Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Friday, 3:18 AM, The Batcave

Dick Grayson was drenched in water that smelled like rust, with glitter clinging to his boots and his arm mildly broken, but there was nothing in this world could wipe the shit eating grin off of his face.

When Bruce had sent out the call for backup, the momentary panic was immeasurable, flashing images of all the things that could have gone so wrong so fast that Batman of all people needed help. The idea of losing his brother, again, to something that could be boiled down to being his fault, again, was almost too much to bear, sending him leaping off the roof with little regard to his injured arm and a tunnel vision so focused that he didn't even notice the faint crack of his already bruised humerus fracturing. That was, he didn't notice until he heard Red Hood's outraged yelling on the other end of his comm, showing he was fine and the call was for something else entirely. The relief hit him so hard that it was physically painful, beyond suddenly registering his newly broken bone.

But that didn't matter, his body will heal in no time.

Blackmail, however? That was forever.

It had taken some doing, managing to get Jason down from the rafters (after taking plenty of pictures, of course) and into the car, all while he was thrashing and spraying water at anyone who came close enough. Tim had been willing to just leave him up there until he tired himself out, allegedly not wanting to get any of the evidence he had gathered wet, which left it up to Nightwing and Batman to get him down. Both of them decided to just deal with the water, not wanting to take away his last remaining 'weapon' which would only serve to make him defensive enough to run away before they managed to get him back to the cave. A small price to pay, for the absolute gold stored in his helmet cam. All of which is what led them to here, Dick leaning against the edge of their meeting table as Alfred checked his arm, Bruce sitting at the Batcomputer with a barely there smile on his face (a smile! On Batman!!), Tim sitting primly to the right with a laptop in front of him, and finally Jason, still cocooned in chains and sitting in a chair to the left with the most infuriated glare on his face.

He would be more worried about that, but... There was some part of it that didn't reach his eyes, even with the backup mask still in place (Not that the masks could hide their expressions from each other after all these years). That showed that no matter how convincing the front he put on, he wasn't actually as furious as he looked. Something was distracting him from his anger, and keeping him distracted enough that there wasn't even a hint of green seeping in. Tim could obviously see it too, since they were sitting at the same table without a bit of wariness on his part. Dick didn't quite know what happened to cause the absolute carnage that they had walked in on in that warehouse, as neither B nor Jason had spoken a word about it while securing the cultists for the police, but he just knew it was going to be good. He also knew, that no matter how hard Jay tried to keep him from finding out, he wouldn't succeed, as Babs had downloaded the entirety of tonight's footage the second Bruce plugged the helmet in to the computer. His texts with her confirmed as such. 'Already in my files', she had said.

This is going to be glorious.

B turned from where the screen was filled with the blurred image of Red Hood running down a dark alleyway after being caught off guard by a tranquilizer dart, ready to play with the click of a button. He still wore the cowl, but his expression was that of Bruce rather than Batman as he looked at Jason.

"So..." he began slowly, steepling his fingers together under his chin as he leaned forward. "Who was the girl?" Jason's expression somehow got even darker, while Dick's grin widened. Oh, this is going to be even better than glorious.

"A girl?" Dick asked, giddiness creeping in around the edges of his tone at the direction he saw this going. As the elder brother it was his sworn duty to see his part through, even if his teasing ended with a gun in his face. Again. Jason didn't turn from his stare down with Bruce, but the tick of his jaw clearly told of the glare he held back. His query went unanswered, however, as the cave steeped in the silence between the two, both refusing to back down.

"She never said." Jason growled through gritted teeth. Bruce didn't get a chance to respond before Oracles voice called from the computer, cutting through the tension of the cave with little regard.

"She called herself Marinette." His jaw clenched at her direct contradiction, full body tense with mild aggression borne of embarrassment.

"What did you say to cause... That." 'That' was certainly one thing to call it, Dick thought sarcastically, There were people literally glued to the ground! How did she even do that?! Dick honestly didn't know if he wanted the answer to be in the footage, since if it was, his siblings would undoubtably find out and attempt to replicate the effects on each other. Or worse, on him. There was another tense moment of silence, and Dick was almost certain that Jason wouldn't answer, opting instead to close off until Bruce made one of his signature grunts and played the footage until they found out anyway, leading to teasing, hurt prides, and prank wars that were more 'war' than 'prank'. But, he was mildly surprised when Jason opened his mouth to speak.

"Oracle, what would it take for you to stop this?" Dick stood straighter. (Eliciting a chiding hum from Alfred at the movement, which if it were any other situation he would be immediately remorseful, but this was too important.) Dick prepared to make as many counter offers as he could, but he needn't have worried as Barbara's detached and slightly smug voice came through the speakers.

"Sorry Jason, you brought this on yourself." His brother's glare finally slid away from Bruce, instead moving to Oracle's nearest camera. Honestly, he had about the same chance of winning a staring contest with the camera as he did with the Batman, but hell knows he'll try it anyway.

Bruce took the opportunity to turn back to the computer, and start the video, immediately drawing rapt attention from all of the vigilantes that were present. It started with Red Hood running towards a forked path, one narrow and clear that looked to head into a maze that hid corners in the shadows, and the other one wide and covered in trash with doors heading into dark buildings, but was otherwise a seemingly dead end. In the video, Hood yanked a tranquilizer dart of some sort (that had somehow gone through his armor, Dick noted with a narrowing of eyes) out of his chest and threw it far into the maze like path, then sprinted for cover in the trash heap halfway down the other. He was stumbling, practically running near sideways and bracing himself with a hand on the wall, the drugs clearly having taken effect despite his valiant effort to fight them off. He will need to ask Oracle how long it had taken for the drug to affect Jason. With the resistance training all of them had gone through and his brother's size, any standard tranquilizer dart should have a minimal effect unless they either planned specifically for him, or had some kind of specialized equipment. The fact that it went directly through his armor, the second option was more likely, which was sure to lose Bruce and Tim some sleep figuring it out. Hell, he thought, It will probably lose me some sleep, too. He tapped his fingers anxiously a couple times, but otherwise let the thought pass to be considered later.

The video continued with Red Hood practically diving underneath a large pile of lumpy black trash bags, clumsily shifting them into a better cover. Though, Dick thought with amusement, He does seem to blend in rather well. He snickered quietly as Video-Jason passed out in the trash with a slump, and Real-Jason turned his scowl onto him.

"Laugh it up, Dickface, I know for a fact you have ended up in more trashcans than everyone else in this room combined." Jason growled out at him. Dick placed a hand on his chest and opened his mouth in an expression of mock hurt, being careful not to move too much and disrupt Alfred's work again. (He doesn't think he could emotionally handle another displeased eyebrow raise today. He would rather break his other arm.)

"He's got a point, and I have pictures to prove it." Tim chimed in before he had a chance to respond, not looking up from his laptop. Jason sent him a victorious grin that was mostly teeth and aggression, but lacking the usual threat he had become so accustomed to.

(Dick had to suppress the giddiness bubbling up from seeing an expression that used to be so common on the little boy he was too late for, knowing it would only scare him away.)

"Hn." Bruce grunted, silencing them as sounds drifted from the computer. Dick pouted, not being able to make his own retort, but let it slide in favor of watching the screen. 

Muffled voices filtered through the speakers as an authoritative voice gave out commands.

"Cat, Jake, you two go around and check the buildings. Brax, search that alleyway. Mark, Jacob, and Nigel, go get the cars and prepare for pickup. The rest of you, find The One of Red and Black." There was a chorus of affirmatives and scattering footsteps, with only one pair left walking towards where Jason was passed out, though not in any particular hurry.

"Ah hah!" Came Oracle's quiet exclamation as security footage from one of the nearby buildings popped up on the screen. Tim raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you couldn't find any cameras in the area?" He asked, since this would have been useful when they were looking for Hood in the first place.

"Someone left a laptop plugged into the security system and connected to the Wi-fi." She replied, causing him to nod in understanding.

"Ah." The security footage, black and white and grainy as it was, showed the presumed Brax shuffling through the trash-filled alleyway looking practically dead on his feet. He stood just before the dumpster, next to Jason's hiding spot and slowly looked around. His head stopped at the trash heap, and Dick tensed lightly thinking that this was where his brother had been caught, but then the cultists just tilted his head back with a jaw cracking yawn. Dick blinked at the screens a couple times, before looking over at Jason, who was looking somewhere between contemplative and as if he had just eaten a lemon.

"Jay?" he asked, as the cultist on screen yawned again as his head panned over the trash heap, slightly swaying on his feet, clearly not even bothering to search the alley with any amount of effort more than it takes to open his eyes. Jason looked over at him with a narrowed eye glare, then back at the screen.

"Must be the one who was sleeping the whole time." Dick could tell that it was a deflection from what he had actually been thinking, but he allowed it anyway. He was a magnanimous older brother like that.

(Dick catalogued the reaction for later though. A detectives mind never stops working, after all.)

"Where was he?" He asked, not remembering seeing someone napping, though admittedly he had been a tad bit distracted by laughing the whole time. The corner of Jason's mouth ticked upward in amusement, though only barely.

"Glued to a pillar behind the boxes full of singed machining parts." Dick could only blink a few times as once more the burning questions came to the forefront of his mind. Who is this 'girl'? And mainly, HOW? And can we use that glue on Tim to make him sleep? Actually on second thought, he would probably just end up gluing himself to his computer. He didn't get the chance to ask anything, though, as the cultist on the video blearily started walking away

"Fuck this shit..." He muttered, and then Red Hood was alone in the alleyway, completely hidden. Tim looked up at the screen and tilted his head.

"If the cultists walked right passed you, then how the hell did you manage to get caught?" He asked, turning his gaze to Jason.

"Don't ask me, Replacement, I was unconscious." The chained up vigilante replied with a growl, squinting with a calculating glare. Dick suspected he knew more than he let on, or at least had a good guess. It had to have something to do with the girl, or he wasn't a Bat. The only question now is how.

"Well, if you would both turn your attention to the screen..." Babs called from the speakers, both the CCTV and helmet cam footage jumping forward just a few minutes to when a door swung open on the opposite side of the dumpster to where Red Hood was hidden. It was a woman holding a phone to her ear with one hand and carrying a trash bag that looked close to bursting in the other, pushing the door open with her back, seeming to struggle a bit under its weight. Called it, Dick thought, that must be her. he couldn't make out many details from the grainy, black and white footage, but she seemed small and wore her dark hair in a high bun. She was wearing a light jacket and light colored pants, but he couldn't make out much else.

"Attends un instant, Maman." She said as she took the phone away from her ear to flip open the lid of the dumpster. Dick raised an eyebrow.

"French, huh?" He said teasingly, turning to waggle his eyebrows at his brother. He just got a glare in return.

"Shut up, Dickface." In the video, the woman shifted and grabbed the trash bag with both hands, then flipped it over her head and into the dumpster with textbook form and solid stance, a satisfying thunk echoing out as it hit. The noise and vibrations caused Video-Jason to shift slightly in his unconsciousness. She paused, turning her head to look at the pile he was hiding under, before slumping her shoulders and groaning dramatically into her phone.

"UGH, is it really that hard to throw your trash into the dumpster?" At the bottom of the helmet footage the English translation scrolled through, which was useful since his French skills were a little rusty. 

"Clearly not for her..." Tim muttered, and Dick couldn't help but agree. That move was practiced.

"Seriously, when I find out who keeps just leaving all these bags on the ground I'm going to... To switch their salt and sugar!" She-Marinette presumably- spat the words with such vehemence it sounded like the worst curse in the world. There was a beat of silence as the Gotham vigilantes blinked, processing the fact what they just heard(or read, rather) was, in fact, correct, before Dick burst into muffled snickers.

"Oh god." Tim deadpanned, keeping his poker face despite the laughter in his eyes. "She's adorable."

"Careful there, Timmers, that's just a front. She's deranged." Jason corrected, tone ominous and resigned as he leaned back in his chair, chains rattling. Dick could see that specific frown on his face, though. The downturned corners of his lips and slight flare of his nostrils that nearly looked like a sneer, but lacked the scrunch of his nose to fully convey distain. The one that told him Jason was just as amused, but refusing to show any emotion beyond the veil of aggression and anger.

"Hm." Bruce huffed, a warm undercurrent to his usual growl, clearly also amused. 

"I don't believe that to be a laughing matter." Alfred said from his side where he had just retrieved a sling, a reproachful eyebrow raised and an extra note of propriety in his voice. "Master Jason is correct, such threats are a serious thing." Dick's cheeks puffed out with the effort of holding back snickers, and Tim's lips pressed tightly together. Jason just smirked.

"Huh? Oh, no I'm taking out the trash." The woman's voice interrupted any further conversation, refocusing their attention back on the screen as she started dragging bags out of the pile. His grin widened. Her first impression of Jason is going to be finding him in the trash, oh this is perfect! I am so never going to let him live this down.

"Around ten thirty, I think?" She said, lifting a bag up with one arm and dropping it into the dumpster absent mindedly. Dick raised an eyebrow, pulling out his phone with one hand. (The one not in a sling, of course.)

TheWingedWeenus: how heavy was the first trash bag, if she is just lifting these ones one-handed?

AllSeeingEyes: Gimme a minute.

"The office? Well- the apartment building turned office place that I told you about." She replied to whomever was on the phone, sounding confused. Her mother, she said 'Maman'. 

"Wha- no-" She let out a heavy, exasperated sigh and rolling her head back as she tossed in another trash bag, listening to the phone for a moment.

AllSeeingEyes: Based off of the assumed brand, trajectory, noise level, and the way it almost split open while she was carrying it, I'd say somewhere between 75-90lbs.

…What the hell was in that bag?

Dick blinked, glancing back at the screen for a moment. The level of ease and familiarity she had with the motion and the amount of strength and control she displayed...

TheWingedWeenus: …how tall is she, again?

"We've been over this, Maman, Gotham is no more dangerous than high school, I haven't even been kidnapped or attacked, or even dangled above a swimming pool of boiling soup! It's way better here than it was in-"

AllSeeingEyes: According to her ID, 5'2".

Dick didn't respond, too busy looking incredulously at the scrolling translation as she yanked the phone away from here ear as loud and indistinct French started pouring out of the speaker. That Jason's helmet-cam could pick it up even through the huge(though now rather diminished) pile of trash was rather telling. Dick could sympathize, he had been on the receiving end of such phone calls before. To be fair, he thought, after what I just heard, I would do the same thing in her mother's position. What the fuck.

"MAMAN! Slow down! What are- Wait a- Oh, you didn't know about that?" She grabbed another trash bag, this one near the bottom edge of the pile which revealed Video-Jason's arm. She didn't notice.

"'Oh, you didn't know about that?'" Tim muttered from his seat, slightly mocking. "What?" His brother sounded bewildered, and Dick couldn't blame him, as he was in the same boat.

"Yeah, that was when Hawkmoth akumatized Grand-uncle Cheng the second time after Lila tried to blame me for putting rat poison in-" Dick shared a concerned and mildly alarmed glance with Tim as she paused, seeing the complicated and mildly disturbed expression on Jason's face but not quite having the time to decipher it fully before the woman started shouting into her phone.

"NO! MAMAN! He is already in prison, and Lila is long gone! I'm fine, no one died that time, Ladybug fixed it and helped sort out the poison thing." Dick's jaw clenched. At the rather glaring red flags of this Marinette girl being highly traumatized, or at least desensitized enough from such events to just casually call it 'The Poison Thing', and at the reminder of Ladybug, one of the Justice League's biggest failures. Another child hero he couldn't help until it was too late.

"No, Lila never got caught. Despite Ladybug's best efforts, she managed to twist it around to be some big misunderstanding because her totally real tinnitus made her mix up words in Chinese, a language she definitely knew before that moment." She punctuated her words by throwing a bag into the dumpster with more force than strictly necessary, before taking in a deep breath and relaxing her posture.

"Hm..." Bruce hummed contemplatively with an undercurrent of a disapproving growl and miniscule twitch of his fingers. Dick couldn't help but agree. With that level of emotional control, and attitude she displayed(along with the mentions of Akumas), she was clearly from Paris, probably all through Hawkmoth's reign. Add in what sounds like an extreme bullying campaign and what they saw of her skills back in the warehouse... He'll have to see how large her death toll was as an Akuma. It couldn't have been pretty.

"I know, Maman." She said, sounding as if she never was upset in the first place. Emotional repression as a trauma response? Dick thought sardonically, glancing around at his family. She'll fit right in.

"It's fine, I'm on another continent and she can't do anything to me anymore. And thanks to Ladybug's help, none of my old class will listen to a word she says either, so we are all fine." She said reassuringly cheerful, tossing a bag into the dumpster.

"Hnn." Bruce grunted with a brooding frown and hunch of his left shoulder.

"No." Chorused all the previous Robins in the room, tones ranging from amused, to flat, to downright murderous.

"No, I don't know where Ladybug is." The woman said flatly, throwing in another trash bag as she listened to the phone. No one does, Dick thought, narrowing his eyes slightly. And she is damn good at hiding, Batman and the rest of the Justice League has been trying to find her for three years with no success. Marinette is clearly very familiar with the spotted heroine if she helped with what seems to be bullying that was so bad she needed to leave the country. Could she have a connection to Ladybug?

Oh the screen, he could see her practically deflate with the force of her sigh before weakly protesting to whatever tirade her mother is on. The effort is futile, if the defeated tone of her voice is any indication.
 
"I can't- Maman..." There is a long moment of silence as she grabs a couple more trash bags, revealing one of Red Hood's legs to the security camera, but somehow not noticing his presence herself. A quick glance at Jason showed that contemplative-lemon expression on his face again, this time with a hint of incredulity. Can't wait to figure what that's about.

"Okay, okay, fine!" She huffed exasperatedly, snatching up a trash bag that revealed another leg, "If I ever see Ladybug again, and if I somehow manage to talk to her, I will tell her you want to give her a gift basket." Another trash bag, another arm revealed, yet she still didn't notice.

"Is she for real?" Tim asked gesturing at the four very obvious limbs sticking out from the much smaller pile of garbage. Jason snorted.

"I had the same question." He muttered under his breath.

"And a lifetime supply of baked goods." She continued, unearthing Video-Jason's stomach. He doesn't blend in that well, she seriously should have seen him by now. For someone who managed to take down an entire cult by themselves, this is really... Unlucky.

Dick considered the thought, going back over it in his head before he smirked and turned to Jason.

"You know, it seems that you just blend in too well with the garbage. Maybe you should have hidden there during that time with the food truck shootout next to the-"

"Continue that sentence and no one will find your body, Richard."

"She's a superhero," the woman continued, "and a retired one at that, I can't force her to go back to Paris just for..." There was only one trash bag left, covering Video-Jason's head and upper body. Her voice became higher pitched with exasperation as she waved a hand around, before reaching for the last bag. Dick leaned forward eagerly, waiting to see what happened.

"Just because I used to work with- EEK!" The woman on screen dropped the oversized trash bag with a thud, letting out a screech as it dislodged Hood and he rolled out onto the ground in front of her. All the vigilantes were quiet, focused entirely on the screen as Red Hood's helmet showed full color, HD footage of the girl, who was now staring dumbstruck as the unconscious vigilante.

The first thing Dick noticed were her eyes. Wide with surprise and colored a vibrant bluebell blue, seeming to glint with reflected light in the dark alley, almost as if they held secrets of the universe in their depths. The second thing that he noticed was the second half of the typical Wayne Adoptee Features in the form of black hair. (With hints of a Tragic Backstory, and the carnage left behind in that warehouse showing obvious skill, all she would need is dead parents and a vigilante costume to be adopted on the spot.) The third thing that he noticed was that she was absolutely adorable.

"Uuuuhh, sorry Maman, I'll call you back later. Nono! Everything is fine! I just- uh- found a raccoon in my trash!" Dick heard Tim cover a laugh with a cough, and could see Alfred raise an eyebrow from out of the corner of his eye. Oh my God.

"No, its like... a really big raccoon." The woman hadn't moved on screen, eyes glued to Red Hood, or the racoon, as she apparently claimed. Oh. My God. My brother is a trash panda.

"No, not fat really," She said with an appraising tilt to her head and a faint blush, "Just... Big." Tim lost the fight with discretion and didn't bother hiding his next bout of laughter. Dick gets the feeling that if Jason weren't so incredulous, he would be spewing verbal attacks right now. Not just any trash panda, my brother is a Big trash panda!

"Yes. I will. Love you, bye." the woman lowers the phone and hangs up, spending a few long moments to just stare at the unconscious Red Hood before speaking again, but this time in English with a high pitched and breathless tone.

"... What the flipping fiddlesticks?!"

Barbara had the consideration to pause the videos as Dick and Tim died laughing.

---

While the boys had been busy with securing Jason, the cultists, and blackmail material, Barbara had been doing all of the detective work for them. Well, not all of it, as Tim had taken to investigating the makeup and origins of the tranquilizer dart that took Red Hood out, but that didn't really count since she didn't have the data for it yet and thus couldn't investigate through that avenue. If she did have that information, though, she would be searching through it as well, so really she was doing all of the detective work. Multitasking had always been something she was good at, more so now that she had years of practice, so she had managed to get most of the case notes finished and and evidence compiled before the boys even got back to the cave. The security footage had been a tad tricky, but once Jason's helmet had been plugged in to the Batcomputer a few reverse image searches and a couple cheap firewalls later she had access to the whole building and a day and a half of security footage. Digging through the files on the laptop had revealed it to belong to the owner of the building, one Allan Gregory Manchester. According to the E-Mails left open in his browser, all of which were complaints about the piles of trash in the alley, as well as the secondary recording software linked to a cloud server, she could guess that he was trying to find out who was responsible.

Honestly, she could only commend him for actually doing something about the tenants complaints. Caring about that sort of thing is depressingly rare in this city.

Watching the helmet footage itself in the background and on two times speed, she made markers for herself on where to skip sections, and points to run through her transcription software. The French translation was a bit of a curveball, but luckily she had something on hand from when they found out about the Paris situation.

Throughout all that, she ran background checks on all of the captured cultists and and started a list of their possible associates and connected agencies. The owner of the warehouse, she found, accepted a bribe in order to allow the cult to do business there. Digging further, she found that they also owned the warehouse that had burned down, causing all of that construction Bruce drove through to get to Jason. Pages and pages of OSHA violation complaints, unsafe working environment reports, and a declaration of bankruptcy paint a rather obvious picture of what happened there. She was still working on finding the connection between the cult members, as there was no obvious rhyme or reason behind why each person was recruited or who started it all, which is always a frustrating situation. She will likely need to get someone to do legwork for that one. Ugh.

Finding Marinette Dupain-Cheng's documents was rather simple, too. Her conversation with her mother, Sabine Cheng, a well known baker in Paris, gave enough information to narrow down her search. She set a simple background check to run with the ones she was doing on the cultists, making a mental note to do a more in depth search later before moving on to the lead cultist's bank accounts and transaction history. 

She was only keeping half an ear on the footage and the boy's commentary. She had a lot of more important work to do before she could go to sleep, hopefully before the sun came up this time. She would have to go back and watch the full thing another day when she wasn't so busy she couldn't appreciate the shenanigans, but as of now, she would let the boys do what they do best and antagonize each other.

The recordings would be a great way to destress later, at least.

---

Tim was the first to regain enough composure to start the teasing.

"You know, it makes sense that you would have to literally fall in front of a girl's feet to get them to notice you."

"Is your ass jealous of all the shit your mouth drops"

"From the garbage you came, to the garbage you return"

"When are you going to kickstart your reputation for adultery? Your parents will be disappointed in you if you don't continue the family tradition."

"You know, having been in your safe houses, it's no wonder you blend into the dumpster aesthetic so well. You sure do have the lifestyle for it."

"I wasn't going to tell you to spare your feelings, but at the last 'Tim Drake fan club meeting' meeting they had a vote on what animal is most representative of you. The vote was unanimously set on 'Cockroach'."

"Maybe if we tell Damian you are a raccoon he will like you more.”

"Maybe if I tell him you were the one to shave Titus, he will kill you faster."

"Why, can't do it yourself? Oh wait- you already tried."

"If I wanted you dead, you would already be dead."

"Crime lord? More like edge lord."

"Try hard? More like fail hard."

"Theater kid."

"Dropout"

"Street rat."

"Neglect case"

Dick felt his fingers start to twitch as his brothers got more heated, stepping forward to the edge of the table between the two, holding out his good hand in a placating gesture.

"Maybe we should calm down-"

“Shut up, Dick." They said simultaneously, not taking their eyes off each other.

"Hrn." Bruce scolded, lips pursed with one corner downturned slightly.

"No one asked you, Bruce." Jason spat with a glare, eyes intense with a spark of green around the edges. From his spot next to Dick, Alfred cleared his throat, drawing attention from the bickering boys. Then he raised an eyebrow.

Jason took in a slow, deep breath before letting it out all at once, relaxing his shoulders and slumping back in his chair.

"Sorry Alfred." The butler nodded in acceptance before turning to Tim.

"Master Timothy," He winced at the use of his full first name, "Please refrain from antagonizing your brothers." Tim kept his face blank and posture picture perfect, nodding his head and responding with a business like tone.

"Yes Alfred."

Dick let out an imperceptible sigh of relief. This family would fall apart without Alfred. He sent his pseudo-Grandfather a grateful slump of his shoulders and tilt of the head. In response he got an amused crinkle of the left eye and a twitch of his ring finger. Dick grinned, that was all the permission he needed.

"So..." He said leadingly into the tense silence, "You managed to get kidnapped with a Parisian, huh? No wonder she managed all that carnage." He said with a teasing grin. Jason just looked annoyed and confused.

"Yeah, what the hell are you talking about?" Dick blinked. Tim blinked. Alfred didn't react, and Bruce frowned slightly, tilting his head and shifting his shoulder back toward the computer. Jason looked at him.

"Well?" Bruce nodded, turning back to the computer and pulling up the filed on another monitor. While he did, Tim started explaining.

"It was before you fully came back, but about three years ago, the Justice League found out about a supervillain in Paris who called himself Hawkmoth." The picture that appeared on the screen was a screenshot from the video of the final battle in the supervillain's lair, an underground butterfly garden of all things. "We only found out after he was defeated by some of the Parisian Heroes."

"Only 'some of'?" Jason asked, a glint in his eyes as he absorbed as much information as he could from the picture. It was Ladybug standing over Hawkmoth, her magic Yo-yo wrapped around his legs and his sword pointed at her throat. Mayura was to the side, paralyzed mid-swing by Queen Bee who was on the ground cradling a severely broken leg next to a pile of blue tinted rubble a few feet away. Chat Noir was hanging upside down from a support beam wrapped in spiderwebs (looking much like Jason had earlier, Dick thought) above the glass coffin holding Emilie Agreste, only looking at his mother's body with unseeing eyes. Viperion was trapped underneath a collapsed wall that he had been thrown into previously, unconscious. The only other hero still standing was Ryuko, and that was because of the sword buried through her stomach and deep into the moss and blood covered wall, supporting her weight and keeping an Akuma trapped with her. There was one more hero present, but they were not visible until the end of the battle's footage. This image was of the moment right before Multimouse took Hawkmoth's Miraculous and revealed him to be Gabriel Agreste, famous fashion designer, known hard-ass, and later discovered as the Father of Chat Noir.

Talk about fucked up.

"Only six of the twelve known Parisian Heroes were brought to the final battle, though the cat hero only showed up halfway through and got distracted and taken out immediately." Tim continued with a hint of derision.

"I mean, to be fair, that is his mom's preserved corpse in the glass case." Dick chimed in, tone kept light but words heavy. A moment of silence spread through the cave. They all could sympathize with Chat Noir. Every single one of the Bats had seen some horrifying things and experienced significant loss. Not everyone could put aside the feeling of their world crashing down around them to be a hero, and that is okay, it's understandable. It's human.

But when you're a superhero, you aren't allowed to be just Human.

Jason cleared his throat.

"What does this have to do with Marinette taking down a cult with superglue and rubber chickens?" Tim took a breath and recentered himself before continuing his explanation.

"Well, unlike most supervillains, Hawkmoth's power allowed him to corrupt people who were feeling strong negative emotions into being his superpowered minions themed based around whatever made them upset, hence the giant spider person in the background." Dick saw a spark of recognition in his brother's eyes.

"Themed superpowered minions that would, say, try and cook people into soup?" Tim tilted his head slightly, eyes squinting into the middle distance and fingers moving as if he were typing. Bruce grunted, posture tilting forward as he pulled up another picture on the Batcomputer. There was another moment of silence. But instead of solemn, this one was incredulous.

"What even is that?" Jason asked, face pulled in disgust.

"An Akuma." Tim deadpanned.

"Why is its skin purple? Why is it wearing orange?!" His chains rattled, Jason forgetting (or more likely not caring) that he was still restrained and trying to wave his hands around emphatically. Dick grinned.

"Would you believe me if I said that's one of the better looking ones?" Jason whipped his head around, tilting back and wrinkling his nose.

"Bullshit." His grin widened with challenge, left eye squinting.

"Completely true. We can prove it." Jason leaned forward, narrowing his eyes and jutting out his chin in a way that would look aggressive to anyone else, but Dick could only see the posturing of the little brother he thought he lost before he had time to love.

"No self respecting supervillain would make minions who look worse than that," He argued. "That's worse than the Discowing suit!" His brother jabbed accusatorially. He was completely unrepentant.

"You're just mad I can pull off the flared collar, you two-thousand-and-five film Darcy wannabe." Dick said with a teasing voice, striking a dramatic pose that was only slightly ruined by the fact his arm was in a sling.

"That's Mr. Darcy wannabe to you, thank you very much." Jason declared with a scowl that could rival Damian's, but the ghost of a smile around his eyes. "And everyone knows that the nineteen-ninety-five version was better." Tim hummed shortly, drumming his fingers once on the table. Oh boy.

"Maybe, but the gazebo scene was unequivocally better in every way." He softly tapped his index finger twice behind his laptop where only Dick could see it with a small smirk. He returned the expression, leaning back to let his little brothers rehash old arguments. If it let them get the competitiveness out of their systems without needing Alfred to interfere, then who was he to stop them? Predictably, Jason puffed up in affront.

"That scene is mediocre fan-service at best! It is not better than the proposal scene in the BBC series!" Dick saw Bruce sag near imperceptibly in his chair, lips thinning and eyes closing for half a second longer than they normally would. He suppressed a giggle at his adopted father's dramatic suffering at one of Jason's favorite topics for heated debate. "The delivery of his declaration of love for Elizabeth was flat and lacked nuance. It wasn't even close to as insulting as the series or the book!"

"The cinematography and setting conveys all the meaning and nuance that the character doesn't have. The rain, thunder, and camera angles impart stronger emotions to the audience than the series, making it more memorable and impactful." Tim argued smoothly.

"More impactful?!" Jason repeats incredulously. Dick suspects that if he weren't chained down, he would be pacing the room. "Puh-lease, only to someone with no taste and half a brain! A little water and a gazebo doesn't make up for the lack of visible emotional turmoil Mr. Darcy is meant to have as he declares his undying love for Elizabeth despite her perceived inferiority and flaws."

"Movie Elizabeth's delivery of her refusal is better." Oh, Tim is trying to die, Dick thought with amusement.

"SLANDER!" Jason yelled, slamming a fist against the arm of his chair and straining against the chains. "You only say that because she was styled to appeal more to conventional standards of beauty rather than historically accurate ones! Her acting used over the top emotion to make up for the lack of talent for subtlety!" Tim tilted his head with a picture perfect businessman smile, the plastic-fake expression as natural as walking to his little brother.

"You are missing the value of adapting the story for the benefit of the modern audience. With the change in societal norms and linguistic nuance, the effort that the movie put into the proposal scene though methods beyond just the acting allowed a broader range of watchers to understand more of the story."

"Making allowances for stupidity and ignorance is what causes the death of literacy and good storytelling." Jason shot back confidently. "That the movie is dumbed down to appeal to more people is just another testament to its inferiority."

"The purpose of storytelling is the enjoyment of the audience, without whom there wouldn't be storytelling." Tim didn't move, but Dick could see the small hint of smugness seep into the corner of his smile. "By showing the chemistry between Darcy and Elizabeth despite their argument, it draws in the viewer and makes them more invested, thus more likely to widen their vocabulary and expand their knowledge base of historical literature." Jason's upper lip curled in distaste, clearly upset that Tim got to mentioning that part of the scene first. Dick knew from experience that he hated it most.

"Bullshit. No one who finds that part the most compelling aspect of the story would find any value in intellectual pursuits." Jason replied. It was more of an insult than an argumentative rebuff, which is probably what Tim was going for anyway. "The series' proposal scene is truer to the original, had better acting, had more wit than the entire two-thousand-five movie combined, and did Elizabeth the justice of allowing her to rip Mr. Darcy a new asshole."

"The movie appeals to a wider audience through both its length and more conventionally understandable language, story beats, and intuitive cinematography. The proposal scene is much more climatic and conveys the turning point in their relationship in a way that the series simply doesn't." The statement was a little weak compared to his previous arguments, but Dick caught the way he drummed his fingers on the tabletop and twitched his ring finger, shooting a glance his way.

"Well, I think we can all agree on one thing." Dick chimed in, raising his left shoulder, which earned a glare from Jason. "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies has the best proposal scene because she beats him up."

There was a long pause between the three brothers.

"Yeah, that's fair." Tim said, fake smile and perfect posture melting away as he audibly tapped his left index finger twice. Jason's lips thinned, left cheek scrunching as his chin ducked downward, not conceding the point, but agreeing to move on for now. Out of the corner of his eye, Dick saw Bruce slump with relief.

"If you boys are quite finished," Barbara called through the speakers into the sudden quiet, "We were in the middle of something."

"Hrn." Bruce grunted in agreement, resting his knuckles in the desk in front of him.

"Exactly." Barbara took over the Batcomputer monitor, closing the tabs of Parisian heroes and villains while bringing the helmet cam footage back to the forefront, along with a passport photo of the woman that wasn't particularly flattering. "So, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, daughter of well-known bakers and classmates with Ivan Bruel during the beginning of Hawkmoth's reign, first person to be Akumatized. She was often found caught up in the middle of Akuma attacks, either helping other civilians escape or assisting the heroes themselves."  Jason's eyes narrowed slightly.

"How often are we talking?" Bruce tucked his thumb under his palm and moved his middle finger in a circle. Jason's eyebrows rose incredulously.

"That's misleading," Tim piped up, "Eight times a week was the average amount of total akumatizations by the end of his supervillain career, but she was not involved in all of them."

"Hm." Bruce tilted his head forward and raised his heel while clenching his left hand.

"What do you mean 'targeted'?" Jason asked, an aggressive growl in his voice. Dick could read the concern for what it was, though. Oh boy, he really does have a crush, he thought. I wonder how many times he will try to shoot me if I say that makes him just like B.

"He means that Marinette's class was specifically targeted by Hawkmoth." Barbara chimed in this time, pulling up a class photo. "We suspected, and have since partially confirmed through court testimony, that he did so because his son was in the class, whom he suspected to be Chat Noir."

"And he is the one who's mother was in the glass case." He said more than asked, but Bruce nodded anyway. Jason's fist flexed in anger. "That's fucked."

"Quite right, Master Jason." Alfred said, appearing out of nowhere with a tray of after-patrol snacks. "I suppose one should consider it a good thing that he is imprisoned on another continent, otherwise he might be expecting a visit." He gave a pointed admonishing look to Jason who looked guilty for all of a split second before putting on a petulant expression.

"Like an ocean could stop me." He muttered.

Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"I wasn't serious!" Jason quickly backtracked, raising his palms from his sides in a placating manner.

"I should think not." The butler replied, setting the tray in the middle on the table, equidistant from the three brothers, a sure sign that he isn't upset with any of them. Or at least, if he is, they all upset him equally.

"Anyway," Barbara continued, "With Ms. Dupain-Cheng's proximity and subsequent involvement in frequent supervillain attacks that, by nature, were varied and unpredictable all throughout her adolescence, it isn't too surprising how she managed to deal with the cultists so... spectacularly."

"She rearranged the entire warehouse floor without anyone noticing a god damned thing." Jason deadpanned in reply, "She climbed up a pillar carrying a gallon paint can on a string, in full view of the cultists by the way, and only got away with it because the man on watch started crying over, and I quote, 'the cutest fucking duck I've ever seen in my life'."  Silence sat between the vigilantes for a moment.

"...Perhaps she's just really lucky?" Dick suggested with a half shrug.

"Hrn," Bruce grunted disapprovingly, to which Dick rolled his eyes. 'Luck is unreliable and no substitute for skill and planning', yeah yeah. It's not like we've heard that a million times already.

"Tell that to my evidence towards the contrary." Jason said, jutting his chin in the direction of Marinette's picture teasingly, but there was a bit of venom seeping into his tone that put Dick slightly on edge.

"It would certainly be the end of the world if the two of you agreed on anything." Alfred interjected, to which Jason's face twisted at the chastisement. Bruce didn't react beyond a twitch of his right cheek. Dick and Tim looked at each other, flashes of expressions and slight shifts of posture going by in seconds.

'He says that like anyone in this family would agree on anything.'

'Well no, we all agree on punching bad guys in the face, don't we?'

'Case in point.'

"Well, with that over with, I'll go ahead and continue the footage now." Babs chimed in, sounding about 47% done, 40% distracted, and maybe 13% amused.

"Hmn," Bruce agreed.

Attention shifted back to the wide-eyed and bewildered expression of the now named Marinette Dupain-Cheng, still holding her phone out to the side of her head with her mouth hanging slightly open.

"Okay..." she whispered to herself in English before taking a deep breath. "Okay. Vigilante. Raccoon. Trash. Raccoon in my vigilante- Trash in my raccoo- Vigilante in my trash!" She smacked her hands onto either side of her face, apparently forgetting about the phone in her hand before being promptly reminded via a hard whack to her temple.

"Ack!" Tim blinked several times as she rubbed the red spot and put the offending object into her purse with a pout, then turned to Jason and pointed at the screen.

"Can you confirm that this is indeed the person who you were kidnapped with." Jason snorted.

"Suspend your disbelief, Timmers." The woman on screen groaned into both hands dramatically.

"Okay..." she muttered, seeming to refocus herself. "This is fine. Are you unconscious?" She looked up and squinted at Red Hood for a few moments. Predictably, he didn't respond.
"...I'm going to take the lack of answer as a yes, since unconscious people usually don't talk." The woman said after blinking a few times, then tilted her head. 
"Unless you can talk in your sleep, which would be weird..." She pursed her lips together before shaking off the thought, "Not the point, point is there is a sleeping vigilante in my trash." There was a long pause as she looked around the alley with a pinched expression. Her eyes held a calculating glint as they flicked from the roofs above, to the fire escapes and open windows, to the alley entrance and pattern of the remaining trash bags. For a moment, Dick could see exactly the kind of person that could bring about the end result that he saw not even a full hour ago. The kind of focused intelligence that he would see in Tim and Barbara when examining a case, stringing together a web of connections through leaps of logic and reasoning that even he would struggle to follow at times. The kind of comprehensive understanding of her place in the big picture that he could see in Cass as she would dance through battlefields and galas alike, achieving feats of grace that are only possible through near omniscient levels of observation. The kind of blank calculation that he would see in Bruce as he would plot his movements to end a confrontation in the most efficient way possible. For a moment, Dick could see the look of a Bat in her eyes. For that single moment as her gaze alighted upon the security camera, Dick felt a foreboding sense of Deja Vu.

Then that moment was shattered as an expression of absolute horror swept across her face and she whipped around to stare at Red Hood with eyes brimming with panic.

"Oh my Kwami, you aren't dead, are you?!?!" She nearly shouted, grabbing her hair and curling in on herself in distress.

"Pffft!" Tim didn't do a spit-take only by sheer virtue of his coffee not yet having reached his lips.

"Well technically..." Jason muttered with an amused smirk, causing a constipated look to flicker across Bruce's face. (Dick managed to keep his expression still through the flashing images of a bleak coffin, but only barely.)

"No no no, you can't be dead in my trash! Because if you are then someone will find you and know that I was the last person to see you and they will use me as a scapegoat to make everyone think I hid your body in the trash then Batman will find out and I will go to jail and be know as the stupidest murderer in all of history because what kind of idiot would hide a body in their own trash and then someone will go through and sell all my stuff and take the Kw-" She was cut off by a single, loud snore ringing out from under Jason's helmet. Dick watched as red creeped up her cheeks and the stress seemed to deflate out of her along with a relieved sigh. How she had any breath left at all, Dick isn't quite sure. Maybe she plays a woodwind instrument? Or runs in her free time? She is definitely very fit, judging by everything we've learned about her...

"Right... Pulse, I should check for a pulse before catastrophizing..." She muttered before moving to pull Red Hood the rest of the way out of her trash by the legs. Even with her apparent strength, it was a struggle to move his bulk.

"Who's gonna tell her that she wouldn't even reach the top ten most idiotic murderers this year for that? I vote Jason." Dick quipped, sending said brother a sunny grin.

"Seconded." Tim piped up in reply, earning a flat glare for both of them.

"I'll kill you both."

"That would just make you the only person left to assure her she wouldn't be the stupidest murderer around. She could help you hide our bodies, show her how to get away with it." Tim replied instantly, taking a sip of his coffee.

"You could make it your first date!" Dick added cheerfully, as if they weren't talking about his hypothetical murder. Bruce was stubbornly watching the screen and ignoring his kids, beyond letting out a minute sigh.

"I hate everyone here." Jason declared, before he glanced to the side at Alfred's pursed lips and amending his statement. "Except Alfred."

"Awww, we love you too, Jay!" Dick cooed, leaning forward and snagging a cookie off of the tray.

"Might I remind you, Master Dick, that such information may not be taken in the most positive light by a civilian whom you are attempting to court." The butler turned to Jason with his usual professional demeanor. "You would do best to save the more morbid activities until the second date as to not scare her off." The look of betrayal on Jason's face was comical.

"Not you too, Alfie..." He whined with a comical look of betrayal.

Marinette meanwhile had managed to leverage Red Hood out of the piles of trash and next to the dumpster, leaning his back against it with his head hanging limply. She took a deep breath and shook her arms a bit, but otherwise didn't seem winded whatsoever. Definitely very fit. A good thing to be in a city full of supervillain attacks, I suppose. With a sigh, Marinette looked up at the lenses of Hood's helmet before narrowing her eyes and thinning her lips.

"That is the stupidest looking helmet I have ever seen." She muttered, "Like if someone decided to dip-dye eggs with a Halloween theme." Dick was overcome with utter glee as he turned to his offended brother, opening his mouth to say something, but was cut off before he could.

"Dick, I swear to god if you say one more word you will be finding glitter in crevices you can't even imagine for the rest of your life." Jason's glare was 100% serious.

Dick mimed zipping his mouth shut. He knew when to pick his battles.

On screen, Marinette grabbed Hood's gloved hand and gently pushed up the sleeve. Pressing her thumb to his pulse point and counting a few beats with a small frown, she hummed in concern.

"You are really warm..." She muttered quietly, "Fever?" Looking up with pinched eyebrows, she raised one of her hands and pressed the back of it against Red Hood's helmet. She held it there for a second, before a blush bloomed across her face and she pulled her hand back with a cough.

"No one saw that. It's fine." She whispered to herself.

"Might I reiterate," Tim said with mild bemusement, "Adorable."

Jason grumbled something that Dick could have sworn sounded like 'I never disagreed with you'.

"Well, I certainly can't take off your helmet to check if you have a fever or not, so I'm just going to hope for the best." She said glancing around at her surroundings for a moment before side-eyeing Red Hood. "You better not be sick, though," She ordered with a poke at his chest. "I can not deal with getting sick right now. I have so much stuff to do." Heaving a sigh, she rocked back on her heels and stood up. She stared for a few long moments, an expression of something between blank and lost on her face.

"What the heck do I do now?" She muttered into the empty alleyway, doing another scan of her surroundings.

"Roofs are safer and I can try and find your teammates, but there is no way I can get you up the fire escape as myself. No offense, but you're like, massive, and I am decidedly not." She pouted for a second before moving on. "Trying to drag you through all the alleyways to a clinic or my apartment is just asking for trouble, but I'm also not going to just leave you in the trash..." She trailed off, chewing on her lip for a moment as she glanced back towards the door she emerged from.

"The office is empty, but there are cameras. I could... hm..." Many conflicted expressions twitched across her face before she seemed to come to a decision, whirling back around to face fully towards Red Hood with a determined glare.

"You better not be bleeding, I do not want to have to explain that to the landlord." She said, rolling up the sleeves of her cardigan to just below her elbows. "This is the only place I could find that wasn't chocked full of building code violations or had vibes so rancid Plagg wouldn't eat it. So, if this gets me kicked out, I'm kicking you." She emphasized her words with a forceful point and a spark in her eyes, then she suddenly stopped. 

"Right. Unconscious." Marinette took a moment to consider, then shrugged. 
 
"I'll threaten you later, when you’re awake." Dick couldn't accurately describe the menagerie of expressions flitting across Jason's face, but he knew his own once again held that very same shit-eating grin from when he first saw Jason in that warehouse.
 
"So... Did she end up threatening you when you woke up?" He asked with a glib voice. Jason only glared. Surprisingly, though, Bruce responded in his stead

"Mn." He affirmed with a brief clench of his fist and an amused twitch of his cheek.

Dick's grin grew wider.

"Okay." Marinette's voice called from the screen. "This is going to require some manhandling, so I apologize in advance." She declared before letting out a breath and maneuvering Red Hood away from the dumpster. The main view changed from the helmet cam to the security footage and she moved behind him, and grabbed him under his arms. Once again, perfect form. She even adjusted her stance for the shift in center of gravity, too. Not many people do that automatically. Well, not many normal people, anyway. Maybe there is a gym she frequents? With a fortifying breath, the woman practically bear-hugged Red Hood's chest and lifted.

"Oh my Kwami, how much do you weigh?!" she exclaimed in a strained voice, shuffling backwards to the door with waddling steps, Hood's boots dragging along the ground in front of them.

"Don't you use guns?" She panted, leaning her back against the wall next to the door as she tried to readjust her grip. Shifting one arm, she pushed down on the handle with an elbow. 

"There is no reason for you to be built like a pro-wrestler if you’re just going to use guns!" Leaning forward just enough to stick her foot into the crack of the door, she hefted Red Hood in her arms again, back pressed against the wall and nearly completely hidden behind his bulk.

"I mean," Dick said as a second security camera feed appeared on the screen, showing a view of the hallway as she kicked the heavy door open as hard as she could, huffing in exertion. "She has a point, being big does make you a bigger target to hit." Jason scoffed

"Oh, yeah, I guess I should just shrink then. I'll be sure to get right on that." He replied, rolling his eyes and voice dripping with sarcasm. Dick couldn't help his soft smile at the response, completely lacking in aggression. Jason glanced at him.

"Shut up, Dickhead."

"I didn't say anything!"

Marinette shuffled backwards into the building quickly, racing the heavy door as it closed. She didn't make it all the way, though, as Red Hood's ankle got caught as it closed.

"Ssssnickerdoodles..." she muttered.

"Did she just say 'snickerdoodles' in place of 'shit'?" Tim asked incredulously. His question went unanswered (rhetorical as it was) as they watched her yank a couple times in an attempt to free the unconscious vigilante, but was unable to dislodge him. Instead of putting him down and walking around to open the door, like a sane person would, she decided to shuffle forward while adjusting her hold on Red Hood and stance, then kick the door.

"Oh no..." Dick said in dawning understanding, watching as the woman, standing only on one leg and holding over twice her body weight, tipped backwards. There was a resounding thud and a hefty 'oof-' as two bodies simultaneously hit the floor, Red Hood's massive form completely covering the small woman. All the vigilantes in the room winced, Jason most of all, rolling one of his shoulders unconsciously.

"Oh dear." Alfred said. Oh dear indeed... Dick thought. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he instinctively worried if she was still alive under there. He then reminded himself of the fact that this was a recording the outcome of which was already determined. And the fact that Bruce's brooding tendencies wouldn't have allowed her out of his sight if she had been seriously injured, no matter how intimidating having 'I am Fear, I am The Night, I am-' Batman insistently hovering would be for her.

"Hrnn..." Dick glanced at Bruce. Case in point...

"Uuuuugh" The muffled sound of a heartfelt groan came in through the speakers, the Bats all watching silently with rapt attention as Hood's unconscious form began to rise ever-so-slightly, then fell back. A louder, more drawn out and lamenting groan escaped from the prison of Kevlar and muscle, followed by sounds of struggle as the trapped woman tried and failed to extricate herself. Dick snuck a glance over at Jason. His brother's face was slowly being overcome by a fierce blush that he was fighting (and failing) to hold back. Channeling his inner Cass, Dick drew upon as much subtlety as he could muster and looked directly at the nearest camera. Only through his years of familiarity did he notice the slight flare of the lens as it shifted a few degrees in his direction, by his side, in the camera's view, he held his hand in the sign for p, and with a glance at his blushing brother, twitched his index finger. A second later, his phone buzzed in confirmation. Dick grinned. He will try and kill me if he finds out I have that picture... Worth it.

On the screen, a hand burst out from underneath Red Hood, slapping down on the smooth linoleum tile and grasping for purchase. All it succeeded in doing was creating a loud squeaking sound as it dragged across the floor, blending in with the high pitched whine of frustration.

"This" A vehement, muffled voice spat, "Is why I hate-" the grasping hand found the only thing within reach, Red Hood's arm, and threw it as far away as it could get(which wasn't very, seeing as it was attached and all). A second later, a Marinette's head shoved its way out from underneath Hood's armpit. "Thursdays!" she said the word as if it were a swear, and out of the corner of his eye, Dick saw a brief look of realization cross Jason's face. A movement from Tim drew his attention away from trying to figure out what the realization was.

'For his sake, I hope he showered recently.'

Dick held back a snort, but heard a growl from Jason.

'I saw that. Fuck you, Timmers.'

Dick didn't hold back the snort this time.

With short, labored breaths, Marinette braced her arm against Hood's waist, attempting to push him off of her. Due to a combination of the awkward angle and... Let's call it a mass disadvantage, she didn't do much.

"Worst day of the freaking week!" Trying a different approach, she braced her arm against the floor and attempted to lever the vigilante upwards. "'Oh, but Marinette,'" she said in a mocking voice, "What about Mondays? Everyone hates Mondays!" From the opposite side, her leg appeared, with great difficulty, and braced against the ground. "WRONG!" She shouted, pushing herself across the ground with her foot and lifting Red Hood with her free arm. Miraculously, she made progress, relieving her chest of the burden of over 200 pounds of crime-fighting justice. Partly, at least.

"No," she panted, resting for just a second, "Mondays only suck because all of the bad things over the weekend culminate together to smack you in the face." With a great effort, she lifted herself onto her free elbow and pushed. "Mondays are cheating!" She slipped, smashing back into the floor with an 'oof-'.

"You know, she does have a point about that." Tim said, contemplative.

"Mn." Bruce briefly clenched his fist in agreement.

Looking around as she caught her breath, Marinette's eyes alighted upon the shelf piled high in stacks of paper. With an undignified wiggle and much pulling, she pried her other arm out from under Hood and reached towards it.

"No..." Dick muttered, clearly able to see the disastrous outcome of this decision. Dick Grayson can't say he has ever been trapped underneath an unconscious man twice his size whom he didn't know, but he doesn't need to be a genius guess that pulling a shelf down on top of himself would help the situation whatsoever.

"It's Thursdays-" she stretched, pushing with her foot to get closer.

"Oh no..." Tim echoed quietly.

"That are singlehandedly-" her fingers wrapped around the leg of the shelf.

"Hrrn..."

"The worst!" She pulled. Hard.

Dick, Tim, Jason, Alfred, and Bruce were all witness to the exact moment of 'Oh shit' realization on Marinette's face as the shelf tipped, teetering on two legs as if frozen in time. Then, a single paper slipped off the top of a pile, followed by a veritable avalanche of dusty paperwork cascading down on the prone figures. Marinette screeched, turning her head to the side and scrunching her eyes to brace herself. For the first time since this all started, Red Hood moved. Whether from the falling paper, the sound of a scream, or just plain luck, his previously sprawled out arm came down, wrapping around Marinette's head just in time to block the single crate that slid off of the top shelf from landing directly on her face. In the chaos of fluttering paper and crashing plastic, the shelf tipped back and came to rest in its original position with a crash, devoid of contents. 

It took a few moments for everything to settle, the boys all unable to look away from this ongoing train wreck. When it did, it was only still for a second before shifting as Marinette once again unearthed her head, but this time from a mound of paper as well as the arm draped across her face. She didn't make any further escape attempts, however. Instead, she just stared blankly at the ceiling.

"Why..." She asked the silent room, "Why does this always happen to me..?" Even if Dick had a quip in response to that, he would have been cut off by two cultists appearing on the camera outside the building, their distant voices drifting through the door still cracked open by Red Hood's boot.

"No, I swear I heard something." A man said. If it were possible, Marinette's expression became even more done. She didn't even bother trying to move, just resting her head on Hood's arm with a defeated sigh.

"Look- that door is open." From here, Dick could guess about what would happen next, so he got a moment to consider the parallels of this. Cultists walking into an office building's back entrance to find a random woman trapped under a sedated vigilante and a mound of paper looking dead inside, compared to what Batman and his brood were blessed with just a few hours later. As the door opened, finally revealing how Jason and the French woman managed to het kidnapped by cultists, Dick turned to his little brother.

"Well. She sure does know how to make a first impression, huh?"

Jason didn't have a reply, only staring at the screen with darkened cheeks, thinned lips, and wide eyes.

"I honestly don't know if I should be concerned or impressed." Tim said, "On the one hand, having been body slammed by you before, that definitely hurt. On the other, managing to make that situation worse takes pure talent."

"I do hope that Miss Dupain-Cheng gets any injuries she may have sustained taken care of properly," Alfred chimed in. "We certainly do not need any more people who disregard their own health in this family." Jason, after a moment, pulled a face somewhere between offended and put-upon.

"What did I ever do to deserve this treatment?" He lamented dramatically, flopping back against his chair.

"My apologies, Master Jason." Alfred said, completely unapologetic. "I suppose my time would be better spent elsewhere. I find myself in need of reorganizing my serving trays, as I seem to have misplaced one." Jason froze, looking over to Alfred's single raised eyebrow. Then he sunk deeper into his chair. I guess I was wrong about him being peeved with one of us. Dick thought. Should have known he would account for Jason's current mobility with the placement of the cookies. Really obvious in hindsight.

"Hhmnrm" Bruce shifted with a slight smirk.

Dick and Tim chortled with laughter as Jason's face burned crimson.

"Don't bring you and Selena into this, old man!" He shouted in embarrassed affront.

"Way to kick him while he is down, B!" Dick put a hand to his chest as he breathed in deeply.

"Would you like some ice for that burn, Jason?" Tim cackled. Jason had sunk so low in his chair that the chains nearly covered his mouth. Dick knew that for the rest of his life, Jason would swear up and down that he wasn't pouting, but he knew. He even had pictures to prove it, if the buzzing of his phone was any indication.

"I swear, each and every one of you is on my shit list." He said with a brief petulant look in Alfred's direction. Not at Alfred, though. The only person who could successfully glare at the butler was Damian, but he would fight God for a picture of a kitten and eight gummy bears, so.

"Language, Master Jason." Alfred scolded dispassionately.

"English, Mister Pennyworth." Jason muttered.

"Aww, cut him sone slack, Alfie!" Dick cooed, "He is just embarrassed about his cruuuush~!"

"The Demon Brat is now my favorite by default." Jason deadpanned.

"That's okay," Tim said cheerfully, "We're just glad that you two are getting along!"

"I will take him on a trip and commit heinous war crimes."

"Don't forget to take a sweater so you don't catch a cold!" Dick chirped.

"Hhmn." Bruce murmured, looking at Jason with soft eyes. The room gained a suspenseful sort of quiet.

'We will still love and accept you for who you are, no matter what you do, Jaylad.'

Dick held his breath, watching his once-estranged brother's expressions shift and flicker between a range of emotions, giving Dick a view into his true thoughts and feelings. Then that view slammed shut.

"Don't you have more footage to torment me with?" He asked, straightening out in his chair and face forming into a mask of indifference. 

Dick let out a breath, a resigned kind of sadness prickling at the edges of his chest. He should be happy that Jason had been so open for so long, actively engaging with them despite his discomfort. He should be happy that Bruce told Jason what he should have years ago, before their relationship became so strained. He should be happy, but he couldn't help but wish for better things. I guess that is just like me, unable to find contentment with what I have. Always reaching for more and falling short.

Bruce and Tim quietly turned back to the paused screen, scanning it forward to when they reached the warehouse. Dick, though, couldn't. Something stopped him from looking away to give his little brother the space he so often needed. Instead, he looked Jason in the eye. The mask of indifference, the wall between and the rest of the family, it had cracked. Something, somewhere, somehow, had chipped its way through Jason's defenses. When the two brothers looked at each other, he could see through the mask to the lost and confused feelings swirling around in his eyes. He felt his posture soften, a smidge of hope brushing away the sadness.

'He does mean it, you know.'

Normally, he would never continue to push. A year ago, hell, even yesterday, it would lead to rage and violence. A lesson they learned quite harshly when Jason first came back. But again... There was something telling him it was the right thing to do. Jason didn't respond, only looking away and retreating into his mind to think, but that was okay. He knew it was the correct decision.

Something's changing. The delicate balance between Jason and the family was shifting for the better, he could feel it.

And he also had a feeling that he knew who to thank for that. Looking back at the image of the woman, tied up and sitting in the back of a mini-van, looking for all the world like being kidnapped was the biggest inconvenience that could ever interrupt her Thursday evening, he couldn't help but smile. Blackmail may be forever, but family is fleeting, and that makes it all the more precious.

Chapter Text

Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne was what one might colloquially refer to as a 'Hot Mess'. Depending on who you ask (and their subsequent interpersonal proximity to him), the emphasis could be on one word of the phrase or the other, but that was neither here nor there. The notable effect brought about by this so-often-reiterated 'Hot Mess Status' is the widely accepted fact that 'Like Recognizes Like', or as one might more informally say, 'Takes One to Know One'. So, to put it plainly, it was with these pre-existing qualifications that Tim could declare with confidence that Jason Todd was, as of this moment, a certified 'Hot Mess'.

Now, it has never been put to question by any reasonable authority that all of the Wayne Family Vigilantes are at a constant stage of 'Mess', as such declarations are supported by a consistent and irrefutable proof. Despite this, however, they have all had the training, practice, and opportunity required to lead others to the assumption that any misgivings to their collective sanity and moral culpability should be dismissed out of hand. With the reputation garnered through years of effort, in both the superhero community and public opinion, such was a forgone conclusion. That even though the most familiar individuals would bring into question their prior knowledge and evidence based reasoning to think, even if just for a moment, that the Bats could be well put-together, moral Heroes of Gotham... It is a testament to the lengths of their deception that they could incite the words 'moral' and 'Gotham' in the same sentence without them being a purposeful juxtaposition meant to elicit a humorous response from the sheer absurdity.

This all leads to the next fact, that of which being due to their combined efforts in maintaining their reputation, the Bats were consequently the only individuals able to consistently and accurately judge the level of 'Has Their Shit Together' each member is operating under. All of these disparate facts leading to the material point, that of which being Jason currently held the title of 'Most Entertaining Fuck-Up in the Family'.

Tim could only be glad that it wasn't him this time. It was hard enough to hide things from his family on the best of days, it was when they were bored that it became near-impossible. Not fully impossible, mind you, just nearly. Thankfully, though, resident 'Hot Mess' Jason Todd had just presented quality entertainment and a mentally stimulating research project, all wrapped up in one shiny red helmet.

"It took approximately forty minutes to drive from the pick up point to the warehouse and another forty for the sedatives to wear off," Barbara's voice echoed from the speakers, sounding as if she were sitting right in front of the computer itself. "I will upload the transcripts of the car ride and attach the video files to my report when I am done with it, but for now I will just skip to the good part." Forty minutes? That's concerning, Tim thought with a twitch of his fingers. He already had an idea of where to look for the origins of the tranquilizer the cultists used, so he slotted in the information into his mental notes. Research for later.
 
"Thanks, Babs! You're the best!" Dick said cheerfully, a bright smile on his face.

"Yeah. Thanks Barbara. Real helpful." Jason said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You're welcome, Jason." She replied with mock sincerity.

"What about me?" Dick asked.

"What about you?" Barbara shot back, a note of flippant scorn in her voice. Dick made an expression of mock hurt, putting a hand to his chest. This earned a quiet 'Hah' from Jason, and Tim allowed a small smirk of amusement to reach his face as the video started playing.

The vitals screen displayed a slow uptick in Jason's heartbeat, then a sharp spike as the view of the camera jolted slightly, showing that he was awake. All further movements were slow and subtle as he presumably catalogued the nineteen cultists on the ground floor below. Twelve meditating at equidistant points of what would eventually be a star, four drawing the ritual circle accompanying the aforementioned star, two searching through boxes with only mild interest, and one taking a nap in a barely visible dark corner. Most likely Brax, from previous evidence. 

A quiet sigh and muttered complaint alerted Jason to the presence of another person, the 'who' of which being an already accounted for variable to the current audience, but unknown to Jason at the time.

The 'Captured while Unconscious Protocol' clearly stated that in the event of being kidnapped, remain undetected or overlooked if at all possible to analyze all avenues of escape without scrutiny. The 'Captured with Hostages' protocol, however, dictated that the vigilante in that situation should draw attention to themselves as to protect the hostages from any ill intentions that the captors may have. There was an aggravatingly abundant amount of ambiguity and nuance in the Vigilante Protocols when it comes to more complicated situations such as this, but Tim understood that for feeble human minds like theirs, creating a protocol or algorithm for each and every situation they might come across is simply not feasible, and trying would only decrease the efficiency of their decisions. There will always be a certain amount of improvisation required when it comes to their night jobs, and social interactions in general, but that didn't mean that Tim had to like it.

There were many things that he couldn't exactly argue with the efficacy of but didn't have to like, such as Jason's choices for how exactly to enact the directives of the aforementioned protocols.

There was a small voice in the back of Tim's mind whispering at the indignity of thrashing and swearing, that such outbursts were below 'high society children' who were 'meant to be seen and not heard'. It was a voice that sounded an awful lot like his mother's, but Tim knew that there was often little dignity to find in his line of work, and thus dismissed the thought.

"So..." Dick said, giddy. "Not only was her first impression finding you in a pile of trash, but also saying every single swear you know?"

"Maybe she was impressed by his vocabulary?" Tim ventured with a tilt of his head.

"She wasn't." Jason deadpanned.

"Hey, could you cut that out?!" Marinette snapped harshly, a tense note of pain in her voice. On the screen, Jason whipped his head to look at her and immediately froze, searching her for the source of the pain. The 'Captured with Injured Hostages Protocol' had a few extra caveats, after all. The root cause of her discomfort became glaringly obvious once Jason had actually taken a second to look, that of which being the startlingly precarious securing methods that the cultists took to tie her up.

"You aren't the only one here strung up like a pinata, and unlike you, I'm not wearing any armor. I would personally rather not be split in half and spew my intestines all over the place like a macabre birthday celebration, thanks!" Tim watched for a few moments, analyzing as she shifted uncomfortably on the single loop of rope securing her torso where the skin on her arms was already turning purple with bruises. Jason stayed frozen until she finished moving, eyes still tight with pain, but face less scrunched. Once certain enough of the temporary security of her bindings, Jason began swearing again, but with feeling this time. Understandably, seeing as Marinette looked one hiccough away from falling to her death, complicating the situation even further. 

"Well..." Tim said, thinking over the woman's words. "That was creative." The exaggerated hyperbole and the obvious bruising created a fairly strong indication as to how much pain she was in. Along with contextual evidence and personal experience, Tim could only be impressed by her resilience. That armor comment is interesting though, being that it could either imply deductive ability in stressful situations or familiarity with wearing armor.

"Hhm..." Bruce hummed, contemplative and concerned. 'Unusual reaction. Uncertain procedure.'

"How do you think I felt? Last I remembered I had gotten away, and then this." Jason said, leaning back in his chair. Tim guessed that saying as such was an attempt to forestall any judgement on his proceeding actions.

"Trash panda." Tim coughed under his breath. Like I would let pathos get in the way of this opportunity.

Jason turned to him with a flat glare.

Tim just plastered an innocent look on his face and took a sip of coffee.

"What I am more concerned about," Dick interjected, watching the video with pinched eyebrows, "Is how she is keeping balance on a single unstable rope with both her arms and legs tied together."

"Yeah. That level of kinesthetic ability is hard to find in civilians." he agreed with a pursed frown. The real question is whether it is talent or training. One would be much more concerning than the other, depending on the situation surrounding it, but both are impressive regardless.

"I thought you said it wasn't surprising for a Parisian?" Jason asked rhetorically, rolling his eyes. 

"That's true, to an extent." Tim said, mulling it over. "But being accustomed to unusual events and knowing how to deal with them is different from having the ability to do so. Plenty of people think about getting away with murder, but very few ever actually do it." Of course, the fact that the vast majority of people only ever consider murder as a way to achieve a feeling of catharsis rather than a solution to their problems helps, but the analogy works well enough.

"We know that she was involved in a lot of Akuma attacks, but we what we don't know is how involved she was." Dick said, twitching his fingers by his side.

"Keep watching and it might answer your question." Jason said, cutting them off right as an odd sound from the video ceased his swearing tirade. It was a laugh that sent a shiver down Tim's spine and echoes through his mind. If the increased heart rate on the vitals monitor was any indication, Jason recognized it too. The source, he quickly identified, was from the two cultists searching through boxes. They had found and seemingly set off one of the many Joker dolls that he had seen piled on the warehouse floor upon arrival. Ah, so that must be where she had gotten that idea. Tim narrowed his eyes in thought. Did she intend to use them to cause a panic response? From the way over half the cultists jolted at the sound, despite not even twitching at Jason deliberately making as many jarring noises as possible, she could have certainly deduced that it would be effective. He hummed quietly, head tilting. Dick glanced in his direction, but Tim ignored him for now.

If the dolls were meant to cause panic, that would mean that the rubber chickens and glitter somehow also played into that, or at the very least something to a similar affect. Glitter being used for that purpose seems rather outlandish, but crazier things have happened. Perhaps it was an addendum? The scare tactic would be effective for a single opponent facing a group, but with the current situation, that would mean the majority of the cultists getting away. Causing her opponents to vacate the area and then either calling for help or escaping herself would be the most logical course of action. That is, given that she couldn't get away without taking them out of the equation first, which is doubtful. And yet, somehow, she managed to incapacitate all of the cultists, call the police, and then escape from Batman without a hitch. How? And more importantly, why?

On screen, Jason had taken several deep breaths in an attempt to lower his heart rate with little effect, and chose the next best path of grounding himself from what was presumably an oncoming panic attack by focusing on the woman hanging next to him. He cleared his throat, causing her to jolt to look at him, a focused and on-edge gleam in her eye.

"You done, now?" She said defensively, looking away immediately to focus back on the source of the disturbing laugh. It seems that the Joker doll affected her too, despite not being a native Gothamite. Could she be associating her residual fear of Akumas with Gotham's Rouges? Or perhaps she just has a modicum common sense, despite evidence to the contrary.

"Yeah. Sorry about that..." He said, a waver still in his voice as he fought off panic. They all knew how disastrous not being in full control of their mental faculties could be on the field, especially when captured and immobile. Focusing on available actions was the best thing for the situation. Trapped with Civilian Protocol, gauge mental state and choose course of action most applicable. 

A quick glance at current-Jason showed the tail end of a short exchange between him and Dick. Jason's nose and cheek were scrunched, chin jutted forward with his left shoulder raised as his fingers drummed once on the arm of his chair.

Distain and acknowledgment, deflection, move on, contrary point.

'Fuck off, Dickface. I'm fine.'

Dick smiled back at him, leaning back onto his heels with his left shoulder lowered, tapping his left index finger twice.

Understanding, sympathy/comfort/assistance, concede.

'If you say so, little wing.'

"No, it's fine. Not everyone can be cool under pressure." Marinette said smoothly, eyes flicking around the ground floor as if looking for threats or exits. If stable, provide instruction and proceed with escape.

"Excuse me?" Jason asked after a moment as she craned her neck to search at the catwalks above them, caught off guard.

"I mean, it's not every day that you get kidnapped and hung from the ceiling, so your reaction is understandable." She turned back to look at the unmoving lenses of his helmet, seemingly satisfied with the results of whatever it was she was searching for. "Though I would have expected you to be a bit more used to this kind of thing." She said, scorn in her voice and a pout on her face as she examined him with a calculating look in her eyes. If aggressive, proceed with de-escalation techniques.

"Wh- it-, no I am not used to waking up chained to the ceiling." Jason growled. Well that's not in accordance with protocol. Tim thought. To be fair, from his perspective and current state of mind it could be interpreted as a condemnation for a PTSD trigger. If that were the case, that would be a rather contained reaction.

"Really? Huh." She said absently, suppressing a shiver and looking up at the windows. "I got the impression that Gothamites were unfazed by stuff like this." If the way that Jason scoffed and looked down at the situation below them wasn't indicative enough of the affronted confusion going through his head, the steadying of his voice and vitals certainly was. Tim wished that he could see what expression had been on Jason's face at that very moment, just so that he could laugh at him. It seems unlikely that she even noticed his discomfort, so using confusion as a grounding technique can be easily ruled out of her thought process. All evidence points to these reactions, for all that it is an unusual situation, are a product of her usual self. How odd...

"Being kidnapped, sure. Happens all the time. Sometimes, it's even on purpose. Being tied to the ceiling, not so much." He replied with a clear eye roll, tilting his head to the side just enough to catch her in the camera's peripheral.

"Seems a bit late to save your dignity from this one, Jason." Tim commented with a smirk.

"Shut up, Replacement." He said flatly.

"What, is this normal where you come from?" The Jason from the video said with a rhetorical huff, clearly not expecting an answer. Marinette, however, seemed to live to defy expectations and responded with a nonchalant hum.

"Eh, it's not my first time." The footage shifted to fully show the woman again as she examined a particular spot on below them with an interested gaze. "At least it's just cultists and there is no swimming pool full of boiling soup." She said with a pained grimace, shifting uncomfortably in her precarious bindings. "Though whoever tied this rope did a much worse job than Kung Food." The Bats watched as Marinette rocked from side to side, shifting the rope away from the line of bruising on her torso and consequently, her center of gravity. The flexing muscles across her bare shoulders and the slight swing of her legs indicated an amount of extra effort required to keep balance that was in no way sustainable long term, but from contextual evidence, Tim suspected she wouldn't remain in that position for long. I could think of any number of ways one of us would escape from her situation, but how does she manage it when she couldn't even get out from underneath Jason?

Tim let out a soft snicker at the memory of her rage-fueled flailing. Interestingly enough, it was remarkably similar to how Jason had acted when Dick and Bruce were attempting to lower him from the rafters...

"... Again, seriously, soup???" Dick said. Looking over at the expression of morbid confusion on his face, Tim let out a slightly louder laugh at his expense.

"Soup." Jason replied flatly, clearly fighting to keep an anticipatory grin off of his face. Anticipatory of what?

"... _please_ tell me you are joking." The helmet's audio called out, tone completely at odds with his current demeanor. Marinette grimaced, eyes unfocusing as she stared off into space, clearly lost in whatever memories the situation had brought up. 

"I wish I was." She said, haunted and resigned.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Jason's voice held a somewhat high pitched and breathy quality, indicating his disbelief and distress. At hearing the tone, Tim couldn't help himself.

"Watch your profanity." He muttered under his breath. Jason dramatically rolled his head in Tim's direction, nose and eyebrows scrunched in an expression of confused disgust.

'Did you just quote a fucking vine at me?'

"It's fine." Marinette said mouth twisted into a grimace and eyes staring ahead vacantly.

"It is very much fucking not." Jason said pointedly, clearly latching onto her trauma related disassociation. Trapped with Civilian Protocol, if suffering effects of shock or other related trauma responses, attempt to mitigate symptoms and/or get to a safe temporary position, depending on the severity of the situation.

"I would shrug if I could, but as you can see, I am physically disinclined to do so." She said with a tight smile and roll of her head at the situation, eyes still unfocused and distant.

"Could you be any more nonchalant about this? That is supposed to be my job." Jason said flatly, searching for something to distract her with. He didn't find anything, but she did let out a huff of a laugh at his response, face twitching with pain and shoulders tensing further for a brief moment.

"Would you rather I be freaking out, screaming and crying about how we are going to die tragically?" She asked, a look of disgust creeping into her features.

"Absolutely not." Jason responded instantly, after which something in her expression smoothed and she turned to him with bright triumphant eyes and an electrifying smile. That was a strangely sudden shift.

"Then I don't see what you have to be complaining about here." Jason didn't reply immediately, taking time to watch as she rolled her shoulders and blew a few strands of hair out of her face that she seemed to have just noticed. Coming back to reality rather than whatever plagued her mind, she continued scanning the ground floor with a blanket of focus. The move was familiar to all of the Bats, having all been around other heroes and unfortunately involved civilians often enough to recognize the action for what it was; an internal deflection as to not acknowledge that they were affected by whatever trigger caused the initial reaction.

It was frustratingly common for civilians in stressful situations such as this to become incapacitated by emotion, something that despite the hindrance it can create to their jobs, he understood. Not everyone can, or should even be expected to for that matter, be in perfect control of themselves at all times as a form of self-protection. From what he had seen of Marinette, though, he couldn't help but be... Hesitant to apply that analysis. With foreknowledge of the fact that she somehow escaped under her own power from her current predicament and the added context of her growing up under Hawkmoth's reign, Tim didn't fully believe that she was as lost in her mind as it seemed. It could be that she was zoning out while thinking of escape routes, but he knew very well what that looked like and could say with confidence that explanation was not applicable in this instance. While it could have been something similar to escapist daydreaming or what-have-you as an internal distraction, she didn't seem like the type to preoccupy herself with fantasy when there were actions to be taken. Of course, he of all people knew not to underestimate the effects of post-traumatic stress, and that no matter what the supposed mental strength or resilience of any single person was, trauma can and will find a way to hit at the worst moments. But in this particular instance, his gut was telling him that explanation didn't fit.

No matter what it could be, though, all protocols and procedures for dealing with situations involving civilians in the path of harm were the same when it came down to it. Their intention was to streamline getting them safe and out of the way as fast and efficiently as possible so that the vigilantes present could deal with whatever threat there was without needing to be worried about collateral.

Marinette, however, seemed to defy all civilian procedures.

"You are something else, you know that?" Jason finally said in a soft tone that made Dick gasp happily as his eyes widened with glee. Marinette turned to look into the eyes of his helmet with a blink and tilt of her head that made her look rather reminiscent of Titus as a puppy.

(Tim knew never to say that comparison out loud, though. He learned that particular lesson some years ago, and was in no rush to repeat it.)

"I don't think I have ever seen such a pretty smile, especially not in a situation like this." There was a smirk in Jason's voice as he spoke and an astonished blush quickly rising to Marinette's cheeks. Dick's gasp quickly turned into a squeal, then into a whistle that only the bats deeper in the cave could hear. Tim would be surprised by that vocal range belonging to what some poor woefully misinformed soul might refer to as a 'Grown Ass Man', if it weren't for the fact that he had known Dick Grayson for over half his life at this point. It was one of the least befuddling traits about him, best left alone in favor of some of the actually concerning qualities. Such as his fashion sense.

"Simp." Tim coughed into his fist, refocusing on the current object of interest; Jason. Really, flirting? Where they could find out about it? It is almost like he was asking for the 'Annoying Sibling' treatment.

"Awwww, little wing!" Dick squealed, coming down below twenty kilohertz and into the human hearing range. "You said she has a pretty smile!" If his arm weren't broken, Dick would likely be dancing around the cave flapping his arms like an over-excited penguin. If Jason had been more secure, such as paralyzed rather than just wrapped in thick chains, Dick might have even shaken him by the shoulders in his excitement. As it was, he settled for bouncing in place rather obnoxiously and with barely any consideration given to his broken arm.

"Hrmh." Bruce hummed with a warm tone of amusement, minute tilt of his head and outward twist of his flat palm.

'Did you get that line from a book?'

A noise liked a choked off cough startled the three of them into stopping and looking at Jason.

Tim knew what to expect. He knew that Jason's response to discomfort, or embarrassment, or any unwanted emotion really was always aggression. He knew that it was his defense mechanism for when he felt unsafe or unsteady. They all had one, each varying degrees of unhealthy. He also knew to expect Jason to always feel some level of unsafe or discomforted around them, leading to an expectation of constant on-guard behavior. That's just the way it had always been since Tim joined the family, so he didn't take it personally. (He didn't.) 

The absolute last thing Tim expected to see when looking over at Jason, wrapped in chains and stripped of all weapons and dignity, was to see him desperately holding back laughter.

His face was slightly red, lips pressed together with the force of holding back a smile, taking in slow deep breaths.

"Little Wing?" Dick asked, uncertain.

"Nothing-" Jason coughed out the word, before clearing his throat and trying again. "Nothing, don't mind me." Any further questioning was put on hold as Marinette finally seemed to have recovered enough from his flirting to respond.

"Why thank you. You aren't too shabby yourself." She said, sounding as if she read it directly off of a script, blinking as if she didn't fully register her own words.

"... Thanks?" On the video, he sounded confused. In person, however, he started rapidly breathing in and out through his nose, biting the inside of his cheek. Tim's brows pinched in confusion as his fingers twitched briefly towards his laptop.

"I mean- you have quite the impressive mouth on you." Tim blinked, surprised at the woman seemingly flirting back to the Red Fucking Hood. The well known crime lord.

Well, there's no accounting for poor taste.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dick's face once again light up with glee as he opened his mouth to gibber out some likely incoherent squealing, but he was cut off by Marinette's sudden shifting expression and panicked shout.

"WAIT- NO! I didn't mean that! I meant- well- I didn't _not_ meant that, I'm sure your mouth is just fine- but not like _fine_ fine, or it could be, I'm not saying it isn't, it's just with the whole bucket-head thing I can't tell either way so like- _I'm not commenting on how nice your mouth is_-I just- What I am _trying_ to say is that your _ability to use_ your mouth is what is impressive." It was almost uncanny how similar the choking noise that came from Jason in the video was to the one that came from the still-gaping Dick. Tim felt his own expression twitching rapidly through different emotions, not bothering to mask them as he watched Marinette become more and more frantic because, what the fuck?

"NO! WAIT! NO! That's not what I meant! It was- talking- using mouth, but not like-" She devolved into incoherent stuttering before suddenly shouting out in a shrill voice that echoed off the warehouse and cave walls. "SWEAR WORDS!"

In the video, Jason sounded like he was dying for a second time, wheezing laughter coming out between rattling coughs and gasping breaths.

In the cave, Jason took one look at Tim and Dick's faces before his barely-maintained composure promptly shattered and he burst into manic, unrestrained, full-fucking-body cackles.

Tim sat in stunned silence for all of two seconds before he too let out confused, flummoxed, straight up baffled laughter.

Dick was frozen in place, a glazed over look in his eyes as he stared at Jason with an expression that only served to make them laugh harder.

At the computer, Bruce had leaned an elbow on the table and covered his mouth with his hand as he watched the boys with a posture so soft Tim could almost believe he had fallen asleep if it weren't for the fact that, even while unconscious, Batman never let his guard down.

Bruce. Still in the Batman suit. Soft.

Smiling.

Who the fuck IS this woman?!

The warehouse aftermath, her dead-eyed stare as she contemplated life while trapped underneath a dangerous crime lord twice her size, her nonchalant attitude at hanging one wrong move away from death, the supervillain that targeted her as a teen, her hatred of Thursdays, and now the all-in panicked word vomit of a socially awkward spaz hidden behind a confident smile and playful exterior.

All of it painted the most bizarre, confusing, and odd picture that he could possibly imagine, but that wasn't even the most focal part.

No, that was the fact that she was the only person with the ability to make every single Bat in the room laugh together. Not even at each other's own expense or holding back out of a spiteful desire to not let the others know how amused they actually were. Just laughing.

"What the ever-loving fuck?!" Tim said in between breathy giggles.

"Don't laugh at me!" Her high pitched whine came from the speakers, nearly drowned out by Dick's brain seeming to finally catch up with reality as a laugh that sounded like joy incarnate left him.

"Fuckin', _swear words!_" both the video and Jason said simultaneously in between wheezes, causing Dick to fall forward onto the table and point a finger in between the screen and his brother, only gibberish and giggles and tears escaping him.

Tim would make fun of him for it, but he didn't have a leg to stand on in this instance, vision blurring as he slouched against the table in a graceless manner. I guess we all have something in common after all, a complete and utter lack of dignity.

"Hmhm," Bruce hummed, Tim only catching his subtle motions out of the corner of his eye.

'Looks like she was impressed by your vocabulary after all.'

Jason just laughed harder.

"I will fight you." Marinette said eventually, after giving Jason enough time to get himself under a modicum control, and consequently, the rest of the Bats as well. Except for Dick, but he has never been known for his self-restraint to begin with.

"You're adorable." Jason said, taking in a few final deep breaths as he looked back towards her. The vibrant shade of scarlet her face had turned was nearly impressive, accentuated by heartfelt glare and downright cute pout. Not that Tim would ever say it to her face. Unlike Jason, he did not have a death wish.

"I will fight you, and I will win."  She said with a glint in her eye that, despite everything, Tim couldn't help but feel the hairs on the back of his neck raise in response to. It looked eerily similar to the look Damian would get when trying to find the most painful non-lethal point in which to stab someone.

"I appreciate the threat," Jason said, clearly not sensing the danger he just put himself in, "but no offense, you look about as dangerous as a feather duster." Oh. Oh no.

So that's how she escaped.

"I take full offense and I will make you _eat_ those words." She said, voice filled with promise and the kind of narrowed, sharp-eyed smile that come from the mask of a socialite watching a rival walk into a proverbial land mine. The kind of expression that Tim was very familiar with.

"Uh huh. And how exactly are you going to do that?" Hood said obliviously. Tim felt himself leaning forward with rapt attention, waiting for it to blow up in his face.

And it did, in the form of a toothy grin and sparkling eyes as she slumped, slipping through the rope holding her like a puppet with their strings cut.

"Ho-ly shit!" Dick exclaimed, flinching forward with a wince of sympathy as she caught her entire body weight on the backs of her knees with the rough rope. She swung bonelessly for a few moments as Jason strangled out a few unintelligible words before flipping up and climbing up to the catwalk with much more ease than Tim had been expecting. Wait- where the hell did her other bindings go? When did she get those off- the ones around her ankles especially!

"_What the hell were you thinking-_ Are you okay?!" Tim would normally take the time to make fun of him for that, but he was a bit preoccupied wondering the same damn thing himself. It would have to have been when the camera had been pointing away from her, otherwise we would have noticed. Judging by the surprise and confusion on Dick and Bruce respectively, they were just as unaware. Did she hide her escape from the restraints on purpose? Did she not want Jason to see her escaping? If so, why?

"Of course I am! What, worried for my little feather duster arms?" She said with exaggerated cheer as the camera twisted to look up at her. When Jason finally wriggled enough to be able to see her, she was casually untying her once-neat bun, as if her biggest problems could be attributed to such mild inconveniences. How she could still lift her arms without them shaking after hanging from a rope for nearly an hour, he had no idea.

"Oh, ha ha."  Jason replied with a sigh of relief, "Point made. Okay, so it looks like there is an exit near the stairs which you can go through those offices to get to." Trapped with Civilian Protocol, if stable, provide instruction and proceed with escape. Finally doing what he is supposed to, it seems. "It is really dark, so if you are careful and stick to the shadows, you should be able to get out and find a way to call Commissioner Gordon and tell him to-"

"Nope." Aaaaand there it is.

"-What?" Jason's tone went from relieved and confident to tense in an instant, freezing in place as Marinette paused to fix her hair in a carefree manner.

At odds with his reaction in the video, the current Jason only stared at the screen with what Tim would almost, in the very recesses of his mind where he wouldn't be in danger of being shot over it, call a dopey, practically smitten smile.

Oh god. Leave it to Jason to fall for the first girl to tell him 'No' with any amount of authority.

...

I am going to have to run so many background checks on her, aren't I?

Dick, meanwhile, had also seen the expression on his 'little' brother's face, frantically looking between him and Tim for any form of confirmation that he wasn't imagining things. He was far to excited to make any kind of attempt at proper communication, only just managing to restrain himself from dancing about and squealing in delight, which would surely bring attention to Jason's aforementioned dopey smile. Doing as such was sure to decrease his life expectancy by a great deal. Not that Tim cared, beyond the extra work it would create for him in the long run.

'Calm down before he really does decide murder is first date material.'

"I said no, I am not going to do that." Marinette said, shaking her pony tail to test it's stability, before analyzing her surroundings with a sharp gaze. Looking for exits from the catwalks, presumably. Those are not quite visible from her previous vantage point.

"First of all, you weren't awake when they brought us in here, but those doors sound like hell itself trying to escape into the mortal realm via rusty hinges, meaning there is no way that I can get out without being noticed." Tim couldn't help the snort at her retort. Those 'doors' might as well have been vaguely mobile walls for all the good their hinges did.

"Mrh." Bruce hummed with a tilt of his head and quiet exhale of amusement.

'Accurate assessment, but she's deflecting.'

"There are other doors and windows, you could find a way out." Jason said shortly, stating the obvious. If she was able to get out of her bindings so easily, and with the added context of the aftermath of her spite fueled rampage, she absolutely could have gotten away if she so wished. The only question is, why did she wait so long to begin with, when it was clearly hurting her to stay captured? They arrived at the warehouse just after eleven, but she waited until midnight to escape. What was her motive?

"Second of all," she continued, head on a swivel and looking at everything and everyone that wasn't Jason, "there are two cultists who are meant to be watching us, and no matter how negligent they are, they still managed to catch _you_. From what I have overheard, they have done this enough to have a solid routine, so they can't be all stupid. If I were to leave, we would only have a limited amount of time before they noticed." That was actually rather well reasoned for what was clearly meant as just a formality. Her observational skills continue to show themselves to be above average, and her deductive reasoning is enough to form argumentative points in her favor on the fly. It is obvious she has already decided on a course of action, though, and thus has no reason to entertain the conversation beyond her own enjoyment. She is toying with him.

Tim was torn on whether or not to condone her behavior. On one hand, that was supposedly his brother that she was playing with, for whom he should feel at least a marginal sense of protective instinct.

On the other, seeing him get outsmarted and outplayed by someone he dubbed 'as dangerous as a feather duster' was objectively funny.

"You would still have time to get away and call for help. The streets are a maze, they wouldn't be able to find you once you got away." A growl had started creeping into Jason's voice, uncertainty and a lack of control leading to aggression, as predicted. In the present, though... Tim couldn't remember a time when he had seen Jason so calm. It was almost unsettling.

"Yes, however, the chances of them just continuing with their ritual and ignoring the missing sacrifice are not great. They could panic and scatter, rush through and sacrifice you with a half done ritual, or any other not great outcome. So again, a time limit. Which brings me to point number three," She said, holing up three fingers. "We are currently in the warehouse district, which is a forever-and-a-mile walk away from anywhere I could find someone willing to lend me a phone. Even if I were to walk right out of here and they don't notice, they would have plenty of time to finish up their evil scheme and get the heck out of dodge before help arrives."

"Drive, then." Marinette's eye twitched with annoyance at his terse retort. Frustration, she is getting bored with the conversation. Or maybe she has just finished analyzing her surroundings to her satisfaction, and thus is ready to move on?

"Do I _look_ like I know how to hotwire a car? Or how to pick pocket someone's keys?" She asked rhetorically with a slight eyeroll. Jason seemed to finally take the cue, no matter what arguments he made, he was not changing her mind.

"Then," he said with a dangerous edge and slow tone. "What exactly are you going to do?"

"I already told you." Marinette replied, gripping the railing with one hand and leaning forward to stare directly into the helmet lenses with a sweet smile and intense gaze, "I am going to make you eat your words." Then she stood, turned, and walked away with confident steps, leaving only silence behind. 

Once she was out of sight, Bruce paused the video.

"So," Dick said with a curious tilt to his head. "If feather duster beats cultists, and cultists beat helmet, doesn't that mean that helmet beats feather duster?" The corner of Tim's mouth twitched upwards.

"Obviously, didn't you see how the feather duster got trapped under the helmet?" He asked rhetorically, to which Dick 'ooh'-ed in realization.

"Yeah, good point." He replied with a knowing nod.

"Are you two seriously turning this into a game of rock paper scissors?" Jason asked with too much exasperation to be truly offended.

"No." They both said simultaneously with matching innocent expressions.

"We are turning it into a game of 'Cultist, Helmet, Feather Duster'." Tim continued.

"Completely different." Dick agreed emphatically.

"I hate both of you." Jason said, deadpan and annoyed, but lacking any venom. It was such a bizarre difference from earlier in the night that Tim couldn't help but feel both relieved and on-edge. It was a nice change, but when it came to the extended Wayne family, they all disliked sudden change and could never keep nice things. He could only wonder at how long this would last.

'Well, only one way to find out.'

"Anyway, for the flirting? I'll give you a solid three out of ten." Tim said, to which Jason rolled his eyes hard enough to hurt.

"Wow, such high praise coming from the one who can't keep a relationship to save his life." He said mockingly.

"Have you considered that deflection doesn't invalidate my statement?" Tim retorted.

"Have you considered getting good?" Jason shot back.

"What I am currently considering," Dick interjected while raising his left shoulder, "Is if Marinette got medical attention after leaving the warehouse. That fall could have easily subluxated her knees or bruised the ligaments at the wrong angle, and it definitely caused some serious rope burn on her arms." Jason's expression seemed to sober a bit as Bruce glanced over at him imploringly.

"From the way she was moving it didn't seem like she was hurt, but by the end of it she was practically covered in bruises." He said, leaning back into his chair and taking a deep breath.

"Hrn..."

'Bruises like that always hurt, she was ignoring the pain.'

"It could either be pain tolerance or adrenaline, it's hard to tell." Dick said, face twisting in consideration as he squinted at the screen.

"Hm."

'Cass would be able to tell us more.'

"She would, yeah. I can ask her to take a look tomorrow." Tim replied. Out of all the Bats, Cass would always be the best at reading people, even if the circumstances around the development of her ability were horrific. Despite being raised by a killer to be the worlds deadliest assassin, her sense of compassion and justice was infallible.

Really, it was just more accurate to say that Cass was the best of them period.

"Or, just throwing this out there, you could not do that." Jason interjected with a forceful and loud kind of annoyance.

"What, are you not worried about Marinette's health? For shame..." Tim said, shaking his head with a mock disappointed sigh.

"I think she made it rather obvious that she is perfectly capable of taking care of herself." Jason retorted with a growl seeping into his tone.

"Ooooh~ Is that admiration I hear?" Dick cooed, leaning forward and batting his eyelashes in a mock flirtatious manner

"No, it's common fucking sense, Dickface." He snapped back.

"While that's true, from what we have seen, the important aspect of such an assessment would be the context it provides," Tim interjected, before Dick could set Jason off completely. "If she coasted through the whole night on adrenaline that means we can expect her behaviors, thought processes, and threat level to reflect it. If she endured through her own pain tolerance, that implies she is both accustomed to pain and able to function regardless, leading to several different available assumptions." 

Tim couldn't tell if it was the mention of a threat assessment or the idea that Marinette could be accustomed enough with pain to ignore it entirely that made the expected on-guard anger seep back into the set of Jason shoulders and lines of his scowl.

"Hrnr." Bruce grunted.

'Let's not make assumptions without reasonable evidence.'

"Different avenues of investigation then," Tim corrected with a nod of acknowledgement.

"Hey, here's an idea," Jason said with a sharp hint of anger behind his drawling tone that set Tim on edge. "Maybe, for-fucking-once, you could not investigate every single detail about a person solely for the sake of your own curiosity."

"Sorry Jason, no can do." Barbara chimed in over the speakers, causing Tim to blink in surprise at her sudden interjection. "Investigating is kind of in the job description." Jason's expression darkened, and Tim felt his chest tense in response. That was really not the right thing to say, Barbara...

"The goal," Dick said in the kind of forcefully calm manner that he took when wanting someone to actually listen to a mediating voice of reason, otherwise known as the 'Big Brother Tone', "Is to figure out her involvement with active threats so we can help her."

"More like so you can invade her personal life and privacy to feel a sense of control." Well... he isn't exactly wrong, Tim thought.

"Hn-"

"Don't you even fucking start, Bruce!" Jason shouted. Tim felt himself tensing as he wished that Alfred had not left earlier. It was nearing four in the morning, and for all that he was a part of the family, Alfred still held fast to his duties as a butler and had to cook breakfast for those who would be awake in just a few hours. It would be selfish of Tim to take him away from that for his own gain. That is what he told himself of, at least, flashes of violent glowing green eyes flickering through his mind.

"He's not-" Dick started, stepping forward with hand out in a placating gesture.

"Shut up! I don't want to hear your goodie-goodie kumbaya bullshit either, Dick, so you can fuck right off!" He yelled, leaning forward with a snarl as the chains came loose and slid off of him with clicking rattle.

"Every time- All of you, every fucking time. You push and push for every scrap of information without a fucking thought beyond your own god damned fear of the unknown!" Jason stood, waving his arms in fury, previous restraints forgotten. "You treat every person you see as a threat to be either managed or taken out and then get so confused why all of your supposed friends fucking hate you like you're not the common fucking denominator in every failure you've ever experienced!"

Dick stepped forward with a nearly heartbroken expression on his face, but was stopped by Jason's bared teeth.

"Just once, just fucking once, how about you leave well enough alone, mind your own fucking business and stay the hell out of my life!" He shouted, voice echoing off the cave walls as he stepped forward with an aggressive stance and tense shoulders, before turning on his heel in one sudden and swift movement.

"Jason-" Bruce called, standing from his chair and holding out a hand as Jason marched off towards where his backup bike was stored.

"Fuck off, old man!" he shouted, flipping them off as the bike roared to life, leaving rubber streaks in the cave floor and cacophonous echoes in his wake.

After he was gone and the cave was silent in the absence of a revving engine, Bruce slumped back into his chair with a hand over his eyes, seeming to age several years in one motion. Dick, from where he was still standing by Jason's vacated chair, sighed as his posture seemed to fall. Tim quietly stood, walking over to stand next to him, staring after where the motorcycle headlights left behind darkness.

It had been the expected outcome from the beginning, for Jason to blow up and leave once things got to be too much for him to tolerate. It wasn't even as bad as it could have been, all things considered. But with how different things had been throughout the entire night, Tim had started to think that maybe, just maybe, it might not have ended with harsh words and aggression. He had started to hope.

He should have known better.

"Sorry..." Tim said, quietly. He shouldn't have mentioned threat assessments about someone that Jason had clearly become protective of, even in such a short time. He knew that such actions would lead to a predictable outcome, despite the nights peculiarities when it came to Jason's mood swings. This is why we can't have nice things, someone always ruins them. And by someone, that usually means me.

It was almost relieving, though. At least the anger and yelling and arguments were familiar territory. Something he knew how to deal with.

"It's not your fault, Tim" Dick said tiredly. He could still hear the sadness and disappointment in his tone, though. Tim wasn't called a genius for nothing, he knew what that meant. No matter what family he was in, he was always a disappointment. They would be better off without him leeching off of their familial dynamics, disrupting their relationships like the cuckoo bird pretending to be a Robin that he was.

But he stayed. He stayed and pretended because he was nothing if not selfish.

Even so, he tried to give back what little he could. He tried.

"He will come back," Tim said, patting Dick's shoulder in a facsimile of comfort. "He always does, eventually." He just continued to stare out into the cave, chewing on the inside of his cheek with an expression which Tim couldn't decipher the thoughts behind. Dick was always the easiest to read, exaggerated movements and twitches with his emotions exuding from every pore to the point that Tim didn't even really need to try most of the time. It was a refreshing break from the constant analysis and focus that was necessary to understand beyond just the face value of another person's words and into their nuanced meanings.

It was at times like this, when he closed off and retreated back beneath his own skin that Tim was reminded that it was on purpose. That he did so much, and constantly expressed himself beyond what was natural for his benefit.

In truth, the reminder only made him feel all the more guilty.

Suddenly, Dick blinked. Clouded expression clearing leaving behind only relaxed shoulders and a small, happy smile that was so infectious that it pushed away Tim's own solemn thoughts.

"Yeah, he will." He said with a quiet but confident tone. "And if he doesn't, I have a feeling we will know where to find him." The grin and pat of the shoulder he gave Tim in return as he walked towards the staircase with a bounce in his step spoke of interesting days ahead, despite Jason's emphatic declaration to leave well enough alone.

Of course, Tim should have expected that. Dick was never one to give up on family easily or stay down for long, and the idea of Jason potentially liking a girl would only encourage him to be as much of a nuisance as physically possible, likely bringing in as many of their siblings into the shenaniganry as possible.

Well... Better him than me.

Tim would wish Jason luck, but honestly? He didn't want to.

The Bats of Gotham didn't really do luck, anyway.

Chapter Text

Day one: Friday, 6:58PM, Marinette's Apartment.

The Friday after being kidnapped by cultists, Marinette wakes up screaming. Not because of being kidnapped, or any of her normal nightmares that are a reality of being a teenage superhero with the power to reverse damage and revive the dead. No, she wakes up screaming because Ripples of the Universe feel more like aftershocks of an explosion. Because when Creation and Destruction come together to create a Wish, it leaves Reality as if it were a torn blanket mended with broken hands.

She wakes up screaming because of Visions of Sickly Green melting into the backs of her eyes and the taste of Blood seeping up from her throat to coat her teeth.

Tikki was already waiting for her, hovering worriedly to the side as Marinette caught her breath, clutching her bruised chest and wiping her sweat soaked hair out of her face with shaking fingers. Her heart pounded through the empty feeling of sleep that still clung to her body, the dichotomy of it nearly nauseating.

"What the heck was that , Tikki?!" she asked, breathless and pained.

"That... That was a vision caused by the remnants of the last time someone made a Wish." The little deity said, wringing her paws together and looking over her holder nervously. Marinette didn't respond, taking the time to breathe and process the Flashes of breaking bones, slit flesh, and crying children. She could almost feel their pain through the dozens of tiny needles trying to break out of her skin, her hair standing on end at the overwhelming feeling of wrongness . 

What in the world was the wish for, if that was the result?

"Why now? I have never had a dream like that before." She asked in a near whisper, distant screams that never really reached her bouncing in between her ears like a caged animal. They were different from the ones she heard in most of her nightmares, the sounds of fear that followed her black and red spots all throughout her adolescence, begging for her to save them as they ran from monsters and disaster. No, this scream was different.

It had nowhere to run, no hope of escape, a dying creature trapped in a pit of tar, cries doing nothing but leading others to the same fate. Just restless agony and violent suffering.

"Because you have never come in direct contact with the consequences of a Wish before." She said, patient and sad. "There hasn't been one in several hundred years, so it's not surprising."

"That means that yesterday..." Marinette trailed off, looking at the little goddess who nodded. She thought back, going over the events of the previous day while focusing on the feel of magic. It would be after she had been kidnapped, for sure, as the day leading up to it had been rather normal. She almost would have called it tedious if not for the nonstop annoyances that were typical for Thursdays. Her magic senses had been dulled during that time, drowned out by the Kwami's magic that she had drawn upon to keep herself surrounded by Luck and Illusion, so she hadn't really noticed much that was out of the ordinary...

Well , she thought, except for two things .

"Was it from the unstable Balance that came from Red Hood, or the cultists' ritual book?" Marinette asked, with a frown and furrowed brows, thinking of the odd thrill of Chaos and Luck that she had felt from both.

"I can't tell you the answer to that." Tikki said, floating down to rest on the small red and black pillow on her nightstand. Marinette let out a frustrated huff, sitting back against her pillows with a flop.

"Of course you can't." She groaned. Every dang time it's 'I can't do this' or 'that's against the rules' or 'You need to learn for yourself, if I held your hand through your struggles it would wilt you faster than Plagg's Cataclysm'. The universe would clearly explode if I got just one easy day. Tikki spoke up before the frustration could fester, turning into anger or tears and the overwhelming anxiety of feeling any strong emotion.

"I may not be able to tell you, but you aren't the Guardian for nothing, Marinette," she said with a knowing and sympathetic smile. "You protect the Miraculous, and you know more of our magic than any of your predecessors ever let us teach. You don't need me to tell you." Marinette took in a breath, closing her eyes as she packed up her feelings and shipped it out with a dramatic huff of air. She could deal with her emotions later, right now she had things to do. Refocusing, Marinette forced her muscles to relax and began thinking over what she already knew.

Cultists, ritual, Red Hood... She breathed in slowly, then let it out. Her skin buzzed with the power of Balance as she drew on both Plagg and Tikki's concepts, waxing and waning to the slowing beat of her heart.

Sickly green pools of acid, roiling with wrongness, Creation and Destruction eating each other in a never ending, inescapable dance that shouldn't have come to be.

A push, an exhale, lines of chalk growing outward in a search with no directive. A pull, a heartbeat, reaching for something yet to be defined.

An awaiting sacrifice, ripped to pieces in the reflection of the Rabbit's eyes, two halves of a Broken whole.*

A teetering Balance, tipping further and further over the edge pushed upon it by the selfish and cruel, pulled back by a reaching hand of sympathy and understanding.

Marinette's eyes shot open.

"Both." She said with an urgent kind of clarity borne of an important epiphany, springing upright despite the protest of her sore and bruised muscles, wide-eyed gaze stared off into the middle distance. "Both Red Hood and the cult's Book were affected by the same Wish, and they somehow came together because of... To..." Marinette faltered, words dying on her tongue as the revelation stayed buried by uncertainty. The harmony of her magic broke, dissipating with a skipped beat of her heart and off-kilter feeling in her chest, reverting to her normal state.

"To?" Tikki prompted, looking at her Holder with vibrant blue eyes and an expectant voice.

"I... I'm not sure." She said, mind racing to pick up the pieces of the puzzle that, for a split second, came together to form an enlightening whole in her mind. She found nothing but shattered remnants and blank thoughts. Marinette buried her face in her hands with a groan, falling sideways and kicking her legs out to flail against her bed.

"UGH! I had it, Tikki! I was so close, but now it's gone!" The Kwami giggled at her dramatics. Marinette looked up to pout at her with mock indignation. "Don't laugh at me!"

"Hehe, it's okay, Marinette! You are getting much better with magic, but you are still learning. We haven't had a Guardian this in tune with the Balance in centuries. Just because you lost it this time, doesn't mean you will the next!" Tikki floated up with a bright smile and little arms spread wide. Marinette sighed, flopping back down into her pillows.

"I guess you're right. I still need to figure out what is up with that book and Red Hood." She said with a huff. She felt just a little bit guilty for leaving him hanging there with no way out and calling the police who would probably try and arrest him, but only a little bit. He would be fine, he's a big boy.

Emphasis on big...

"Well, what do you know?" Tikki asked with cheerful patience, at which Marinette shook herself from her thoughts with a mental admonishment. She took a deep breath and held up a finger to begin counting.

"For one, I know that there was a Wish from several hundred years ago that is still affecting people today, and with what I saw of Hood's soul being... corrupted for lack of a better word, by Destruction magic, that's not a good thing."

"Wishes never are." Tikki said, to which her Holder nodded before raising a second finger to continue.

"For two, I also know that something brought the cult and Red Hood together. And me, too, for that matter. I know that wasn't just a coincidence." She said with a glare at the ugly line of bruising and rope burn on her arms. It would make going about her day annoying and painful, but... well, that's not exactly something new for her. She would deal with it, just like she always does.

That didn't mean she had to be happy about it, though.

"It could have been." Her Kwami said teasingly, breaking Marinette out of her thoughts. She gave the Kwami a flat look, to which she giggled. "But as the Guardian, and more importantly, as a Ladybug , fate likes to bring you to problems that you can solve with your Luck. So you are probably correct." Tikki gave her an innocent smile.

"Thirdly..." She said slowly, being sure to let her pout glare linger on her Kwami for several moments. "Whatever this Wish is, it affects people and potentially objects directly. I don't know what happened to Hood, but the consequences of it clearly linger." Marinette dropped her hand, brow furrowing as she chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment.

Shattered pieces... Rabbit's eyes... Broken whole...

Uproarious laughter and rattling chains, surprise lacing every note, as if he had forgotten how to make the sound.

Marinette felt determination burn in her chest as she looked up from where her gaze had drifted to the floor. She threw off what remained of her blankets with a wide motion ( ow -) before getting up and marching out of her room ( ow again -), Tikki following behind.

"If I am going to help him, I'll need to find out what exactly that cult was going to do to him, and how that connects back to the Wish." She said, mind spinning a mile a minute.

"How are you going to do that?" Tikki asked, curiously flitting around the kitchen as her Holder nearly slammed a wooden board down on the counter and opened up the fridge with confident movements.

"Asking him directly is a bad idea, since that is sure to raise a whole lot of questions about my magic. His connection to 'The World's Greatest Detective' means I could be found out as the Guardian or Ladybug, which would be bad for obvious reasons, so that means a change in targets." She said, gathering up various different cheeses and setting them out into the wooden board in small piles. (Marinette felt the ghost of a bittersweet smile as she thought over her words, remembering Kagami's advice all those years ago.)

"You are going after the cult, then?" Tikki asked with a tilt of her head. Marinette nodded.

"Yes, the cult." she agreed. "They got that book from somewhere, and if I can look at what ritual they were performing, I can find out more about Red Hood's condition that way, and why the ritual needed him specifically as a sacrifice. The more information I have, the better. And if we can help him, we might discover more about the Wish in the process." Marinette finished setting out the cheese, and looked it over with hands on her hips and a self-satisfied smile. The Kwami nodded at her Holder's plan, looking over the rather impressive platter before asking,

"If that is what you're going to do, then what is this for?" Marinette grinned, before squaring her shoulders and turning to face the hall back towards the bedroom.

Back towards where the Miracle Box lay in hiding.

"Bribery." She stated, before marching off with determined steps.

----

Day one: Friday, 9:03PM, Red Hood's Territory

Running a gang took more effort than the other bats would likely ever appreciate. It was a lot to keep track of, more than Timmy's spreadsheets would be able to effectively convey. Though the little freak would likely take that as a challenge rather than the factual statement that it was. In any case, delegation was a necessity, one that freed him up for more important pursuits when the situation called for it, but also allowed the opportunity for potentially important details to slip through the cracks.

Important details such as why the fuck there was a stranger in his base of operations during what was meant to be an important, and more critically confidential meeting with his coordinators.

Jason had marched into the meeting room like he owned the place, because he did, heedless of the conversations going on beforehand. Now though, as he locked eyes onto the newcomer, a brown-haired, green-eyed, lanky man, he took a moment to consider that he should have probably paused to eavesdrop a bit first. Everyone froze as he entered, voices going quiet and several people tensing in anticipation of some kind of fallout.

Wise , Jason thought, eyes narrowing in suspicion as he took the time to analyze the man. He didn't recognize him, dainty nose and square jaw, a golden stud piercing on his right ear and a "Be Mine" heart candy tattoo just peaking over the low color of his shirt. He was a fair bit shorter than Jason, but taller than the blond next to him whom Jason turned to next.

"Spoons." He greeted with a warning edge in his voice. They didn't flinch or react to his tone, but it was a near thing. He could see the minute tensing of their shoulders and nervous twitch of their jaw before sending him a respectful nod.

"What's the snitch, Boss?" They asked evenly. Jason wasn't stupid enough to believe they were as unphased by the way his fingers twitched towards his holsters as they pretended to be. Luckily for their continued employment, they weren't an idiot either.

"You tell me." Jason growled, hands flexing into fists before he relaxed them and crossed his arms, straightening to his full height and tilting his head forward in that way that he knew made the eyes of his helmet look dangerous. The newcomer paled and shrank in on himself, despite clear attempts to stand his ground. Spoons did nothing to protect the man from Jason's ire, which only cemented his thoughts on what was going on.

Spoons was a former street kid, the short stature and twig thin frame was proof enough of that, now in his early twenties and working for Jason's gang as his main informant. The massive network of homeless and unsupervised kids they cultivated since childhood was still going strong, expanding out to include working class adults and prostitutes as their informants. They had been the one to approach Jason when he was starting out, offering to work for him in exchange for protecting their family, which he had accepted after thoroughly vetting them. Despite working for him though, Spoons still did their own thing, which he didn't mind as long as it didn't interfere with his operations. The work they did had earned them their own name in the less-than-legal side of the city: Snitch. If Spoons had brought a stranger not only into his territory, but his god damned meeting room , without any warning whatsoever and then used his other name as a code word, it could only mean that something he was working on had bled into being a Red Hood problem.

"Prospective hire," They said with feigned nonchalance and a shrug.

While they may be one of his best assets when it came to running his gang, that didn't mean Jason was going just to let them get away with pushing him like this. If there was one thing that he hated more than the Joker, it was surprises.

"And just who authorized that, exactly?" He asked slowly, words rumbling in his chest as he loomed in the doorway. Spoons stood their ground with nothing more than a nervous swallow, but the newcomer flinched, green eyes flicking frantically between him, his guns, and the blocked exit.

"Me, Boss." Spoons said. Privately, Jason could appreciate their guts. Outwardly, his arms uncrossed as he stalked forward to the brown-haired man. His face grew panicked as he started to scramble backwards, but was stopped by a hand on his back from Kade, sitting just behind the two pretending to read a book. Stuck between fight or flight, the man chose freeze.

"What is your name?" Jason asked, harsh tone seeping through his voice modulator with ease as he looked down at the man from barely a foot away.

"M-Mark, sir." He stammered out, hands shaking violently and barely daring to breathe as Jason's wide frame covered him completely in shadows from the dingy lights above.

"Mark," Jason repeated, before leaning down so that his helmet was barely an inch away from the man's pale face. "Get the fuck out of my meeting room."

He didn't need to say it twice, as the man practically sprinted out as fast as he could. Jason straightened and turned to Spoons, who was standing to the side impassively.

"He is your responsibility," He said, tone less aggressive but still brokering no argument. "And I want updates as long as he is in my territory." At this, Spoons' posture relaxed some.

"Understood, Boss." They said with a short nod. At that, he walked around to the head of the table where his other coordinators were still sitting quietly.

"First order of business," he said, taking a bag off of his belt and throwing it out on the table. "The Bats seem to think that since I am not killing people, they can treat me like one of their own. I don't care who does it, or how, but I want all these trackers scattered across the city and dumped into the harbor." From his spot to the right Gregory, the balding man wearing a grease stained t-shirt who was in charge of the supplies and transportation aspect of things, spoke up with furrow of his brows.

"Will the Bats come looking for them?" Jason snorted.

"I'm hoping so. If you can send them out on a merry chase through the city, it would make my night." He said, sneering behind his helmet at the thought of Tim and Bruce losing their goddamn minds over the missing trackers. "Tell anyone who encounters the Bats they get hazard pay, but if they go looking for trouble on purpose, they are on their own." Gregory nodded, and that was that.

"Kade," He called to the woman with almost as many tattoos as muscles. She snapped her book closed and took her feet off the table, looking at him with a calculating glint in her eyes and the posture of someone ready to spring into a fight at a moment's notice. "Do you still have a contact in Pippin's gang?"

"I can," She said shortly. "I thought we were getting rid of them, though?" Her fingers drummed on the table as she squinted at him. He gave a half shrug.

"They suddenly became useful enough to keep around, for now." He replied, placing a folder on the table in front of her. "I need some evidence from the police station to change hands. Get it here by tomorrow night." She nodded, before taking on a mocking whine and pretending to pout.

"But sir, I have to take my kids to soccer practice tonight!" She rolled her eyes with a smirk at her own joke before continuing. "Consider it done."

"Good. And one last thing," Jason said seriously, crossing his arms as he took in the rest of the group who had sat quietly. They straightened from their various places in the room as he paused, waiting for their full attention. "There is someone who I need you all to look out for, and report to me immediately if you see her."

"Her?" Spoons asked with a slight frown, displeased with the lack of specificity.

"You'll know her when you see her. She's kinda hard to miss." Jason huffed, thinking of mad cackles and the ferocious grin from the night before, the images of sunshine smiles and bluebell eyes haunting his mind.

"A description would be helpful." Kade said from where she was flipping through the file, glancing up briefly. "No offense, Boss." Jason held back a scoff with a twitch of his eye, but obliged anyway.

"Short, maybe five two, dark blue-black hair, French accent and a mischievous streak a mile wide." Jason said fingers drumming against his leg, out of sight of the others in the room.

"That's not exactly a lot to go off of, Boss..." Spoons said with a furrowed brow.

"Well that's all you're getting." He said, somehow managing to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. Jason trusted his people, for the most part, but Marinette wasn't someone who he was going to share put in danger by bringing to the attention of more people than he had to. He knew she could take care of herself, but it would still be kind of a dick move.

"Not even a name?" Spoons pressed, but Jason turned to face them fully with a scowl.

"No." He growled. His people still looked kind of dissatisfied, but they weren't stupid enough to press further.

"Can't know her name, mischievous, short, weird hair... What is she, a pixie or something?" Gregory asked with a raised eyebrow, slight confusion showing through in the crease of his eyes.

"What?" Jason asked, slightly baffled but with his voice coming out more harsh than anything.

"I mean, think about it," Gregory continued. "From the description you gave us, it makes sense. She sounds like a pixie." Jason blinked in consideration, thinking over the words. The accuracy of them startled him a bit, a slight grin growing on his face at the thought. He turned back to Spoons.

"If you want a name, you can call her Pixie." I know that I certainly will be calling her that from now on. Nickname acquired...

"If you say so, Boss..." Spoons replied skeptically, which Jason dutifully ignored.

----

Day one: Friday, 9:05PM, Gotham City Police Department

Back in Paris, before Hawkmoth was defeated, before life crumbled around her, before grief and love were tainted by responsibility and resentment, before she truly understood the horrific realities of being a superhero, Marinette had come up with a plan. It was after Kwamibuster, when she had done that horribly reckless (and in hindsight, harebrained and stupid ) stunt to convince Chat Noir that Ladybug couldn't possibly be Marinette Dupain-Cheng. It worked, despite the risks to her health and the miraculous at large, just as all of her actions as Ladybug did. Tikki explained to her after she started learning about her magic that when she transformed into Ladybug, or in 'Ladybug Mode', she surrounded herself with Luck, bringing her actions and plans success where without it there would be despair. She also learned that whenever she drew upon Luck, she would be burdened with Misfortune in equal measure. They manifested in her excessively clumsy moments that led to injury or property damage, poorly timed bouts of inspiration that led to sleep deprivation, or drawing the attention of a sadistic liar who somehow manages to fool those who should know better...

"Wow, Marinette, you look awful!" Alya said loudly, not noticing or caring how she seemed to wilt further under the sudden scrutiny of the class. She almost wished she had been late again that morning to avoid how the eyes burned into her skin. Or perhaps she could have just not shown up at all, stayed home and hidden from the world, but that wouldn't have worked. It would have only made it all the more obvious how it felt like she was drowning. In responsibility, in fatigue, in pain... In everything. It was better to cling to the normalcy. To pretend, even if it hurt.

"I'm fine, Alya." Marinette said with a weak smile. "Just didn't sleep much." She couldn't. Not with the sounds of screaming and the smell of burnt flesh following her every time she closed her eyes. Maniacal laughter and dark purple flashes seeping in through every too-fast beat of her heart.

"Girl, you look like you didn't sleep at all! Are you going to be awake enough for class?" Her best friend asked with clear concern. Marinette would have preferred it to be quiet concern, but she was never one to be picky. She couldn't be, not anymore.

"Like I said, Als, I'm fine." The smile she gave felt like cracked porcelain. Her whole body did, held together by fear and determination because if she ever fell apart....

A shattered moon and flooded world, bodies turning to ash at barely a touch...

"Are you sure, girl?" Alya’s words seemed muffled, like an echo flowing out in a dissonant wave. Because she couldn't fall apart. She was Ladybug. She* had *to stay strong, for everyone. For Chat.

"I'm fine..." She said, the lie tasting like bile and the salt of her unshed tears.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng!" It was the heavy slam of a textbook rather than her name that made her shoot upright before she even awoke, adrenaline coursing through her entire body and setting her nerves on fire.

"Where is the Akuma?!" She demanded in a delirious and panicked shout, arms held out to her sides in a mix between a fighting stance and an attempt to keep her balance. There was silence as she blinked the blurriness from her vision, looking around her class for the threat that woke her up. She found nothing but stunned faces. She was confused, until she looked down.

"Eep!" She lost balance, arms flailing as she wobbled precariously from where she stood on the back of her seat, before tipping and falling out into the aisle with a hard thud.

"Marinette!" Alya called, racing to help her up as several others shouted in alarm or winced with sympathy. Ms. Bustier cleared her throat from the front of the room, seeming wrong-footed by her student's strong reaction.

"See me after class, please." She said, trying to sound stern, but it came out more worried than anything. Marinette bowed her head, the shame in her chest burning more than the bruises on her sides ever would.

"Yes, Ms. Bustier..." From her seat up front, Chloe scoffed.

"'Where's the Akuma?!'" She mocked, "Who does she think she is, Ladybug?"

Marinette just grit her teeth and looked forward with burning cheeks, ignoring the stares.

Normally, any Luck that the Ladybug wielder drew upon, the Black Cat would balance out, but since she was more adept with magic, even if instinctually, and the two of them were so out of sync... She faced the consequences alone. Even before things truly fell apart, Marinette felt like she couldn't fully rely on Chat Noir. Like she held all the responsibility while he played games and joked around, then looked to her when the going got tough and innocent people died in waves. Like she could fix everything with a graceful twist of her hand and a fake smile. Like she alone could change the horrible realities of the world around them. Like she wasn't just a young girl who grew up too soon... 

Marinette thought that she knew horror. She thought she knew tragedy. She... She thought that things couldn't get any worse. She was wrong. She was so, so wrong.

"What are we going to do?" Came the whisper from her left, hollow and lost. Chat Noir's tear streaked face turned from the flooded streets of Paris, littered with limp and mangled bodies free floating between the gentle waves. Turned towards her.

"What are we going to do, Ladybug?" His voice broke as he looked at her, horror struck, but with so- so much hope. So much belief. In Ladybug.

Marinette blinked away her terror and unshed tears. Ladybug couldn't feel helpless. She couldn't feel grief or fear or despair. She couldn't let Hawkmoth get away with this.

She couldn't let him win.

"Follow me." She said, voice filled with confidence and quiet rage, because if she felt anything else... Marinette clenched her fists. Because she couldn't feel anything else. Not yet .

"We need to catch Syren."

Which is where her plan came in.

In the beginning, it had been more of an idea, a fleeting daydream. A 'what if' fantasy to get through the day as Akuma battles got tougher and longer, and she snuck through dark city streets of cracked pavement and broken dreams. To comfort her as she slowly lost trust in friends, and family, and her supposed 'Partner'.

"I can't Alya-" she tried, desperation in her voice, wishing for nothing more for her to just understand. For someone to just understand.

"What is WITH you?!" Her best friend yelled back, voice filled with fury that hid the true pain underneath. "You are always bailing on plans we made WEEKS ago and you have hardly talked to us in DAYS! I am supposed to be your BEST FRIEND, yet you ditch me every chance you get for some reason you never even bother to EXPLAIN!" She flinched, the wild waving of her friend's arms sending flashing images of deadly punches through her mind, despite knowing that the girl would never hurt her on purpose. That the bruises and broken bones inflicted had never really been her fault.

"Alya I-"

"No! It is way too late for you to start now. Just go! And do whatever it is that's so important!" She stood there, panting in breaths as the anger faded beneath the surface, showing the hurt and doubt hidden in her eyes. Marinette didn't move, watching as her friend fought back tears with a mask of hidden emotions.

"Maybe Lila is right," Alya said in nearly a whisper. "Maybe you don't care about me..." The words felt like a stab right in her heart, but Marinette didn't even blink. She didn't move a muscle. Not because she didn't care- the exact opposite. Her heart felt like it was lashed with serrated whips with every sharp word, burned and branded by the harsh looks in her friends eyes. One wrong move, and it would be all too easy for her to break. For her to bleed out onto the cobbled streets, rivers of crimson in the shape of butterfly wings.

The worst part about watching Alya walk away was the fact that she couldn't even feel the pain. She couldn't rage, couldn't cry, couldn't scream, she couldn’t hurt . She wasn't allowed to, or he would win.

"I'm sorry..." She whispered into the empty hallway, phantom butterfly wings beating in her mind.

It was unfair. It was all so, so unfair.

"What's got you so blue, Bugaboo?" Chat asked, flipping away from a blast of purple flames with a cheeky grin.

"Don't call me that." She growled, flinging out her yo-yo onto a nearby roof. She needed to get an overview of the playground that had since been turned into a battlefield of mangled scrap and broken screams while Chat Noir drew the Akuma's fire. She needed him to take responsibility and stall so that she could figure out a plan and end this. She needed him to lure it away from the fleeing civilians, the children who don't deserve to remember the agony of a fiery death. She needed him to help her, but instead he was doing the same thing he always did. Acting like a fool.

"Meowch! No need to be so hostile, my Lady."  He stopped right next to her, completely ignoring the Akuma and leaning right into her face with a Cheshire grin. "Someone's not in a very kitten mood today!" Over his shoulder, she saw the little boy raising a fist made of fire, expression of rage and hatred hiding his pain and hurt.

Just like Alya. Just like her.

"Chat, focus!" she yelled, wrapping an arm around him and pulling them both out of harms way. The roof they had been standing on melted in the flames, extreme heat flashing across her uncovered face and neck in an uncomfortable warning of burns to come.

"Thanks for the rescue, Bugaboo! Don't want to lose another one of my nine lives!" He winked at her, jumping recklessly forward to fight the child made of fire head on. She growled in frustration, leaping into the fray to save him yet again from his own thoughtless behavior, knowing for a fact that it would only get them both hurt. It always did.

Ladybug hated how her thoughts drifted as burns made her skin crack and bleed, how resentment slipped into the weeping gaps. How her suppressed tears turned into whispers in her mind, speaking in traitorous thoughts as Chat Noir screamed one last breath until her magic would bring him back to do it all over again and again and again.

'What if I didn't need to watch Chat die every day? What if I don't have to protect someone who was supposed to be my equal but never is? What if I had someone I know I could rely on?'

'What if there were another Marinette Dupain-Cheng?'

It was silly. A silly little thought for a silly little girl that she indulged when she had to lie and leave family dinner to fight Akumas across town. When she slipped through cracked windows and over scattered papers, shattering mugs against hard tile. When she had to let grades and sleep and happiness fall behind the safety of millions. When she watched Chat Noir die carelessly to 'save' her, trusting that she would always win for the both of them. Alone.

Marinette had never dared to voice the thought beyond her daydreams. Master Fu would never have allowed it.

But then, two years after she became a superhero, he was gone, leaving her as the sole Guardian of a box of tiny Deities with no direction or guidance but for a stained map held in small gloved hands.

She watched from across the street, hidden in the nook of an empty doorway as an old man in a Hawaiian shirt slowly moved around inside the closed massage parlor. He had lost so much. She could see it in the way he walked with uncertainty and fragile tremors, his eyes glazed over with confusion as Marianne helped pack up what little belongings he still held dear. The few he still remembered. He had lost his life in most ways that mattered, the good and bad, his magic and memories.

He had lost his memories . Lost everyone he knew except for Marianne, his old love. It was a tragedy, she knew. He deserved rest, for all he had done to help Paris and the Miraculous. He deserved to move on and live out the last few years of his life happily. He deserved to finally be allowed to leave this cursed city, for her to let him go. He was the one hurt in all of this, after her mistakes and failures led Hawkmoth right to him. It was only fair for her to leave him alone. It was safer. So why...

Why did she feel so betrayed?

And suddenly those thoughts got a whole lot louder, like the sound of her claws scrabbling down cinder block walls, echoing through the corners of an empty office.

Her room seemed dull, like overcast evening light turning the bright pinks of her room into a lifeless grey, the only vibrant color being her bloodshot, watery eyes. There was a flash as she pulled the necklace over her head, earrings absent for the first time in two years.

"Hello, Guardian." The Kwami said, solemn and quiet. The word felt like a nail in her coffin, the final confirmation that her life had finally reached its lowest point.

While that is what it felt like in the moment, she knew it wasn't true. If the past two years had taught her anything, it was that things could always get worse.

"Hello, Mullo." Marinette replied, voice hoarse with grief and stress, but her eyes filled with grim determination. They sat in silence for several moments, yet each with a certainty and understanding that didn't need words. It took a while for the last of her silent tears to fall. The last ones she would shed before Hawkmoth was gone, she had promised herself. He would never hurt her loved ones like this again, if it was the last thing she'd do.

"Mullo, get squeaky." She whispered, bright magic flashing through the bleak air, replacing it with the quiet, patient kind of fury.

She learned a lot about the Mouse Miraculous and Mullo. How it interacted with other miraculi and the kind of snacks she liked best. How her senses were enhanced under the power of the transformation, feeling the vibrations of heavy footsteps through the floor, giving her the time to contort herself into the shadows of cracks in the walls. It snuck up on her, how her little comforting fantasy became a linchpin in her plan to take down Hawkmoth once and for all.

All on her own.

Ladybug nearly collapsed into the alley, the feeling of bruises and broken ribs still fresh in her mind, though they had been healed completely with her Miraculous Cure. She was exhausted, arms and legs shaking from the long and brutal fight. It would have been shorter if she could have called upon Carapace, but that was no longer an option. Not with the danger it would put him in. Not with the amount of trust that would require first.

Her transformation fell with a flash of light, Tikki diving for her purse immediately and the cookies held within. Marinette quickly pulled out the Mouse Miraculous from her jacket pocket and put it on, hands shaking from adrenaline.

"You can't keep pushing yourself like this, Guardian..." Mullo said solemnly as she took just a moment to catch her breath. Marinette shook her head.

"I have to, Mullo," she replied in nearly a whisper. The butterfly she had released from the cleansed Akuma was getting farther and farther away, so she didn't bother with further conversation. Calling on her transformation, she jumped back to the rooftops. Following the little white butterfly, she did everything she could to not be seen. If Hawkmoth knew she was searching for him this way, it would be all too easy to stop her. If anyone saw Multimouse, if Chat saw her, Marinette's life would effectively end with the scrutiny her civilian identity would be put under. If they found out she was also Ladybug...

A white mask and unnaturally blue eyes, completely still waters and broken buildings...

She just had to keep going. Keep searching and hiding. Once she found him, everything would go back to normal. She could have her life back.

She just had to keep going...

Marinette sat in her room, holding a sketchbook in her hands for the first time in weeks.

"It feels so real..." she muttered in awe, dragging her fingertips across the embossed cover. Mullo, Trixx, and Tikki all hovered nearby above the ritual circle that she only partially understood.

"That's because it is real," Trixx said. "For now, at least." Marinette looked up, confused.

"What do you mean?" She asked. This time, Tikki answered.

"It's a construct, a copy, and an illusion all in one," she explained. "That sketchbook completely mimics all real world properties that the original has, the only difference is that it is sustained by magic. As long as that magic is there, it will be too. Once it stops though, the construct will disappear." Marinette looked back down at the book in her hands. Cracking it open, she flipped through the pages, seeing her drawings and notes from ages ago. From a happier time.*

*She could see the streaks of pencil lines and stains from spilled drinks. She could smell the graphite and eraser shavings held within. There were her sketches of gift ideas for her friends- old friends now, thanks to that liar . The sight of them made her chest clench. The paper wrinkled under her touch as she turned a page with force.

Marinette hissed at the papercut on the tip of her finger, more in surprise than pain, then she stopped. She stared at the small line of red. It was barely deep enough to bleed, but it still did. Her mind raced as the slight twinge of barely-there pain echoed faintly in her mind.

"Is there any limit on what you can make copies of?" She asked in a whisper. The Kwami all looked at each other in concern before Mullo slowly answered.

"The only limit is how much magic you can draw on, technically speaking..."

"So... If I wanted to make a copy of say, myself," she started, looking up at the three deities with determination burning in her eyes. "How much magic would that take, exactly?"

It took three more years. She had to sacrifice her childhood, bit by bit, dream by dream. She gave up immaturity and crushes, free time and friends, dependence and family. The Miraculous required a wielder to be an adult to fully unlock its power, to be able to fully channel its capabilities, but that just gave her time. Time to train, to plan, to search through dark shelves of boxes and files, and to dream about the nightmare finally being over.

Multimouse could still taste the sugary icing of her cake and see afterimages of eighteen separate candle flames. She could hear the laughter of her parents and their tight hugs, the congratulations of her peers, the few who had bothered to show up. They were all there, playing on repeat in her head. It was the happiest she could remember being in years. Not because of the party, but because of what it meant.

She was eighteen. The Kwami all wished her a happy birthday as that final magic barrier fell away, allowing her to draw upon all the magic she wanted. Allowing her to finally, finally end this.

It hadn't taken long for an Akuma to appear. It never did, these days. Hundreds of eyes, tiny bodies scattered over rooftops and through streets, watching the flapping of delicate white wings with that painful grip of terror at the sound she heard fluttering towards her ears so often now. The sound that turned the taste of icing and dancing candles into shards of bloody sugar stabbing through everything that moved and burning buildings flickering in her vision. That turned happy laughter into desperate screams and loving hugs into crushing concrete. The sound that had filled her with terror every day for the past four years.

But now... Now it was the sound that would lead to his downfall...

Flap-flap... Flap-flap... Honk, beep, shout, Flap-flap... Flap-flap... laugh, shriek, splash, Flap-flap...

Too many ears, too many sounds, all the same but not. Multimouse stared at the sky, at the ground, at a gap, at a clock. She saw many things, heard many things, searched for many things, all at once. It had been only an hour, but her many eyes burned from not blinking, her many knees felt scraped raw, her many backs aching from her many hunched forms. But she had to keep going. She had to follow it, she had to stay hidden, or he would win.

She couldn't let him win.

Sunset, sun-gone, dark sky, white butterfly. Multimouse watched. Wing beats in time with many blinks, never all at once. Multimouse followed. Scrapes and jumps and claws and falls, many tiny legs running in time with many tiny breaths. Multimouse would find the butterfly's nest. She had to.

Multimouse felt like her brains were melting. Four hours, many eyes, many sights, many mice, one butterfly. Evil, evil butterfly. It would lead her to the killer. Just had to follow. Follow, run, hide. Hide, don't be seen, or everyone will die. Again, and again, and again, and again-

Mansion. Sad mansion, bad mansion, mean mansion. Open window. Flap-flap. Flap-flap. Flap-

No flaps. Multimouse had found the bad man's nest. Agreste mansion. Sad mansion, bad mansion, mean mansion. Loved mansion...

It didn't matter, Multimouse didn't have room for love anymore. She had to win. She had to find him. She had to end this.

And it was over, now. Marinette had to remind herself of that as magic fluttered around her fingertips and paper shredded underneath her claws. She wasn't hiding from the sight of a terrorist, chased by butterflies and risking her life to bring him down, bearing broken bones and mental scars with a smile full of teeth and challenge. She'd already done that. This was something different. The obstacles in her way were made of mortal things, duct tape and cardboard, reaching fingers and purely human strength. There were no wisps of magic aside from her own, her escape blocked by calloused hands that smelled of gunpowder and cigarettes rather than giant webs or supernatural ice. It was something easily defeated, unlike terrifying Akumas with the power to rip the limbs from her body and teeth sharp enough to pierce through her-

Marinette was unceremoniously slammed out of her thoughts by the sudden taste of blood in her mouth and the feeling of her back smashing against rough brick. The surge of adrenaline that followed was an old friend, almost nostalgic in a way. Like the static shock of touching the edge of a trampoline. Unpleasant, dreaded, but expected nonetheless. What wasn't expected was the utter confusion brought about by the feeling. Like there was some sort of dissonance between the slowly clearing fog in her mind and the complete and utter clarity in her body.

She took in her surroundings fully for the first time since the transformation swirled around her earlier that day. She was in a room filled with metal shelves, plastic crates and cardboard boxes, dimly lit by the harsh fluorescent lights above. She was sprawled out on the floor in front of a cinderblock wall, blanketed by a harsh cast shadow of the shelf beside her and paused halfway through standing up in some form of runner's stance. Her back stung slightly, especially the sides of her midsection and elbows where the bruises still were, but the impact was mostly negated by her suit. More interestingly, she could feel Trixx's magic dissipating around her like hot air from a popped balloon. Honestly, she barely even realized that one of the seven other copies she could feel scattered around the surrounding buildings had transformed with the Fox Miraculous, disguising all of them as rats. It made sense, what with not wanting to be seen as Multimouse and the city's abundance of the rodents, but it was surprising nonetheless as she never remembered making that decision in the first place. The only person more surprised than Marinette in this situation was the man in the cop uniform standing a few feet away, cradling a bleeding hand and staring at her with his mouth agape. She blinked.

  How in the chocolate éclair did I even get here?

She had been so lost in her thoughts and memories that she somehow managed to fully break into a police station evidence room without realizing it. She could vaguely recall crawling in through a cracked window and finding a map of the building on someone's desk. There were also flashes of a shattering coffee mug and empty hallways in between memories so vivid that they might as well have been hallucinations.

Well... that's not good.

Anyway, she should probably do something about this situation she has found herself in.

"That's not a fucking rat, that's a fucking person ," the cop (though she had a strange feeling that he wasn't actually a cop, for some reason...) said in a mildly hysterical tone. "A tiny rat person..." He finished in a whisper.

"Hey!" Multimouse called, finally standing up from her crouch with a glower, that the man likely couldn't see anyway since she was shrouded in shadows. "Who are you calling tiny?!" She ignored the fact that she was currently less than half a foot tall. It was the principle of the matter.

" What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck- " Marinette ignored the not-cop as he freaked out, standing over the cardboard box with a hole chewed into the side of it.

I better not have cardboard in my teeth, I swear…

On the ground in front of her, just outside the line of darkness she had found herself in, was a small magic replica of the cultist's ritual book that she could kind of remember making before shredding the pages of the original. She must have dropped it when she was flung into the wall after biting the not-cop's hand.

Well... Easier than trying to steal the whole thing, I guess. Raises less questions than straight up missing evidence, too.

On the roof of the precinct, a quiet melody played from a flute, then her body was once again disguised as that of a rat's. The not-cop's eyes got even wider and his voice higher pitched as she scurried forward and into the light as the illusion curled around her form to pick up the copied book. She then 'stood' on her back legs and looked him dead in the eyes.

"No one will ever believe you..." She said in a deep, ominous voice, walking backwards into the darkness. With that, she disappeared into the rows of shelves and made her way out of the building, dodging past a pair of vaguely familiar actual-cops as they entered the room, leaving them to their own devices.

As Marinette's copies all darted about the shadows to meet in a nearby empty alley, she considered the evening so far. It had been... a while since she had transformed to say the least. She used to practically live in the suit as a teen, but after she moved to Gotham it had become less and less frequent. Mullo's Miraculous had been in the box for almost a year at this point. Waking up from that nightmare earlier in the day, coupled with Mullo's transformation... It sent her mind straight back to Paris. To Hawkmoth. To the 'Do-or-Die' mindset of her childhood, pushing her to act without thought, because if she didn't there would be dire consequences. Because of that, she had just spent the past hour or so disassociating her way through a felony.

Not her best moment, she will admit, but also not her worst. She honestly didn't know if that said more about her current experience or previous ones...

Eight identical rats standing in a circle all shook their heads and slapped their cheeks with illusionary paws. Not getting drawn back into that. Enough of the memories for one day, let's leave the brooding for Batman.

There was a white glow as the eight Multimice coalesced into an indistinct person shaped blob, once again becoming a regular sized person holding a regular sized book. And anyone who called her 'tiny' in this form would be getting a whole lot more than just a bite to their hand and existential crisis.

Cough cough Red Hood cough.

She took in a deep breath and then let it out in a huff, dropping her transformation. Mullo twirled through the air, looking over her holder with a smile that Marinette returned happily.

"Success!" She crowed, holding the book above her head in a dramatic pose. The mouse Kwami laughed, throwing her paws up in the air and giving her own cheer.

"Fantastic! Where's the cheese?" She asked, giving Marinette her best pitiful look. She snorted and rolled her eyes fondly.

"Careful there, you almost sound like Plagg." Marinette said, pulling out the miniature lunch bag from her purse regardless. "Here you go."

"I am way cuter than Plagg, thank you!" She quipped back, taking the bag and darting into the pocket of her Holder's hoodie. Said pocket had a smaller pouch on the inside with a space expanding enchantment embroidered into the edges and tons of reinforcement built in. It made a much more convenient hiding place for the Kwami than being crammed into her purse or hidden in her hair, so she had one made into most of her clothing nowadays. Now that she was sewing again, that was. 

Marinette sighed as she walked away from the scene of the crime, stuffing the stolen book into her purse and taking a meandering path through deserted alleys and side streets. It wouldn't do to just walk around the city reading obvious occult stuff, despite how few people would see or care. She didn't make it this far by being careless like that. Speaking of...

"Ow ow ow ow owwwwww-! " The adhesive she used on her backup mask did not want to let go of her face easily at all. Which to be fair was the whole point, but her poor face!

She was no longer as reliant on her transformation to hide her identity as she used to be. After a few too many close calls and near misses, Marinette had finally gotten a clue and made herself an actual superhero outfit to wear for when her transformation wore out or was stopped. It wasn't something that was too easily recognizable like any of the Bats' outfits, meaning she could walk around without worrying about being noticed after detransforming and taking off her mask. The downside was that it wasn't quite as protective as a Kevlar cape would be, but it was still leagues better than just her normal everyday clothes. 

The military grade steel toed boots laced up past her ankles, holding the tight hem of her pants in place. The pants themselves were made of a dark grey, heavy duty denim that was slightly baggy and double layered around the knees to allow for ease of movement and extra protection. Several strips of flexible boning were sewn in spirals around her the thighs and calves to protect against any kind of slashing attacks, and the pockets (because of course she added pockets) were fastened with cloth covered buttons so that they wouldn't reflect light like plastic and metal, or make noise like zippers if she were trying to hide. The belt was made of heavy duty braided cable with a custom made tungsten belt buckle at the end. She had only ever used it once, but the belt made a surprisingly effective weapon for someone who is so accustomed to fighting magical monsters with a yo-yo.

The tank top she wore was nothing special, just a cotton undergarment to wick away sweat and protect her from the discomfort of wearing a bulletproof vest directly against her skin. It honestly hadn't been that hard to get her hands on, she had just ordered it online from the same supply store that she got her boots from. While there wasn't much of a gun issue in Paris, she now lived in Gotham , famously known as the 'Crime Capital of America'. While she could be a little slow on the uptake sometimes, she wasn't an idiot . So, bulletproof vest it was. Unfortunately, they weren't at all fashionable or subtle as everyday-wear without unnecessary accessorizing for her purposes, so over hers she wore the hoodie that took the outfit from 'free-running enthusiast' to 'mouse themed incognito superhero'. The light grey material was trimmed with light pink around the hood, pocket, cuffs, and waistband. There were small mice and coin details embroidered along the shoulders and down the arms, as well as a small mouse poking its nose out of the pocket, just because it made her laugh when she made it. Speaking of impracticality, strings of her hood were also the same pink and were topped with extremely fluffy pompoms instead of aglets, and when the hood was flipped up over her head, it had two small 'pockets' that her hair buns would slot into to keep the hood in place. The fact that these pockets were shaped like mouse ears had *nothing* to do with her choice in making them. Honest.

With the addition of a domino mask that had some rather powerful enchantments etched into the edges of it and a pair of biker gloves, even if her Miraculous got taken in the middle of a battle, her identity would be safe.

Even if she wouldn't be, but that's not something to worry about until it happens. She couldn't protect herself from every possible situation by worrying about it hard enough, so it was best not to try.

That's what she kept telling herself, at least.

She sighed again.

"Are you alright, Marinette?" Tikki's voice called as the little deity floated up to hover in front of her as she walked, putting the mask safely in a hidden pocket and wiping away the remaining adhesive with a makeup wipe.

"Yeah, Tiks, I'm alright," she said with a tired smile. "It's just been an off day, is all." The little deity's expression both softened in understanding and pinched with worry at her words as Marinette scanned her surroundings and threw her garbage in a dumpster as she passed.

"Maybe you should go do something fun," Tikki said after a long moment, brightening at the idea. "To get your mind off of things." Her knowing and somewhat insistent look caused Marinette to grimace a little bit. She hated making any of the Kwami worry about her, she always had, yet it never seemed like she could manage to make it stop completely. There was always something going on, something that she did or didn't do that made their too-big eyes fill with worry and smiles turn fragile as they tried so hard to help her. She had gotten better since moving out of Paris, everything in her life had, yet it wasn't enough .

No matter what she did was never quite enough, and she hated it .

It was a very familiar feeling.

"Yeah, maybe I could do that..." Marinette mused halfheartedly, before a panicked shout reached her ears jolting her out of her thoughts. The noise came from around the corner ahead, along with a low and sinister sounding voice that followed.

She locked eyes with Tikki for just a moment, before the Kwami dove to hide in her pocket and Marinette rushed forward to find the source of the commotion.

Do something fun? Marinette thought to herself as she slowed to a stop and peaked around the corner, seeing a man with a broken beer bottle and a sleazy grin walking towards a woman dressed way too light for the night time chill. Her eyes darted around the alley as she took in the situation, seeing a clothes line attached between two windows, bolted into a crumbling brick wall right above where the woman was standing with a rigid posture. A large wooden crate that looked like it might have held a fridge at one point was leaned up against a dumpster and a fire escape parallel to it on the opposite wall of the alley. There was also a piece of rebar bent at a 90 degree angle and laying on the ground just a few feet in front of her. A grin slowly grew on her face.

Well, helping others has always been a calling of mine. I'm sure I could find a way to make it fun again...

----

Day one: Friday, 9:58PM, Border of Red Hood's Territory

Jason swore, ducking behind the overturned car that had nearly crushed him not even three minutes ago to dodge the hail of bullets sent his way as the sound of a phone rang out, mixing in with Gotham's nightly ambiance. He thought for a moment to just crush the damn thing under his boot and let his fa the bats come and stare down his gun if they wanted to talk so badly, until he remembered that he had all of his bat-associated communication devices scattered across Gotham and dumped in the harbor earlier that night, meaning the call could only be coming from one of his coordinators. He reached into his jacket pocket, answering it with a click as it automatically connected to his helmet.

"This better be fucking important." He growled, sprinting out from behind the car while laying down cover fire to give his remaining people the opportunity to run. He may be confident in his abilities and his gang, but he was not risking any of his subordinates by getting cocky. They were severely outnumbered, and he would rather fight all of Pippin's lackeys by himself than have even one of his people end up in the hospital. As it was, his sponsored clinics were going to have a few new patients. Needless to say, he was not happy about it.

"Well," Gregory's voice came in through the receiver, wavering with uncertainty and a moderate amount of fear, which was concerning to hear from the ex-felon. "You said to call immediately if we saw her, so, I guess it is?" Jason was confused for a moment, then felt a spike of irrational rage from said confusion, at being distracted from a gun fight for something potentially stupid , until the words fully registered.

"Her?" Jason repeated, straightening from his crouch as the image of fiery bluebell eyes and a mischievous smile flashed through his mind. He could hear metal shriek from the other side of the car as bullets sprayed ineffectually, unable to hurt him through his cover. It did, however, nearly mask the sounds of pounding footsteps as a person tried to sprint around the car to shoot him.

Almost.

"Yeah, the Pixie girl you told us to look out for. I ain't never seen someone practically castrate a creep with a clothesline an' a loose brick without comin' within ten feet of the guy, so it's gotta be her." Jason rolled, the engine behind where he had just been leaking gasoline as it was filled with holes and the man responsible crying out in pain from the thrown batarang. I'm not even going to try to unpack that right now.

"Where." Jason demanded, mind whirring as he plotted his next move. The rival gang members were no longer opponents to him, but obstacles. He had better things to do than entertain this scuffle, now. He crept through the shadows to the blown out street light behind him, pulling out the grapple gun he had stolen from Dick yesterday.

"Alley across from where Jessabelle likes to walk, she's heading towards the harbor." Gregory said as Jason swung up on top of the street light, watching Pippin's goons carefully walk around the overturned car with guns pointed where he had been moments ago. With the moment's reprieve he had a moment to consider Gregory's words. That alley is thirty minutes away from here, when following traffic laws and not in too much of a hurry at least, and I still have this mess to finish up. Marinette would be long gone by that point. That is unacceptable .

Jason looked at the slowly growing puddle of gasoline, the one in the center of the gang members that were scanning dark corners for any sign of him.

"I'll be there in 10." He said, pulling a box of matches out of his boot.

Eight minutes later, Jason was panting as he came to a stop by the edge of a roof just two blocks down from the reported sighting. He had haphazardly parked his bike as close as he dared get and practically flew up the side of the building, leaping in between the narrow gaps of the deserted nighttime streets as he searched for the dark blue hair that hadn't left his mind since the previous night. It didn't take long before he found her walking down a wide and relatively clear alleyway that curved in between two streets. A shortcut for someone who was either confident or stupid enough to stray from the protection of the streetlights.

Since it was Marinette, he was certain enough to say it was confidence. No, it wasn't because he was 'smitten', Dick . If cultists offered no more challenge than a game of hide and seek with a bunch of pinatas, what kind of threat would muggers have for her? She could probably just point over their shoulder and say 'What is THAT?!' and disappear in the half a second it takes them to look. Hell, that trick would probably even work on the stupider heroes and rogues out there.

Jason ignored the voice in the back of his head whispering that guns and knives don't need more than a second to hurt someone, as he was so helpfully reminded earlier, and that she could be killed before having the chance to set off some kind of Rube Goldberg level escape. He ignored it because that's what he was here for. To protect her civilians from muggers and subsequent bodily harm. Obviously.

No other reason.

She was walking away from him, nearing the bend in the alley ahead with a carefree spring in her step. Her hair was up in two fluffy buns that bounced with every movement and she had the same purse that she did the previous night, the one he still needed to confirm was a dimensional storage space of some sort. She was wearing an oversized light grey hoodie with pale pink cuffs and black pants with decorative spiraling seams and that seemed to have some sort of padding or double layer around the joints, kind of like the riding gear he wore. It was a very different outfit from yesterday, much more protective and notably covering up her bruising, which he needed to make sure received medical attention.

He should catch up to her, it was what he was here for after all. Maybe he could emerge from the shadows and say something witty. (No, not because he wanted to impress her, Dick . Being a witty asshole was his brand ) But Jason found that in that moment, his will to act was... lacking. He was still catching his breath after all, (because of the gun fight and light parkour, Dick ) and was preoccupied watching her walk away (because observation is a necessity for proper action, Dick . Her fluffy hair buns had nothing to do with it).

He was still staring observing when she slowed to a stop just past a fire escape near the bend, stance subtly widening as she looked around at her surroundings. Jason straightened himself, senses scanning for any potential danger that she could have noticed. He watched, his own eyes flicking around and finding nothing out of place. He started to wonder what could have alerted her when she turned, looking over her shoulder. Directly at him .

The distance did nothing to hide the slight widening of her eyes and surprised shift of her posture as she spotted him. He could see her gaze sharpen and her hand loosen from the grip it had on something at her waist, presumably the handle of some kind of weapon. Time seemed to freeze for Jason as her head tilted, her hair buns leaning to the side as twitches of her expression showed flickers of thoughts he couldn't decipher. It was a long moment before she seemed to come to some kind of decision, turning to face him fully as she jutted her chin upward and looked directly into the eyes of his helmet.

Then she smiled.

It was a soft and warm thing, like the feeling of morning sunshine cresting over distant hills, or finding a sparkling gem hidden beneath layers and layers of dirt and dust. It reminded him of fond memories that he thought had long since been lost to the blood and grime of Gotham streets and shredded by the broken glass of aching wounds. It felt like happiness fluttering across his cracked and broken soul.

Or more likely, it was probably just his heartbeat.

I need to do more cardio if that run took this much out of me.

Jason took in a deep breath to calm himself, ignoring the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He needed to say something, like he didn't just run away from an active gunfight just to find her, then got caught staring. Because that is not what just happened. At all.

...

Ahem...

"Do you make it a habit to walk around dark alleyways in the middle of the night?" He called as he pulled his grapple gun out of its holster. With careful aim and practiced movements (that he did not accentuate in order to show off, Dick ) he shot the fire escape in between the two of them, quickly swinging down and gracefully (he can be graceful if he wants to, Dick ) landing a few feet in front of her. Her head was tilted slightly with that beutifu bright smile still on her face, which looked all the more vibrant up close.

"Because I hate to break it to you, Pixie, but that's how you end up getting kidnapped by cultists." He finished, walking forward until she was just over an arms length away with a relaxed posture. He didn't want to scare her by crowding into her space. He was intimidating enough as is, being a whole head and a half taller than her and covered in weapons. He knew how most people reacted to any kind of aggressive movement, even those who knew and trusted him would flinch away from his anger. The last thing he wanted to do was make Marinette flinch away from him.

For... Interrogation reasons, of course. Yeah.

"For your information," she said, seemingly completely unconcerned by his sudden appearance, contrary to any reaction he might have expected from a normal person, "I have only ever been kidnapped by cultists once . And I technically wasn't in an alley when it happened, so I wouldn't exactly call it a habit." Luckily for Jason, normal was the last thing someone would accuse her of being. 

In between arguing the schematics of being kidnapped with enough sass to make Stephanie proud, Marinette examined him with a critical eye and he did the same to her. He watched her face twitch and expression flicker with a kind of fascination. He was accustomed to picking out fine movements in between shifts of posture and stance, turning them into words and sentences communicated in fractions of a second. The bats all knew how to communicate vital information with nothing more than a glance, and it had saved their lives more times than any of them could count. They were the only ones who could read each other so well that the other heroes were half convinced of wild theories like 'goth based hive-minds' or telepathy. Because of this, however, no one in his family expressed themselves without it meaning something- without saying something. Every motion was calculated, every twitch cataloged. It meant that the only time that he could ever truly be silent was when he suppressed everything, even the smallest fidget. He had long gotten accustomed to that kind of silence.

Marinette, however...

It was like every thought that crossed her mind reached out to touch her face. He could see it in the depths of her eyes, looking like deep ocean currents surging through the miles of bright bluebell waves. He could see it in the quirks of her lips and twitch of her nose, flowing through her words without pause, adding every small emotion that crossed her heart into the shapes of sounds like a symphony. He could feel it in the way his heart still raced and his breath caught in his chest at her smug little grin.

It made him want to see all the different kinds of expressions she could make...

Jesus fuck- Shut the hell UP brain!

"Didn't you say you had been kidnapped before, though?" He asked, forcibly distracting himself from that train of thought, attempting to drown out the urge to punch himself in the face by digging his nails into the palm of his hand. It almost worked.

Marinette pursed her lip in thought, looking up and to the left as she tilted her head and swayed to the side with a half shrug, all in one fluid motion. She hummed, squinting and biting on the inside of her cheek in a clear exaggeration of deep thought before speaking with flat matter-of-factness.

"Not by cultists." After she spoke, her eyes locked back onto his. Or- well, his helmet. It was as if someone had pressed pause, the way she stopped and focused wholly on his response, looking at him with a gaze that he could only think to describe as anticipatory, challenging, and intense .

If one thing was true about Jason, it was that he never backed down from a challenge.

"But did any of those kidnappings happen in alleyways?" He asked leadingly, crossing his arms and looming into her space to meet her stare head on. She didn't flinch, nor shrink away. Instead her shoulders squared as she took a half step forward, chin tilting up with a flare of her nostrils as her grin widened to show her teeth.

"That's irrelevant." She deflected with a cheerful tone, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, daring him to contradict her. In his mind, he was suddenly reminded of the sound the cult leader's arm made as the bone shattered.

He backed off.

"I'm starting to think that the cavalier attitude is going to be a thing with you." He said, straightening where he stood with amusement and something he couldn't quite put a name on seeping into his tone.

"Only starting to? I thought I had made it quite obvious." She quipped back, face changing form challenging to triumphant. She bounced in place slightly before rocking back and forth on her heels. The dangerous glint that had seeped into the deep blue currents of her eyes had passed as easily as it had come, replaced with a certain kind of joy that was much too genuine for the situation at hand. It was as if she had just won the lottery or was given a bouquet of flowers instead of simply being the last to back down from a stare off. It was bizarre and fascinating, and Jason found himself unable to look away. How could someone be so open with their emotions? How could she feel so deeply and yet not shatter under the pain and gloom that is such an integral part of life?

How could she look at him, knowing some of the things that he had done, and smile ?

"I prefer to withhold judgement until I have substantial evidence."  He replied, trying not to sound distracted from the way her hair buns puffed and flowed with every little movement and how her smile showed off the light dusting of pink across her cheeks and how the sleeves of her hoodie always seemed just shy of turning into adorable sweater paws-

"Like 'innocent until proven guilty'?" She asked, breaking Jason out of his traitorous thoughts. "Sounds rather cop-like for a crime lord." Jason blinked. He had somehow failed to notice when her expression gained that distinctive glint of mischief that foretold of a trap being sprung. He did not, however, miss the way she bit her cheek to keep from laughing and leaned forward, her piercing eyes taking in his every move.

He took back everything he ever thought about her being adorable. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is an evil, evil woman.

"Thin ice, Pixie." He said with a point and a glower in her direction. The level of disgust in his tone at the insinuation was only partially theatrical. It was clearly the reaction that Marinette was hoping for, as she lost the fight with her amusement and burst into giggles.

Her laughter sounded like delight, like it bubbled up from her soul and blessed every nook and cranny that was fortunate enough to feel her presence with happiness so intense it burned. The crinkle of her eyes and scrunch of her nose as one sweater-covered hand rose to hide her mouth felt like a warm mug of hot chocolate pressed into his frostbitten fingers. It was like all his life, he had only felt the sharp chill of Gotham's selfish apathy. Her warmth, her laughter, it burned.

He wanted to hear it again.

Jason bit down hard on his tongue.

Stop thinking about how pretty her laugh is!

Jason took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Really, now that he was thinking about it, his disgust regarding the insinuation he was anything like a cop was completely theatrical. He wasn't at all upset about it, since she had clearly meant it as a joke, getting offended would be silly. He is much more secure in his crime-lord-y-ness than that, thank you.

...

What the hell is wrong with me, 'crime-lord-y-ness'? God, I need a nap or something.

Jason took another moment to breathe and try to clear his mind, since he clearly needed it. While he did so, Marinette's giggles died down, leaving them in silence. He was once again glad for his helmet protecting him from needing to wrestle control over his facial expressions as well as his thoughts. His heart had yet to fully slow (from the gun fight) and he is sure that there was a small flush on his face (from the parkour) that he was thankful that she couldn't see and get the wrong idea from (because it would be the wrong idea, Dick ).

While he was reasserting control over himself, Marinette seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. She was staring down the alley behind him, eyes unfocused and brows pinched in a look of concentration. Her arms were crossed, showing off the embroidery along the sides of her sleeves as one hand fidgeted with a hoodie string. Jason couldn't even begin to guess what she was thinking about, her mind was so unfamiliar to him that he didn't even bother to try, but he could see the emotions behind it. Amusement slipped into a forlorn kind of sadness, smothered by a brief flash of frustration and then purposeful calm. Curiosity flowed to concentration, tinted by suspicion and an odd kind of resignation.

He didn't know what she was suspicious of, but he only hoped that it wasn't him.

Abruptly, she refocused with a blink and looked at him with a subtle pinch in her brows.

"So, what brings you to me today, Hood?" She asked lightly, tilting her head with the question.

Ah shit, it is me. Should have known.

"Curiosity," he answered honestly. He didn't want to lie to her, that would be the fastest way to fuck up any chance he had.

At- uh... associating with her. In a friendly manner. Yeah.

I'm going to punch Dick in the face next time I see him, just because I can.

"Don't they say that 'curiosity killed the cat'?" She asked, though her eyes unfocused as she did so, her perpetual smile turning sour and bright eyes taking on a dull overcast.

"It's a good thing I'm not a cat, then," he replied matter-of-factly, tone steady as he frowned at her reaction. Jason watched as she blinked, seeming almost confused. Her drifting gaze snapped to somewhere around his mid chest with a minute flinch, before then flicking back upwards to the lenses of his helmet. She stared, mouth slightly open in surprise. Slowly, her face melted back into a soft smile, shadows of memories haunting its edges.

That was a look that Jason knew all too well, and it made his stomach churn to see it on her.

"Yeah, I guess that is a good thing." She said quietly, nearly in a whisper. The sadness in her voice was heartbreaking. It made Jason want nothing more than to find whatever was responsible and kill it.

It didn't matter if Bruce would be disappointed in him, anyone who makes Pixie sad forfeits their right to live.

"What is there to be curious about, anyway? I'm not particularly interesting." She asked after a quick huff of air to shake off whatever sad thoughts had plagued her, as if the idea of anything about her being 'interesting' was inconceivable. Jason gave her the flattest look he could possibly muster, despite the fact that she wouldn't be able to see it.

"That is the funniest joke I have ever heard." He deadpanned. She jerked slightly, face scrunching for a moment before scoffing and giving him the most bombastic eye roll he had ever seen.

"Seriously! There has to be a hundred more interesting things going on in this city tonight than some girl walking through an alley." She said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if she wasn't single handedly responsible for escaping from, and then subsequently taking out, an entire cult by herself as a civilian. And apparently 'nearly castrating someone with a clothesline', if Gregory is to be believed. Which, I wouldn't exactly bet against it.

"Doubtful," he retorted, leaning down to be face to face as he spoke. "Besides, I didn't come here for some girl walking through an alley, I came here for you ." She flinched when he got close. It made his stomach churn, the possibility that he could have made her afraid, that he could have messed this up so easily, until he recognized the look in her eyes. The set of her shoulders and twitch of her upper lip hinting at a snarl. It was an expression that he was more accustomed to feeling on his own face, rather than seeing on someone else.

He shouldn't have been surprised that her first reaction to having her space intruded upon would be aggression, given everything he knew about her so far, but it did a bit more than twist a dull knife in his chest. Something about the familiarity of it, that he wasn't the only one to respond to discomfort with barely restrained violence... Seeing the look on her made Jason feel like he was falling, just a little bit.

Falling off a cliff, not- He wasn’t- Shut up, Dick!

But as fast as it was there, it was gone. She relaxed, not shrinking away or stepping back, not a hint of discomfort or fear in her posture. Then, she seemed to finally register his words.

Being so close, he got a front row view of how the light smattering of freckles on her cheeks were revealed by the dark, flustered blush.

"O-oh." She squeaked. Jason, despite his sub-par execution, is willing to admit that he was just a tiny bit proud of himself for that one. It almost made up for all the teasing he had to endure from his familial-adjacent nuisances.

Because- he- well...

She had a pretty blush, sue him.

"W-well, here I am!" She stuttered, arms waving around frantically as she plastered on a nervous smile. "What can I do for you Mr. Raccoon Trash Man Sir?" 

Both Marinette and Jason cringed simultaneously.

"First off," he leaned back, holding up a finger with an incredulous shake of his head in her direction. "You can start by never calling me that again." His adopted siblings had enough ammunition as is, they did not need to hear her call him that . He might as well die again at that point.

"Agreed," she responded immediately with a slight squeak. Her shoulders scrunched up to her ears, then she shook herself and attempted to cover her embarrassment with a glare. "On the condition that you forget I ever said it." Jason restrained the urge to chuckle darkly.

Oh, not a chance in hell Pixie.

"And secondly," he said, brushing past her condition with a wave of his hand and no acknowledgement whatsoever. "There is something you could do for me, actually." Marinette blinked, curiosity and slight suspicion crossing her features as she tilted her head.

"And what is that?” She asked lightly.

"You could allow me the privilege of escorting you home." She blinked. Then she blinked again. Jason ignored the circling thoughts in the back of his head prodding his subconscious about how it seemed to make her eyes sparkle in the dim light.

He also ignored the imagined voices of Dick and Tim heckling him for being a "Hopeless Romantic Literature Nerd". Which, for the record, he resented that statement.

"What?" She asked, completely baffled. Whether from the offer itself or the wording of it, he couldn't tell. If those assholes have anything to say about it, they can go suck on a knife. Chivalry's not dead if I have anything to say about it.

"Gotham is dangerous at the best of times, especially at night," he explained. "I would prefer to make sure that you don't have any more run-ins with... unsavory characters, let's say." Marinette pursed her lips and looked him over with consideration as she seemed to debate his offer internally.

"You know, some people would consider you an unsavory character." She said slowly, head tilted as she stared at him with piercing eyes. Jason felt something in his chest clench with discomfort at the way she stilled. The fascinating flickers of emotion brushing against her face quieted, sinking beneath the surface as suspicion creeped into the line of her shoulders and set of her stance. The kind she had displayed before, he now realized, was an idle thing. This was real suspicion, the kind he would see in the faces of people trying to find if someone was friend or foe. The idea that she could consider him an 'unsavory character', that she could possibly think that he would ever try to hurt her... It burned more than Jason wanted to admit, despite how true it might be.

No , not because he had a crush, Dick , because- Because...

Because Fuck You, that's why!

"Do you agree?" He asked, trying not to let the tenseness of his shoulders show or his discomfort seep into his voice. He held his breath as Marinette stared at him with those narrowed eyes, leaning ever so slightly forward onto the balls of her feet, like she could stare straight into his soul if she squinted hard enough. And then the emotion fluttered back into her face as her chin jutted forward challengingly. Then, she gave him that smug smile.

"I prefer to withhold judgement. Something something substantial evidence and all that," she said. Jason had to fight not to let the relieved breath leave him all at once as she rocked back onto her heels, suspicion dispersing like mist. He didn't have enough time to gather his thoughts to respond before she continued.

"But I did only meet you yesterday, and don't exactly want to show you where I live." Her jaw twitched slightly, and despite her playful tone, he could see the seriousness underneath. Jason took a half a step back, shrugging and holding up his hands in mock surrender as he spoke with false offense.

"What, you don't trust me, Pixie? I'm hurt." She snorted in response, giving him a flat look. The slight frown that came with it made her bottom lip stick out in a pout, which was a completely normal and not at all odd thing for him to notice.

"I trust you about as far as I can throw you." She said, turning up her nose with an exaggerated look of distain that oddly reminded him of Damian when presented with any trivial inconvenience.

"So quite a bit, then." He responded. Marinette blinked, mock distain wiped away as she opened her mouth to retort, then closed without a sound. Emotions flashed across her face nearly faster than he could catch until it finally seemed to settle on flustered annoyance

"Cheater," she said, scrunching up her nose and pinching her eyebrows together.

"Me? Cheater?" He stepped forward, leaning over her to once again be face to face. " Never ." She didn't flinch away this time, taking in his close proximity with nothing more than a slight widening of her eyes and twitch of her brows. He lingered for a few moments longer than would be natural. He needed her to recognize his sincerity, for his own peace of mind. He had always thought of cheaters as scum, and wouldn't let anyone, especially her , think of him as such. He knew she wasn't exactly referring to that kind of cheater, but he needed her to know regardless. 

For... reasons. Reputation reasons. Yeah...

He decided to just ignore his thoughts, letting the words hang in the air for a few moments, before stepping back out of her space and brushing away the atmosphere with a theatrical wave of his hand. 

"I am an honest and upstanding member of society, thank you very much." Marinette seemed frozen for just a moment before she shook her head and huffed out a breath with a smirk of amusement.

"Uh huh, yeah, and I'm Ladybug." Her tone was thick with sarcasm as she laughed lightly, shaking her head at him. Jason didn't bother to keep the warmness out of his tone as he responded.

"Could have fooled me." She merely shrugged, swaying a bit as she pretended to examine her nails.

"Seems like something that would be easy to do, yeah." Marinette said with a self-satisfied smirk that she didn't bother to hide.

"Hey!" Jason protested, crossing his arms and puffing up in an aggressive stance that was mostly bluster like he would with any of his fellow vigilantes who poked fun at him, before realizing with a painful skip of his heartbeat that 'intimidating' was the exact last thing that he wanted Marinette to think of him. Of course, as was becoming a trend with the blue-haired woman, she proved his expectations completely unfounded by ignoring his motion with a flippant wave of her hand.

"And besides, I have lived in Gotham for three years now, I know how to take care of myself." She declared, that challenging look creeping back into her features as she glared at him. Jason felt a shiver trail down his spine that he dutifully ignored.

"I never said you didn't," Jason said matter-of-factly, shrugging as he forcefully relaxed his shoulders.  "Honestly, I have more reason to protect cultists from you rather than the other way around." It never even crossed his mind to deny that fact, but Marinette seemed taken aback by his easy agreement, like she expected to fight tooth and nail to prove herself capable to him. Like he didn't watch her break a man into a weeping mess on the ground with just a monkey wrench, manic energy, and near supernatural grace. Marinette spent a few moments staring at him with astonishment softening her features, mouth hung open as if stuck halfway through a sentence. 

He couldn't tell if her speechlessness came from not expecting him to so readily agree with her after his previous... Let's say 'mildly judgmental' first impression, or if the turn of the conversation just threw her off and she didn't have a retort prepared. Either way, her words didn’t leave her for long, only a few seconds passing before she crossed her arms and nodded with imperious expression.

"Darn right." she said, before leaning towards him with her eyes narrowed playfully. "But what if I wanted to mess with more cultists, huh? Did you ever think of that?" There was an amused sparkle in her eyes that threatened to steal his breath away, and he wouldn’t put it past her to have some kind of power to do so. The longer he knew her, the more it seemed like she really was some kind of fae… Jason shook his head.

"I think nineteen is enough for one week Pixie," he said with a chuckle that bubbled its way out of him. "Maybe curb the bloodlust a bit, I'm pretty sure that is supposed to be my thing."

"Twenty one." She said matter-of-factly, to which he tilted his head in confusion. It took a second for him to realize that she was referring to the number of cultists, due to his distraction from the bizarre feeling in his chest. The one that felt like a massive weight had been lifted from him just a bit, that made it easy for his laughter to escape, as if it wasn't pushing through layers and layers of stone just to be heard.

"Nineteen." He repeated, pushing away those thoughts and instead thinking of the police report he had looked at earlier that night. The one he had handed over to Pippin's gang before sending them in to steal the evidence he needed for his investigation into the cult. Not that it did much in the end, other than get his people shot, since the moron had gotten himself caught and blamed it on a setup and something about an actual fucking rat rather than his own incompetence.

"No, twenty one." Marinette corrected again, speaking with certainty and a slow tone. Her expression slowly fell into a look of concern, brows furrowing and eyes squinting at him as if she were trying to solve a puzzle. He stared at her for several long moments as she did the same to him. He went over the report in his mind, matching it up with what he remembered from both being in the warehouse and watching the recording as his family did their best to embarrass him, still only coming up with nineteen. Finally, he held up four fingers.

"Four cultists were drawing the ritual circle," he said, to which she continued, waving her own hand in response.

"Twelve were meditating at the points of the star, which makes sixteen," she said and he signed the number, thumb touching his pinkie and shaking his hand outward.

"With two on watch and one napping in the corner. Nineteen." He stated, tapping his thumb and index finger with a crease in his brow as he thought of who could possibly be missing.

"And the two locked in the upstairs office. Twenty one." Marinette said with a nod. Slowly, Jason's hand lowered, shoulders dropping as he stared off into the distance, remembering the random chair in the hallway that he had managed to kick Dick into tripping over while they had been carting him back to the cave. The chair that had promptly been flung away from the door, freeing the cultists that were apparently hidden inside.

"Twenty one..." he said, still somewhat disbelieving. Marinette just nodded blankly. "The cops only arrested nineteen," he said, letting another small moment of silence fall between them as he wondered how all three supposedly highly trained vigilantes managed to miss what was in hindsight an extremely obvious temporary holding cell. Seriously, who would miss a chair propped up underneath a door handle in the middle of a hallway? Them, apparently. 

Well, technically speaking, it was Bruce and Dick's fault. He was otherwise occupied.

"Well, um..." Marinette started, pink lips pursed and tapping her fingers at her sides. "Seems like you should probably do something about that." Jason considered it for a moment. He could take care of it, but that would take time away from Marine other very important investigations that required his full attention. Yeah.

"Actually, I think that sounds like a Batman problem." He said. Barbara would find out about the missing cultists and send someone after them. Or, more likely, she already had. At this point, they were decidedly not his problem. He was much too busy for small issues such as that. Marinette snorted a laugh, shaking her head with a poof of her hair buns. He stared for a moment as she glanced around the alleyway, looking fully away from him for the first time since he swung down in front of her. He was self aware enough to admit he felt the loss of her eyes on him, though he would never be the kind of asshole that needs constant attention. But with Marinette... Something about her drew him in, made him wish for her presence. She was captivating, and he didn’t know why.

She wasn’t afraid of him, even when others in her place would run for the hills. Even when others in her place had run for the hills, as had happened earlier that night. She threatened him with a smile, and had proved she could follow through. She was so open , so bright, despite how the world loved to crumble those showed too much of themselves. There was a certain kind of strength in her joy, like a weathered ocean cliff, still standing despite the crashing waves. It was beautiful. She was…

Well, maybe he did know why…

He would never admit it to Dick, and would punch anyone who suggested as much, but maybe, just maybe , it might be a tiny, minuscule, completely fleeting and not-serious-at-all crush.

Well... Fuck it, here goes nothing.

"Hey Pixie, I was wondering if-" He said as she spoke at the same time.

"Do you hear tha-" She cut herself off, looking back at him with wide eyes and the beginnings of an embarrassed flush.

"Sorry, you-" Marinette started.

"You go-" Jason cut himself off. Her blush deepened, shoulders raising slightly as she looked away, gesturing wildly as she spoke rapidly.

"I was just going to say that I thought I heard something weird- but it is not at all a big deal or anything! It's probably nothing and I'm sorry for cutting you off- so um... What were you going to say?" She looked back to him with one of her too-bright grins and pink cheeks that made his chest feel light and airy. He swallowed, noting to ask about the noise she heard in a minute. Right now, though, he had an important question to ask her.

"Well, I was going to ask you if-"

He was cut off by the sudden revving of multiple engines from behind Marinette as the singed gang members from before rounded the corner of the alley, and someone shouted with vitriol in their voice.

"THERE HE IS! GET EM! "

Chapter Text

Day one: Friday, 9:03PM, Gotham City Police Department

A doughnut party. A god damned doughnut party. It was probably the single most ridiculous excuse to get out of work that Francis had ever heard, and that was saying something. Francis thought he had seen some pretty dumb shit over the years, having been delegated to Disturbance of the Peace calls that were more often than not college kids getting drunk off their asses and having "Great Ideas", but this took the cake. 

Literally .

Because seriously, a Fucking Doughnut Party. Francis didn't even like doughnuts! They were way too sweet, making his teeth ache and the back of his jaw cramp, and the texture was just god awful. When they were warm they were just way too soft, causing them to stick to the roof of your mouth and have to be peeled off, and when they weren't the outer glazed coating flaked with the barest touch and got everywhere , not to mention how damn sticky the things were, and when you picked them up they just squished under your fingers and the glaze got under your nails and made them smell like sugar for hours , not to mention the fact that they had no real flavor and it was just all sugar -

Francis didn't like donuts. The thing is, Jeremy knew that. The second thing Jeremy knew, was that Francis hated paperwork being done incorrectly. Filed in the wrong order, labeled with the wrong case number, incompletes mixed in with the ones ready to be stored- all of it just made everyone's jobs harder. Or, it would if anyone else cared , so really it just made his job harder. It made Francis want to rip someone's hair out.

But that didn't matter, no, because the last thing about Jeremy was that he is also a lazy fucking asshole . All the other detectives in their office going out to perpetuate stereotypes and shirk their work onto the only person in their entire God damned office who gave a single shit?

Fucking ridiculous .

This is so going on the grievances list , he thought, scowling as he sorted through the supplies closet for another box of tiny alligator clips. He had run out, filing everyone else's case notes and incident reports. Sure, he still had paper clips, but paper clips were for mail . Anything over 10 pages gets an alligator clip. There has been one too many times where a report has had pages slip out and go missing, or a clip fall off and said files scattering across the floor that he has had to pick up and reorganize, or that he has found a mangled paper clip in his jar that will never be the right shape again but is still functional enough that he can't justify throwing the damn thing away for him to have any respect for the semi-functional overrated poster children of the office supplies world. Honestly, if there is one person out there who displays all the characteristics that he despises of both donuts and paper clips, it would be Jeremy Fucking Forester.

A Fucking Doughnut Party. It was so god damned stupid -

There was a crash that made him jump. Porcelain shattering against tile and the sound of a liquid splashing against the ground. It made the blood drain from his face. Not because he was supposedly alone in the room, or the fear that someone would have snuck in, or there could be a security breach, no. There was only one thing in this office that could make that sound, and that was his limited edition heat-reactive 32 oz Justice League mug. Francis slowly put down the box of rubber bands and turned, leaning out of the supply closet to see his worst fears were true. 

His mug. His favorite mug with his favorite coffee blend, shattered across the floor next to his desk. Right below a fucking rat.

Francis felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. If there was one thing that he hated more than donuts or paper clips or Jeremy Fucking Forester, it was rodents . They were too small, they could be literally anywhere and get into anything, just out of sight, messing up everything they could get their grubby uncoordinated paws on, and get away with it . 'Oh, it was just a mouse,' or 'Dumb squirrel chewed on the power line again, poor thing,' like an annoyed parent, sounding almost fond as their nightmare crotch goblins tear apart a pantry with ravenous fervor saying nothing more than, 'They don't know any better.' 

Bullshit.

Rodents had more capacity for intellect than anyone gave them credit for, especially rats . They could be trained, easily. Francis knew, he knew , that it was only a matter of time before someone took advantage of that and became the villainous impetus for the rodent uprising. And staring at the light gray, sleek, and well-groomed rat that held up his newly printed and now coffee stained map like a newspaper it was reading at a diner on an early Sunday morning, he had a sinking feeling in his gut that that day had come. Along with it came a well of deep internal despair and grief. 

"My mug! " he nearly wailed, falling to his knees as he stared at the shards of his sole source of happiness in this God forsaken city. 

The rat paid him no mind, like the bastard it was.

---

Francis would like to put it on record and say that he is not afraid of rats. He is rightfully suspicious of them. That is why he is hiding around the corner as he watches the damned thing creep through and sneak, legitimately sneak through the precinct. Call him crazy, and most probably would, but he knew for a fact that that rat was up to something sinister. He could see it in the things' beady red eyes as it had trailed a path along the stained map with its paws. It knew what it was doing. It was way too confident for something that isn't supposed to be able to read. When going through the hallways, it even hid in a crack in the baseboards when one of his coworkers passed.

Francis ignored the odd looks he received for just standing in the hallways, staring at the wall like it held all the evils of this world.

It was when the rat reached the evidence room that he knew for sure what it was here for. After all, what better to steal something so important than a creature everyone would dismiss as harmless? Everyone would be fooled into believing it to be a freak accident.

Everyone but Francis.

He watched the thing search through the rows of shelves, sniffing and scuttling through crates and binders before finally finding the box it was looking for. On a shelf at around waist height in the active cases section was a tightly sealed cardboard box. The rat stopped, walking around the box on its two hind legs (like it was a person- ) looking for a way in. For just a moment, Francis believed that the universal power of duct tape would save the day, foiling the malicious plot of the pint sized pest.

Alas, it wasn't meant to be. The wretched creature proved yet again why no one will be safe once they begin their rodent uprising. They can get into anything.

With their teeth .

The unsettling sound of ripping and chewing cardboard made the feeling of nausea bubble up his throat. He couldn't describe why exactly he could hunt down criminals and murderers with a façade of stoicism, yet it was the sound of chewing that did him in. Trying to tune it out, Francis looked closer at the box in particular that the rat had been sent to procure the contents of. It was the evidence box for the cult case the commissioner got called in on last night. Of course, after apprehending the culprits with the help of some bats, he handed the case off to the detectives. Also of course, Jeremy Fucking Forester 'volunteered' for it, like he does with all the cases that have already had the majority of the work done for him. Lazy fucking asshole doing none of the work and taking all of the credit. Why is the box even sealed like that? It's still an open case! God damn mother fucking jerkbags not following protocol-!

The rat paused in its chewing, breaking him out of his thoughts. He refocused, looking at it as it stopped to clean its fur. Francis could hear the smacking of its mouth, and his face nearly turned green. Nope. I can't do it. This is so above my pay grade, he thought, quickly backing out of the room and closing the door behind. He stood in the hallway, safe from the horror on the other side of the wall. He couldn't do anything about the rat, but he also couldn't just leave it there to run amok...

Commissioner Gordon will know what to do...

---

"Come in," Jim called at whomever was shuffling anxiously outside his door. It was a slow day so far, as slow as one could get in the crime capital of the world, but Jim knew better than to expect it to stay that way for long. The night had only just begun, after all. The door slowly creeped open as detective Francis Greene poked his head in. 

"Sir," he greeted with a nod, looking nervous and a little stressed. 

"What do you need?" Jim asked brow furrowing. Francis, from what he had seen, wasn't the type for idle chatter. If he was seeking him out, it was for a reason. 

"Well," he started uncertainly. "You see, there's a- we have- uh..." Jim's brow furrowed further. 

"Come on, spit it out," he said. Francis gulped. 

"We have a rat."

" What?! " Jim asked, standing up with his hands braced against the desk. Francis seemed to shrink back, looking nearly stricken.

"A- a rat. There's, um... We have a rat," he repeated. "I didn't know if it was something I should bring to you or not, but it started going through the evidence room and I'm pretty sure it is trying to steal the cult stuff-" Jim cut him off, moving the stacks of papers and files around his desk as he began looking for his personal notebook.

"No no, this is absolutely something that should be brought to me," he affirmed. "Did you tell anyone else?" Jim had been trying to excise the prevalent corruption among the ranks since before he was even promoted to commissioner. With how nervous Francis was, he had to be coming forward at his own risk. Jim wouldn't let that go unrewarded.

"Uh, no..." He answered.

"Good good, do you know who it is?" He asked, wanting to take care of this immediately. Hopefully, he had some good evidence to go along with the accusation. God damnit, where is that damn notebook?

"Um... It's a rat." Francis said, sounding a bit like a broken record. 

"Yes, yes, I know, " Jim said, waiving a dismissive hand. He understood hiding one's words behind plausible deniability when it comes to dangerous information like this, but hell if it didn't get annoying sometimes. No one else was around his office at the moment, so there should be nothing stopping him from speaking plainly.

"Uh... No sir." Francis said, sounding less nervous , but rather like he was cringing. "There's a rat . Like, a rat rat."

Jim slowed to a stop in his frantic movements.

"A rat." he repeated, flat disbelief creeping into his tone. Francis nodded.

"Yes sir."

"Like, the animal rat?" Jim clarified, still holding onto a small ounce of hope that he was using a code word for a corrupt cop.

"Yes, sir. An animal rat." Francis said, seeming relieved that he finally understood. The silence that followed was a heavy thing. "It's stealing cult stuff from the evidence room." He continued, like that wasn't the most absurd thing uttered in this office since it was revealed that the 'Bat Man' was actually real.

"There's.." Jim repeated slowly, trying to overcome his bewilderment, "an actual fucking rat , stealing cult stuff , from the evidence room."

"Yes sir." Francis said with a nod, completely serious.

Jim had half a mind to pinch himself, but even his dreams couldn't come up with something this ridiculous. The silence stretched.

"I came to get you when it started chewing a hole into the box," he said, like that explained anything. "I'm pretty sure it knows how to read, too," he added, causing a hundred more questions to appear on the growing list in Jim's mind. As he continued to do nothing but stare, Francis started shifting in his spot, not making eye contact and looking self-conscious.

"It held up the map of the precinct that was on my desk, then ran straight to the evidence room. I don't even know how it did that, since last time I checked, rats don't have that kind of dexterity." 

Jim had no idea what to say to that. He had no idea what to say about any of this.

"It broke my mug..." Francis said quietly after a long moment. 

Jim stared.

Francis looked at the floor with an expression of deep mourning.

The silence stretched between them.

"... That was my favorite mug..." Francis mumbled. In any other situation, the sadness in the man's voice would be almost funny.

With great effort, Jim took in a deep breath and decided to unpack all that nonsense later . For now, he could deal with the apparent rat problem.

"Show me," he said, stepping out from behind his desk. Francis looked up, confused.

"The mug?" he asked.

" No , the fucking rat !"

---

Getting in the building had been even easier than Jeremy made it out to be. Anderson had, quite literally, simply walked through the front door wearing a borrowed uniform and eating an only slightly stale doughnut. It was a little funny how no one spared him a second glance, it almost made him want to whistle. He didn't, of course. He wasn't an idiot .

Finishing the last bite of his doughnut, Anderson tried to wipe away most of the sticky residue from his fingers, but was only marginally successful. He didn't have the time to stop by the bathroom, so he'd just have to deal with the minor annoyance. Oh well. He had memorized the route he needed to take already, and it took him almost no time at all to reach the correct hallway with only one hiccough along the way in the form of Jeremy's coworker, Fredrick or something. Anderson had been warned about the man previously, but was told he would likely be neck deep in the supply closet looking for paperclips. Instead, he was standing around the corner staring at the wall like it was rigged to explode with fear toxin. Anderson was tempted to ask what he was doing, but didn't want to invite any attention to himself, so he just let the mystery be. 

Weird guy , he thought.

With Fred-something preoccupied with whatever it was he was doing, Anderson easily "stole" the badge from Jeremy's desk and practically waltzed into the evidence room without any trouble. The box was right where he was told it would be, taped up and ready for transport. This is too easy , he thought smugly as he slid it off the shelf. Perhaps stupidly, as the moment the words crossed his mind, he felt a small hole in the back corner of the box. Anderson frowned, holding it up to the harsh fluorescent lights to look closer.

It was... a hole.

Anderson didn't know what else he was expecting, really.

It was just a small hole in the back corner about half the size of his palm. It was probably just a reused box from some other case that a stupid mouse chewed on hoping to find food inside. Not that there would be any food in an evidence room... Whatever, not his problem.

... Man, now I want another doughnut.

Anderson readjusted his grip, covering the hole with his hand as he started to walk out of the room. He wasn't an amateur, he wasn't going to leave it uncovered so a trail of some kind could fall out behind him, leading him to being caught red handed like some cartoon villain. That would make him just as stupid as the rodent that probably chewed this hole.

Pain stabbed into his hand.

Anderson let out a yell, flinging out his arm in panic and subsequently dropping the box, hearing something shatter inside as it hit the ground. But that wasn't important. It was the blood that flowed freely from his palm to drip onto the concrete floor, and the thing that smacked against the far wall in a cloud of glowing orange sparks. 

His first thought was that it was a rat. It was the most logical- most plausible- option that some dumb fucking rat chewed its way into the box, and he had just spooked it into biting him. But no. No, that couldn't be it, not in this damned city.

Anderson could see it, the outline in the shadows. Big, round ears. A long, thin tail. And the arms- human arms, pushing itself off the ground with the help of human legs, to look up at him with the dark outline of a human face.

What the fuck.

"That's not a fucking rat, that's a fucking person ," he whispered, restraining himself from screaming. "A tiny rat person..." Anderson felt its glowing eyes bore into his soul, two pinpricks of an unnatural icy blue in the darkness.

What. The. Fuck.

"Hey!" A tiny, high pitched voice shouted from the darkness. "Who're you calling tiny?!" The sound made Anderson feel like he was about to vomit out his esophagus.

" What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck- " He was going crazy. This couldn't be real- It just couldn't . But it was, the warm blood flowing freely down his forearm and dripping to the floor was evidence enough of that. His mantra cut off when the thing began to move, limbs splayed unnaturally to the side as it scurried on all fours towards the harsh line where light met shadow. He feared seeing it in full, seeing what the light would reveal it to truly be in all the uncanny, unnatural ways of its existence- but that would almost have been better than what actually happened. Those same orange sparks danced around its body as it emerged, and suddenly, standing before him was a rat. Fluffy, almost invitingly soft looking light grey fur and large round ears, long and delicate muzzle adorned with whiskers and a twitching nose, a tail almost as long as its entire body and tiny, sharp claws on the ends of pastel pink paw pads.

Anderson had never truly thought that cute could look so evil before, but as it picked up a miniature leather-bound book, colored a sinister blood red and deep black, etched with satanic symbols, and looked at him with glowing and malicious pink eyes, he knew he would never be so ignorant and carefree again.

"No one will ever believe you..." It said, backing into the darkness on its hind legs, disappearing from sight. Before Anderson even had the chance to regain his senses, the door opened.

---

Francis had a foreboding feeling in his gut as they approached the evidence room. It was the same feeling he would get before a criminal would land a punch, or an unstable stack of files would tip over. The certainty that something bad was in the process of happening, and there was next to nothing that he could do about it. When the door opened and his eyes landed on a man he didn't recognize clutching a bleeding hand with that same look of panicked horror that had painted Francis' own face earlier, that feeling only grew. Who the hell is this? Does the rat have accomplices?! No- his hand has clearly been bitten, it wouldn't leave an ally behind to divulge information about it. Unless that's what the rat wants us to think...

Further musings and the now awkward silence was interrupted by Commissioner Gordon.

"So we do have a mole, after all..." He remarked, sounding like he desperately wanted a strong drink.

"No, it's a rat!" The stranger exclaimed desperately as they seemed to finally find their voice in a flurry of rising panic.

"Uh huh," the Commissioner said with palpable sarcasm, unconvinced. "And you weren't the one trying to steal evidence just now? Right."

"No- No! I swear, it was the rat!" The man shouted, clutching their bloody hands to their chest and looking into the dark shadows as if they could attack at any moment. Admittedly, Francis was looking at the shadows too, but with much more subtlety.

"Yeah, bullshit. You're under arrest." Commissioner Gordon was having none of it, clearly ready to be done with this whole fiasco. Not that things were ever that easy.

"Please, you've got to believe me, that's what the rat wants you to think!"

"You have the right to remain silent, do us all a favor and use it." The man ignored the advice, desperation lacing his voice as he insisted the rat was actually a small mutated person under an illusion, that it spoke to him from the darkness.

Francis hung back as the Commissioner marched the stranger out of the room, looking around at the disarray. Despite what the Commissioner said, Francis knew that this wouldn't be dismissed so easily. There was too much evidence of something sinister going on here, and not nearly enough answers. He had a feeling that he was about to have a new case on his hands.

And Francis didn't like it. Not one bit.

Chapter Text

Day one: Friday, 10:17PM,  Random Alleyway in Gotham

If someone asked Marinette to attribute one thought to describe the entirety of this situation, she would probably just shrug and gesture wildly in the direction of the bikers with guns and say 'Is that really the most important thing you could be worrying about right now?!'

Which, consequently, would also be remarkably similar to what her actual answer for that question would be, though directed at herself rather than her imaginary conversational partner. But of course, no one ever asked Marinette her input on things like this. Unfortunate, since the resulting tirade of monumental proportions would likely be a source of great catharsis for her, and quality entertainment for those out of range of the collateral. Because really, what in the Sasquatches stinky feet even was her life anymore?

Oh sure, she had long since gotten used to wacky yet traumatic villain attacks, annoying hangnails, heroism, vigilante justice, that one piece of hair that never wanted to lay flat no matter what she did, mortal peril- and yet here she was! Still surprised when her perfectly pleasant conversation with a crime lord got interrupted by what looked like a motorcycle gang's unsolicited 'Free Bullet Bonanza!'

'Perfectly pleasant conversation with a crime lord', I'm going to flip a table I swear to the Kwami-

But no, like she told the imaginary person in her head asking her philosophical input on taking an extremely complex situation and the many small coincidences that lead to its occurrence and boiling it down to one descriptive thought that wholly encapsulates the unique qualities that make it a new experience for the retired superheroine that thought she had seen it all- that was really, truly, not the most important thing to be thinking about right now.

Meaning she should probably stop thinking about it.

Unfortunately, Marinette was never one to do what she was supposed to. It was probably why she kept ending up in these situations to begin with, if she were being honest.

Not the point, focus.

It was the engines that had caught her attention first, the ambient sounds of the city growing closer in a way that caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise and the backs of her eye sockets to tingle like an oncoming sneeze. Of course, Marinette wasn't the type to be spooked easily, so she immediately got distracted and missed her chance for any kind of preparations by cutting off then subsequently babbling incomprehensibly at Red Hood.

Again.

Ya'know, like an idiot.

Needless to say, she was more surprised than she should have been when the weirdly colorful motor cycle gang whipped around the corner of the alley and started shooting at her. Or- well, shooting at Red Hood, who was standing right behind her, subsequently turning Marinette into an ineffectually sized meat shield.

Joy.

Red Hood was either not surprised in the slightest, or much quicker on the draw (heh) than she expected, as while she had been staring dumbly and reconsidering her life's choices, he was already darting in front of her and returning fire as he backed them around the bend.

...huh... He didn't just grab me and roll to the ground in an effort to protect me, only to land in a compromising position that would theoretically make any girl swoon, but in reality just be extremely irritating and counterproductive to escaping this situation unscathed. Marinette thought, blinking at his brown-leather-clad-back as bullets and swears flew past her ears. That's... Really nice, actually.

"I'm going to swing us up to the roof!" Red Hood called over his shoulder, a focused and irritated growl in his voice as he ducked fully around the bend and holstered his gun, drawing his grapple instead. "This is going to require some manhandling, so I apologize in advance." He said with what sounded like a hint of humor, turning to face where Marinette still stood frozen. Deja Vu.

Hood looked up at the fire escape above, raising an arm and aiming carefully. And he gave me a warning instead of just doing it, despite being in the middle of an ambush? How is a crime lord more respectful than my old superhero partner ever was?! That is so unfair. Despite the warning, the strong arm around her waist still startled a yelp out of her. Ow! Right, bruises.

"Hold on," he said, though her arms were already clasped around his shoulder on instinct. Marinette could feel the deep rumble in his chest as he spoke and it sent a shiver down her spine. The swoop of her stomach that followed was purely caused by their sudden ascent and had nothing to do with Red Hood's genuine consideration or the fact that he was holding her like she was something precious. I need to get over my trauma about being in Paris and go visit my parents. I'm clearly missing Papa's hugs. She winced. Maybe I should wait until after my poor ribs are healed, though... All too soon, they reached the top of the building as engines and gunshots echoed below them. Marinette went to grab the edge of the fire escape to haul herself over, but Hood didn't let her go like she expected. Instead, he hooked a leg over the railing as he holstered the grapple gun, and then picked her up in a princess carry and jumped up onto the roof. He set her down gently, far enough away from the edge that the bullets whizzing past into the air posed no danger.

That... Was ridiculously smooth. And gentlemanly. Also completely unnecessary, but still gentlemanly.

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, narrowing her eyes.

Brain, she thought at herself sharply. You better not be doing what I think you’re doing right now. We do NOT have time for this. A crime lord is being nice to us, so what?! It is completely normal for crime lords to do chivalrous thinks for distressed maidens (not that she was one, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a strong independent woman who don't need no man!)- or, wait, that might just be a thing that happens in books... Still! Stop it, brain!!

Marinette was still trying to shake her mind into working properly. Too many things had happened in such a short period of time, and now this? With, again, and she can not emphasize this enough, a crime lord!? Seriously, what even is her life.

"I could have climbed over myself," she found herself saying instead of, for instance, 'thank you'.

"I know," he said simply, reloading the gun on his hip and walking to the opposite edge of the roof. Marinette huffed, partly amused, partly disbelieving, and glaring at the air while she yelled at herself internally for blushing.

Not. The. Time.

"So," she said in an attempt to redirect her thoughts away from the thing she was not thinking about right now. "Who are these people, exactly?"

"Members of another gang," he replied, jerking back from the ledge right before bullets whizzed past his helmeted face. "Apparently a run in with an actual rat ended up with one of their people getting arrested, and they are convinced it was my doing for some reason." Marinette blinked, thinking back to the Not-Cop that had flung her into the wall and then freaked out about the 'Tiny Rat Person'.

"... Huh," she said slowly. "Weird." And it's not even Thursday, she lamented. Man, that is going to come back and bite me, I just know it.

"Tell me about it..." he muttered, tilting his head to listen as they heard a woman shouting orders down below.

"You, take a group and surround the block, don't let him swing away. The rest of you, we're going up after him."

"Well that seems very ineffective," She commented, crossing her arms and leaning to one side. Red Hood seemed to scoff slightly in agreement, not bothering to back away from the now-violently-rattling fire escape.

"I had hoped that the first explosion would have scared them off, but obviously they lost their common sense somewhere along the way." Marinette watched as he opened one of the pouches on his belt and pulled out a small disk.

"I take it the second explosion didn't do much better?" She asked, tilting her head as she tracked the disk's movement with her eyes and reached up a hand to fiddle with the strap of her purse. I should probably put this away, it will only get in the way if we get into a fight.

"We are about to find out, though I'll admit I'm not that hopeful," Hood said, confirming her previous thoughts and inviting a new one as he began walking her way, casually tossing the explosive over his shoulder.

"You just carry bombs around in your pocket?" She looked back to him, a hint of glee creeping into her voice at the prospect. He paused mid motion, head tilted to the side with glowing lenses staring straight into her eyes. Only his soft breathing and the minute tapping of his middle finger on the gun holster strapped to his thigh indicated that he was anything other than a statue. It was giving her weeping angle vibes, honestly. Don't blink, she thought to herself. Then he spoke.

"No." For half a second more, they continued to stare at each other. Then the fire escape rattled with a small explosion, a not-insignificant-amount of smoke rising from the edge as the gang members yelled with shock.

Marinette raised an eyebrow.

"That's our cue," Hood said, starting towards her as smoothly as if he never stopped in the first place. "Let's go." Marinette pressed her lips together, trying to wrestle the amused smile off her face.

"Man, I wish I had known about those yesterday," she said with a despondent sigh, pulling her purse off and wrapping the strap around its middle before shoving it in her hoodie's extradimensional pocket. While it would fit in the normal pocket, she didn't want it getting damaged or blocking any movement. There was still plenty of room for Mullo and Tikki in there, they'd forgive her for the intrusion.

"I can not convey how glad I am that you didn't," he replied gravely, to which she couldn't help but laugh. "What would you have even done with them?" She couldn't describe his tone as anything other than morbidly curious.

"I guess we'll never know..." He snorted a laugh, and Marinette smirked to herself. Well, we'll never know what I would have done with explosives for the warehouse of cultists. Bikers, on the other hand... I'm sure I can think of something.

"My bike is this way," he pointed in the direction he had appeared from previously, stopping to stand beside her. "Mind if I swing us down?" 

"Any worries about being shot?" She asked, having to crane her neck to look up at him from how close he stood. Stupid tall people...

"Nah," Hood replied with a shake of his head. He started to continue whatever explanation of his skills he thought was required in order to assuage her fears, but Marinette replied before he could.

"Alright then, let's go." Red Hood paused, staring at her for a moment.

"I feel like something should be said about your cavalier disregard for your own safety." She raised an eyebrow.

"If you were a pot, the kettle would have some words for you." He snorted a laugh, and she smiled in turn, rolling her eyes a little. "Besides, I trust you to not let me get hit," Marinette said, giving him a sunny grin that was just a little too toothy to be completely non-threatening. Red Hood took in a deep breath, putting a hand to his chest and speaking with a noble cadence behind the slightly robotic voice that came out of his helmet.

"It would be my honor to be your meatshield." Laughter burst from Marinette's mouth, and she tried to hide it behind a hand.

"How chivalrous," she said between stifled giggles.

"Shall we, then?" He held out an arm towards her, palm up.

"We shall." She took his hand.

~~~~

Red Hood's motorcycle was obvious, haphazardly parked in a dead end alleyway underneath a lowered fire escape, colored a fire engine red and clearly built to take a few hits. It would be an unwieldy nightmare for a first time driver, but luckily for Marinette, she was anything but.

While putting her behind the wheel of a car may be asking for a one way trip to the grave, motorcycles were a completely different story. She jumped on the bike, gunshots echoing from around the corner as Red Hood caught up.

"Scooch, Pixie, I'm dri-" he cut off as the engine started with a roar, pausing just a few feet away. He stared for a moment, patting his jacket pocket. She gave him a cheeky grin, revving the engine as she did so. Not for the first time, she wished she could see the look on his face.

"Well?" she prompted, only kind of trying to keep the smugness out of her voice. He had made it easy for her to acquire his keys, holding her close (shush, brain) as he swung them down to ground level and then called directions as they ran, keeping the few bikers on their side of the building from shooting them before they got away. It was child's play to disguise her quick perusal of his jacket pocket as a consequence of the wind. Red Hood scoffed in amusement, shaking his head as he jogged forward.

"I thought you said you didn't know how to pickpocket someone's keys," He questioned flatly, climbing onto the back of the motorcycle. He was careful to give her space, clearly trying not to make her uncomfortable by sitting too close where she couldn't see him, despite the fact that it meant he was half out of the seat. It was an incredibly considerate gesture that Marinette was trying really hard not to think about for too long.

It's fine. It's just someone showing consideration for how their actions might make me feel, no big deal, she told herself. That probably won't last that long anyway, totally not something to swoon over, brain!

"I asked if I looked like I knew how to pickpocket someone's keys," she quipped back while dislodging the kickstand. "It's not my fault you're judgmental!"

Behind her, Red Hood laughed.

Marinette felt like there were sparks of electricity dancing between her shoulder blades as she turned the bike around with a harmonious rev of the engine and a practiced lean. Her guess has been right about the power of the bike, barely a touch sending them towards the end of the alley with a jolt. Of course, with Hood practically sitting on the back wheel and her being... Let's say gravitationally disadvantaged, the weight balance was quite rear heavy.

So obviously, Marinette slammed on the brake.

"Shit!" While he had clearly been prepared for the acceleration, Red Hood failed to predict the following sudden deceleration that caused him to slide forward into the seat, and consequently, her back as well. Ow.

"Are you okay?" Hood asked, leaning back with his arms hovering by her shoulders. She could see the concern clearly in his posture through the mirrors, even as his tone turned harsh through the voice changer. "What the hell was that, Pixie?!" He demanded, not giving her the chance to respond to his first question.

"Testing the brakes!" she answered cheerfully, to which he let out something between a scoff and a huff.

"If you are gonna pull shit like that, I'm not letting you drive," he said with a growl. Marinette snorted. 

"As if you could stop me." Marinette readjusted in her seat, hearing the other bikers calling for the stragglers to catch up and corner them in the dead end alley. The barebones plan she had come up with on the short run over would work best if they were to remain spread out, so she prepared herself to take off before they could regroup. But as she did so, Red Hood starting inching backwards again.

"Nuh uh," she chided, whipping a hand back to grab his jacket. She missed, grabbing the body armor covering his side instead. "Stay." 

Red Hood froze.

"Uh," he started after a beat, clearing his throat. "Are you sure?" Marinette held back an eye roll.

"Obviously, that's why I said it." She could hear more engines come to life in the distance as the bikers reached them, nearly indistinct shouting urging them to hurry. Marinette could feel the adrenaline buzzing under her skin as she took in a deep breath to calm her heart, letting him go to grip the handlebars tightly in preparation.

"Okay, if you say so." Red Hood replied after a beat longer than would be natural. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Pixie." Marinette stilled.

Shut up brain, shut up brain, shut up brain! Stop it! We are NOT doing this right now!!!

She spun in her seat, channeling all of the stupid feelings swirling in her chest into an intense glare. She ignored the sounds of distant engines growing closer and insistent shouting, carefully controlling her breathing and neatly shoving any and all distracting emotions neatly into the Later box. He tensed, seconds passing slowly between them. She let the relative silence last until Hood began to shift uncomfortably, helmet tilting ever-so-slightly as he looked towards the end of the alley. He took in a breath, about to speak before she cut him off.

"You're really sweet," she said, letting up on her glare slightly. She couldn't see his expression, but she got the impression that he blinked in surprise.

"Thank you..?"

"You are also over twice my size," she continued, ignoring his confusion. "And I am not going to let you flip this bike over and smear us across the pavement just because you are too afraid to sit close to a woman."

Marinette really, really wished he wasn't wearing that dumb helmet so she could see the whatever stupid look was on his face as he began stuttering out objections. Despite having resolved to shove her emotions far away, there was a mischievous kind of giddiness fluttering around in her chest that she fought to keep out of her expression. Unfortunately, she could still hear the gang, now seeming to be grouped together and coming their way. They needed to get going, so Marinette yet again cut Red Hood off by grabbing his jacket, though this time by the collar, and pulling him back into the seat fully. Being so close, Marinette could hear his sharp inhale, but she didn't give him the chance to protest further.

"Shut up," she said, glaring into the lenses of his helmet, "And stay." Red Hood swallowed heavily, biting back whatever reply he had before nodding sharply.

"Yes Ma'am." Marinette smiled.

"Great!" she chirped, letting go of his collar and holding up a broken broom handle in between them. "Oh, and hold this." He grabbed it automatically.

"When the hell did you get-" his voice was drowned out by the screeching of the tires as they zoomed out of the alley, and the sound of wood smacking against metal as the broom handle whacked the gun out of the hands of the biker turning the corner.

Let the game begin, Marinette thought with a toothy smile.

~~~~

"I'm sorry, there's a what?" Jim Gordon barely resisted the urge to rub his temples at the steadily forming migraine this once-quiet-night had become.

"An orangutan, sir," the cop reported. "We are starting to set up a roadblock around the area due to the unsafe driving conditions, but we will need backup from animal control." She said, matter of fact.

"Unsafe driving conditions?" Gordon asked, already dreading the answer.

"That would be from the bananas, sir." she replied. "We've already had a semi truck carrying circus equipment crash, blocking the most direct route to the area. We are handling things on this side, and Abel's team is going around to the other. Should arrive in five minutes or so." Jim took in a deep breath and slowly let it out.

"Alright, I'll see if anyone at animal control is still awake." He doubted anyone was, but they would probably forgive him for calling them in for this one. "Keep me updated on the situation, I'll let whoever is on Robin's dispatch radio know." 

"Will do, sir," she replied, and Jim had to commend her professionalism. Even in Gotham, it wasn't every day that a loose orangutan and several crates of bananas with unexplained origins crash a semi truck. 

"Oh, and one more question," Jim said before she had the chance to hang up.

"Yes, sir?"

"Have you noticed any unusual rat activity in the vicinity?" He really, really hoped the answer was no.

"Uh... I suppose?" God damnit. "A few groups of them have come out of the sewers to eat the bananas in road. They seem quite a bit... bigger than normal." Jim took in another deep breath.

"Okay, thank you. I'll let you get back to it."

"Of course, sir." She said, ending the call with a click. Jim leaned against his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"God, I need a drink," he muttered to himself.

~~~~

Surprise had always been Marinette's favorite weapon, even more so after becoming Ladybug. Seeing everyone's doubt and scorn turn into incredulous shock is what kept her going through some of her toughest moments, and that was no different now that she had traded butterflies for bullets. Anticipation buzzed under her skin as echoes of gunshots washed across the space between her back and the warmth radiating from Red Hood. 

After turning the corner into the horde of armed and angry bikers, Marinette had made a decision she knew would come back to bite her later, but would be well worth it. Calling upon the connection she had nurtured with the Kwami of Creation since childhood, she had reached into her hoodie pocket and summoned a Lucky Charm, where it now rested heavily as she leaned forward, weaving easily through the sparse traffic.

It was different than it would have been if she were transformed, unable to reverse any damage or injuries that would almost certainly be incurred in her wake, along with only being colored red and black rather than completely spotted. Incognito mode, if you will. She was also only vaguely aware of what it was, but she trusted the Luck wafting around her in waves to guide her movements.

Magic swirled through her eyes.

There, she thought, gaze alighting on a manhole cover in the middle of an intersection. She glanced behind them at the herd of bikers hot on their tail and the stick still gripped tightly in Red Hood's hand. A plan clicked into place.

A crazy, stupid, brilliant plan.

"Hey, Hood!" she called over the whipping wind. He grunted in acknowledgement, leaning forward so that his helmet hovered by her ear.

"What's the plan?" he asked. Marinette couldn't have stopped the malicious cackle from escaping if she tried.

"Do you trust me?" his amused huff was nearly drowned out by the sporadic pops of gunfire.

"I don't let just anyone drive my bike, Pixie," he said, continuing before she had time to retort. "What do you need me to do?"

Marinette took in a deep breath as her heart pounded in her chest. The reflection of the green light ahead turning yellow glinted off metal and asphalt, seconds seeming to pass like hours. Her left hand slipped off the handlebar and into her hoodie pocket, gripping tightly onto the object within.

"When I do a U-turn, lean out." She commanded.

"When you what?!" 

Next to them, a bullet pinged off the asphalt.

Now or never, she thought. There was no time left to try and explain or insist he follow instructions without question, she could only hope that he would pull through. Otherwise this was going to hurt.

Her focus narrowed, reflections of light and echoes of sound warping around her mind as her heartbeat pounded in her throat, eyes locked onto the metal disk spotted with dots of magic visible to only her. She pulled the Lucky Charm from her pocket. The bike reached the edge of the manhole. 

Then, Marinette slid off the motorcycle.

Her left leg kicked backwards, finding purchase on the rear fender while she fell sideways, catching herself by hooking her right knee around Red Hood's waist. The arm steering the bike flung the front wheel in an arc that nearly kissed the metal rim of her target. The Lucky Charm in her left hand slammed into the metal with her whole weight behind it, dead center. The suction cup activated, along with the magnet, all but fusing the two objects together and leaving her face hovering dangerously close to the ground. The pink pompoms of her hoodie strings seemed to fall in slow motion in the peripheral of her vision.

A cloud of acrid smoke billowed into the air surrounding them as the rear tire spun out, skidding sideways as the motorcycle leaned precariously. She could see the faint shadows cast by what few strands of hair blown loose from her buns reaching out to pull her ever closer to the harsh kiss of the asphalt.

Come on, Hood! She thought near desperately, already imagining the horrendous road rash waiting just one wrong move away, the blood rushing to her head ready to weep through shredded skin.

Marinette heard a boot slam into the ground beside her as an arm wrapped painfully around her waist, and then the bike was being pulled back upright.

She wanted to shout for joy as the feeling of exuberance surged in her chest, but she only had time for a quick gasp before all of her muscles tensed. It was a Herculean effort, requiring every single ounce of strength held in her small body to lift the manhole cover with her as Red Hood helped pull her back onto the seat. It shouldn't have been possible for anyone less than superhuman, in all honesty. To expect otherwise, well, that was just plain madness.

But she was Marinette Dupain-Fucking-Cheng. She ate the impossible for breakfast.

The world rushed back into focus as she slammed back into the seat with a cackle laced with manic euphoria, the heavy metal manhole cover held in front of her like a shield. It was just low enough for her to see over the top of, as all but one of the sixteen bikers clustered together hit their brakes with shouts of shock and alarm. Her eyes locked onto the one who didn't slow. Specifically, the obnoxiously large, all white, and perfectly spherical helmet lacking in any kind of face guard that he wore, and the sawed off shot gun held out in front of him like a javelin. Magic roiled around her as the light behind them turned red.

She ducked her head and gave a smile full of teeth, revving the engine and taking off with a jolt.

"The helmet!" she shouted to Red Hood, daring to trust that was all she needed to say. From the upward movement of the broom handle she could see from the corner of her eye, that trust was not misplaced. From there, it happened fast.

The blast of the shotgun.

The bone rattling jolt through her left arm.

The slight lean to the side.

The smack.

And then, the white helmet soaring through the air.

A crash of metal.

A yell of pain.

A scream of panic.

"SCATTER!" It was chaos, and Marinette lived for every second. 

She couldn't see where she was going, so she closed her eyes, letting Luck guide the way as engines buzzed passed her like a cloud of gnats. Her arm tingled painfully from the bullets pinging off her makeshift shield as she weaved through the dispersing herd, and she was already panting from the exertion of first picking up and then holding the nearly 100 pound disk of metal. She planned to drop it as soon as they were past the gang, but then Red Hood leaned forward and grabbed its rim before she got the chance.

"If I may," he asked, to which she gave a short nod. "Go right up here." Marinette nodded again, letting out a breath of relief as she let him take the manhole cover. She was torn between shaking out her arm or letting it hang limply by her side as the screaming protest of her already bruised muscles caught up with her. But unfortunately, she didn't have time for either, so she just pushed through and grabbed back onto the handlebars with shaking fingers. It's fine, she thought to herself. The worst of it will pass soon anyway.

Marinette glanced at the mirrors as they reached the turn Hood had pointed out. As planned, the bikers had well and truly scattered across the street, going in different directions. They would all reengage eventually, she knew, but for now they had the space needed to start taking them out one by one. There were two on their tail currently, one with a solid orange helmet and the other with a green striped shirt. An idea flashed through her mind, but as she opened her mouth to shout it to Hood, a honk blared in front of her. Startled, Marinette saw that she was set for a head on collision with a minivan going through the only-mostly-deserted intersection.

Oops!

She turned sharply to the right, mentally admonishing herself for the missed opportunity and near crash. She needed to be better than that, one small mistake could mean disaster, and failure was not an option when she couldn't magically revive everyone. She had to-

The motorcycle jolted underneath her, and then-

CLANG!

Marinette was startled out of her thoughts yet again as the manhole cover crashed into the asphalt where the biker in green stripes had just been, having only barely been able to dodge out of the way to the other side of the still honking minivan. Red Hood readjusted from where he had just flung the 90 pound metal disk like a frisbee.

"Damn," he said with quiet disappointment, "I missed." 

And suddenly, Marinette felt like she was falling down stairs. Unpleasant memories cascading through her mind, showing every time she had to save the day on her own, every time her failure to take command ended in pain and death, every time where she stood next to Chat Noir, yet still felt so, so alone. And then, the soft static of Red Hood's voice echoing in her ears.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Marinette remembered what it felt like to have someone there to catch her when she stumbled, and it felt like a punch to the gut.

Suppressing the teakettle-like squeal building in the back of her throat and fighting off the furious blush taking over her face was harder than picking up that damn manhole cover had been in the first place.

"You good, Pixie?" Hood asked, leaning forward and looking at her through the rearview mirrors.

"Yep!" She squeaked in response. "Never been perfect! Better! Perfecter!" There was a slight pause before she felt more than heard him chuckle.

"If you say so," he replied, somewhat smugly. The jerk.

Stop it, brain! Marinette internally screamed to herself. Gun fight now! Swooning later!

"I do say so!" She called back, refocusing on the road ahead with a glare, magic flashing in her eyes. The remaining biker behind them held a handgun that they had already taken a couple pot-shots with, but seemed to want to get closer before firing any more. If she had to guess, it was probably because reloading while driving a motorcycle is difficult, or something.

Well, either way, that was fine with Marinette.

Up ahead, she could see the road stretch out in front of them with several things that were rather interesting, and admittedly would be quite noteworthy if she bothered to register their existence, but only two of them were of use to her in the moment; an empty U-Haul with an unlatched door, and a massive pothole that just looked like a lawsuit waiting to happen. Simple enough, she thought to herself as the plan formed.

The biker with the orange helmet was gaining steadily, riding in the empty lane that was meant to be for oncoming traffic. Humming in consideration, Marinette eyeballed the various speeds and distances before casually pulling up to flank the U-Haul's left side. She could hear the clang of the back door bouncing with every bump in the uneven road, along with the sputtering roar of Orange Helmet's engine. A shot rang out as they sped up, adding to the general ambiance. Red Hood jerked a little from the gunfire, leaning forward to hover over her as he curled his shoulders protectively.

Evidently, he had been serious about what he said on the roof.

Oh.

"I'm not sure what your plan is, but try not to get shot in the process," he grunted. There was a noise emanating from somewhere in the far back of Marinette's mind, that was reminiscent of a dying squeaky toy, and she really needed it to stop before she did something stupid. Like, you know, actually getting shot.

"No promises," she called back, hiding her traitorous thoughts behind a smirk. The biker pulled up beside them, gun held out in their direction as she tried to steady her aim. Red Hood leaned further forward, pressing against her back and moving an arm next to her waist to block her midsection. She could practically feel the intense glare he was directing at the biker, along with how he held himself taut with worry, practically engulfing her.

He makes a much more effective meat shield than I do. That's so unfair...

"Pixie..." he growled warningly by her ear.

"I've got it, Hood," she reassured, eyeing the road ahead one last time before making her move. Poking her head past his to look the biker dead in the eyes, she gave a cheeky grin. Then she took in a deep breath, stuck out her tongue, and blew a spluttering raspberry.

Marinette kept it up just long enough to see anger coat the woman's expression before she hit the brakes and veered right, dodging behind the U-Haul as her last bullet ricocheted off of its metal side. She heard her loud curse, followed closely by the kr-thunk of the moving truck's front tires falling into the dangerously deep pothole and the cacophonous rattle of the door flying upwards. Miss Orange Helmet evidently didn't hear the noise, not even having the time to foresee the oncoming disaster before it arrived. She certainly did notice with the front wheel of her bike that was turned in their direction fell into the deep gouge coated in a layer of loose gravel, halting its forward momentum and sending the bike into a high speed front flip. The woman, as it turned out, was not holding on all that tight, as evidenced by how she sailed through the air and dove head first into the U-Haul right as its back end bounced upwards, slamming the door shut behind her with force. Then, as if to add insult to injury, the motorcycle continued in it's near acrobatic arc, smashing into and subsequently denting the door to the point that it would likely need the help of a particularly large crowbar to open back up.

"Heh," she said, just a little bit of smugness coating her tone. "Nice." Behind her, she felt Red Hood slowly relax, leaning back with something between a sigh of relief and a huff of laughter.

"You know," He started as she weaved easily past the moving truck that was now pulling over, giving a little wave to the viciously swearing woman behind the wheel. "I should really stop being surprised."  She smiled, practically preening as she opened her mouth to respond.

"What the hell?" Marinette snapped her focus back to where they were going. She blinked away all of the spots of magic glowing in her vision and took a moment to register what she hadn't taken the time to before. At the intersection dead ahead, there was a flat pallet semi-truck crashed on its side, wedged between two buildings with its contents spilled all over the road. The most notable of which being the massive metal sphere with a wedge shaped opening at the bottom and... The...

"I didn't know they even made yoga balls that big!" Marinette exclaimed. Behind her, Hood barked a laugh.

"I did, actually. The banana print is new though," he said conversationally. Marinette had to resist turning to look at him incredulously. Because, you know, she was driving.

"Seriously?" She asked, settling for raising an eyebrow and glancing at him in the mirror. "That thing is the size of a car!"

"Yeah," he replied with a huff. "It's a long story." She scrunched her nose for a moment, trying to imagine what that story could possibly be be, before shaking her head and squinting at him briefly with pursed lips.

"You'll have tell me another time." There was just a moments pause before he responded, leaning down to meet her eyes in the small mirror.

"As you wish," he said, and Marinette beamed at him.

Purple flashed in the corner of her eye.

Her head snapped upwards as an Aku- biker, a biker with a purple helmet- whipped around the corner ahead. Marinette didn't think, grabbing the gun out of Red Hood's thigh holster and barely taking the time to aim at the biker's (not an Akuma-) front tire before pulling the trigger-

The gun didn't fire.

"Crumb cakes!" Marinette cursed, swerving to the left as a spray of bullets pinged off the asphalt beside her.

"What did I say about not getting shot, Pixie?!" Hood called, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady himself as the motorcycle jerked beneath them, uneven road changing to cracked sidewalk.

"Shut up, Trash Man!" she yelled back, ignoring his indignant noise of offense. A few parked cars were scattered along the street, but not nearly enough to give them proper cover. Gritting her teeth, she hunched forward and raced along the sidewalk, quickly approaching the intersection at admittedly inadvisable speeds.

"Hold on!" she called as they reached the crosswalk, turning right sharply and speeding down the street that the Not-Akuma came from.

"Fucking hell!" Red Hood swore, arm tightening around her midsection. Ow! Excuse you, mind the bruises! Marinette thought with a wince. Though, to be fair, she is pretty sure his boot had scraped the concrete from the angle of that turn. She let out a relieved sigh as they rounded the corner, the gunshots stopping behind them. 

Red Hood echoed her, though more likely due to the fact that they survived her evasive maneuvers rather than the bullets, easing his grip (again, ow) but not fully removing his arm from around her waist.

"You stress me out, you know that?" Marinette just glared at him good naturedly before giggling, trying to push away the little adrenaline induced waver tinting the edges of it. 

"I try," she said, to which Red Hood just sighed again, though with something a bit more akin to amusement this time. He shifted slightly, looking over his shoulder at the crashed semi and the corner where the biker had yet to reappear. Marinette guessed that they were continuing around the block to try and cut them off again. That was fine, she would be ready for them this time.

Darn supervillain based trauma...

"It's not often that you see such bright colors on regular criminals," Red Hood commented, apparently on a similar train of thought to her. Well, regarding the colors at least, as he probably doesn't have any beef with that specific shade of purple.

Or- maybe he does? What does she know.

"Usually, the distinctive helmet tends to be my thing." he continued jokingly as he turned back around, thankfully bringing an end to that train of thought. Marinette would likely have tried to imagine whatever variation of an amused smirk that shaped the tone of his words, if she weren't suddenly preoccupied with chasing the tantalizing ghost of a thought in the back of her mind. Thinking back to the brief glance she had gotten of the full gang, she remembered the array of colorful helmets and striped clothing. Blues, yellows, reds- the only ones who weren't wearing some kind of bright color were the now-likely-concussed person in the white helmet, and the woman wearing a completely black outfit. 

She gasped in realization, sitting bolt upright, not noticing how she almost whacked the back of her head into Red Hood's chin.

"They are dressed like pool balls!" Marinette exclaimed. Red Hood paused for a beat.

"Oh my god, they are," he said with a somewhat disbelieving laugh. "That's fucking hilarious." Marinette had to agree. Thinking about it, it was almost like they were asking to be flung around like the inanimate objects they emulated. And really, who was she to pass up the opportunity?

"Hey Pixie," he called suddenly, leaning forward and tilting his head into her peripheral as they passed through an empty intersection. "You get solids, I'll get stripes?" She could hear the grin in his voice. Marinette could feel something giddy and warm flutter in her chest, both at the fact that he was the one to take initiative to propose a wild scheme, and the prospect of making it a competition.

"You read my mind, Hood." Marinette said with a smile.

"Perfect," he replied, unwrapping the arm that she had admittedly forgotten about from around her waist (Aaaahahaha shut up-) to grab the gun still held in her hand, his chest pressing briefly against her back as he did so. Clearly he took the 'too afraid to sit close to a woman' comment to heart, she thought.

I regret nothing. This is fine.

The squealing thing in her head clearly begged to differ.

"In that case, you missed, which makes it my turn." Marinette pouted in response, letting out a despondent sigh.

"Fiiine," she conceded dramatically 

They reached the end of the block as they were talking. The path forward was blocked off for construction, and to the left was a narrow alley that had a fifty-fifty chance of being a dead end, so she turned right yet again. Well, at least this means I won't have to do everything myself, hopefully, she mused. And what a wild thought that is...

~~~~

Damian Wayne had experienced a near countless number of firsts in the half-decade since he had been unceremoniously dumped on his father's doorstep. The clan of embarrassments that were so generously referred to as his 'siblings' were rather insistent on 'encouraging' him to participate in activities that he was 'deprived of' during his less than conventional childhood. He is willing to admit that quite a large number of these new experiences had been pleasant, such as Pennyworth's cookies and fierce competition without the pressure of harsh consequences. Experiencing the thrill of organized child-like rebellion against authority was something that he had enjoyed more than he would ever admit. Other experiences had admittedly caused quite a bit of confusion for him. The overwhelming insistence on murder being immoral and wrong was the most obvious source of such during his first days at the Manor, though he has since learned to recognize the effects of his childhood conditioning and disregard most of it. However, the most common emotion caused by his present household leeches and their insistent pestering is by far frustration.

Suffice to say, Damian was grounded, and it was not his fault.

"What is it now," Commissioner Gordon's voice was one Damian had become very familiar with over his tenure as Robin, and his tone at present was that of exasperation and exhaustion. "Please tell me it has noting to do with rats?"

Damian blinked.

"No," he said curtly, making a mental note to ask Oracle to look into whatever that was about later.

"Thank God" the man exclaimed quietly. "What can I do for you tonight, Robin?" Gordon continued with the professionalism that Damian had come to expect from him.

"I am calling to inform you of a loose Orangutan from Gotham Zoo that is under the influence of unidentified hallucinogenic substances," Damian stated curtly, jumping directly to the point.

"..."

"I am in the process of taking care of it, however obstacles have arisen in the form of several miscreants electing to have a violent disagreement in the general vicinity."

"..."

"Rest assured, they will be delt with swiftly, but I will require the assistance of your officers to apprehend the suspects before they regain what little senses they have enough to continue shooting each other where they are in danger of harming an innocent animal."

"... Didn't the orangutan crash a semi-truck?" Damian pursed his lips, not terribly surprised that the Commissioner had heard reports of the incident with the semi. He wasn't sure whether to be offended that the primate would be held accountable for something that was only tangentially her fault, or relieved that his involvement in the crash wouldn't be discovered. He was only involved in this situation to correct his unjust grounding, not make it worse.

"Irrelevant," he declared, projecting confidence. "I await your timely arrival." Damian disconnected the call with a click, not allowing any further comment or protest. He looked back out over the road below, surveying the ongoing disaster with intense displeasure. The bait he had laid out had been smashed all over the road in her drug induced stupor, the humane traps he had so carefully prepared left ignored. Poppy, the Orangutan, had temporarily abandoned the street to roll the unprecedentedly large yoga ball thing to her new nest of half destroyed banana crates surrounding the weirdly empty overturned dumpster, ignoring the loud engines and gunshots echoing in the vicinity.

He didn't bother attempting to identify at what point it all went wrong. It would be an unproductive endeavor. Not that it particularly mattered, he knew exactly who to blame for his current predicament.

"Drake," Damian growled as the call connected, not giving him the chance to speak first.

"What do you want, Demon Spawn, we are a bit busy." he asked quietly, though with clear annoyance. As if he was the one inconvenienced by all of this. The gall.

"You owe me," Damian reminded him, "and you are going to assist with this disaster you caused."

"What the hell did I do?!" Damian narrowed his eyes and let out a silent sigh, before inhaling deeply in preparation.

"Well, if you simply must have it spelled out for you, you imbecilic affront to the human race-!"

~~~~

The opportunity for Red Hood to prove that he wasn't all talk when it came to playing Billiards with the biker gang that was actively trying to kill them came in the form of a speed bump. She had been right in her guess that the Purple-Striped Biker would try and cut them off again, seeing as they turned the corner right before the two of them reached it. Despite being prepared for the surprise this time, Hood was somehow still faster. Two shots were fired in quick succession, and she watched as the biker's shoulder jerked backwards halfway through their turn, followed closely by the sudden uncontrolled wabble of their front tire.

It happened faster than she could accurately track, especially from their moderate distance, but it was impossible not to notice how the biker caught air after hitting the speed bump, crashed into a parked vehicle, and flipped head first into a truck-bed.

A giddy, almost disbelieving laugh bubbled up from her chest, and she couldn't have stopped it if she tried. I had nothing to do with that! Nothing!!

"Hole in one!" She cheered, buzzing energy sending goosebumps along her shoulder blades.

"Wrong sport," he quipped back, pointing for her to drive in the direction Purple-Stripes came from.

"Golf's a sport?!" she asked with incredulous affront, turning the corner with with ease as she smiled brightly. Red Hood just laughed.

Looking ahead, Marinette saw that they had gone in a full circle and were now driving towards the open manhole in the center of the intersection ahead. Quite a few of the bikers were scattered along the street, though all the ones closest were solids. Unfortunately, it was still Hood's turn, so she had to tune out the numerous opportunities sorting themselves on the sliding scale between 'fun' and 'practical' in the back of her mind. It felt almost uncomfortable to ignore, in all honesty.

"Mind if I drive?" Red Hood asked, leaning far enough forward that she could see the lenses of his helmet in her peripheral vision.

"Sure!" She immediately let go of the handlebars, casually crossing her arms and leaning to rest them against the bike with a grin. To give him room to drive, obviously. Not that he needs it, stupid height advantage...

"You are a menace," Hood's voice was flat as he reached forward. Marinette got the feeling that this would be far from the last time she would hear him say that. But, to be fair, he was right.

"And you," she chirped cheekily, "seem to overcome your fears quite quickly." Making a split second, extremely impulsive decision, Marinette pushed herself up and leaned back into Red Hood's chest, tilting her head to rest on his shoulder and blink up at him through her lashes.

"Good for you! I'm so proud." Her sweet voice was mocking, but it seemed that he ignored the tone of it completely. Being so close, she got a front row view of the muscles in his neck twitching as he glanced down at her very briefly. With a tick of the jaw, he swallowed, pressing into her lean.

"What can I say? I aim to impress," Marinette's breath stuttering for some reason that she still wasn't acknowledging as his voice rumbled through her spine. "And it's not like I'm just going to let you hog all the fun. Half of these guys are mine, after all." She blinked.

Oh.

...

Oh.

That was.... He...

He actually meant that. It wasn't just- He meant that.

Marinette didn't know why it took so long for it to finally sink in. Red Hood wasn't making her- wasn't letting her fight the gang all by herself, nor was he pushing her away out of some sense of pride, claiming that this was his fight to take care of like she might have expected.

No, Red Hood, Gotham vigilante, vicious crime lord, was taking turns and playing games. Not with the spotted mask of Ladybug, but with her. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the civilian.

He was treating her like an equal. Not as an idol, or a child, or a hero, or a nuisance- but as someone to stand side by side with and face danger together.

Like the partner Marinette never stopped wishing she'd had when she bled to keep the world from ending.

I hope you know what you're getting into Hood, she thought, still looking up at him with a grin that had morphed from teasing to something softer, more genuine, and borderline dopey. The first time may have been from the whims of Luck, but you sought me out. There's no escaping now.

Marinette was only vaguely aware of what had been happening as she stared intensely up at Red Hood's mask, but she snapped back into focus when he turned sharply, shifting the motorcycle at just the right angle to give himself the opportunity and leverage to kick the massive banana-patterned yoga ball directly into the torso of the yellow-stripe-wearing biker. The Banana-Ball subsequently sent the Banana-Biker flying off the equally banana-colored-bike with a 'ptonnng-' so familiar it was basically burned into her brain, right beside the smell of rubber and an irrational fear of dodgeballs. After bouncing off the Banana-Bike, the Banana-Biker that was blasted by the Banana-Ball landed on what was basically a Banana-Slip-n-Slide and slid into a veritable Banana-Bath in the form of a sideways dumpster filled with- (and you're never going to guess this), more bananas.

...

What???

...

No, seriously- What?!

Marinette wasn't usually one to question her own good fortune, but this was a frankly excessive number of bananas. Where did they even come from?!

~~~~

It was Prudencia "Poppy" Pearlette the First, Leader of the Gotham Banana Tribe, Seer of the Ripened Fruit, and Fourth Maiden of her Glorious Eloquence who discovered the delectable savor of independence and freedom - and she decided then and there, she would make the magnanimous decision to free humankind from their miserable existence.

Humans, by nature, were incapable of the mystical arts of the Seers. Their minds were too feeble to comprehend the complexities of the Bananaverse- where timelines ebb and flow like the richest of rivers, their tides cascading to wrought destruction and prosperity on their peoples. But Prudencia - “Poppy the Orangutan” as the lesser species called her, was of but the best among the Seers, and could discern what mysteries the future would bring. She could see her own fortune come forth, awaiting her eager embrace as if they were long lost lovers.

When the small human boy dressed in bright colors incited the remarkable events required to free her from her tiny enclosure, she was delighted with the knowledge that humans must finally be developing their intelligence. He had clearly thought through his actions, allotting for her ability to act upon her newly granted agency while rounding up the lesser creatures released both to act as distractions, and allow for sorely needed enrichment in that appalling place of captivity.

She allowed the Visions of the Ripened Fruit to guide her through the unpalatable walkways of decay, doing what she could to avoid the eyes of those who would see her stifled. 

At some point along her journey, a spike of pain lanced her back, and the Visions became vivid glimpses of the future as her Third Eye opened. Ancestral spirits showed her the Path of the Banana, and displayed the Skills Prudencia would need in her inevitable leadership of the human race, all for her to study at her leisure. Voices whispered secret Banana Blessed foreknowledge to her, granting her vast understanding of complexities of this word. The Spirit of a floating horse with a spike protruding from their skull explained to her many of these undefinable truths - such as climate change, the One of Red and Black, her future opponents that scurry in the shadows, and cinnamon marshmallows.

How such nefarious things had come to be in this world, she did not know.

Distracted as she was, the large monster of a vehicular nature, a brutish and primitive looking thing that blared needlessly, surprised her in its sudden appearance. She questioned, if ever so briefly, why the Voices of the Bananaverse would betray her in such a way as to not warn of the danger she faced, when she had yet to fulfill her Banana-given purpose. She regretted the waiver of her faith the moment it crossed her mind, seeing the small colorful human fly into the head of the large beast and redirect its course to where she would not be harmed.

Upon being led to the Glorious Banana Mountain in a secluded section of this wretched city she found herself in and surrounded in human crafted protections, Prudencia made a vow to reward this 'Robin' with a title fitting his station once she liberated the humans from their unworthy place in the greater cosmos. He was deserving of such dignity, for all the consideration he has extended to her gracious self.

The overturned metal shelter she found in her new residence, however temporary it would be, pleased her. But it was inside this 'dumpster' that she found something glorious. It was long, heavy, painted a deep red. A 'monkey wrench', the Voices whispered. She allowed herself a moment of respite from the stresses of the burden placed upon her, giving in to the excitement as she used the Banana Given tool to smash her excess fruits into a paste, coating her surroundings in the glory that would bring about fortune for all deserving of its blessings. 

It was the Bananaverse that guided her to spread the Divine Paste so far, creating a horrendous slip and slide concoction all over the ever present and rancid asphalt. She would note a remarkable improvement in the ambiance of her new nest, and provide her gracious congratulations to the human denizens for the products of her labor.

A nudge from the One-Spiked Horse led her to an expedition, visions lighting her path in glorious yellow light. It was with this light that she spotted it, that which would be her scrying ball. Bigger than she, it was bright yellow and patterned with dancing bananas. The Voices demanded she claim it, for it would bring her much longevity in the coming apocalypse. 

And an apocalypse was coming, and fast. She could hear the loud roar of it, like the belly of a beast that hungered for the blood of its victims. It signaled its displeasure with echoing pops, making her flinch as it lashed out to the denizens of this world. The scrying ball told her so as she rolled it to her nest, resolutely making her way to safety.

And then the apocalypse found her. It came as a raging, furious storm. Humans blew into her road on their cybernetic horses, yelling and throwing things at each other. She scoffed at their terrible conflict resolution skills. Sometimes, having a hierarchy of knowing someone would be immediately correct is best.

And then her scrying ball disappeared so suddenly that she almost didn't discern what happened to it. Prudencia watched in horror as it soared in the air, caused by one large human man dressed in red. She needn't have worried, however, because the scrying ball was made for such feats. It flew through the air, finding its predestined mark - a man dressed head to toe in the ways of the Banana - clearly, this human had style.

As fate would have it, the fashionable human was knocked off his steed - also adorned in Banana colors - and was forcefully guided by her scrying ball into her dumpster nest. She called out praise to the glorious Bananaverse in excitement - the fates have rewarded her for her devotion in giving her a companion of smarts in these trying times!

She made her way to her dumpster home, and shut herself inside with the blubbering human, leaving the uncivilized ones to their needless bickering.

~~~~

"Unless I'm going crazy, which is unfortunately more likely than I would like to admit, I'm pretty sure I just saw an actual fucking orangutan go into that dumpster after the guy I hit with the yoga ball." Red Hood commented casually, as if that wasn't an absurd sentence to hear uttered on a perfectly normal Friday evening.

"No, I saw it too." Marinette replied, matching his tone perfectly. At least that explains where the bananas came from.

She paused for a moment.

Actually, no it doesn't. Where did the orangutan get the bananas? Why is there an orangutan loose on the streets of Gotham?!

"Okay, I have to ask-" Red Hood started seeming to break out of some kind of revery, "Is the orangutan your doing?"

"No!" She exclaimed, indignant. Then continued in a slightly questioning tone, "At least- I don't think so..?" Did the Lucky Charm have something to do with it? Can it tangentially summon primates and their favorite foods now? Oh my Kwami, if this is only Friday, what is next Thursday going to be like?!

"Your uncertainty is very reassuring." The sarcasm in his voice was not appreciated. She was having a banana-based existential crisis.

"Shut up," She grumbled, reaching forward to swat his hands and take back over driving. "And you missed with that battarang throw at the green one, which means it's my turn."

"Damn," he said with a click of his tongue, "I was hoping you wouldn't notice." She kicked the heel of her boot into his shin.

"Cheater," she accused. He just laughed.

"All's fair in billiards and gunfights, Pixie, all's fair." She rolled her eyes, trying not to smile.

They had made another lap around the block, turning back onto the manhole-road after Marinette yet again waved at the lady yelling in the U-Haul on the way. She was now on the phone and seemingly swearing her heart out at whomever was on the other end. There was one biker on her tail, and several more scattered around the street ahead, She locked onto the closest solid to Orangutan Alley, the one wearing blue, and started heading straight for them. 

The next forty or so seconds passed in a focused blur of streetlights and roaring engines, weaving around two rightfully terrified bikers like a rabid herding dog, circling as they tried desperately not to crash. 

Dash, swerve, brake.

Turn, rev, wobble, straighten.

Speed up, bump, swerve again, circle, cackle.

Panic, gun it, crash, scream, snap, lift.

Their efforts were for naught. They drove right in to her trap.

Well- her appropriated trap. She suspected that the heavy duty net connected to a pully at the top of a slightly bent street lamp was originally for the Orangutan, but now it held two of her unlucky opponents. Hehehe.

"Ah ah, Pixie," Red Hood chided, cutting her victory short as he pointed at the net. "Red one had stripes. My turn."

"Booooo!" He huffed a laugh, ignoring her dramatics and tapping her elbow lightly before pointing to a white punch buggy that was parked haphazardly, opposite side of the street to the net.

"Pull over there," Marinette rolled her eyes before sighing.

"Fine, I guess I will. You know, since you asked so nicely..." She drawled out the words, but did as wanted anyway, stopping on the sidewalk next to the trunk of the car.

"Is now really the time to be a stickler about manners?" He asked in a way that she assumed was meant to be rhetorical, dismounting the bike and taking a step out into the road. From the right, a biker wearing a garish orange jacket with black vertical pinstripes(ew, why???) was speeding towards them, holding a baseball bat in their left hand. She ignored it, it wasn't her turn, after all.

"Does it annoy you?" Red Hood turned halfway, giving her what she imagined would be a flat look, which was reply enough. She grinned, jutting her chin out at him smugly. "Then yes." The biker raised the bat as Hood shook his head at her with a laugh. 

Marinette leaned forward to rest against the bike, holding her chin in her hand and watching with great interest as she wondered what his plan was, as it currently looked like he was about to get a very painful whack to the bicep. She didn't get to wonder very long, as Orange Stripes was upon them a second later, bat aimed at Hood's chest.

The weapon never connected, as Red Hood lunged further into the street to be on the right side of the bike's path just before it passed by, pivoting on his heel and slamming his palm into the front of the biker's jacket.

The motorcycle sped onward, but the biker stayed. Clotheslined by the vigilante's (freakishly strong, oh my Kwami-!) arm and pulled near horizontal in the air by his prior momentum, Orange Stripes dropped the bat and lost the air in his lungs simultaneously. Red Hood was yanked sideways half a step as he twisted but otherwise barely stumbled, letting the winded biker's legs slam down to the pavement while keeping a firm grip on his hideous jacket.

Like the biker, Marinette failed to breathe for a moment.

She had been hit be enough speeding trucks, flying chunks of asphalt, swinging giant gorilla fists, and other various what-have-you's in her time to know how much they hurt. She had even more experience trying to stop said speeding objects for one reason or another, usually to protect herself and others from the serious internal organ damage that magical super suits don't block against as well. Momentum was as much her worst enemy as it was her best friend, playing no favorites and requiring focus and planning to work with or against.

That biker was going fast. Fast enough that it didn't matter where or how they hit Hood with that bat, it was going to hurt no matter what.

And Red Hood just grabbed them. No magic, no superpowers, just dog flipping grabbed them out of the air, like it was easy.

Oh. Oh no.

"Be right back, Pixie," Hood said casually, eyes trained on her as he pulled the grapple gun out of its holster and took a few steps forward. "Gotta take out the trash." 

It was only when he looked up, aimed, and ascended into the air with the biker hanging from one hand that she finally took in a deep breath.

As he disappeared momentarily over the edge of the roof, Marinette finally allowed herself to succumb to the furious blush trying to take over her entire head. She hid her mouth behind a hand, barely resisting the urge to fan her now flaming face. Her voice came out in a tiny squeak, barely audible over where her heartbeat suddenly pounded in her throat.

"Holy schnitzel!"

~~~~

Ow, ow ow, Jesus fucking fuck that fucking hurt! God that nearly dislocated my shoulder. That was so fucking stupid, ow ow holy shit-

He took one of the cables that Robin-aged-Dick had so creatively named 'batropes' and quickly tied it around the gang member's ankles, securing the other end to the concrete and tossing the gasping man over the edge. The cables were elastic enough not to break anything, but he certainly wouldn't be walking anytime soon.

Sucks to be him. Shouldn't have interrupted his conversation with Pixie, fucker.

Jason rolled his shoulder, assessing it's condition as he peered over the edge. He was blessed with the sight of Marinette, still sitting on his motorcycle, holding a hand over her mouth and trying to hide very pink cheeks.

Heh, worth it.

~~~~

Marinette took in deep breaths through her nose as she desperately tried to shove the squealing thing in her mind back into whatever box it had burst from. She desperately needed to focus on the fight currently going on, not- that! She could freak out about how hot- impressive that was later! 

Unfortunately, her brain wasn't hearing to anything beyond the high pitched blabbering.

Haha. She was a mess.

From the top of the office building behind her, she heard the telltale sound of a grappling gun firing, and she quickly composed herself (on the outside) and managed to watch calmly (she was not at all calm) as Red (Hot) Hood launched himself off of the roof and swung down in an arc, gaining momentum (stop thinking about it!) quickly.

Another biker had been driving towards them, (well, her, since Hood was in the air now) gun raised in a blue-striped glove and aimed towards the plummeting vigilante. She wouldn't normally be that optimistic for their chances of hitting him, but in this case it was only a matter of timing since Red Hood was heading straight for them. Unfortunately for the biker, (and her efforts to shove the squealing thing back into the box it came from-!) they didn't get the shot off before Red Hood's boots hit them square in the chest, sending them flying of the bike (second one in less than a minute eeuuaaaAAHH-) and through the (apparently open????) window of the white car (who the heck-noodles leaves their windows open in Gotham?!?) head first.

There was a kur-thunk! from the car, and the distinctive impression that something inside broke as it started rolling slightly, metal of the bumper screeching as it settled against the curb and the biker's legs hung limply out of the window.

A blue motorcycle crashed somewhere to her right as the Vigilante/Crime Lord (that she was trying very hard not to swoon over right now, thank you) activated his grapple gun, pulling himself back up to the edge of the roof.

Not on the roof, no. That would be too easy and practical and not ho- cool enough, so he just had to barely grip the edge of the concrete with one hand as he braced himself with the tips of his boots on the wall below while hanging several stories in the air and making it look effortless.

Which- wouldn't be so bad if Marinette wasn't already intimately acquainted with how heavy he is because she had been stuck underneath him just twenty four hours prior!

That thought replayed itself in Marinette's head.

Shut up brain shut up brain shUT UP BRAIN SHUT UP BRAIN SHUT UUUUUPPP-!

"Top that, Pixie!" He called down to her with a sort of infuriating smugness that she latched onto with desperate fervor.

Oh thank the Kwami, something to do!

"Gladly!" She yelled back, immediately pushing off the sidewalk and zooming out into the street, kicking the dropped baseball bat up into her hand on the way and desperately not looking back.

Marinette, perhaps a little irrationally, drew on a hefty pull of luck.

Was she going to regret it later? Yes. 

Did she need to show up Red Hood for the sake of her own sanity? Also yes.

From the intersection where their game started, Red and Green rounded the corner, clearly having tried to come up with a plan to fight back. They held a rope stretched between them and were driving straight towards her, most likely with the intention of pulling her off the motorcycle and giving her a nasty case of road rash. Not a terrible plan, considering they probably don't have the ability to just pull her off like Red Hood would haaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

Driving! She was driving, not thinking! Off the sidewalk and away from the bikers, leading them on a chase towards where her (distraction) redemption (or a very painful hospital visit) lay. She sped off, allowing the bikers to draw close enough to feel like their plan may actually work. Close enough to be invested, to take risks.

To not notice that they are heading straight towards a massive metal sphere of death.

If Marinette ever wanted to embrace an existential crisis about probability and the relation between her luck, time, fate, and free will, she would just have to consider the where, how, and why of the circus attraction sitting innocently in the middle of the street. Not only was it ridiculously convenient for a motorcycle cage to be present at the sight of a rolling gun fight with a bunch of bikers, but to have it positioned perfectly in a deep pothole with the entrance ramp down and facing the direction she was coming from? It was just too perfect to be caused by anything other than magic. Leading her pursuers to their doom was almost too easy.

Not that she was complaining or anything. So far, she was having a great evening, despite everything.

Metal rattled as she drove into the cage with no hesitation, stomach doing flips and hoodie strings flying into her face as she flew forward, upward and then back down in a full circle inside the sphere. Marinette let out a delighted 'whoop!' as gravity pulled her into the start of her second loop, Green and Red following her in with the accompanying cacophonous rattle of metal and crunching gravel as their combined momentum started rolling the ball out of the hole.

Much to their instant regret, if the screaming was anything to go by.

Wimps.

They each split off to either side of the sphere, letting go of the rope they held to let it drift serenely to the ground amidst the fast paced death trap they found themselves in. Marinette rolled downwards, wheels skirting along the edge of the doorframe (If it could be called that, but close enough) as she raised up her free hand to snatch the rope out of the air. Conveniently, there were two loops built in to each end of the rope to act as handles. Well that makes this easier, she thought, splitting her focus between threading one loop of rope around the baseball bat she held against the handlebars and not crashing into the panicking bikers as they screamed their way through their own loop-de-loops.

It's almost like that time with the sentient trackless roller coasters, but with more fun and less vomit!

If the latter half of her school years hadn't passed in a blur of sleep depravation and emotional terrorism, she would make some quip about the physics of three motorists in a massive hamster ball, but as it was, she nearly failed that class, so she didn't bother. Instead, she held tightly onto the bat, the opposite end of the rope, and the handles of the bike she only-kind-of-stole from a crime lord as she focused. Be it from Luck or their own self preservation instincts finally kicking in, Red and Green kept to opposite sides of the sphere, now driving horizontal circles around its middle. They didn't dare try to slow down yet, needing to keep high enough on the walls not to crash through the opening, and not having the time to figure out a safer way with her still as an obstacle. Luckily for them, Marinette would soon solve both problems. She was nice like that.

The cage was rolling, first backwards and then sideways as she adjusted her trajectory, driving in vertical loops that counteracted the mostly balanced momentum of the other two, threading between them with a calculated focus and little margin for error. The metal and asphalt underneath screeched and crackled as it rolled out of the pothole, the exit ramp dragging along, then lifting into the air as it couldn't open any further. Now left! Marinette thought, diving down right behind Green and looping upwards in front of Red, slowing to a near stop at the highest angle she could, stomach fluttering as the front tire felt as if it started to lift off of the metal mesh.

The cage started to tip. The tire touched back down.

Forward and out!

She turned, angling sideways and speeding to race alongside Green as they made one more loop around the middle. She had to time this perfectly, or it would hurt really, really bad.

But it would be fine, she was nothing if not accustomed to having to be perfect under pressure.

The entrance was angled about sixty degrees, and now started tipping back forward. Soon, gravity would slam it closed, and she couldn't be inside when it did. But first, insurance.

Her points wouldn't count if the ones she trapped could just get out, now would it?

Luck buzzed against her skin as she wove between the two yet again, adjusting her trajectory and reaching out the free loop of rope to hook loosely around the handle of Green's bike, holding one hand around the attached bat and the other on the handle. She hit the gas, rushing downwards, then up, to the side, and out along the ramp that had just started to fall closed, tossing the bat as she escaped. She was airborne, adrenaline singing in her veins as she hung weightless in the air. Then, the ground rushed up to meet her.

I hope your suspension is good, Hood!

Thud.

Tires met asphalt, bones rattled underneath her skin, and as a bonus, she didn't die. 

"HA HAH!" Marinette shouted in triumph, rubber screeching against the rode as she hit the brakes, turning to look behind her. The ramp had fallen closed as the motorcycle cage continued rolling forward and then spinning to the right, falling back into the pothole she originally pushed it from. The bat she dropped was pulled by the rope around Green's bike, wedging like a lock outside the door and trapping the two in as they drove in swearing orbits around each other.

Kwami, I hope someone caught that on camera. That was epic! Eat shiitake, Red Hood!

Her grin was something toothy and feral, and the red on her cheeks was now the product of adrenaline and exertion rather than flustered embarrassment. Mission accomplished, she zoomed off back to where the vigilante stood on the top of the nearby building, watching her with piercing focus.

~~~~

Jason had so many instances over the years where he was thankful for the level of anonymity his helmet provided him that he could make a list long enough to fill several pages, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng was quickly skyrocketing herself to the very top of it. While he couldn't quite pull off the same constant façade of stoicism that was Batman's whole brand, his poker face was still on par with the rest of the Bats, and leagues above every dedicated gambler he had ever met. But with Marinette? His carefully controlled countenance defenestrated itself right out the fucking window.

It was like she had the knack for subverting every single one of his expectations specifically, both the ones regarding her and his general understanding of reality. Like the forces of the universe whispered all of his secret thoughts and doubts in her ears, and she used them to do all the things he couldn't, just to prove it was possible. Just so she could look at him with sparkling eyes and that smug, feral little grin full of teeth and say 'Is that really all you've got?'

It was impressive to the point of being borderline infuriating, suffusing his lungs with the feeling of something both warm and burning. He loved every second of it.

But he couldn't just let her know that, especially when the game was still on.

"You know," Jason called as he repelled down the corner of the building next to the traffic light where she had stopped, landing in front of her with a thud of his boots. "It was technically still my turn, Pixie."

"Well, technically," she echoed, words oozing with sass. "You said to go ahead." She left the bike to idle, putting down the kickstand and leaning back, mirroring his cross-armed posture. 

"That wouldn't hold up in court." Jason watched her intently. There was a little involuntary twitch in the outer corner of her lower eyelid that he was starting to recognize, along with the way her eyebrows rose and the corner of her lips pressed back into her teeth, looking like a private beat of laughter the moment before she told a joke.

"Ahem, crimelordsayswhat?" She said in a rush, leaning forward and tilting an ear in his direction as if asking him to speak up.

It was the expression of Jason walking right into a trap, he was learning.

"You," he said with an accusatory slowness, "fight dirty." There was that little twitch again. She leaned back and looked up, tapping a finger against her bottom lip as she spoke.

"What was it you said again?" Jason, in all honestly, had never cared less about the words that came out of his mouth than he did in this moment. "Oh that's right. All's fair in billiards and gunfights, Hood, all's fair." 

Her sharp, self satisfied smile was going to be the second death of him, and he wouldn't even complain about it this time.

"You're relentless." Well, not that much, at least. He still had a reputation to uphold after all.

"I'm an opportunist, thank you." She corrected, pursing her lips and turning her nose up at him with mock distain. Like hell you are, Jason couldn't help but think to himself, despite the warm flutter he could feel along the inside of his ribs.

"Opportunist," he repeated dubiously, making a show of leaning to look past her, despite not being able to see the motor cage from ground level. Not that he could forget the sight of Marinette casually doing near-impossible stunts with such unshakeable confidence in herself to pull it off any time soon. Or ever, for that matter.

"That's what you call it?" Despite his best efforts, his voice came out a just a little breathless.

"Hey, if some people don't have the ability to seize a perfectly good opportunity when it falls right in their lap, that sounds like a them problem." Jason couldn't help the disbelieving laugh that rumbled out of him, shaking his head slightly. This woman...

"Pixie, I don't think most people would consider 'trap them in a human sized hamster ball' as a reasonable plan to come up with, not to mention actually pull off." Marinette seemed to push down a laugh of her own, happiness dancing in her bluebell eyes as she stared up at him.

"Again, them problem," She said with a flippant flourish of her hand and an amused scrunch of her nose. "One might even say, skill issue?"

Skill issue, Jason thought, stuck somewhere between admiration and affront. She's something else all right.

"No no," he said, shaking his head. "We are not just brushing past that, Pixie-"

"Why not?" She interrupted with an innocent tilt of her head and an unfairly effective pout. All wide eyes and pink cheeks framed by wild flyaway hairs, fluffy hair buns falling to the side with a springiness that defied normal physics. He uncrossed his arms and pointed at her with a stern look to go along the aggressive set to his shoulders, despite the fact she couldn't see it behind the mask.

"Shush, you." Her only response was to stick out her tongue, face scrunched up in a joyful smile. Her bluebell eyes sparkled as she looked up at him with unerring focus, and not a single hint of fear.

Jason tried desperately to ignore the way his breath stuttered in his throat and how his heart skipped a beat in his chest.

He failed.

"Adorable," he commented, quickly continuing and only half hoping that she wouldn't take it as an affront to her honor and decide to make him change his mind through inciting even more chaos, "but how the hell did you not only manage to bait two bikers into a giant cage, but improvise and then enact a plan to trap them inside, escape without a scratch, all while not even wearing a helmet?!"

Note to self, Jason thought, find a way to carry extra riding gear.

"Says Mr. Helmet." He tilted his head down in a way that he knew conveyed a pointed glare, once again grateful that she couldn't see how he struggled not to laugh. Because fuck, he hasn't bantered with someone he didn't want to punch in ages.

Marinette smiled a little at her own joke, before her open and bright expression started to slide behind a guarded mask.

"What can I say, I'm just that good." She shrugged dismissively, small smile still in place, but her eyes smoothed into something perfectly calm and completely fake. Jason understood that look completely, as it was one he wore more often than not. So, he made the only correct choice there was.

He let the subject drop.

Unlike some people, Jason knew when to let things lie. Dick.

"I'll say," he huffed a laugh, shifting to face the street and give her space without it seeming like a retreat. Though, if he were being honest with himself, Jason wasn't sure if he could fully back off at this point. There was just something about Marinette that drew him in like a moth to flame. 

"You're certainly giving me a run for my money here, Pixie. I may actually have to try in order to win." Her eyes snapped back up to his with that spark behind them.

"Ah, there you are, he thought with a smirk, getting lost in the fire in her gaze that he would chase until it burned him.

"What, afraid of a little challenge?" She asked, an almost dangerous tilt to her eyebrows.

"Oh, no," he said, feigning nonchalance past the skip of his heartbeat as he rolled a palm sized chunk of asphalt under his boot. "Definitely not." He flipped the rock up onto the top of his boot, kicked it into his hand, then started tossing it in the air casually, watching her out of the corner of his eye as he did so.

"What, you think I don't stand a chance?" He asked, finally looking back toward her in time to see the pink dusting across her cheeks for a reason he couldn't quite discern but desperately wanted to find out as she raised her chin in defiance. 

"They say seeing is believing," she said with a squinted, expectant glare.

Well, how could he say no to that?

"Then I guess I owe you a show, huh?" Jason rolled his neck, catching the rock one last time before throwing it over his shoulder, mentally readying himself to yet again go and do something catastrophically stupid.

But then, the weirdest fucking thing happened.

~~~~

Marinette had many instances throughout her life where she deeply considered things that she later recognized as useless and time wasting. Mainly during those late nights in her adolescence, when tense anticipation of the next attack chased sleep away to the darkened corners that rested next to her nightmares, leaving her to lie alone with nothing but her thoughts. They were often reoccurring, cyclical in nature as they were designed to keep her mind occupied. Some of them still stuck with her, popping into her head at random moments that sparked memories of staring at the door to her balcony as she laid in bed, wondering that if she closed her eyes the next screams she heard would be her own.

The one that came to mind as she stood with Red Hood at the corner of a building in Gotham, amidst the soon-to-be-dredges of a gun fight with that familiar feeling of foreboding, was the nature of language.

Words represented meaning, and in turn, meaning was described by words. But for all that was true, repetition and usage of certain words could alter the perception of their meaning, but only within a contained context. At some point in her late night thoughts, she defined Paris as having its own contained context that changed meaning for all its captive inhabitants.

Luck. Chaos. Butterflies. Ladybugs.

Words that if uttered in any other city, would mean something so very, very different.

Marinette found that her mind often still seeped itself in the context of the city she grew up in, for better or, admittedly more often than not, for worse.

It was times like this where she realized that she long ago lost touch with what the word 'chaotic' actually meant.

There had been several things going on in their vicinity that she had only partially been keeping tabs on. For one, the biker wearing blue stripes that Hood kicked into the white car was evidently still conscious. At some point, they had dragged themselves fully into the car, where they were now (presumably) curled in a ball and groaning in pain. From within the hanging net that creaked ominously with every less-than-gentle motion of its captives, she could make out snippets of indistinct arguing between Red Stripes and Solid Blue. To her right, directly across the street from where she stood, the banana filled dumpster with the orangutan and Yellow-striped biker echoed faintly with quiet hoots and vaguely fearful mumbles.

More importantly than the opponents already off the table, were the five she could now see behind Red Hood.

The woman wearing all black, the 8 ball of their game, had been circling them since the beginning while staying just out of range. It was the smartest decision she could make, honestly, and the trend seemed to continue while Marinette and Hood were distracted. Solid Purple and Solid Mauve idled on the sidewalk with the 8 Ball, diagonally across the intersection from where Marinette stood after finally having had the chance to regroup. They were watching warily as Solid Yellow and Mauve Stripes approached from down the road to their left. By her count, the only one she couldn't yet see was the remaining Green.

Of course, she hadn't really cared about them, too busy staring up at Red Hood with the feeling of challenge coursing through her veins.

As well as that strangely familiar feeling of a not-quite-there sneeze creeping around from behind her eye sockets as the light behind him turned green.

And then, Red Hood chucked a hunk of rock over his shoulder, and she abruptly remembered what that feeling was as all hell broke loose.

The rock went flying, much higher than she would have expected from such a casual throw, (Hhhnnnngggg- no! She just got rid of her blush! Shut UP BRAIN!) arcing up into the road sign held next to the light and clipping the top of it. The rock gained a significant amount of spin, hanging motionless in the air for a brief moment before plummeting back down.

Directly into the windshield of the truck passing underneath. Predictably, the glass spiderwebbed with cracks, causing the driver to jump in shock, consequently hitting the gas and jolting the vehicle forward. This caused the pebble to roll over the roof and land perfectly on top of the bungee cord hooked into the truck's tailgate, clearly stretched much farther than advisable to hold down a large, folded mattress across its top. The bungee cord's apparently either rusted or otherwise-structurally-unsound hook then snapped, allowing the tailgate to slam open.

A glove flew out of the truck, and promptly smacked Mauve Stripes in the face. It was followed by a dirty work boot that tumbled, and was then launched as the truck's rear tire clipped the open manhole at speed and sent the back end bouncing in the air. The boot hit Mauve in the chest as the mattress unfolded itself and slid out onto the pavement in the middle of the road. They veered to the right, turning to speed down Orangutan Alley to avoid crashing.

During all of this, Marinette had lost track of the rock.

Marinette, as it turned out, should not have lost track of the rock.

The object in question had landed directly on a perfectly placed banana peel, picturesque in the way it lay in an otherwise clear patch of road. As Mauve Stripes leaned into their turn, the edge of the rear tire drove directly over it, propelling the fist-sized hunk of asphalt from the pavement and directly into Solid Yellow's temple. The biker was lucky they were wearing a helmet, obnoxiously colored as it was. Less lucky was the fact that speeding rock caused their helmet to somehow twist on their head and completely obstruct their vision.

Now unable to see, and with the last glimpse of their surroundings being the various tools and queen sized mattress of all things sliding off the truck and falling into the middle of the road in front of them, Solid Yellow did the only logical thing they could do, which was veer off in a wide arc to the relative safety of an open side street while hitting the brakes.

Directly into the Bananapocalypse.

Mashed fruit and banana peels allowed rubber to glide across asphalt nearly frictionless. With forward momentum failing to bleed into sideways movement, the bike tipped and slid out from underneath Solid Yellow, protruding metal handles digging into the ground and sending the back end spinning away. Yellow found themselves on the same Banana-Slip-n-Slide that their fellow Banana-Biker fell victim to, crashing into the now closed dumpster lid housing the orangutan of still unknown origins. The evidently-banana-obsessed orangutan who, upon inspecting the source of the noise and seeing the yellow-clad woman, set about claiming its second Banana-Hostage.

Distant screaming drew Marinette's eyes away from that absurdity.

Mauve Stripes, now sans additional boot and glove, came back around the corner they had disappeared from followed closely by the hitherto absent Green Stripes.

Both of them were fleeing in terror. What from, you may ask?

A massive, unbound circus attraction, colloquially known as a "Globe Of Death", propelled by two motorcyclists in Christmas-colored pool ball attire and the unerring force of gravity as it chased the other two shrieking bikers down Orangutan Alley, Indiana Jones style.

Before this point, Marinette hadn't considered the ever-so-slight slope of the two blocks that their fight was taking place on to be an important factor to consider. A mistake, she was coming to realize. Oops?

Of course, they were not the only ones within the path of destruction, far from it. The two in the net hanging from the light pole about halfway down the street were understandably panicked, trapped just within the edge of the metal ball's trajectory as they were. The still-conscious-but-likely-concussed Blue Stripes, however, was not trapped, though he was still well within the path of carnage. As such, he got out of the car Red Hood had kicked him into and started running (quite fast actually, wow), leaving the door open behind him.

Distantly, Marinette could hear sirens.

Then, more presently over the chorus of screaming bikers scurrying past her like panicked rats, the concerningly loud clang and screech-! of metal as the ball clipped the light pole, bending it at the base further than it already was and leaving the bikers in the net swinging violently. In turn, the ball spun, forcing the two inside to struggle to stay upright as it rolled diagonally across the street. Straight into and then through the open door of the car Blue Stripes had vacated, crunching it off of the vehicle. The sphere changed direction yet again, rolling into the field of Banana-Blasted-Devastation and out towards the street as Marinette and Red Hood's heads turned slowly to watch it pass.

The slight slope of the street made itself known yet again, arcing the trajectory of massive metal motor cage to follow the left turn past the street light. The left turn that, incidentally, was in the opposite direction of where the various contents of what she assumed was an improperly secured toolbox as well as an entire mattress fell in the road.

Oh, and also, the left turn that the three fleeing bikers all decided was the best path of escape to take. Or at least the path of least resistance.

And... Also the left turn where the sound of sirens was growing louder from..?

Marinette dismounted the idling motorcycle she was sitting on, and walked a few steps to the edge of the sidewalk to peer further down the road, Red Hood coming to stand right beside her. Sure enough, reflections of red and blue lights flashed their way up the concrete buildings, coming to a screeching halt right before the next intersection down the block. She couldn't make out the overlapping shouts echoing down the street, but she could see how the cop cars stopped in a Y shape, doors opening as officers poured out and either moved to intercept the bikers or get the heck out of dodge.

Inevitably, the 'Unstoppable Force' that was the runaway Globe of Death met its 'Immovable Object' in the form of an impromptu police barricade made of unsuspecting-but-wisely-vacated, likely expensive, and now totaled cop cars.

The sound of shattering glass, ripping metal, and the crunching of both echoed up the street to where she and Hood stood, staring. Marinette turned to look up at him, mouth held open to speak, but nothing came out. Her eye twitched, and magic swirled in her vision. 

She knew- she knew she recognized that almost-sneeze feeling! The one that would come before every Cataclysm and now wakes her up every Thursday morning with a sense of dread- magic! Bad Luck! The twisting of the buzzing buildup Good Luck leaking around her being siphoned, twisted, and dispersed as Misfortune balanced her out! And now, looking at Hood, she could see one of the deep cracks of sickly green in his soul wisping out like mist as the-

Wait.

Hold on. 

Pause- go back. 

Hold the frock fracking phone! Did Red Hood just use Chaos magic from the weird gunk in his soul?!

He can DO THAT?!

"So, I know it's your turn now and all," Red Hood said, ignoring her open-mouthed distress as he finally turned to look at her, "But I don't think you can top that, Pixie." Marinette's jaw snapped shut. Her eyes narrowed, and fire exploded across her skin. Can't top that? Can't top that?!

Forget whatever magical epiphany she was having, this takes precedent.

Marinette's spine straightened, shoulders squared and her chin raised as she glared past the lenses of his helmet and directly into the eyes hidden behind.

"Watch me."

Red Hood leaned forward, looming over her until they were nearly nose to nose, voice coming out in an intense, deep rumble.

"Gladly."

~~~~

Was Jason a little stupid sometimes? Yes. Yes he was.

Was the image of Marinette glaring up at him with that look of blazing fury going to be seared into his mind until the day he dies for real? Also yes.

In all honesty, there was probably something wrong with him.

~~~~

"I need you to get the thing I used to pick up the manhole cover," Marinette commanded, "You drive." There was a long pause as Red Hood seemed to consider her.

"As you wish," he said with a slight nod, leisurely straightening and walking the few steps back to his bike. As he turned, Marinette, for the first time since this fight started, saw his back, and once again promptly disregarded what she had been previously focusing on for a new and equally pressing matter.

"Freaky fried fish sticks! What happened?!" She shrieked, darting forward and grabbing the bottom edges of his leather jacket and pulling it up to look closer. It was full of holes, small and with ripped or burned edges.

Bullet holes. At least a dozen, smattered across his broad shoulders and midback.

"In case you didn't notice, Pixie," Red Hood said, turning his head to look to at her. "Those guys had guns."

...Ah.

Ahaha, right. Of course they did! With so many shots going off, it obviously makes sense how some would hit! And, vigilantes wear armor, so of course he is fine! No big deal!

...

But how did she not notice?! Getting shot HURTS, even with bulletproof armor! Why didn't he say anything?!

"It would be my honor to be your meat shield."

"When you WHAT?!"

"Try not to get shot, Pixie!"

....

Oh... He'd been serious...

...

But... But it didn't FEEL like it! He wasn't getting in her way! Jumping in and coddling her like she was some useless waif! Flaunting how hurt he got to show off how 'Good of a Partner Protector' he was! Instead, he just sat there, quietly taking bullets to the back like it was just a matter of course! Like he simply just-!

Cared...

Like he actually cared.

Not about her attention, or winning her affection, but for her.

"You comin', Pixie?" Hood asked from where he sat on the bike, waiting for her. Marinette opened and closed her mouth several times before replying.

"Yep!" She was proud to say that her voice still registered low enough to be audible to human ears. When I get home, I am going to have a long screaming-into-a-pillow session.

She was thankful for the fact that Red Hood didn't comment on her obviously flustered state, though she got the impression that he was smirking about it as she settled onto the bike behind him. The jerk. Marinette desperately needed something stupid and dangerous to do, before she made a fool of herself again. She was supposed to be competing with him, damnit!

Lucky for her, she had three targets left, and two were coming her way.

As they pulled out of Orangutan alley, giving a wide berth to the Banana Zone and mattress on the way, Purple and Mauve followed with a simultaneous roar of their engines. Marinette narrowed her eyes as she watched, straining her senses as she waited for her opportunity. It was because of this that she heard a near imperceptible voice ring out from inside Hood's helmet, followed by him tensing ever-so-slightly in surprise. She leaned around his arm to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow. In response, he reached a hand up and tapped the side of his head.

"Yeah, I would also like to know where this fucking orangutan came from," he said, sounding equal parts amused and pissed. Marinette couldn't help from snort out a giggle at the flurry of voices she could almost hear calling out in response over the whipping wind. Drawing on her connection to the Kwami, she infused more magic into her senses, wanting to hear more of what she presumed to be the Bats' comms channel. The swirling vortex of Tikki's magic drew her attention in another direction, however.

"Let's just cut our losses!" The words that the tinny voice called from an earpiece behind her had Marinette whipping her head around to look for the source. Right on their tail, Mauve and Purple followed closely. Back at the intersection, the 8 Ball woman sat on her bike with a hand held up to her ear.

"We won't be able to take Red Hood out now, let's go secure what is left before the pigs get to it." The woman's voice came out of the other two's helmets, and Purple immediately started turning with little more than a nod. Mauve, on the other hand, took a moment longer. She was close enough to make eye contact with Marinette, hazel irises burning with hatred as she slowly raised a hand to press a button on the bottom of her helmet.

"Copy," she spat, clearly not happy with the order.

Marinette's eyes narrowed.

Oh No You Don't. I have a game to win.

She braced her hands against Red Hood's shoulder and the rear of the bike, drawing her legs up underneath her and perching on the seat in one quick motion.

Then, she leapt.

"PIXIE?!"

Marinette's world narrowed into the kind of focus reserved for the battlefield as the wind whipped past her ears and the ground flew beneath her, gaze focused on the widening of Mauve's eyes and the shifting angle of the front tire. Her nerves arced with electricity and muscles burned with energy, anticipation buzzing on her skin.

Mauve barely had the time to gasp before Marinette's foot landed dead center on their handlebars, momentum transferring straight down without disrupting anything other than the shock absorbers and the drivers psyche. Following through with her movement, she lurched forward, planting one hand on the other woman's shoulder and crossing the other over to hold onto the top of her helmet, keeping her grip firm as she flipped her legs up and over, twisting herself in the air.

One leg came down before the other, knee nearly knocking into her own face as she landed the ball of her foot on the rear seat. She shifted into a crouch, continuing the arc of her other leg downwards and then back up to wedge itself back on the center of the handlebars, trapping Mauve's waist from one side as Marinette's hand shifted off of the woman's shoulder to wrap her in a headlock from the other.

The biker was screaming.

Marinette was laughing.

This was what she had needed. Stupid, reckless, dangerous. 

Fun.

She shifted, spine curving to the left just enough to barely dodge the elbow aimed at her ribs, her free hand coming down to grab the offending arm by the wrist, twisting as she pulled it down into a lock by her hip. With the boot planted against the handles, she extended her heel, leading them into a wide, unsteady U-turn across the empty street.

When they finally straightened out, Mauve recovered from her shock enough to start fighting back in earnest. Unfortunately for her, Marinette wasn't going to allow that.

Now, she wasn't by any means as close with all of the Kwami as she was with Tikki, or even Mullo for that matter, but she did pride herself on being a versatile Guardian and made it a point to at least have some form of connection with all of them. It had come in handy in more situations than she could count, and this one would certainly be added to the list.

While she steered them to where she needed with her boot, a sliver of Pollen's power of Subjugation extended from the tip of her thumb like a claw. Letting go of the wrist she had locked in a vice grip, Marinette reached up and dug her nail into pressure point in between Mauve's shoulder and neck, pushing past the overlapping muscles and right into where the nerve cluster rested. The woman seized, all of her muscles tensing and then going limp as Marinette let go. Naturally, she timed it perfectly.

Coming up on their left lay the mattress that fell into the road.

As they passed, Marinette shoved Mauve off the bike.

One down, two to go.

Purple was just ahead, still trying to catch up to where 8 Ball had started driving off. Marinette reached forward to grab the handles, then shifted into a crouched position, riding on the seat of the motorcycle like it was a surfboard. She sped forward, angling towards Purple while pulling a little something she stole from Red Hood out of her pocket. Purple glanced over her shoulder briefly, then did a sharp double take at seeing Marinette's toothy grin speeding her way. Marinette didn't give her the time to react, wedging the small disk in her hand against the engine and jumping onto the back of Purple's bike.

The woman screamed as the front wheel lifted of the asphalt.

Marinette lunged forward, slamming into Purple's back as her shorter arms reached for the handles. Their weight shifted, and the bike landed back on two wheels with only a small wobble. 

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" Purple shrieked. Unrepentant cackles bubbled out from Marinette's chest. Behind them, Mauve's bike exploded.

They wrestled for control, Marinette keeping a sharp focus on her balance and Purple trying desperately to knock her off without dying in the process. Heartbeats passed like hours, until a point when Marinette stood perched with one foot on the fender and the other on the fuel tank, holding on to the right handle as she pushed Purple to the left by her face. She was dodging a wild punch, leaning further out than would be advisable without the counterbalance of the other woman's unstable sitting position, when an impact slammed into her abdomen, the force of it knocking the wind out of her with the reverberating echo of a gunshot washing past barely a moment later.

And then, Marinette fell off the bike.

Ow.

~~~~

Jason, did not panic when Marinette jumped off of the back of the motorcycle that he was actively driving. Surprised? Yes. Shocked? Absolutely. He might have even agreed to the word flummoxed, but not panicked. She had more than proven herself capable of thinking up and, more importantly, following through with crazy, conceptually impossible, and heart-stoppingly life-threatening stunts that took his breath away in both fear and awe. So, when she had leapt to what would have been certain doom for anyone else without so much as a 'Watch this!', he had swallowed down his first reaction to immediately turn around and make sure she was okay, and instead did what she had asked him to. Which was continue forward to retrieve the weird red and black magnet thing that she just carried around in her pocket for some reason from the manhole cover she had picked up only a few minutes prior.

Once he had it, then he turned around and sped back to her as fast as he could, because holy shit she is fucking insane!

He was just in time to see the bike she originally jumped on explode (thankfully without her fucking on it) in a billow of smoke (that made him suspect that she didn't only steal his keys) as she fought with the purple colored one in probably the most dangerous way she could possibly think of.

Thank god he already knew white hair looked good on him.

The red he could feel on his face, he wasn't as sure about, but he was willing to give it a shot.

He had sped up on seeing her practically wrestling with the biker like they were on a simple balance beam rather than a moving fucking vehicle with that toothy grin that froze the air in his lungs, hoping that if he was close enough he might be able to help if catastrophe occurred. And of course, as was his fucking luck, of course it did.

The woman dressed in black, the 8 ball of their game, didn't seem to take kindly to the systematic dismantling of her gang, if the heavy gun she pulled from inside her jacket was any indication. She had skirted to a stop just ahead and was already aiming by the time Jason caught up to just behind the purple biker. He drew his gun, cursing the fact it was loaded with only rubber bullets, and pulled the trigger.

The woman fired first.

Marinette fell.

Jason caught her.

Her eyes were blown wide in shock and her mouth was held open in a breathless gasp. He decided then and there, that he was going to kill that woman.

Jason didn't think much beyond the flurry of first aid procedures engraved into his bones or the fastest routes to the hospital laid out in his mind's eye, pulling Marinette close to his chest as he turned around and screeched to a halt in the disaster-zone of an alley, barely bothering to put down the kickstand as he hopped off and laid her on a clear patch of sidewalk as gently as he could. When he lifted the pink hem of her hoodie, he expected blood. He expected to see an entry wound pierced into her lung, or stomach, or spine- her life hung in a precarious balance in his mind as he imagined the worst possibilities and desperately tried to think of how he could help-

He did not expect to see a black vest with a smashed bullet lodged in the right side, but dear god he was so happy to.

Marinette gasped in a long, pained breath, finally having caught it after the wind was knocked out of her.

"Sweet milky beans, that hurt." Marinette reached up a hand to cradle her side. "Right in the bruises, owwwwww."

"You..." The word left Jason in a relieved sigh, tension uncoiling from his shoulders as he stared. "Are wearing a bulletproof vest?"

"Duh," she said with a wheeze, wincing. "I may have gone for a midnight stroll in Gotham, but I'm not an idiot." She continued to take in slow, deep breaths as she fought off the obvious pain.

Jason, had no idea how he was supposed to react to that.

He probably should have expected it, with everything he had learned about her so far, but there was still just so much that he didn't know. Everything she did, it was with this infectious kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly what she was walking into. It wasn't arrogance, not by any means. He was far too familiar with the kind of people that surrounded themselves in that cocky superiority complex that convinced them the world would bend to accommodate their every whim, and Marinette was not like that. She looked at the world around her like she could see the cascading gusts caused by the flaps of a butterfly's wings from miles away. Like every variable in a situation reported directly to her before daring to act.

It... reminded him of Bruce, in a way. But unlike Bruce, she used that knowledge to waltz through chaos like its conductor, rather than slink through as its shadow.

And yet, she'd still gotten shot.

She was still human. She wasn't some perfect incarnation, no one was. She could still be hurt, still make mistakes. And Jason...

He didn't know why, but God, if that fact didn't make him fall all the harder.

"Could you let go of me please?" Jason startled, suddenly registering how he was crouched, holding her down on the sidewalk by the hip and lifting up her hoodie, all while staring silently for the past several, long seconds.

Jason, as it turned out, was a motherfucking asshole.

"Shit!" He let go, lurching backwards and holding up his hands, apologies on the tip of his tongue. Marinette spoke first.

"Not that you're not respectful and everything! You have been really nice to me so far- which is something that feels very weird to say about a Crime Lord, to be honest, but I know that's not the only thing about you that there is, so I'm not going to judge you for it." She said as she sat up, holding her side and wincing, looking anywhere but at him with pink dusting her cheeks. He wanted to help her, since she was clearly in pain, but he didn't dare get closer without permission. God, what the hell is wrong with me? She just got hurt, then I go and- ugh!

"But like it is also something I can't let myself forget about you know? I mean, I did just get shot by the people who were coming after you." Jason had the time to feel the words sink into his gut like a tumbleweed of guilt laced barbed wire before her eyes widened, "Not that I am saying that was your fault! Totally wasn't! One-Hundred Percent on me, I swear! I was the one to literally attack them when I could have run so my actions are not on you!" Through his sudden bout of self loathing fighting with her desperately given reassurances, Jason recognized the dark pink flush climbing up on her ears and wild look in her eyes. The ghostly spasm threatening his diaphragm was something he would consider almost Pavlovian as the memory of meeting her in that warehouse crossed his mind. It was a violent roil of emotions that met her next sentence.

"But like, I mean- I think you are nice and everything but I'm really not comfortable with you undressing me in public?" Marinette said, tone pitching upwards with uncertainty. 

"Shit- fuck!" Jason nearly choked on his own tongue as horror crept up his throat. "I'm so sorry-!" He took another half step away, only his years of training keeping him from falling out of his crouched position and flat onto his ass. Marinette's eyes widened with a different kind of horror.

"WAIT- That came out wrong!" She exclaimed desperately, lurching forward with her hands held out in front of her "I meant- Like, undressing not in the sex way but like the trying to keep me from dying way!" Her face only grew redder as the words continued to rush from her with the inevitability of an exploding soda can.

"And I mean, you didn't even really take off my clothes so like its fine just like generally uncomfortable?" Jason started coughing, Marinette's voice raised in pitch. "NOT THAT YOU MAKE ME UNCOMFORTABLE! It's- you can take my clothes off any time!" Her entire head turned the exact color as his helmet and her shoulders came all the way up to her ears.

This time, Jason did fall flat on his ass, stuck between wanting to die laughing and just straight up disintegrate.

"NO- WAIT- I didn't mean that!" She reached up to pull down on her hair buns, "I mean, I did, but I didn't- I'm not-!" Her chest heaved, panic lacing the way her eyes darted all around the street for anything that would help.

"PUBLIC INDECENCY!" Marinette screeched, the words echoing against the concrete and brick buildings around them as she hid her blazing red face behind her hands.

Jason, let out a long, pained wheeze that turned into hacking coughs that just barely sounded more like some kind of plague than laughter.

God kill me. Kill me right fucking now.

(Marinette, meanwhile, was thinking the same exact thing.)

Jason's only solace was that he didn't have the talent required to make this situation worse. On accident, at least.

He took in careful, deep breaths, regaining control over his voice before responding in as sincere a voice as he could possibly muster.

"I get it, Pixie, personal boundary noted," he said with measured slowness. "I'm sorry for overstepping, and I won't do it again." Thank fuck, he didn't mess it up. Marinette peeked at him from between her fingers in a frozen moment of suspense. Then, she pulled the neck of her hoodie up to hide her face and let out a long, muffled scream.

Feel that.

He was going to punch Dick so hard.

It was a sudden transition from the embarrassed screeching to when her head reappeared and she spoke again.

"Eight ball! Need win!" Jason couldn't help the relieved breath that left him, though he had no idea what exactly he was relieved about.

"I think she's long gone by now." Despite how his bullet definitely hit her, he doubted she stuck around. No matter, he would still track her down and make her pay.

From the direction of the crushed cop cars, officers started shouting and a few gunshots went off. An engine revved, coming their way.

"Well, shit." Jason said, blinking. "Call your shot, I guess."

~~~~

Marinette wanted to vanish into thin air and never reappear, but she had a game to win. She had a small window of opportunity to pull it off, but plenty of frantic and embarrassed energy coursing through her veins.

"Manhole!" She called, pointing. Red Hood briefly turned to look, and Marinette snatched the Lucky Charm from his large thigh pocket as he did. Then she stood and sprinted for the massive yoga ball.

All of the pieces she needed were already in place, for the most part. In the path of destruction their fight had caused, the white punch-buggy car had limped out into the middle of the street, facing towards where the manhole lay uncovered. The bent light pole holding two bikers hung diagonally in the cars direction and Marinette quickly rolled the needlessly-big ball to sit in between them. The last piece of the puzzle was her Lucky Charm. It was both a suction cup and a magnet with a small, circular divot in its center, and a handle on the other side with an on/off switch.

No, she didn't know how it worked. And no, she didn't bother trying to find out.

Running to the base of the light pole as the sound of 8 Ball's engine grew louder, she slotted the second and last explosive she stole from Hood into the divot in the center. With a nudge from her magic pushing her into action, she activated the explosive, and stuck the suction cup/magnet thing onto the metal.

Then, she sprinted towards Hood's bike.

The 8 ball rounded the corner as the light pole snapped at it's base, only a strip of metal still connecting it to the ground. The captive bikers screamed as they began their heavy fall downwards, and the pole landed dead center on the yoga ball. This allowed enough space from the net and the ground for them to continue their swing forward, the heavy bikes in the bottom crashing into the trunk of the white car while Red Stripes and Solid Blue clung to the top of the net for dear life. Fortunately for them, they weren't crushed in the resulting crash of metal.

Unfortunately for the 8 Ball, she had little time to react as the white car suddenly jerked forward, and then promptly hit her dead on.

Marinette missed the impact as she was climbing onto the back of Red Hood's bike, but she saw the after affects. The woman was rolling backwards on the ground in a way that looked painful, but managed to guide her momentum into a series of back handsprings. It was impressive, watching her flip out of the crash like a pro gymnast, further and further out into the deserted intersection.

Right up until she reached the open manhole, and perfectly whiffed down into the abyss.

Marinette, despite her embarrassment, managed an (only slightly evil-sounding) giggle.

"Impressive, for the thematic finish," Red Hood said consideringly. "But I still think I win in terms of chaotic destruction." Marinette leaned far enough around his shoulder to glare at him.

"Excuse you, the only reason you even managed that much is because I trapped those two in the giant motor cage." He hummed tilting his head back and forth as he made a show of thinking about it.

"Well, I suppose we could call it a draw, then." Marinette only glared harder, and puffed up her chest to argue.

But then, the ground started to shake.

Sounds echoed from all around them, cacophonous scrabbles, scratches, squeaks and shrieks, reverberating through hollow tubes of pipes and gutters like an ominous chanting of coming destruction. The sound built upon itself, rumbling growing stronger as the unholy symphony grew closer. The loudest of it came from the intersection.

From the open manhole, leading directly into the sewers.

Rats.

Hundreds, thousands of rats poured out of every sewer entrance she could see like a tsunami.

"OKAY, YOU WIN! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!" Red Hood yelled above the roar.

Marinette, had no flipping clue.

"OUR CUE TO LEAVE, DRIVE!" She screamed back. Marinette wrapped her arms around him as the motorcycle jolted into a tight turn, zooming down the street with the horde of rodents spilling into the banana-laden destruction left behind. They escaped with the wind at their backs, leaving the horde of chittering rodents as they surrounded one particular dumpster.