Chapter Text
Running away
.............
“I said enough!” the man practically growls turning away. It has finally come down to this moment.
“No! I'm done with this! You're always so busy working, and working, and doing stuff you don't even talk to me!”
“I have important things that need to be done! Something a child like you obviously can't understand,” he explains not even bothering to turn around.
“How would I know?! You never tell me anything! You never spend any time with me, and the few moments you can 'grace me with your presence,' is to scold me, demean me, or tell me what to do! What are you expecting of me?!” the young blond demands. He knew this fight had been a long time coming. Everything he's been thinking and feeling he's always kept bottled up so well, but this was the breaking point.
Yet another time he's been denied time to hang out with his classmates, coupled with the frustration of rarely ever talking to his father in the first place, still carrying the grudge of not even discussing his mother's disappearance over a year ago now, being put under house arrest for being out without his bodyguard again, and just to spice things up toss in a pinch of teenage hormonal mood swings has lead Adrian Agrest to this yelling match with the only person in his life he wants to spend time with, while also avoiding at all cost. Life can be confusing at times.
“I am doing this all for you!” his father roars back spinning on his heels to face his angry son.
“NO! You're doing this for yourself! You keep taking on projects and things so you never have time for me, and so you never have time to think about the fact that Mom isn't here anymore!”
“Do not go there Adrian,” he warns, stepping forward to loom over the boy trying to intimidate him to back down. It doesn't work, Adrian just squares his shoulders and stands up straighter to match his father. He's not backing down over this. Not this time, not again.
“I don't care! I'm honestly surprised you even noticed she's gone! Did Natalie leave you a note telling you she was missing on your desk? Or was it a text? Hate to interrupt your work schedule----”
A few things happened at once. The shock of the back of the hand connecting with Adrians' face and the sting of his father's ring as it cut into his cheek makes him stumble back, his foot slipping on the carpet. He falls back into the set dining room table breaking his fall with his right hand. The shattering of china teacups and the nearly inhuman yelp of pain slips out the young blonds lips as he grips the open wound with his other hand. Blood starts to seep through his fingers.
He turns to look at his father who is standing a few steps away, hand still raised mouth open, eyes wide in shock at his own actions. The older man looks at Adrian and then at his hand as if to confirm that indeed it was his own hand that has stuck his son.
“I didn't mean... I...”
But Adrian doesn't hear this. He isn't hearing anything, he isn't feeling anything. His mind has switched to primal mode.
Fight or Flight.
He jumps to his feet and dashes out the door and down the long hall his father's voice calling after him nothing more than white noise in his ears.
He slams hard into another body in his blind run. He staggers to the right and keeps running. He doesn't stop till he gets to his door slamming it shut. His door does have a lock, but they also have a key. Thinking he tips over a shelf sending its contents scattering over the floor putting his shoulder to it, he rams it up against the door. He looks around and moves the game table behind the shelf, and then wedges a chair in the remaining space between the furniture and wall completing the barricade of his room door. Anyone wishing to enter would have to cut the door in half to get in.
“What happened?! Oh my god! Adrian, you're bleeding!!” Plagg says flying out of his nest made of one of Adrian's shirts on the bed.
Adrian reaches under his bed and pulls out a basic black backpack. It's old and worn and something he picked up a few weeks back while out with friends.
Second hand, but he liked the design even if it was a little outdated. He had purchased it and snuck it home and hid it. He had a few things around his room that he kept hidden, not because they were bad, but simply because they didn't match the decor selected for his room and would be removed if found. Appearance is everything, even in the privacy of his own bedroom apparently.
He opens it and starts to stuff clothes as fast as he can.
“What are you doing? You need to see a doctor!! That bleeding really bad!! Adrian! You need stitches.!! What is going on? Your face is bleeding! Oh god!Your eye! Adrian! Adrian!!” Plagg pleads for answers as he lands on his friends shoulder and yells in his ear to make him focus.
“I have to go! I have to go NOW!” he answers Plagg grabbing a scarf from an open dresser drawer. He pauses for a moment realizing it's the blue one his father gave him. He tosses it back in the draw and pulls out another one wrapping his hand quickly to try and stem the flow of blood. Looking around he sees for the first time that his room is spattered with the blood from his hand.
He pulls the black scarf tight using his teeth before grabbing a winter coat from the closet. It's last year's and too small but it's all he has right now. His good one is in the parlor by the front door. He freezes when a sharp knock comes from his door.
“Adrian, are you alright? What happened?! What is all that noise?” Natalie called from the other side of the wood, the knob turns but the door is unable to open.
Adrian is frozen in place, fearful eyes looking on the door. Bleeding hand gripping the bed.
“I can't stay here,” he chokes out to Plagg.
The little cat looks at the door then back to Adrian.
“I can keep you transformed for 14 hours if you don't use Cataclysm,” he informs the blond.
The door nearly splinters when it's hit suddenly. He knows it's his bodyguard trying to get in. Adrian needs to go now. Not Chat Noir. Adrian is the one who needs to escape.
Adrian picks up a fencing trophy and throws it at the window, it shatters sending glass over the floor. Adrian jumps out the window landing in the snow and takes off. Climbing a tree to the side of the wall and jumping over, landing on his feet he sprints down the road and into a side alley he ducks behind a dumpster quickly pulling out his phone from his bag he turns it off and transforms, leaping up to the rooftops and over. Into the darkening sky of the Paris evening.
-..------
The snow is falling in huge flakes now. His cell phone tells him it's almost 3am Sunday morning. Eight Missed calls, twenty unread messages in the last six hours, and 8% battery left. Chat powers down the phone again and tucks it into his bag. He mentally kicks himself for forgetting the charger, but then sighs because he doesn't even have a place to plug it in.
His legs are killing him and his cut hand is numb, but at least the bleeding seems to have stopped. He's never had stitches in his life but he knows he needs them for this or it will leave a huge scar. He honestly doesn't care.
Head throbbing he's been trying to think of a place to go, but nothing seems like a good option. There is hardly a soul in the city who doesn’t know his face. It would be a repeat of last time when he tried to go to the theatre. Homeless shelters are out. Hounded by strangers and chased around, but this time it would be worse. He would surely make the headlines of the next day's paper, 'Model son runs away from rich home'. He couldn't go to his friend Nino's. That would be the first place his father would look.
Nope, he was good... Chat shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. His suit was doing its best to keep him warm but the cold was just too constant, and he wasn't running anymore to keep warm. The noise from a party down the street caught his attention. The front door was open, warm light and laughter spilled onto the street cutting through the cold and steady falling snow.
Chat found his feet walking towards it. He's just on the outside of the square of light on the ground. Part of him wants to go in. Ask for something to eat and get warm. But the other part doesn't. It's exhausting, and sad, and too upset and tired to fake smiles and make up lies why he would be out on a night like this with a bag of clothes, a black eye, and a cut on his hand.
Stepping back he turns and enters a side ally, pulling his hood back over his head when the wind catches it. The ally is piled high with pallets, metal trash cans, boxes and an assortment of junk. Chat struggles to stack a few pallets and cans into what one might consider shelter. A few cardboard boxes, a torn garbage bag later Chat crawls in and lays down. He's out of the wind and snow, but the little shelter is lacking insulation. He goes and grabs some more cardboard boxes, dumping their contents on the ground. He is really past the point of caring about litter right now.
A few more layers and he crawls back in. It's not perfect but it might keep him from freezing to death too quickly. He lays down his back pack as a pillow and closes his eyes. The only sound is the falling snow around him and the occasional laughter that filters into his little space.
His exhaustion hits him like a truck. The argument, the shock of the strike, the fleeing to his room, the frantic escape from the house and nearly an hour of sprinting over rooftops to get as much distance between him and his home as possible. And walking. So much walking in circles.
He hears the sounds of the city fade away.
........
She watches the alley cat from the street. She had stepped out of the door and into the dark bidding her friends goodnight. A shadow moved to her left and her heart skipped a beat for a moment when she thought it might be a mugger. But the figure moved away seeming not to have noticed her. A gust of wind sends her hair into her eyes and she takes a moment to brush the strands away. Her gaze landed on the dark figure again, the wind had blown the hood off its head revealing short blond hair and... cat ears?
That couldn't be right.
She creeps closer to the alley peeking around the corner just enough to see. The figure starts to move things around. Stacking pallets and boxes. Pulls a ripped garbage bag out of a trash can and adds it to the creation. She watches as he crawls inside. She waits... a moment later he crawls out from behind the cardboard door and shuffles over to some boxes a little farther down the alley. Dumping their contents out on the ground, he cuts the boxes open on the sides with his claws so they lay flat. He again enters the little pallet/cardboard/tarp shelter bringing the new boxes with him. There is rustling and shuffling before finally he's quiet, and all goes still again.
She wonders what she should do... call the police? That doesn't seem right. You don't call the police on the superhero who has saved the city multiple times. Also one of the ones who has saved her own daughter on a few occasions.
But what should she do? He is a stranger at the end of the day, and she couldn't be sure it was actually him or someone in costume. She moves away from the wall and starts walking back home. Her feet crunch in the fresh snow fall. Her pace slows, then slows again till finally it stops. Standing there on the sidewalk in the snow at 3am. She can't... she can't leave him there alone. She should at least make sure he's able to get through the night.
She creeps into the ally towards the pile she saw him crawl into. Turning on her phone light to provide some kinda illumination she listens and hears a slow steady breathing from within. She lifts up a piece of cardboard and shines the light in. The figure is curled up on itself trying to keep warm. Its blue jacket is easily a size or two too small as he can't pull it close enough to even zipper it. Black sweatpants, and one of his hands wrapped up in what looks to be a scarf, she looks at his face. She can tell he's young, probably no older than her daughter. Blond hair hangs over the mask covering his face. Even though the mask she can see his eye is almost swollen shut. There is blood on his cheek from what looks like a fresh scratch.
Had he been in a fight? Even when Akumas attack, he's never this hurt when he's thrown around the city fighting with Ladybug. She didn't know much about magic or super powers but she knew his injuries were not made while fighting a monster.
She couldn't leave him. She sends a quick text to her husband telling him she is bringing home an injured stray cat and to be ready when she gets there. He was always a light sleeper and knew he would hear the ding of her message.
She reaches out and touches his cheek. It's bitter cold. She shakes his shoulder calling his name.
“Chat, Chat Noir! I need you to wake up now.”
It takes a while, and fearfully more shaking then should be necessary before he finally comes too, confused, disoriented, and fearful.
She calms him down telling him that she just came across him on her way home and asked if he needed a place to stay. He kindly refuses trying to hide his shivering.
She changed tactics.
“Well then, could you walk me home? It's a little later than I thought it was and I’m rather nervous. Please?” she begs.
“Okay..” he says, unable to help himself.
He crawls out of the box and staggers to his feet, legs numb from the cold. She grabs his backpack and tosses it over her shoulder looping her arm around his injured once gently but firmly. He looks at her then his arm and then back to the street, he doesn't give any emotion away in his face. He just accepts he's trapped and follows as she leads him into the night.
Her husband is there when she opens the door and she pulls him inside out of the snow.
The larger man pauses for only a moment when he sees the 'cat' his wife has dragged home at 3 in the morning off the street.
Parenting instincts kick in as Chat is removed from his too small jacket and sweats, and wrapped in a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. He feels his skin nearly melting though his suit as he pulls it closer around him. Chat realizes how bad he's shaking as his body starts to step back from the brink of hypothermia. His vision blurry from exhaustion he's slowly lead up the steps to the living room and planted on the couch.
“Can I take a look?” the man asks, pulling gently as the superhero's wrapped hand.
“I umm... can't' get the glove off unless I transform... and I can't let you know... ummm...” his brain has decided it doesn't want to talk anymore and he's barely able to make sentences.
“I have an idea, give me a second,” the woman says leaving the room. She comes back no more than a minute later with a strip of black fabric from somewhere. She cuts 2 eye holes in the fabric before wrapping it around his own mask.
“Will this work?” she asks. He pauses for a moment then nods.
“Claws in.”
He feels Plagg slip unnoticed under his shirt. A shimmer of green light and he's sitting there in his human clothes again. He looks down at himself for the first time noticing his clothes are spotted with red. He didn't notice before, he just ran.
“Let's get you into something clean okay?” the women says.
He nods, feeling guilty about being pampered and fussed over. He's given a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, both about 4 sizes too big.
Chat is nearly swallowed alive by the fabric. The hood itself covers his head almost to his chin. The pants have a string and it's the only thing keeping them up.
The bottoms of the pants nearly a foot longer than his feet. The overall outfit makes him look and feel like a little child. A simpler time.
“I want you to take pictures of your injuries.” Plagg says sitting on the edge of the sink in front of him.
“Why?”
“In case we have to go to the Hospital later.” Plagg says. Adrian feels his stomach flip. He does as he's asked taking pictures of his scratched face, cut hand, and black eye. He winces in pain at the effort. Plagg helps.
Plagg tucks himself into the hood of Adrian's borrowed sweater. He leaves the bathroom and goes back to the couch. A first aid kit waiting and open on the coffee table. He swallows down the lump in his throat.
The gash on his hand is deep and wide, easily visible is the layers of skin, fat and flesh. It's hardened over the last few hours. It will need to be cleaned before stitches and wrapping.
“Have you had stitches before?” the man asks. The first time he's spoken.
Chat shakes his head
“I don't have anything stronger than a few ibuprofen. Are you gonna be alright with that?” the man asks him.
Chat nods. He's still feeling pretty numb emotionally and physically. He takes the pills with a half glass of water.
The bite of the antiseptic makes him shiver. The angle is hard to get to so he is forced to lay on his side with his arm and hand stretched out. The wounded hand resting on a pillow on the man's lap. He knows he should watch and learn but he just can't do it right now. Chat puts his other arm over his eyes and bites the neck of the hoodie. Suddenly he feels a hand under his head lifting it up and his pillow is removed and he's set back down on the women's lap. One hand rubs circles in his back while the other scratches his head through the hood. It's been so long since he's felt this kind of affection. This kind of care. It reminds him of his mother.
The dam breaks.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...” the words spill from his lips as he cries.
He's sorry for so many things. The things he said to his father, the things he never said to this mother. Bothering these nice people who brought him into their home, gave him clothes and tended his wounds and not once asked why he was like this. Just accepted he needed help and gave it willingly.
He cries like he hasn't in years. Covering his mouth with his arm to muffle the sound. He's embarrassed about crying in front of strangers, but the feeling. Finally letting out all the pent up emotion. He's never felt more drained. He feels empty and it feels good for once. Plagg tucked in his hood nuzzle’s him. Not once do they tell him it's alright, or shh him. They just let him let it out.
It takes 9 stitches to close the wound on his hand.
Chat feels the pull of sleep long before the man is done wrapping his hand. A shake to his shoulder pulls him back to the waking world as he sits up.
“Better?” she asks, rubbing a hand on his back. He wipes at his eyes with his good hand.
“Yes, thank you... sorry again.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. Everyone needs a hand once in a while. We can't even count the times you and Ladybug have risked yourself to save the city. So thank you Chat Noir.” the man tells him, packing up the first aid kit.
He finally manages a real smile as he wipes his tear streaked face. He knows he looks like a mess and he couldn't care less. It's the first time he's felt almost normal in a very long time.
A plate of cheese, crackers, two slices of fresh bread with butter, an apple, and a glass of milk is set in front of him. He eyes the plate of food. It's more carbs then he is normally allowed to eat on his model diet and it looks amazing. His stomach grows letting him know that he hasn't eaten a thing in over half a day.
He's lent the phone charger, and is told to sleep well, they will get him breakfast in the morning. A pillow and blanket are provided and the couple vanish to what must be their bedroom.
Plagg crawls out from his place in his hood. “How do you feel?” the kwami asks.
Chat hands Plagg a piece of cheese before taking a bite of the bread.
The saying 'hunger is the best seasoning' isn’t wrong. Combined with something amazing to start with nearly makes his stomach flip in joy. He devours the rest of the food in minutes, apple core and all. He wraps the blanket around him again when he realizes he's shivering even though the room isn't cold.
“I don't know,” he finally answers in a whisper.
“They are really nice. You're lucky she found you when she did.” he tells him, taking another bite of cheese.
“Mmm,” Adrian agrees leaning his head back on the couch and closing his eyes.
“I'm sorry I made you keep me transformed for so long.” Adrian says.
“It's alright. You can pay with Camembert later.” Plagg says, finishing off the cheese. “I think you should transform again, or at least partly.”
“Partly?” Adrian asks, sleepily feeling himself slip away.
“Yes, the less I need to cover the longer I can keep your identity hidden. So if you just wanted the mask and ears I should be able to for almost 20hours.” Plagg informs him.
“I don't think I'd like not talking to you for that long.” Adrian replies weakly.
“Then how about we do the mask and ears, just while you sleep here on the couch in case someone else walks by and that cloth has fallen off. When you get some alone time we can talk then alright?” Plagg tells him.
Adrian, too tired to argue, agrees. He removes the fabric and sets it on the table.
“Say, whiskers up. It's basically just saying you want your heads and face covered,” Plagg explains.
“Thanks Plagg. Good night. Whiskers up,” a flicker of green and his night vision is back. The clock on the wall reads 4:02am the darkness. The light patter of snow on the windows, and the buzz of a fridge somewhere is the only sounds.
He pulls the oversized hood over his ears and lays down facing the couch. Within moments he's out.
..........................
Yes there is not suppose to be description of characters just yet. Yes i keep switching tenses, no i can't spell. yes i love you all
Thank you to my BETA reader!