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Marc gasped as heavy paws slammed him into the road.
Asphalt and cobblestone cracked behind his shoulders. Above him, the akuma snarled. He didn’t even know how to describe it. He didn’t even know what had happened to make this akuma in the first place. It was the size of a car, there were fangs right by his face, and claws dug into his left shoulder. He couldn’t feel his fingers. He couldn’t feel that entire arm, actually, which was…not good. Sure, the ladybugs would heal it, and if the ladybugs didn’t fix things right up then he could have one of the healing potions and those would do the rest of the work. Marinette and Adrien would force it into him if they had to. (And if Nathaniel didn’t do it for them. Or if he wasn’t conscious for it. When they had first discovered the team’s identities, his boyfriend hadn’t been awake. Marc still remembered the ragged sound of Nath’s breathing—)
He managed to land a kick on the akuma. Glowing red eyes stared down at him. It was some amorphous shape, inky and black and dripping like water. The whole thing’s body moved like dark water, swirling with white crests at what he assumed was the neck and ruff and tail. It could almost be doglike, at first glance. On a second, it couldn’t possibly be such a thing. One of the only solid parts of it were its fangs—big, shining white things that almost seemed to glow like lighthouse beacons in pitch-black night. Its eyes were the same, bright and haunting and eerie.
When he and Caprikid had first gotten onto the site, they had seen enormous gouges in the earth, like the akuma had ripped claws through asphalt and stone alike without even trying. There were ink splatters on the nearby walls and the other roads, the walkways, everything. As they’d gotten closer to the epicenter of the fight, Caprikid had to split off in order to help Pigella and Purple Tigress protect civilians. His Genesis could make first aid kits, water bottles, anything he could think of. It’d be better to have him there and have Rooster Bold in the fight.
The new Hawk Moth was tactical.
The Miraculers were even more so.
They wouldn’t be split up for long. More importantly, they had plans. If the new Hawk Moth discovered anyone’s identity, Rena Rouge and Pegasus would be called in immediately. If the new Hawk Moth came after their Miraculous, they had one job. Protect the Miraculous at all costs.
They didn’t want to kill this person, not if they didn’t have to. However, Marinette eventually admitted the reason she sent out the Miraculous to be with each handler, the reason why Orikko and Ziggy could be with Marc and Nathaniel at all, was because this person continually tried to end the world. Whoever was behind the mask, they didn’t care about what happened to the rest of the world. They only cared about themselves.
Alix added in her own experience with watching her future selves fade from existence, from watching every future disappear from between her fingers like sand slipping away. They didn’t have a choice. If this new Hawk Moth was willing to murder the entire world to get what they wanted, just like Monarch had, then they could not let it happen.
If that meant the new Hawk Moth had to die, then so be it.
It seemed the new Hawk Moth thought the same thing about them. This wasn’t the first time that Marc had been slammed into the ground by an akuma. This new Hawk Moth had been sending out akumas on the daily. At this point, he was pretty sure the teachers at Françoise-Dupont at least theorized about who the heroes were. Ms. Mendeleiev had stopped asking Marc and Zoé where they were going during akuma attacks, instead of hiding with the others in the bunker. They kept up with their work, of course. Superhero study groups were a necessity these days, and he could always ask Aurore or Mirielle for their help.
Now, though, with those giant fangs by his head and ink dripping into the concrete on either side of his shoulders, Marc felt his chest go tight. His breath caught in his throat. He could feel claws beginning to dig deeper into his shoulders. They were cutting through his costume, which was weird. He hadn’t thought it was possible for them to do. But then, some of them were walking out of missions with wounds that wouldn’t have been there with the old Hawk Moth.
He stared up with horror, feeling his throat continue to go tight. He needed to get his fountain pen—his fingers tightened around it. Hissing, the ink akuma loomed further over him. Swallowing, Marc held that too-bright gaze with his own. There was another deep snarl. He twisted against the road, digging his shoulders into the ground as he tried to get just a little bit of space. It wasn’t working, he couldn’t get enough breathing room. If he could get even a few centimeters of space—
Gasping, Marc pulled his legs back enough. His fingers curled around his fountain pen. As he did, he yelled, “Pretension!”
I give myself the power of super strength and speed! It was the same thing, really, just strengthening his body. Stronger legs meant more speed. So when he slammed his heels into the akuma’s stomach, the thing went flying. Claws tore from his shoulders. He cried out, rolling to his feet. His heart was racing, breath heaving as he stood up and faced off with it. Ink dripped into puddles on the ground. Biting his lip, Marc glanced around.
Okay, okay. Let’s—let’s try and figure this out. He reached up for a brief second, adjusting his grip on his pen. There was blood on his fingers. There was the familiar click as his comms turned on. “Rooster Bold here. I have one of the akumas cornered, but I need backup. Now.”
“Where are you at?” Chat Noir asked.
“Hold on. Rooster, how big is the akuma you’re facing?”
“Uh, about the size of a—” He dodged to the side as a car was launched his way. Grimacing as the sound of shattering glass and crunching metal echoed behind him, Marc finished, “Car. Why?”
“I think you have our victim! Chat and I will be right there.” Ladybug replied. “Just try to hold on!”
Marc’s eyes darted to the blood running down his arm. At least there weren’t any kids in the area. “Try to make it quick. I don’t want to know what that ink will do if it gets in an open wound.”
“We’re almost there! Two blocks out!” Chat reported, thankfully.
No offense to the other Miraculers, but Marc tuned them out as he jumped back into the battle. Their questions really weren’t going to help. He didn’t know where Nathaniel was, but this was going to be one hell of a story once they settled down at Marinette’s. At best, the ladybugs might heal the claw wounds in his shoulders (he couldn’t feel his left arm, why couldn’t he feel his left arm anymore? He couldn’t even feel the warmth of his own blood running down it, couldn’t feel his fingers—). He’d probably need stitches. Marinette or Sabine would do them, Nathaniel would hold his hand while everyone else ignored the needles. Especially Juleka. The girl was terrible with needles.
He ended up getting hit again, right as Chat Noir and Ladybug bounced over a nearby building. His right shoulder cracked against the ground, and then there were claws and teeth buried in his shoulder, and—
Marc screamed.
“Back!” Chat snarled from above him. The akuma let out a dreadful noise. Hands slipped around his neck, under his knees, he was being lifted by—
“Taurox.” He rasped, grinning at him. Turning, he looked for Nathaniel. “Is—”
“Your boyfriend’s here.” Minotaurox huffed, cracking a brief smile before he jumped to land on a nearby rooftop. Resting him down beside a chimney, Minotaurox crouched for a moment to make sure he was settled. “Those wounds look bad. Stay here.”
“Right. Thanks.” Sitting up, Marc turned to look for his boyfriend. Dimly, he could see Caprkid, fighting with Chat Noir and Ladybug as easily as daylight breaking through morning fog. Then, Minotaurox was jumping into the fight beside them, swinging his mallet to slam into the inky akuma’s side. They fought in easy tandem, darting and ducking around each swing of those sharp claws. Those bright eyes and fangs flashed, bared as the akuma charged. When it went for Chat Noir, the others struck at its open sides. When it turned, Chat Noir took the place of whoever was now on defense and attacked with his baton.
It was almost funny. They had all worked well before the identity reveal, before that late night where all of them were too wounded to keep the fight going. Sure, they had managed well enough. Even with the new akumas, the lack of healing that the ladybugs gave (others would heal perfectly, except for the worst of wounds—those would be limited to scars, scrapes, cuts), they had survived it. But now, they were something different. Something stronger, more refined, more united. They had each other to fall back on.
He didn’t regret telling Nathaniel his identity beforehand.
He didn’t. As far as he cared, it was necessary. A good thing. Yes, he worried every time that Caprikid was called out and Rooster Bold was not, and he knew Nath worried the same when he went out alone. But it was better to know, even if Nathaniel or he got hurt, than to lose him and not know. To have to be told by Ladybug or Chat Noir—or worse, Shriel and Aton—that Nathaniel had died and the ladybugs couldn’t bring him back this time? He didn’t even want to think about it.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself.” Jolting, Marc turned away from the fight to look at Juleka. She had a medical kit in her hands and Miss Hound at her side. Both crouched down, hands tugging him upright.
“Just trying to pick up more fighting scenes. I’m working on a book for Nathaniel’s birthday. You know how it is.”
“Ooh, tell us about it!” Sabrina said, eyes sparkling.
On the one hand, Marc knew she really was interested in the story. On the other hand, she was also trying to distract him as Juleka fixed up his left shoulder first. That was going to hurt.
“So far, it’s about—uh, a prince. Gay prince—well, bi, he’s based off of—off of my boyfriend, so of course he’s bi and not—” Marc cut off, wincing as he turned to look at Juleka as she worked. Grabbing his face, Sabrina turned him so he was looking at her. She didn’t even have to say anything. Instead, she just waited. Marc continued, “He finds this cool sword. It’s based off of the—the Camelot legends and also Cinderella? Sort of. He ends up falling in love with this guy who comes to the ball and is dressed super richly because—well, monetary wealth is one thing but then there’s also fae wealth and that’s something way different and—ow, Tigress!”
“Sorry, sorry.” Juleka replied.
Dropping her hands to Marc’s own, Sabrina clutched them warmly. “Tell me about the story. Keep talking.”
Marc choked on the words.
Thankfully, the girls pretended he didn’t.
When the akuma was taken care of and the victim sent home (she was a sweet girl, just scared of the dark, and the new Hawk Moth took advantage of that), Marc ended up dragged to the Kurtzberg flat.
He didn’t protest. Nathaniel handed him a plate with a few pain au chocolat, then wrapped a hand around his wrist and pulled him to his own room. They left the door open, Marc barely had the time to kick off his shoes, and then he and Nathaniel were curled up in bed atop his covers. Nathaniel set up his laptop, they were scrawling through the different movies available—there was a glance his way, questioning. Marc smiled briefly, nodded.
They ended up propped on Nathaniel’s pillows, watching The Prince of Egypt on his laptop with Marc propped up the highest and Nathaniel tucked against his side with his ear resting on Marc’s chest. One of his arms was lazily looped over Marc’s side, his right leg was hooked over Marc’s own, and his other hand’s knuckles brushed Marc’s ribs. He had barely spoken, barely done anything except lay Marc’s emptied plate on his bedside table.
At some point, Shriel had brought a bowl of almonds, dried figs, and praline pecans to them. Marc had met her gaze, there had been a bit of a pause. It was obvious Marc had been…hurt in the akuma attack of the day. His left shoulder was bandaged. Without his hoodie, and bandages stretching from the slope of his neck down to his elbow, there wasn’t any hiding it. So where she may have been a bit reticent to let them be so close before, Shriel didn’t say anything. They shared a nod, and then she was gone. Aton stopped by a little while later, not even twenty minutes into the movie, with cups of water. He took the plate from the beside table, smiling at Marc, but didn’t say a word, either.
Nathaniel, to his credit, wasn’t nearly as bad as Alya or Rose—or Nino—when it came to talking. To be fair, he and Marc watched The Prince of Egypt at least once a month. He still remembered Nathaniel screaming in frustration as they watched the scene where Moses spoke to Tzipporah about what “he must do” and then two shepherds walked by in the background. It was almost entertaining. Almost. Seeing his usually quiet boyfriend lose his absolute shit over background characters was cute.
“Rameses’ horses are both the same color and Moses’ aren’t.” He started. “They’re different shades of brown. It could mean nothing—just a way for them to separate the horses visually for animation—but I think it could also be a metaphor for how he’s kind of Jewish and Egyptian at that point and doesn’t realize it.”
“I never thought about it that way.” Marc replied, running his hand up and down Nathaniel’s back. His fingers paused between his boyfriend’s shoulders.
Nathaniel was quiet until his next point hit, adding, “He also never wears shoes after the burning bush scene. I don’t think Tzipporah, Miriam, or Aaron do, either.” With a pause, he added, “And they also skipped over Tzipporah saving Moses’ life that one time, but she and Moses had two kids and he was gone from Egypt for forty years, plus the whole life-saving thing wasn’t exactly child-friendly. Because, well…circumcision.”
“Yeah, I can see how they would want to skip over that.” Marc paused. “Didn’t Moses part the Red Sea with a Beyblade in—”
“We’re not talking about Beyblade.”
Snorting, Marc turned and buried his nose in Nathaniel’s hair for a second with a grin. “Alright. No Beyblade. But My Hero?”
“Marc.”
“I know, I know. I’ll shut up now.” There was a bit of shuffling, and then Nathaniel’s hand was sliding up his side. His touch lingered on the bandages that were hidden beneath Marc’s shirt. There had been…a few more injuries than he remembered.
He and Nathaniel had watched Joseph: King of Dreams before as well. Not as often. Actually, not even a fraction of the times they had watched Prince of Egypt, because not only were the latter’s songs significantly better, but Nathaniel’s relationship with it was, too. Shriel had sung “Bloom” to him as a little boy, usually when putting him to sleep. He’d liked it more when he was younger. Marc hadn’t asked him since.
“Tzipporah and Moses share the same color scheme—they both have saturated blues and reds on them. Miriam’s is more desaturated and she has more than Aaron because she trusts him first.” Nathaniel said. “And the red doesn’t just stand counter to Rameses’ blue, I think it might also have to do with the whole ‘sacrificial lamb’ bit. And Miriam has the tambourine because she has a whole song that’s written down.”
Humming, Marc glanced down at his boyfriend’s fingers as they started moving again. He was tracing the outline of the bandages. He didn’t falter, didn’t pause, fingers running up until they brushed over his heart. There, they stopped, pressing into his shirt just a little bit. Feeling for his pulse. Reaching up, Marc tangled their fingers together, gently. He and Nathaniel didn’t even need to look at one another.
Quietly, Nathaniel added, during Rameses and Moses’ argument with Rameses’ son between them, “Two of the biggest turning points involve this mural. Now and earlier, with Seti and Moses, with a paradigm shift for Moses and then one for Rameses involving Moses. And the kid’s also the dividing line.”
“It is.” Marc said, looking over the screen. “How did I not notice that before?”
“Because we’re usually asleep by this point.”
Almost like Nathaniel had predicted it, he fell asleep before the movie ended. As for Marc, he was awake. Shutting Nathaniel’s laptop with his foot, Marc took a slow breath and shifted as well, just a bit. He closed his eyes.
He didn’t mean to…okay, he did mean to doze off. Even with the health potion saving his mobility in his arms, and the blood loss, and even most of the cuts, it took a lot of energy from him and Orikko. When he stirred, it was to the door creaking slightly.
Blinking, he raised his head slightly. He could barely feel his right arm, Nathaniel was lying on it. Still, at the foot of the bed, Shriel was there. Sitting on the mattress by Nathaniel’s feet, she was untying her son’s shoelaces. At some point, he had kicked his legs back, feet off the bed so his shoes weren’t on the duvet. Quietly, Shriel put the shoes down. She turned to look at Marc and Nathaniel.
Her glasses flashed in the moonlight. Her eyes, silvered by the moon, met his green ones. Her gaze flicked over his face, then down—oh. The bandages. Swallowing, Marc looked at her.
Neither of them spoke.
There was a knock on the doorframe. “Shriel? Everything alright?” Aton asked.
Letting out a quiet breath, Shriel removed Nathaniel’s shoes with a quiet, “Everything is fine, Aton.” Then, she pulled a blanket over her son, brushing his hair back to kiss his forehead. Mumbling in his sleep, Nathaniel turned his face into Marc’s chest a bit more. His grip on him tightened. Marc just stared up at Shriel instead, unsure what to do. “You be careful, Anciel. If you break his heart, I’ll break more than just your bones.”
“Okay.” Marc choked out, quietly.
“Good night.” With that, she stood and left, closing the door most of the way behind her. It was a kindness—they usually had to leave the door all the way open. They weren’t allowed to have sleepovers. They definitely weren’t allowed to sleep in the same bed when they did. But…Nathaniel preferred to sleep with the door closed. Nightmares (the bread, butter, and bane of every Miraculous holder).
Turning, Marc buried his nose in Nathaniel’s hair again, breathing in the day-old smell of vanilla shampoo.