Chapter Text
So this is what happens when I leave.
The thought wasn’t fair. She knew that. She’d been Ladybug once; she’d saved the city a hundred times over. She’d stepped down for reasons that had felt impossibly heavy then and strangely fragile now. Still, guilt slid under her skin like a parasite, settling in comfortably.
Multimouse stood where Bunnix had left her, boots sinking slightly into powdered stone that used to be a boulevard. The sky above was a pale, fractured blue, veined with cracks like shattered glass, light leaking through places where reality itself had been wounded. She swallowed, fingers tightening around the pink jumprope tied at her waist. It dragged behind her like a tail, absurdly light for something that suddenly felt like the only thing anchoring her to existence.
She had known, intellectually, that Cat Blanc had destroyed Paris. She had seen fragments through Bunnix’s frantic explanations, through glowing windows of time that refused to linger. But knowing was not the same as standing in it. Not the same as recognizing landmarks only by their absence. Not the same as feeling the echo of a city’s death vibrate through her chest.
He didn’t want this. He never wanted this.
Multimouse shook her head, as if the motion could scatter the thoughts before they rooted. Emotional clarity would come later—if there was a later. Right now, she had a universe to save and a godlike, unhinged cat to stop.
A single, soft chime cut through the silence.
Cat Blanc perched atop the skeletal remains of what might once have been a cathedral, crouched low, spine curved, fingers digging into white stone as though it were flesh. His suit gleamed unnaturally bright against the ruins, painfully clean in a world reduced to dust. White hair spilled around his face in a wild halo, framing eyes so blue they looked almost luminous. Too bright. Too sharp.
His tail flicked once. Twice. His ears twitched, swiveling toward.
Multimouse’s breath caught. Her body went rigid, every instinct demanding flight even as her feet stayed planted. That’s him. That’s really him. The boy who used to joke and flirt and trip over his own feet now moved like something feral, balanced on the edge of violence.
His gaze snapped to her.
For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.
Then Cat Blanc smiled.
It was wrong—not because it was cruel, but because it was delighted.
“Oh,” he purred, voice echoing too loudly in the hollow air. “A mouse.”
The word sent a jolt through her. Her grip tightened on the jumprope, the pink cord humming faintly as if responding to her tension.
Multimouse’s heart stuttered. He didn’t recognize her. Of course he didn’t. Grey suit. Pink accents. Mouse theme. Not Ladybug.
Not his Lady.
She stepped forward anyway, forcing her voice steady. “Cat Noir—”
His head snapped to the side. Ears flattened completely. The plaza trembled.
“I don’t like that name,” he said softly. Then his mouth stretched into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “You can call me Cat Blanc.”
He dropped to all fours in a fluid motion, circling her with lazy interest. His tail swayed behind him, the bell chiming softly with each step. “I don’t remember leaving any toys unbroken.”
Multimouse forced herself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Just like Master Fu had taught her, back when her life had been simpler and infinitely more complicated all at once.
“I’m not a toy,” she said, surprised at how steady her voice sounded. “And I’m not here to fight you.”
That earned her a laugh—sharp, fractured, like glass snapping under pressure.
“Everyone’s here to fight me,” Cat Blanc said. His ears flattened suddenly, irritation flashing across his features like a storm cloud. “They just don’t last very long.”
He lunged.
Multimouse barely had time to react. She split instinctively, her form bursting into a dozen identical copies that scattered in all directions, grey and pink blurs darting across the ruins. The ground exploded where she’d been standing, white-gloved hands cracking stone as if it were ice.
Cat Blanc skidded to a halt, claws screeching. He lifted his head slowly, eyes widening with something like delight.
“Oh, this is new.”
He moved again—too fast. One clone vanished in a burst of light as he swatted it aside. Another disappeared under a flash of dark energy that crackled from his ring. He laughed as he destroyed them, manic and breathless, chasing them like a cat let loose in a room full of fluttering things.
For a fraction of a second, something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe. Then his grin widened.
“Oh, I like you.”
That was somehow worse.
Multimouse didn’t have time to dwell on how much she hated that he liked her.
She ducked behind the fractured base of a statue—what used to be a hero, judging by the outstretched arm—and felt the air split where her head had been a heartbeat earlier. Stone screamed as Cat Blanc’s claws raked through it, sending shards spinning lazily upward instead of down. Gravity sulked somewhere far away.
Focus. Think like a mouse.
She split again—four this time, not a dozen. Smaller numbers. More control. The copies scattered, feet barely touching the ground, skimming debris, vanishing behind broken columns and hovering chunks of pavement.
He was playing.
That realization settled cold and heavy in her stomach. Cat Blanc wasn’t trying to end her quickly. He was stalking. Letting her run. Enjoying the chase in a world where nothing else moved unless he allowed it to.
A bell chimed behind her.
She spun, jumprope snapping free from her waist in one smooth motion, pink cord lashing out on instinct. It wrapped around his wrist and for a fraction of a second, hope flared.
Then he looked down at it.
Not surprised. Amused.
He lifted his arm, effortlessly yanking her off her feet. Multimouse barely had time to split again before she was airborne, the real her tumbling away as a clone was dragged screaming into his grasp and shattered into light.
She hit a wall—what used to be glass, now frozen mid-shatter—and rolled, breath knocked from her lungs. Pain flared across her ribs. Not broken. Probably. She pushed herself up anyway, boots scraping on nothing.
Cat Blanc landed lightly a few meters away, crouched, tail flicking in tight, irritated arcs now. His ears were half-flattened, eyes too bright.
“That’s cheating,” he said. “You’re supposed to panic when I catch you.”
Multimouse straightened slowly, forcing her hands not to shake. The jumprope recoiled back toward her waist, obedient as ever. She swallowed hard.
“I don’t panic easily,” she said. Not entirely a lie. Panic had been her constant companion once; she’d learned how to work around it.
He tilted his head, studying her. Really studying her now. His gaze tracked her posture, the way her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, the way her eyes never quite left his hands—or his ring.
“Oh?” he murmured. “You move like a hero.”
Her heart skipped.
He lunged again, faster than before, a blur of white and blue. Multimouse split mid-motion, clones scattering upward this time, leaping from floating debris like stepping stones. The real her vaulted higher, using the strange, broken gravity to her advantage.
Think small. Think clever.
Her jumprope snapped out, looping around a drifting streetlight. She swung, momentum carrying her behind him as he shredded another pair of clones. For one fleeting second, she was above him, behind him—
She wrapped the rope around his torso and yanked.
Cat Blanc staggered, surprised despite himself. The bell at his throat rang wildly as he lost balance, boots skidding across nothing.
Multimouse landed hard, knees screaming, and pulled again, anchoring herself to a chunk of earth with everything she had.
“Stop!” she shouted, voice cracking despite her effort. “This isn’t what she would have wanted!”
Cat Blanc went utterly still.
Slowly—too slowly—he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. Luminous blue eyes fixed on her, unblinking.
“What,” he said very quietly, “do you know about what she wanted?”
Multimouse’s mouth went dry.
Too far. You went too far.
She loosened her grip on the rope, hands trembling now despite her resolve. “I know she cared about you,” she said, choosing each word like it might explode. “And I know she wouldn’t want you to be alone like this.”
For a heartbeat, she thought she’d reached him.
His ears lifted slightly. His tail stilled. The manic energy dimmed, just a fraction, like a light flickering before it goes out.
Then his smile returned—slow, crooked, devastating.
“Oh,” Cat Blanc said. “You really don’t get it.”
He snapped the rope like it was thread.
The force sent Multimouse flying, tumbling end over end through pale air. She split instinctively to absorb the impact, clones bursting apart as she slammed into the ground, skidding across powdered stone.
Cat Blanc was there before she could rise, crouched over her, hands braced on either side of her shoulders, pinning her with frightening ease. His face hovered inches from hers, eyes blazing, grin too wide.
“I was never alone,” he whispered. “I had her. And when she left, the universe finally made sense.”
Multimouse stared up at him, breath shallow, heart breaking in a way that felt achingly familiar.
This was a boy who had loved too hard, been abandoned without understanding, and shattered under the weight of it.
And she had been the cause of this.
“I—I’m here to stop you,” she said, voice shaking despite herself. “Not to fight you like like this. Not to—”
“You think you’re stopping me?” Cat Blanc’s grin widened, teeth flashing unnaturally white. “Oh, little mouse… I don’t need stopping. I need understanding.”
“Understanding?” Multimouse snapped, exasperation and fear threading together. “I don’t have time for understanding! You’re tearing reality apart!”
He leaned closer, claws lightly brushing the side of her cheek, just enough to make her flinch. “I’m not tearing it apart. I’m finishing it.”
Her stomach dropped. “Finishing what? You’re destroying everything! You don’t know what you’re doing!”
Cat Blanc’s laugh was low, almost intimate. “Don’t I? Don’t I just… know? My Lady left. The world ended the moment she did. And now… you’re here. A mouse. A replacement. A savior. A toy to remind me of what I lost.”
The words hit her harder than any strike. She shook her head, backing up against a fractured wall, voice rising, tears threatening. “No! I’m not a replacement! I could never replace Ladybug!”
Cat Blanc’s ears flattened completely, plastered to his head. His smile vanished, replaced by something cold and feral. In a blur of motion, he slammed one hand into the wall beside her head. Stone exploded outward, fragments floating instead of falling, peppering the air with frozen debris.
“Don’t,” he snarled. The word vibrated with power. “Say her name like that. Like she’s something to be retrieved.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” he cut in, leaning closer, claws digging into the wall, close enough that she could see the faint cracks of energy pulsing beneath his skin. “Everyone does. They talk about her like she’s a mistake that can be undone. A wrong turn. A tragedy.”
His voice dropped, trembling now. “She was my world.”
“She didn’t tell me,” he whispered.
The words were barely audible, swallowed by the ruined city. But they landed with devastating weight.
“She didn’t tell me it was that bad.”
Multimouse’s chest ached. She shifted, slowly sliding down the wall until she was sitting amid the dust, knees drawn slightly inward—not submissive, just… smaller. Less threatening. More mouse than hero.
“She probably didn’t know how,” she said. “Or she thought she could carry it alone. Heroes do that. They think if they’re strong enough, no one else has to hurt.”
Cat Blanc stared down at her. For a long moment, he didn’t move. His hand fell away from the wall, claws retracting with a soft click. His tail drooped, bell chiming faintly on his chest as it brushed the ground.
The world around them trembled—not violently, but uncertainly, like reality itself was holding its breath.
“I waited,” he said suddenly, voice rough. “After she left. I waited. I told myself she’d come back when she was ready. That she just needed time.”
His hands clenched at his sides. Blue light flared, then dimmed again.
“And then Hawkmoth showed me the truth.”
Multimouse stiffened. Of course. Of course he had.
“He told me she chose to leave,” Cat Blanc went on, laughter creeping back in at the edges. “That she chose a life without me. And suddenly everything made sense. The waiting. The silence. The emptiness.”
He looked down at her again, eyes bright and feverish. “If the world could take her from me so easily… why should it keep existing?”
Multimouse pushed herself to her feet slowly, every movement deliberate. She didn’t reach for her jumprope. She didn’t split. She just stood there, small and steady against the ruin of everything she’d once sworn to protect.
“Hawkmoth lied to you,” she said.
Cat Blanc smiled again—but this time it was tired. “Did he?”
“Yes,” she said, without hesitation. “Because if Ladybug was anything, she was loyal. To a fault.”
His ears flicked. Uncertain.
“She didn’t leave because she didn’t care,” Multimouse continued, voice trembling despite her resolve. “She left because caring hurt too much. Because being Ladybug meant giving everything and never letting herself want anything back.”
Cat Blanc took a step back.
Just one.
His tail swayed erratically now, betraying the chaos beneath his calm façade. His hands flexed, claws threatening to emerge again.
“You’re telling me,” he said carefully, “that she suffered. And you expect that to make this better?”
“No,” Multimouse said honestly. “I expect it to make you angry. And sad. And maybe… less alone.”
He scoffed, turning away from her, pacing a short, tight circle like a caged animal. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I know,” she said. “But I get to tell you that ending everything won’t make the pain stop. It’ll just mean no one remembers why it mattered.”
He stopped pacing.
Slowly, he looked back at her.
“And what do you know about what matters?” he asked.
Multimouse met his gaze, heart aching with words she couldn’t say.
“I know,” she said softly, “that she believed the world was worth saving. Even when it hurt her. Especially then.”
Cat Blanc stared at her for a long time.
Multimouse’s eyes never left Cat Blanc. He had paused, yes, but only a moment—a predator’s pause, not the contemplative stillness of someone truly listening. She knew that. She could feel it in the sharp flick of his tail, the slight twitch of his ears. The danger hadn’t gone anywhere; it had only changed shape.
She drew a slow breath, letting it pass through her nose and out again, letting the chaotic energy of this fractured world settle just enough that she could think.
“You… don’t have to do this,” she said, almost a whisper. Almost afraid that her words would shatter in the thin, brittle air before reaching him. “You don’t have to let anger and loss—turn you into this.”
Cat Blanc tilted his head, one ear flicking with a subtle, feline grace. His grin returned, but it wasn’t the same playful mockery as before—it was tired, stretched thin over something jagged, unrefined. “You don’t get it,” he said softly, voice barely above the hum of shattered air. “The world… the world forgot. She left. Everyone left. And now… it’s my turn to leave them all behind.”
“Cat Blanc,” she said carefully, choosing her words with deliberate care, “you’re angry because she left. Because she didn’t tell you everything. But ending the world… it won’t bring her back. It won’t fix your pain. It will only—”
His head snapped toward her, ears flattening completely, tail flicking like a whip. His eyes glinted dangerously. “Only what?”
“Only leave you alone with it,” she whispered. Her voice caught slightly, but she held it steady. “And you… you were never alone before. You were loved. And if you destroy everything, even that memory dies.”
For a heartbeat, she thought she saw something shift. A flicker behind those piercing blue eyes.
Then he crouched again, the motion fluid, terrifying, and his grin returned—but slower, thinner, weary. “You speak like you know me,” he said, voice raw. “Like you’ve seen it all.”
“I’ve seen enough,” she said. Her hands gripped the jumprope tighter, coiling it in preparation. “I know enough to know this isn’t what you wanted. This… this isn’t you.”
For a long, electric moment, Cat Blanc simply stared. Then, he lunged forward again—not at her, but at the nearest floating debris. He struck it with claws, rending it into pieces that floated harmlessly away.
Multimouse froze, chest hammering, senses screaming. Was this restraint? Or another cruel twist of the hunt?
“Why… why should I believe that?” His voice cracked on the last word. Blue eyes searching hers like a child lost in a storm.
“Because I’ve been where you are,” she said softly, voice trembling just slightly. “Not exactly, but I’ve felt… abandoned, left behind. And I know how easy it is to think the only way to survive that pain is to destroy everything around you. But it doesn’t work. It never works. And it never makes you feel whole again.”
He shifted slightly, tilting his head, ears twitching as though trying to decide if this mouse—this strange, small, clever mouse—was dangerous or sincere. The tail that had lashed violently just moments ago now flicked lightly, uncertain.
“You… you’re not like her,” he said finally, voice barely audible. “You… you don’t… belong here.”
“No,” Multimouse admitted, though it was a lie, heart aching. “I’m not her. And I will never be her. But I do know her. I know how much she loved you. I know she never wanted this for you. She never wanted you alone in this darkness.”
“You talk too much,” he said finally, voice low, a growl almost buried beneath the softness. “You’re supposed to be… small. Quiet. Unimportant.”
“I know,” she said softly, letting her words float over the hollow windless air. “But even small things matter.”
His ears twitched, a barely perceptible lift, and his grin faltered, just slightly.
“That… that’s what she used to say,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her. “Even small things… matter.”
Multimouse’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t intended to remind him, hadn’t intended to touch that fragile thread of memory that still existed beneath the madness—but it was there. Somewhere, deep beneath the chaos, the boy he used to be had remembered. And now she had him, just for a fraction of a heartbeat.
“You don’t have to fight me,” she said again, quieter this time, stepping closer despite the lingering tension. Every instinct screamed caution, but her steps were deliberate. “I’m not your enemy. I’m… I’m not here to take anything from you. I’m here to stop the pain from spreading further. To stop more people from suffering the way you have.”
“Why… should I believe you?” he asked, voice low, cautious.
“Because I’ve been sent here by someone who believes in what you once were,” she said, voice soft, careful not to overstep. “I don’t know everything about you. But I know enough to know that this… this destruction, this anger—it isn’t you.”
“You’re still Cat Noir,” she continues, her voice trembling. “Even if he tried to erase him. Even if the world forgot him. You’re still him. And you can choose… to remember that. To be more than this.”
His tail stilled, ears lifting slowly. The bell at his throat jingled faintly, almost shyly, like a timid heartbeat. The tension in his muscles faded, replaced by a curious, hesitant stillness.
Multimouse exhaled softly. Small victories. Not the end—not yet—but a crack in the wall of madness, a fragile thread of understanding. And she would cling to that thread with everything she had.
“Stay with me,” she said, her voice gentle, but firm. “Don’t let your pain define the world. Let it remind you why it’s worth protecting instead.”
“You… you remind me of someone,” he said slowly, voice low, almost uncertain, like he was testing the words on his tongue. His blue eyes searched hers, but not with the predatory intensity from before. No, now there was something else—something softer, buried under the chaos. Recognition.
And then—so faint it could have been a trick of the light—his eyes softened. Just slightly. A flicker. A memory brushing against the edges of his mind.
“Marinette,” he whispered.
He blinked, a slow, disbelieving blink, and his ears twitched upward for the first time in what felt like hours. “It can’t be…” His voice was trembling, almost too quiet for the ruins to carry. “It… it can’t be you.”
She swallowed, stepping carefully closer, the jumprope’s pink cord trailing behind her like a lifeline. “It’s me,” she said softly, almost a whisper. “It’s me. Marinette.”
Something inside him shifted. His tail flicked sharply, then drooped, ears flattening only briefly before lifting again. The bell at his throat jingled softly, almost uncertainly. His blue eyes, so impossibly bright, scanned her face as if memorizing it, trying to reconcile the small, clever girl he had known with the hero standing before him—this strange new form, this “Multimouse” she had become.
“You… you look… different,” he murmured, voice faltering. “But… your eyes…”
“Still the same,” she said, voice trembling but sure. “Still me. Still your Marinette.”
He took a step back—almost involuntarily, uncertain, like a wild animal glimpsing a familiar hand in a dream. He crouched on all fours again, sniffing the air faintly, tail flicking in confusion. “But… I destroyed everything,” he said, the words barely more than a breath. “I… I’m not…”
“You’re scared,” she interrupted gently.
His gaze faltered, then lifted again, searching hers. There was something raw and fragile in those bright blue eyes now—a hint of the boy he had been. Sweet, loyal Cat Noir, not the godlike predator he had become. And for a heartbeat, Multimouse saw it clearly: the memory of the boy who had tripped over his own tail, who had laughed too loudly, who had loved too hard.
“You… you’re really here,” he whispered, voice breaking slightly. “My… my favorite little mouse…”
She stepped forward slowly. Her hands were empty, open, showing nothing but trust.
“I… I don’t understand,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “The world… it’s gone… and you… you’re here. How…?”
“Bunnix sent me to save you. Because you’re still my Cat Noir,” she said gently. “And because even in this broken world, the person you were still exists. And I know him. I know you. And I won’t let you destroy everything you love—yourself included—because of what Hawkmoth tricked you into believing.”
His gaze softened further, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The grin wasn’t sharp, wasn’t cruel—it was tentative, like a candle flickering in the wind, but alive.
“Marinette…” he murmured again, almost reverently. “Sweet… little… Marinette…”
“Yes,” she said, voice firm despite the tears threatening to spill. “I’m here. And we’ll fix this. Together.”