He lay on his back looking up at the forbidding sky. The drifts of snow gathered on his chest and hair as he slowly breathed in and out, gathering his thoughts. He closed his eyes. When had everything gone so wrong? Then again, he knew deep down that things had always been wrong. He just hadn't seen the truth of it all until now. Perhaps my bad luck is the reason why I was chosen to be Chat Noir... he thought bitterly blinking his eyes at the tears that had formed there. Perhaps it was the cold that brought them on or perhaps they had formed from his bitterness. They fell in chilled rivulets down his temples and into his hair.

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, holding back the bile. His stomach had already rejected all of its contents. It had nothing left to give up but the mouthful of snow he'd swallowed in an attempt to wash the taste away. The chill of the mid-winter night seeped into his very bones and he wished that he could simply fall asleep there in the cold and dark and never wake again. The forlorn embrace of darkness was far more welcoming than the truth that waited for him in the daylight.

Hawkmoth had found him – or so he thought – in his room that evening, only to reveal to Chat Noir his identity. His father stood there beckoning to him. He had known for several months that he was Chat Noir but why hadn't he tried to take his Miraculous? He and his father had a rocky relationship, to say the least, and that was before this revelation. How was he even supposed to function in his normal day-to-day life with this crushing truth hanging over him? Then for Gabriel to state so simply that he knew where Adrien's mother was... that she was coming home... that she was- NO! His brain protested. Don't think about that! It's not true! The truth couldn't be that bad... could it? These facts swirled in his mind making him feel dizzy. In a matter of moments, his father had thoroughly obliterated any semblance of reality the boy had left. What had been the point of revealing his identity? Why now?

What else was being kept from him?

Chat Noir pondered the implications of this question for a long time as the snow gathered around him. What else was being kept from him, yes, but also, by who? Was Ladybug keeping things from him as well? It felt as though Ladybug and Hawkmoth were playing a game of chess and Chat only just realized his role was that of the sacrificial pawn. Was he always meant to be sacrificed? Caught in the middle of two warring parties, forgotten? If that were the case then perhaps it would be better if he never woke up...

I hope Ladybug isn't the one who finds me...he thought idly as the tiny crystallized flakes clung to his body effectively burying him in a layer of white where he lay motionless. She's the only one who would find me on a rooftop. I should have laid in a back alley if I didn't want her to find me.

He mulled over the idea of wandering off to find a dumpster to throw himself into as the snowfall grew thicker. He let out a huff as he thought to himself, If I let myself die from exposure, she'd probably bring me back to life just so she could put me in my grave herself. The thought would have normally brought with it some kind of mirth but now, it seemed to echo hollowly through his mind. Yes, it was better if he didn't wake up at all.

Chat Noir felt like a puppet on a string as his numb limbs pushed him clumsily off the roof. Shakily he got to his feet, his hands fumbling with his staff as his lifeless fingers failed to grip it properly. Using his staff he lowered himself to the sidewalk of the street below. He nearly fell to the ground but managed to grip his staff just tight enough to slow his dissent. Landing with a dull crack on the cement as his knees buckled and slammed into the ground. It was perhaps a good thing he couldn't feel his legs from the knee down otherwise he probably wouldn't have been able to stand again.

Chat Noir sighed as he set off. He found himself wandering the back alleys of Paris, talking himself out of climbing into every suitable dumpster he found. That one is too full... came one excuse. This one smells too bad... came another and so on. He wondered dumbly as he passed up yet another perfectly good dumpster if he was simply hoping for someone to jump out of the dumpster and tell him that it had all been a bad joke. His response to which would be to promptly punch them in the throat.

He couldn't be sure how long he'd been wandering the city but it had been hours at least. Losing track of time was the least of his concerns, however. At some point in the night – or perhaps it was early morning? – he stumbled over his numb feet and fell, his head colliding with the ground only a couple meters from the next dumpster. He winced as his vision slowly went dark. This was is then... this was how the not-so-great Chat Noir would die. Alone and cold, not even able to throw himself away as planned. Oh well, perhaps this was for the best...

oOo

The burly man stretched and yawned as he got up from his bed. The life of a baker always started early but he'd been at it for so long, it hardly bothered him anymore. He dressed and made his way down to his bakery the floor below. A day like any other.

The light clicked on casting its yellow hue over the quiet kitchen. Tom began gathering the ingredients for the first recipes of the day. His kitchen was his sanctuary, his oven, the altar at which he placed his offerings. He'd made a habit many years ago of saying a tiny blessing over the first loaves of the day. A little prayer to bless his kitchen and his family.

His hands worked steadily in a well-practiced rhythm as the heat of the ovens drew beads of sweat on his brow. It wasn't unusual for Tom to keep the back door of the bakery open, even in the winter time. As the heat of the ovens warmed the kitchen more than was comfortable to work in, Tom unlocked the back door and pulled it open. It wasn't until he had wedged the door stopper in place that he saw the unusual bundle laying on the cold bricks of the alley.

The yellow light of the kitchen spilled onto the snow but wasn't quite strong enough for him to see clearly. He squinted through the snow and darkness of the wee morning hours only to find the unconscious figure of Chat Noir. The delicate procession of snowflakes was burying him in a sad, soft, silent funeral. The sight alone filled the large man to the brim with an overwhelming sense of loneliness and despair. He choked back the sudden emotions that stung his eyes.

Realization dawned on the big man as he rushed the few steps into the alleyway. Chat Noir couldn't have been there long, the snow was falling hard and it had barely begun to cover him. Tom reached down and gently brushed the snow from the hero's face. He was cold... too cold. Pressing his fingers to Chat's neck, Tom desperately searched for a pulse. There! Faint though it was, it was still there. Tom scooped the boy gingerly into his strong arms and rushed him inside.

"Sabine!" Tom's voice boomed as he thundered up the stairs. Neighbors be damned, a hero of Paris was in dire need! "Sabine quick! Get the electric blanket!"

"Tom?!" The little woman called in worry as her husband came bursting through the front door. She tucked her night robe around herself and tied the sash. "Tom what's going on?!"

"I found him in the back alley by the dumpster!" He breathed quickly holding Chat Noir's lifeless body against his broad chest to try and warm him. "The electric blanket, Sabine! We need to get him warm now!"

As his wife scuttled about to grab the blanket from the closet, Tom sat on the couch still cradling Chat against his chest and rubbing the boy's back and arms and legs vigorously with his hands. Anything to warm him and get the blood flowing properly through him again.

"Oh, Tom!" Sabine said after draping the warming blanket over the two of them. "Look! There's a gash on his forehead!"

Sabine brushed Chat's hair away from his face gently to reveal the bloody wound from when he'd fallen. The little woman collected the first-aid kit from the cabinet under the sink and set to work cleaning and dressing the wound. It wasn't as bad as initially thought but it was disconcerting all the same.

"What do you think happened?" Sabine whispered as she tenderly stroked Chat's hair. "You don't think there was an Akuma attack do you?"

"I don't know..." Tom said after a moment, his brow knitted together in worry. "maybe... well, I don't know if it's rude to assume this but maybe he just fell off the roof? I mean, you know how he and Ladybug are always running across the rooftops. What if he just misstepped in the snow and slipped? He's just a boy, Sabine..." Tom added the last part in a hushed tone as he examined Chat's face in closer detail. "all of Paris is putting its hopes in someone so young. I can't imagine what that must feel like..."

"Poor boy." Sabine sighed and pressed the back of her hand to her lips to suppress a small sob. Chat Noir's lips were positively blue and his skin so very pale with cold. Despite having found him in the nick of time, Tom and Sabine knew that Chat Noir wasn't out of the woods quite yet. He needed to wake up.

"I-I'll go make him some soup!" Sabine's voice was pinched with worry but Tom knew that cooking would distract her from her nerves at least a little. This had been something of a rude awakening for his poor wife. Tom watched her as she shuffled around the kitchen. Occasionally he would pick up Chat Noir's hand to feel if his fingers had warmed and he could see the color returning to the boy's face.

Maybe it was rude to try and wake him up but he couldn't just sit by and wait any longer. Tom found himself gently shaking Chat's shoulder and saying his name in an attempt to rouse him from his catatonic state. Tom shook his head and grimaced. Now's not the time to be making jokes!

Then it happened. As Sabine pressed the spoon to her lips to taste the soup she'd concocted, Tom shouted. Sabine dropped the spoon in fright but her frustration turned on itself immediately when her husband waved her over a ghost of a smile on his lips. Chat Noir had made a noise.

oOo

Everything felt like fire and needles. His body ached deeply through every muscle, even his face. Why was his head pounding? Why was someone stabbing his whole body with pins and needles? Was he dead? Did he go to hell? Is that why it was so hot in here?

Chat scrunched his face against the heat and groaned in a small protest. It would be just his luck to end up in hell. Here he was, a hero of Paris. One of the "Good Guys" and he ended up in hell... go figure. He sighed and pushed his arms weakly against the oppressing heft of whatever was draped over the top of him. Only vaguely aware of the arms that held him and the voices the seemed to echo too distantly to understand their words.

Then a hand was on his cheek. Gentle and nurturing, he could sense it was the hand of a loving mother even without opening his eyes. Oh, right, he had eyes. Perhaps he could get a better sense of his surroundings if he opened them? With great effort, he slowly cracked his eyes open to look around the room. Instead, his eyes found a woman's and the tears that clouded them as she watched him. Her lips were moving but his ears hadn't caught up with the rest of him yet. Chat Noir blinked slowly several times before realizing that he was being held by a large man. The man wasn't really smiling but Chat could see the kindness and the worry in his eyes. Maybe this wasn't hell? Do people care and look concerned in hell? He didn't know.

These people seemed somewhat familiar but his mind was too clouded to place them.

"Tom, prop him up on the couch! I'll go get him some soup!" he heard the woman say and the man nodded. Suddenly Chat felt himself being lifted into the air and then placed on the soft cushions of the sofa. Soup? Chat thought to himself. At least, he was pretty sure he'd heard the word soup. Was she getting him some? Was it good soup? Or was it the stuff from the can? Soup sounds nice.

A moment later the woman returned with a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. She sat on the edge of the coffee table and spoke to him once again. "You're shaking rather badly, sweetheart, so I'll help you, alright?" her words were slow and deliberate as if she could tell he was still having a hard time processing them. Chat looked down at his hands and felt a rush of embarrassment. His hands were shaking... why were his hands shaking? He felt his cheeks rush with color as he clumsily tucked his hands away under the blanket to hide them. "It's alright, you have nothing to be ashamed of, dear." The woman's voice was so kind and her smile made him feel warm. He liked this lady.

She raised a spoonful of soup from the bowl and blew on it to cool it down. Chat hesitated for a moment as he looked at the spoonful of soup. He was a hero, should he be accepting this sort of treatment from civilians? He looked back up at the kind woman who sat ever-so-patiently, waiting for him to take a bite.

"D-did you m-make this for m-me?" he asked stupidly. Chat hated how his voice cracked and rasped. The cold air had his throat in a worse way than he thought.

"Never you mind that." her eyes sparkled and her smile became even softer than before, if that were even possible. Chat Noir suddenly felt like an infant being gazed upon lovingly for the first time by its mother. "You need to get something warm in that belly so you can get back on your feet."

Chat leaned forward and let the woman feed him. It was somewhat humiliating but at least Ladybug wasn't here to see this. He sighed as the warm liquid ran down his throat and soothed the dull ache of his frozen esophagus. After a couple minutes of being fed like a toddler, he looked around the house once again, this time more aware of his surroundings.

Chat took in the warmth of the room. It was so homey. It felt lived in. It struck him as familiar. He'd been here before. His eyes finally fell to the bookshelf where a small photo sat propped in its frame. There was the man and the woman who had been helping him but standing between them was a young girl with dark pigtails and brilliant blue eyes.

"Marinette..." he said more to himself than anything but his attention was drawn back to the woman in front of him when he heard her slight intake of breath.

"You know my daughter?" The woman said. Her face was a mix of shock, worry, and delight.

"W-well," he stammered trying to think fast to cover up his mistake. He couldn't give himself away so easily, even in his mentally muddled state. "I-I've run into her a couple of times here and I guess I kind of saved her once or twice during Akuma attacks. But I don't really know her."

"Tom and I even more glad to be helping you then." she smiled at him again standing and moving to the kitchen with the empty bowl. "You should lay down and get some rest. You can't get better if you don't rest."

"Th-thank you so much for your hospitality," Chat Noir stood from the couch feeling his body protest with every movement. "but I c-can't stay. I-"

Before he could finish his thought the small Chinese woman had taken him by the arm and walked him back to the couch and pushed him back into a laying position. She was surprisingly strong for someone so small. The firm smile and determination in her eyes reminded him of how Marinette could get from time to time. Now he knew where she got it from.

"You are not going anywhere until I give you the all clear," she said as she tucked him in tightly with the warm blanket, laying her hand on his chest. "It's no trouble at all and don't you worry about it getting out that you're staying here for now. We won't tell anyone you're here. We know how to keep a secret around here." The woman gave him a sly wink before turning off the light and heading down the stairs to help her husband catch up with his work.

Chat blinked up at the ceiling in the dark room. What did she mean by that? But also, how did she know he was worried that it'd get out that he was staying there? Was she a mind reader? He really hoped not.

Mind reeling and body aching, Chat found it easy to allow himself to drift off to sleep if only to escape the pain.