'm sorry. Are they… okay?”

He waves a hand in a so-so gesture and clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. They're fine now.”

“That's good!” She says, nodding, as she makes her way fully into the lounge and the TV catches her attention. “Oh is it nearly the eleven o'clock news already? I need to watch this! Alya texted me earlier saying I have to, and she sounded really excited!” Glancing down at the bundle in her arms and flushes red. “Actually, I'll be back in a second!”

“I'll yell as soon as it actually starts.” Jason offers, smiling warmly at her.

Marinette just misses the smile, rushing back to her room, and throwing a quick, “thanks,” over her shoulder back at him.

Also missing his smile turn fond and the good-natured roll of his eyes at her antics.

Barely half a minute passes before she's bounding back into the lounge, with a sleepy Tikki at her heels. She plops herself down on the sofa next to him and hopes the blush on her face could simply be mistaken for the flush of running about like a mad thing instead. Tikki whines until Marionette picks her up and lets her on the sofa with them, padding over to the furthest corner to curl up in.

Jason points to the pink floral steaming mug on the coffee table, right next to his Pride Prejudice and Zombies themed mug. “Whilst you were in the shower, I made us both hot chocolates with marshmallows, my granddad Alfie's recipe.”

“Oh!” Marinette responds in pleasant surprise. She turns to him and positively beams, eyes shining with happiness. “Thank you so much, Jason! You're always so thoughtful!”

He blushes and rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “Yeah, well, I thought it's only fair since you normally make 'em. And I visited Alfie recently, and I promised to get you his recipe to try, so I thought it'd be a nice surprise for once!” He pauses and points at the big bowl also on the coffee table, “also I cooked us some popcorn.”

“Aw! Thank you again! I really appreciate this!” She scoops up the hot chocolate with slight reverence and takes a sip. Immediately her face lights up even more in joy. “Oh, this is delicious!”

Jason chuckles, “isn't it the best! I'll pass that onto Alfie though, he'll be glad to know you like it so much. Speaking of which, he's gonna give making them a try next time I'm up since I wasn't there long enough this time. Would you fancy coming with me to see him, then?”

Her eyes widen and her heart stutters in her chest, feeling close to bursting from happiness. “I'd love to! Do you have a date when you're thinking of going up?”

He nods. “Yeah, maybe around—”

But he's interrupted by the starting audio of the eleven o'clock news.

They both immediately shut up and watch the screen intently as the news anchors appear on the show. The starting discussion is somewhat boring, talking about the local billionaire Wayne-or-something business and a related upcoming charity event of some sort.

Marinette doesn't pay attention to it, but she does catch Jason wrinkling his nose and scowling at the conversation.

Luckily, the topic shifts quickly enough. “And now, over to our newest reporter, Alya. We hear there's been some rumblings regarding the conflict between local vigilante Chat Noir, his sidekick Maladroit, and the gang controlled by the infamous Red Hood himself.”

“That's stupid,” Jason grumbles, “Maladroit is a fully-fledged vigilante in her own right and not just the catboy's sidekick. That's like saying Nightwing is Batman's sidekick!”

Marinette frowns, very touched by his words and trying her damnedest to appear nonchalant. “I don't know… from all the-uh news clips, Maladroit seems like Chat Noir's sidekick to me. She's always hovering nervously near him like a strong wind would spook her.”

“C'mon! She's been reported to have held her own against Red Hood on multiple occasions, alone!” He argues, sounding rather offended on her alter egos behalf.

Scoffing, she shakes her head. “Clearly that's because he's going easy on her! He's never directly shot her, according to the reports clearly, he's soft on her!” The lies taste bitter on her tongue.

Jason splutters and flushes bright red, turning away from her slightly. “W-well that's obviously a testament to her skill and not Red Hood's mercy! He's always reported as being a merciless killer, why'd he be soft on her!”

“I don't know!” She makes a dying-choking noise as she flushes even more red than earlier. Shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth to avoid having to respond any further.

Luckily, the news shows pans over to Alya standing in front of a screen showing a recorded feed of a warehouse. Not just any warehouse, but specifically the one on fourth that Maladroit had faced Red Hood in less than an hour ago.

Marinette feels her pulse quicken at the reminder of the close shave she'd had.

“Hey wait a second, those warehouses don't have security cameras at all? How'd they get this footage?” Jason complains, eyes narrowed at the TV.

It feels as though ice has been poured down her spine at his words. She freezes, body stiffening in shock. He's right… G said there's none because that's why he asked me to check things out. The only people who'd know this are Chat, Gamer, myself, and Red Hood and his gang. She swallows thickly and tries to subtly side-eye Jason. Oh no. I've been crushing on my roommate who works for Red Hood's gang? Oh god! The friend with the emergency was referring to Red Hood calling him into work!

She can't help but inhale a shallow panicked breath. He could've been one of the lackeys shooting at me and Chat this past week. Or, or I could've hurt him with my yo-yo. Or—

Jason turns to fully face, clearly registering the blatant panic on her face. “Hey, hey, hey, Marinette, you're okay, you're safe. What's wrong?”

“Are you working for Red Hood?” Marinette blurts out, accidentally, the words pouring out in an unintentional panicked rush. “Are you in his gang?”

He jerks back, fear, confusion, and hurt crosses his face. “Wh-what? What makes you think that?”

“His gang was just in that warehouse, and you were out on an emergency for a "friend". And how would you have known unless you were there tonight and working for his gang?” She chews her lip forcefully and winces as the taste of iron floods her mouth.

He reaches towards her, eyes widening concern.

She flinches back, suddenly reminded of how similar this is to that moment with Red Hood on the warehouse balcony.

Jason jerks back as if her flinching burnt him. Raising his hands, he leans away from her to give her some semblance of space. “Fuck. Look, I'm not going to hurt you! Have I ever hurt you whilst we've been roomies?”

Nervously, she shakes her head.

“I really care about you, Marinette. Hell, we've lived together for nearly a year now. I would never hurt you, okay! I promise.” Tears prick in his eyes, and he grimaces slightly, lowering his hands to rest on his lap. “Yeah, I uh, I'm working for him. But I do everything I can to keep work from following me home. I didn't tell you because I never wanted to scare you.”

Guilt gnaws at her. “I'm sorry! I shouldn't have judged. I—” She takes a shaky breath, “I really really care about you too. I'm just worried, what if Red Hood, or even Maladroit, or any of the other vigilantes hurt you? What if you get hurt in one of those gang wars?” Her words aren't lies but they're not the full truth either.

He sighs, “I can't promise I won't ever get hurt on the job. Maladroit and the other vigilantes do a lot of good but Maladroit especially is far too nice to hurt any of us. I've uh, seen her fight some of the others gang members, and been fought by her too. And out of everyone against the gang, she's the one who leaves us with barely more than a scratch at worst.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Most in the gang really respect her for that, y'know.”

Marinette's brain feels like the windows shutting down sound. “Oh. Oh.”

Sheepishly, he smiles half-heartedly at her. “Yeah.”

“So, is that why you were so adamant she's a fully-fledged vigilante in her right?” She asks, feeling bashful yet honoured whilst completely surprised.

Jason clears his throat and glances away. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh.” Her brain rewinds a moment. She splutters for a second, desperation racing through her. “Wait, she's fought you!?”

Full-on grimacing, he nervously laughs. “Left but a scratch!”

“Are you misquoting Monty Python right now? Oh good gods, that's the knight who says that after getting his limbs chopped off!” Marinette exclaims, looking every bit as horrified as her tone of voice conveys.

“Seriously, I've never gotten worse than a couple of minor cuts and bruises, I'm fine!” Jason reiterates.

She frowns and gingerly shuffles across the sofa closer to him. He keeps leaning back away, so she physically throws herself at him, pulling him into a tight hug. Incidentally burying her face in his shirt. “Okay, okay. Just, please let me know next time you get hurt. I've a friend who lived in a bad situation before, so I know how to help patch up minor injuries. Promise?”

Jason stiffens at the hug and slowly moves one hand to cup the back of her head whilst wrapping the other around her back. He shuts his eyes, cocking his head back and sighs. “Alright. I promise I'll tell you. And I'm sorry for keeping something this big from you. As I said, I was worried you'd be scared of me or that you'd get dragged into gang-related shit because of it.”

“You don't need to apologise.” Marinette mumbles in response, “I get it. I really do understand.” She bites at her sore bleeding lips again in guilt, her secret identity left unspoken on her tongue.

He shrugs, “so uh. I'm guessing you're still happy to stay roomies then, right?”

“Of course!” She responds without missing a beat hugging him even tighter.

Eventually, they release each other from the embrace to finish their now lukewarm hot chocolates and popcorn. The news continues playing, no longer forgotten in the background as the two try to act as if nothing has changed.

———

Jason collapses onto his bed with a heavy sigh. He pulls out his phone and rings a number on autopilot.

The dial tone plays as the line connects. “Hey, whaddup Jay?”

“Holy fucking shit balls, man.” Jason groans. “I fucked up.”

Roy hums, “like need help burying a body fucked up or what?”

Jason groans even louder, smushing his face into his bed covers. “My roomie is smart, right. I accidentally let a tiny detail slip when we were chatting whilst watching the eleven o'clock news as usual. And she now thinks that I'm in Red Hood's gang.”

There's a long pause, before Roy bursts into raucous laughter. “Holy shit, I'm dying! She's not wrong!”

“Yeah. I know. She ain't right either though.” He grumbles in response. “She was absolutely terrified when she realised. Nearly had a full-on panic attack and everything.”

“Oh fuck.” Roy helpfully says.

Jason grunts in agreement. “She was also real concerned that Red Hood or the vigilantes have hurt me.”

“Well, that's better?” Roy offers, sounding rather unsure of his own words.

“Yeah but she's taken thinking I'm some low-level member of my gang this badly, how the fuck d'ya think she's gonna take finding out I'm the big bad Red Hood himself?” Jason sighs. “I don't want to ask her out without her knowing this, 'cause it could endanger her.”

Roy hums again, “well, you've been roommates this long already and she's been completely safe from the Vigilante-Gang life so far.”

There's a gentle thump as Jason lifts his head and throws it into the sheets again out of sheer frustration. He relents, reluctantly. “That's true…”

“See. And since it sounds like she's not planning on moving out, clearly she doesn't mind living with you. Just ask her out to dinner already.” Roy adds, cheerfully.

Huffing, he rolls over on the bed. “I'm starting to feel like those weird girl slumber party ads with the creepy phone-a-boy games.”

Roy wheezes, followed by a thudding noise and the distant sound of his cackling.

“Wow. And to think I called you for help. I'm offended.” Jason goads with no bite, waiting a few seconds to hear Roy's response but it's just more laughter.

He rolls his eyes and ends the call, not like Roy will mind. Throwing an arm over his face, Jason barely refrains from grabbing his pillow to scream into. He doesn't, obviously. Because the walls are thin enough that Marinette might hear him and he's worried her enough this night as is.

Sighing like a lovesick protagonist in a period romance novel, Jason moves his arm to run his fingers through his own hair. A date. Just gotta ask her at some point, to dinner at a fancy-ish restaurant. It'll be fine, what's the worst that can happen?

Her terrified reaction on the sofa flashes through his mind, followed by the reminder of how small and scared Maladroit had seemed when she had fallen to her knees on the warehouse balcony. There was no way that she was faking the pain, like he'd initially thought. She had practically staggered in her mad dash to escape. And there's no way for me to find out whether she got to somewhere safe afterwards. God, she could be lying dead in some dank alleyway for all I know right now. Fuck, I hope she's okay...

He groans in distress and shifts in place. Already feeling like he really won't be getting any sleep at all tonight at this rate, thanks to his concern for those two.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

| I decided to go close to canon for names this time, hence why Chat Noir remains unchanged but Max is Gamer (because A. that was his Akuma name, and B. he's like Player from Carmen Sandiego in this, couldn't help myself), and Marinette is Maladroit (from the first thing she calls herself in Origins). |

| Oh, also whilst it's not explicitly stated in the text; Marinette/Maladroit's has the power of luck/being lucky, Chat Noir has the power of being unlucky, and Red Hood has "Perfect Aim" aka he's a hitscan. Which is why Maladroit is able to dodge his bullets by making herself "lucky enough" to dodge in time. |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

There's only another half-day until they reach the Mooney bridge and then the Somerset

Dragon Ranges. And luckily, Adrien and Lila have taken to sitting on the same bench, the one facing forwards. Leaving the opposite bench all for Marinette.

Not that having a whole bench to myself for this time will help with whether I can continue to survive as a captive audience for Lila. Marinette thinks to herself, rather disgruntled about this whole situation she's unwillingly ended up in. She was perfectly happily remaining an apprentice seamstress, sewing commissions for Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, and the rest of her famous or otherwise clientele, not that fate seemed to care though. Of course, a part of her stipulation she fought the recruiters for, is that along with her studies she can continue her commissions for current and prior clientele alone. Which is to say, better than being completely unable to continue her main hobby and form of stress relief.

The recruiters had also said that baking and cooking would be no problem to practice, as apparently there'll be free reign to "student kitchens" alongside cooking classes so any use of either skill will be "undoubtedly encouraged". Dangerous words, Marinette muses to herself once more, because if I get claimed by a dragon the first thing I'm doing is baking all the dragon dietary-safe treats I can!

“Marinette! What do you think?” Lila asks, voice as cloying as ever.

Marinette startles and half-heartedly smiles awkwardly across at her, “ah, I'm really sorry Lila! I got distracted wondering what kind all of our dragons might end up being and how they might look!” Not, I'm going to love mine regardless of appearance unlike you.

Smiling faux-sweetly, Lila shakes her head. “Don't worry Marinette, I was only saying how we're just like those local fairytales of your town! Three close-knit friends who become powerful and famous dragoon guardians and save the world from the evil destruction of Hawkmoth and his army of shadow dragons! Out of the three of us, I would be our leader, obviously. Since I'm the only one here descended from a dragoon guardian! My grandmother even gave me a token that once belonged to my dragoon guardian ancestor!”

“Wow, you've said it before but I still can't believe how incredible you are Lila! It's going to be amazing training besides you at the academy!” Adrien gushes, gazing at Lila with adoration.

Lila preens at his words. “Thank you, Adrien! But Marinette, since you mentioned what our dragons will be, did you know my ancestor's dragon was said to be the most beautiful of all the dragons in the Justice League squadrons! My ancestor's dragon had orange scales that glimmered red and yellow like flames, and pearlescent white scales along the underbelly. Oh, and the horns were pearlescent white too! Obviously, the dragon I'll get is sure to be a descendant of that dragon and just as beautiful.”

“Wow, no wonder your ancestor's dragon was the most beautiful, they sound absolutely gorgeous! What kind of dragon do you think I'll get, Lila?” Adrien asks, eyes shining with awe and curiosity.

She puts on a show of holding her chin and humming. “Hmm, probably a golden dragon, with shiny scales as bright as the sun!”

“I hope you're right!” Adrien chuckles, “the fairy tales really would be coming true if we both get the dragons you think we will! One with scales of fire, another with scales of gold!”

“It really would.” Marinette echoes weakly, not really believing in her own words.

Lila laughs, “awww don't sound so worried Marinette, your dragon will probably be a plain and drab dragon with some sort of shade of brown, or maybe even grey. But at least it won't be attention-grabbing. So you won't need to worry about people staring and judging or dragons-forbid trying to hurt you for having a prettier dragon than any nobles!”

Marinette smiles, though it turns out far more grimace-like than intended, whoops. “Yeah… that'd be awful. Haha, I'd be really lucky to get a dragon like you described for me, Lila.”

“Oh, I'm so glad you understand, Marinette! Then again, all three of us are besties so of course you'd understand!” Lila titters, crossing her fingers, “we're just like this!”

Screaming internally, Marinette nods and keeps smiling. Dragons-almighty, I'm at the end of my thread here. Hopefully, I'll be able to leave Lila's "friendship" behind at the academy without fear of mine and my parent's reputations being ruined by Lila's mother.

Her attention is briefly taken by the rolling view outside the stagecoach, unable to help herself she mumbles to herself, “the landscape here is so pretty.”

“It is pretty I guess, but not as pretty as my home country!” Lila pipes up, jumping on the new conversation—like a shadow dragon on a sheep.

Marinette shuts her eyes for a second and breathes deeply, chanting internally. The academy will be my fresh start.

———

The academy is not in fact Marinette's fresh start.

It is well past evenfall by the time their stagecoach passes through the gates of the imposing academy. It rounds a large fountain in the centre of the courtyard with a statue of a person encircled by a large dragon. However, due to the darkness and the movements of the stagecoach, any attempts at recognising whom the statue was dedicated after are thoroughly hampered. They roll to a stop before the great stone staircase—where a figure with a smaller giant rat-like creature beside them, is waiting at the top—which clearly leads to the grand front doors of the academy.

Even with the darkness obscuring the view, it's obvious that the academy is a repurposed castle. High stone walls with crenellations and littered towers, a main keep with a multitude of buildings surrounding the inner courtyard. And the most eye-catching of all, the shadowy draconic gargoyles that seem to cling and lurk upon every building.

It's impressive to say the least, certainly the most well-fortified building Marinette has ever stepped foot in her life. Impressive enough that it has her practically clawing to pull out a sketching journal and start creating. However, she's not stupid enough to do that within Lila's presence. No, that'd undoubtedly lead to honey-coated lies and being forced to listen to her prattle on about her wondrous skills and connections to the most prestigious fashion guild in the country.

Marinette startles as the stagecoach door is opened by a footman. She doesn't fuss as Lila exits first, followed by Adrien. As she steps outside last, she nods and smiles at the footman. Whispering as audibly as she can without the other two hearing, she adds, “thank you, sir.”

The footman simply glances at her attire and nods back stiffly.

In the time it's taken to all leave the stagecoach, the figure from the stairs has walked over—a woman with long blonde hair dressed in a casual black leather riding coat, and a not-dog following behind loyally. “Good evening, you must be the potential students from the town of Paris?”

Marinette hesitates for a second before nodding along with Adrien and Lila.

Lila takes a step forwards, towards the woman. “Yes, we are! I'm Lila Rossi.”

The woman nods slowly, “and the other two must be Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, correct?”

“That's correct!” Adrien responds with a bright smile.

Marinette nods and makes an affirmative squeak instead.

“Great.” The woman says, clapping her hands. “I'm Dinah Lance and I'll be one of your instructors during your attendance here. And this,” She pauses to point to the weird giant not-rat with its yellow flecked greyish-brown fur, “is Drake, he's my Ichneumon. You'll learn all about Ichneumon and why they're used within the dragoon squadron during your time here, so don't worry if you've never heard or seen of them before.”

Drake makes a high pitched trill and takes a few steps forward, sniffing the air in front of the three of them. Before scampering in a circle around Dinah Lance.

She smiles fondly at Drake before continuing. “Unfortunately it's a little late to give you the tour of the grounds now, so we'll cover that tomorrow. Tonight we'll guide you to the dining hall for a late night's meal since it's been a long journey for you three or so I've heard, and you must be starving. Then we'll discuss the main details of your attendance, and afterwards, we will show you to the temporary rooms you will be staying in, to begin with. Any questions?”

Lila rocks on the heels of her boots before shaking her head, “no, we've got no questions!”

Adrien copies with a shake of his head too.

Marinette opens her mouth to protest, were you waiting out in the cold for us long? Will the tour teach us about the different places within the academy? Will it take long? What do you mean by the main details? Why are we staying in temporary rooms to begin with? When do our lessons start? Do we need to purchase any uniforms or schooling supplies? When will we meet our dragons? Questions bubbling in her mind like a kettle over the fire, but closes her mouth just as quickly, as she catches a glare from Lila out of the corner of her eye. With that, she also briefly and nervously shakes her head. “N–no, no questions here either, Mlle Lance.”

Internally, Marinette hopes that display is enough to tide over Lila's irritation for now.

Mlle Lance glances over the three of them, seeming to stare at Marinette a little longer than the other two. “Well then, since there are no questions, let us head to the dining hall. And don't worry about your belongings, the footman will bring them to your lodgings.”

“Oh, Mlle Lance, I'd–uh… I'd rather not hassle the staff here, I can manage bringing my belongings up on my own.” Marinette admits, wringing her hands slightly.

Mlle Lance shakes her head, “that's very polite of you but I'm afraid, as you'll be having dinner and we'll be discussing details, it'll be a little while before you head to your temporary rooms. So it'll be far easier on both you and the staff here, if you allow them to do their job.”

“Okay…” Marinette relents easily, trying to ignore Lila rolling her eyes at her.

“If there are no more further questions, then follow after me please, the academy can be rather labyrinthine for those unfamiliar with its halls.” Mlle Lance instructs, already turning around and walking back towards the great stone staircase, Drake on her heels.

———

The journey through the hallways and various anterooms of the academy takes far longer than Marinette could have anticipated. On more than one occasion, she ends up falling behind due to getting distracted by the sheer amount of luxury, art, and finery everywhere. Forcing her to frantically scurry after Mlle Lance, Lila, and Adrien—all three who seem completely at home and unperturbed or uninterested by the décor, unlike her.

By the time they reach the large and ornately carved wooden doors leading to the dining hall, Marinette is flushed bright red from the embarrassment of having fallen behind so many times.

The heavy doors creak loudly as they slowly swing open at Mlle Lance's push, revealing a large dining hall—far larger than any Marinette has seen—with seemingly hundreds of wooden tables and benches. Startlingly enough, there's a boy already seated at one of the nearer benches—eating away at a trencher of hunter's stew.

No Ichneumon in sight, Marinette notes, a fellow student perhaps?

“Good evening, Jason, I wasn't expecting anyone else to be in here at the moment.” Mlle Lance greeted, nodding her head to him.

Jason squints at Mlle Lance and hunches his shoulders defensively. “B said I could grab food from here whenever I wanted.”

Mlle Lance smiles, “and that's perfectly fine. These are new arrivals, so I was just hoping to let them have some dinner without the usual chaos before going over the main details they'll need to know about attending here.” She paused for a moment. “You don't have to stay and listen if you don't want to, since you've heard this spiel many times now. But equally, feel free to stay, I'm sure it'd be nice for you and the new arrivals to get to know each other before meeting the rest of the class tomorrow.”

Jason slowly eyes Lila, Adrien, and Marinette. He places an arm in front of his trencher. “Might as well stay then I guess.”

Mlle Lance nods at him again before guiding the three of them over to the back of the dining hall where the kitchen was connected to. A few cooks were tending to various meals and pots of hunter's stew, as well as prepping trenchers or cleaning wooden bowls, and wood or horn spoons.

Marinette is still half processing everything so receiving a trencher full of hunter's stew from the cooks barely registers in her mind. And next thing she knows, she is seated next to Lila on the end of the bench and table next to Jason, with Mlle Lance sitting opposite her, Lila, and Adrien. The other two have already started tucking into the food, so cautiously Marinette takes a few sips of the stew broth with a horn spoon.

Mlle Lance clasps her hands together and rests them on the table. “Let's start with what you three already know regarding the dragoon squadrons and this academy.”

Pausing in his eating, Adrien grins. “This is the longest standing dragoon academy, and we'll be taught everything from dragon history, to the language of the dragons, to what is known of Hawkmoth and his shadow dragon army!”

“And,” Lila pipes up, “we'll pick our dragons that we'll train alongside and eventually become fully-fledged Dragoon Guardians with.”

Jason snorts, “sorry to break it you two but this isn't some fucking fairytale.”

Before Lila or Adrien could respond, Mlle Lance cleared her throat. “Right well firstly, Dragoon Guardians is somewhat of an archaic term I'm afraid. But you're not too far off with what you know.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason pretends to be suddenly interested in his trencher of stew.

Though, Marinette does catch him briefly glancing up at her with a curious but also disbelieving look in his eyes. She can't help but instinctively curl her shoulders in and make herself as small as possible.

“And Marinette, what do you know about the academy?” Mlle Lance adds.

Marinette hesitates, trembling slightly and licks her lips. “Uh, well I know roughly the same as Lila and Adrien, so nothing that hasn't been said already…”

She catches Jason squinting at her, and she curls up even more.

Mlle Lance nods thoughtfully, “to start with, Adrien, you are correct in that this is the longest standing dragoon academy. You're also correct that we teach our students dragon history—including the history of the dragoons—as well as teaching the language of the dragon. We also do teach regarding Hawkmoth and his shadow dragon army. However, that will be taught across multiple different subjects as it isn't quite as simple as it may currently seem to you.”

Adrien beams at having been mostly correct. “My father hoped I would be chosen to attend a dragoon academy so he made sure I was taught a general overview.”

“And that's more than most know to begin with, so well done.” Mlle Lance praises, before continuing. “However, Lila, here students do not pick their dragons. The process of meeting the dragon who will be raised and trained beside you, is not what most people think of when they first hear about dragoon human and dragon pairs meeting.”

Lila's lips twitch downwards in dissatisfaction and narrows her eyes slightly at Mlle Lance.

Before anything else can be said, Mlle Lance furrows her brows, “one moment students, a matter has just arisen that I need to quickly take care of.”

With that, she rises from the bench and strides out of the dining hall, shutting the door behind her as she exits.

As soon as the door shuts, Jason, with a concerned look on his face, gets up as well and walks the few steps over to Marinette's bench. Quietly, he asks, “Hey, you okay?”

Marinette swallows a breath of air thickly, and still visibly trembling, laughs nervously. “W-well I'm a little over-overwhelmed, I suppose… What with every—”

Only to slam her mouth shut as Lila wraps her arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close to her side.

“She's fine thank you,” Lila coos, “just not used to all the displays of wealth in the castle, here, isn't that right, Marinette.”

Marinette pales, eyes widening with panic and frantically nods her head. “Y-yep!”

Jason raises an eyebrow at Lila, unable to keep the slight sneer off his face as he turns ever so slightly to stare at her, “and you are?”

Lila perks up at his attention, flipping her hair back over her shoulder with one hand. “Didn't you hear Mlle Lance there, I'm Lila.” She smiles cloyingly at him and flutters her eyelashes. “I'm the daughter of a very important diplomat and one of my ancestors was an incredibly powerful Dragoon Guardian.”

Jason snorts, and rolls his eyes once more. “Right. Whatever.” He turns his attention back to Marinette and gives her a sharp nod. “What shit has the rich brat got hanging over your head?”

It clearly takes all of Lila's self-control to not immediately switch from her faux sweetness to fury. Her smile turns wooden and her gaze sharpens at Jason. “Excuse me?”

“You're excused,” Jason responds smugly.

“W-what do you mean?” Marinette asks, struggling to process the conversation after the slight cannonball that Jason just casually asked her.

He tilts his head at her, not unlike a bird. “She looks, sounds, and acts exactly like the kinda rich bastards that hold shit above kids who aren't rich, and you're clearly fucking petrified of her. So is she blackmailing you or something?”

Marinette mouths yes at him whilst shaking her head.

Jason raises an eyebrow at her for a second before shrugging with one shoulder, “alright.” He turns on his heel and heads back to his table and bench where his trencher of stew is waiting.

Lila gapes at him.

Adrien rises from his seat and stares at Jason, flabbergasted. “Aren't you going to apologise to Lila, now? You were wrong.”

Lifting his chin, Jason gives Adrien an unimpressed look then flips the bird at him. A few seconds pass before he shrugs and makes a non-committal noise of disinterest, then he starts spooning stew into his mouth.

Lila huffs and scowls at Jason. She turns to glare at Marinette, faux concern practically dripping from her words despite the evident fury on her face. “You should avoid him from now on, wouldn't want the teachers to think you're a delinquent and get kicked out before you even get to meet your dragon.”

Marinette nods slowly and keeps her attention very carefully on her food.

Her patience is rewarded as a few dozen seconds later, Lila loses interest in her and starts eating her trencher of stew whilst starting a new conversation with just Adrien.

Taking her chances, Marinette sneaks a glance up at Jason with a small smile on her lips.

To her surprise, he also happens to be looking over at her. He flashes her a cheeky grin, winks, before going back to eating.

Maybe, she muses to herself as her grin turns giddy, I was wrong about the academy not being my fresh start. Because this definitely feels like a fresh start now, it almost feels like I'm in a fairytale.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| The dragon riders are called Dragoons in reference to the mounted cavalry called Dragoons who used guns/firearms known as Dragons hence the name. And so I decided it only makes sense for these dragon riders to also be called Dragoons. Armée volante means flying army and was what the historical dragoons were sometimes known as, because of how mobile they were. |

| Ichneumon, also known as Echinemon in Medieval Zoology are enemies of dragons (and snakes and crocodiles in some accounts) and defeated them by covering themselves in armour made from mud before attacking. They are also one the only creatures (the other being weasels) that are immune to the Cockatrices' petrifying sight. |

| Fun fact: Trenchers are flat round (often stale) bread "plates" used during the medieval era. They are cut in half and sometimes the fluffy bread innards are scooped out (like pumpkins) so that the loaf's crust forms a bowl instead. Usually the bowls are used to hold stews or soups, though they were also used for non-liquid based food (which is why they later evolved into our modern day plates and cheese boards). |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

With a huff, Jason threw the cleaning rag at the saddlebag on the ground beside him. He sheathed his swords and pulled out his favoured weapon, the crossbow with steel and silver-tipped bolts. Immediately he began checking the bolts for any potential damage and ensuring the shooting mechanism on the crossbow hadn't jammed.

“Something on your mind, Blue Jay?” Marinette asked, glancing up from her needlework for a moment.

He tipped his head back and sighed. “I've been thinking…”

“That's new.” She responded, mirth glinting obviously in her eyes and the bubble of laughter in her tone.

Jason gasped in faux offence, mindfully dropping his crossbow and scrambling for the cleaning rag just to throw it at her face.

Before it could hit her, Marinette plucked it out of the air with two fingers. She hummed mock-thoughtfully. “Your aim's off.”

“You take that back! My aim is impeccable. Alfred said so!” He argued back.

She snorted. “Alfred is biased because he's your grandfather figure. And I'll take it back next time we get through an entire contract without you missing a single shot.” To punctuate her point, she tossed the rag back at him.

He half-dived for it, grabbing it with both hands and with it safely in his grasp, placed the rag inside the saddlebag beside him. Throwing his arms up in mock-exasperation, Jason scowled playfully at her. “C'mon! That's not fair, you've never gone an entire contract without messing up or missing with your magic either!”

“Yeah,” Marinette agreed with a nod of her head and a smirk on her lips, “but I've never claimed to be perfect at magic!”

Her words caused him to falter slightly. “Right,” he swallowed a breath of air thickly, “That reminds me of what I was going to say before we got distracted.”

She frowned, furrowing her eyebrows and putting on a softer tone. “What is it? As much as we joke, I'd never actually judge you for missing shots or anything else, you know that right?”

“Yeah, I know… I just.” He huffed in frustration. Hesitantly, he held her gaze with his own but not a second later, winced and shifted his to stare down at the flickering embers of the campfire pit. Avoiding eye contact with her. He clenched his fists. “D'you ever, I don't know, feel like this was all… a mistake?”

Scrunching up her face in confusion, she squinted at Jason. “What do you mean? As-as in taking the contract?”

“No! Well, yes but no. I mean…” He waved an arm, gesturing vaguely around them, “just everything. Becoming a Witcher. Or I guess in your case, a Sorceress. Do you regret it?”

When she didn't immediately respond, Jason huffed again, hunching his shoulders up and practically bristling like a particularly grumpy and grizzling moggy. “Look, never mind. Stupid question.”

“It's not stupid!” Marinette retorted, “I just… wasn't expecting a question like that at this moment.”

He stared at her expectantly. “Well?”

Tipping her head back slightly, she fiddled with the needle still in one hand and sighed. “I suppose I do, I know I shouldn't… but I miss the easy days. Like before I knew what I was capable of. Before I knew what horrors the world could bring. Back when my only worries were getting stitches right and not messing up when dealing with expensive materials. Or maybe having to worry if the Alderman's daughter was going to harass me at some point during the day.”

Marinette tilted her head forwards again, a frown gracing her lips, and shrugged. “What brings this up?”

There's not an immediate response, as Jason casts his gaze away from the fire—towards where the sea could be heard but not seen. His fingers twitched midair, almost as though plucking the strings of an instrument. “I never wanted to be a Witcher. I was a Child Surprise, dunno who was the one that offered the Law of Surprise though.”

“Ah, I sorta get that. I'm also a Child Surprise, didn't get to choose to be a Sorcerer either.” As she spoke, she nodded in solidarity.

Jason jolted, gaze immediately snapping up to stare at her, completely taken aback. “Wait seriously? You're a Child Surprise too? How'd that happen?”

“Well, my parents' bakery was attacked and Félix, y'know my mentor, saved them. He invoked the Law of Surprise, expecting to get bread or some other baked goods.” She snorted, “he was awfully surprised to end up getting me instead. And when I accidentally cast my first ever spell trying to escape the Alderman's daughter, I ended up teleporting to Félix.”

“So, wait Félix fucking invoked the Law of Surprise to get food? And got you instead. Holy fucking shit that's hilarious!” He wheezed, doubling over in raucous laughter.

Huffing, she cast a spell, causing a vine to sprout up out of the ground beside him and slap him on the knee. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up!”

“Ouch! Hey, no fair!” Jason mock scowled, choking back any further laughter. Quickly, in retaliation, he cast a weak Aard.

The telekinetic wave knocked into Marinette, pushing her onto her back from the weakened force.

“Wha—! Oh, so the vine isn't fair but throwing me to the ground is!” She griped, crossing her arms (carefully as to not prick herself on the needle) but made no attempt to get up.

Half-shrugging and grinning smugly, he replied, “you started it!”

She made an exaggerated groaning noise in response before slowly shifting her position to push herself back up into sitting cross-legged. “Well, now you know how I became a Sorcerer. How'd being a Child Surprise tie into you ending up a Witcher, if you don't me asking?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged with both shoulders this time, “I tried to steal the infamous Bat of Gotham's horse, he asked me my name. Reluctantly and after some bribery of hot food, I told him. Didn't think to give a fake one, at the time. He made a face, invoked the Law of Surprise owed to him and dragged me back to the Bat Witcher school.”

“Huh,” Marinette responded, “so if you hadn't… what would you have done with your life?”

Jason raised an eyebrow at her. “Seriously? This is me we're talking about. I'd have gone to Bard College, obviously. I'd have written poems and shit. And books, I'd have written books.”

Scrunching up her face once more, Marinette glanced down at the needle in her hand. “We're by the coast.”

“What?” He asked incredulously, giving her a bemused and questioning look. “What does that have to do with poetry and books?”

In a rush of words, she rambled, “we could take a holiday. I could find out about the spell to disguise your eyes… and uh hair too. That way no one will know you're a Witcher. And we can go to the bard college-town that's down the coast from where we are. We can scavenge together enough gold for you to attend, and you can write your poetry and books.”

Jason stared at her in shock, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Softly, as though anything louder than a whisper would cause the offer to shatter like his childhood dreams once had. “Oh, oh, could you really?”

As warmly as the fire between them, Marinette smiled, “of course! I'd have to ask Félix first of course. But he fell in love with Bridgette and she was a Witcher and he came up with a spell to disguise her whenever they weren't doing contracts or courtly politics. So I don't see why he wouldn't show me how to do it!”

Shakily, he wiped his eyes and smiled back. “Fuck, I'd love that!”

“Okay then! I'll contact Félix on the xenovox tomorrow.” As she spoke, a yawn slipped past her lips. “I think I'm gonna head to sleep now. I'll see you in the morning!”

“Good night, Marinette. I'm gonna stretch my legs real quick first.” He answered, hefting himself up and stretching his arms. “Sleep well, though.”

“Be careful!” Marinette yawned again and packed away her needlework for the night. She then wriggled into her bedroll. “And I'll try, g'night!”

“Night,” he whispered once more.

Quietly, so as to not disturb her, Jason slipped away from camp. Following the direction of the fret, he made his way down the safest cliff path he could find in the dark until his boots hit the sand. Step by step, he walked across the beach until the sea spray spattered against his clothes. He's close enough that the waves gently lapped at the toes of his boots.

Clutching one hand to his chest, just over where his heart was, Jason sighed and gazed longingly at the mist-shrouded sea.

“I never thought I'd get to continue my dreams after becoming a Witcher.” He whispered to the wind. “And now I can, thanks to her.”

He sighs again, heart warmed. And silently in the quietude of the beach at night, he cries alone. For his heart is too full with the kindness of another to contain the feelings any longer.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I’ll be more than happy to answer! |