Éphémère

by Yilena

Marinette's main worries had been getting food and a place to sleep, not an ongoing feud between angels and demons. After acquiring ancient weapons, she takes it upon herself to protect her childhood friend, even if he doesn't recognise her. AU.

AN: I'm going to say this here: I don't have any experience with children, these situations aren't all going to be realistic, and we're just going to go along with it, okay? Otherwise I will have a breakdown and cry. A lot. There's going to be a lot of violence, blood, and murder in this story—even from the first chapter. That means a lot of character death, even from the mains. I'm warning you now. Also, this has three chapters planned in total. Remember, it all goes downhill from here.

Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc

There was someone in the house.

He wasn't supposed to be back so soon, and neither was anyone else. At least, not from what she'd seen the past couple of days.

Marinette had thought that she'd given herself a small amount of time to take what she needed, but that wasn't the case at all.

She'd barely filled her bag.

A pained breath escaped her as she put the bag on, the straps digging into her exposed skin, and she quickly trudged to the door to the garden, trying to hurry with her steps. She wasn't as fast as she'd have liked to be, and her sluggish body wasn't doing her any favours, so when she bumped into the chair in the middle of the kitchen, she felt tears starting to prickle in her eyes from frustration.

There was a noise, but she was already running out of the door, crossing the garden and ducking into the woods that were on the border of the property.

It was proof that she'd wandered out far from the city.

No one came after her, thankfully. Her heart thumped nervously in her chest for a while, looking over her shoulder to see whether anyone caught up to her, but nothing happened.

It made her happy.

It was proof that she'd be able to look after herself, wasn't it? There had always been the questions, the concerned looks, others not letting her do anything because she was too young—but she had food, her belongings that she'd taken away, all of it stashed safely.

Being alone wasn't all too bad, not like she'd been told it would be.

It was because of the successful first time that she went back to the house again, almost a week later. She'd made the mistake on eating a lot of the food too quickly, her stomach cramping in protest from the sudden fullness, but the location was one of the safest yet.

She could watch from the outskirts of the forest to see whether the owner was there.

It was exciting.

She'd always been warned against stealing, that the result of being found out would only make everything worse for her but—but she was doing fine.

There wasn't any interruptions that time.

She'd wandered further away from the others a little while a go. It had been at night, Marinette nervous with her heart thudding awkwardly in her chest, but she just—all she wanted to do was to get away, to be somewhere where she wouldn't have to look over her shoulder and see violence or arguments.

It hadn't always been that way, of course. The people she'd found herself with—hesitant to call family—had taken care of her, warmed up and taught her things. She trusted them slowly, not wanting to see someone leave her again, but some had managed to worm their way into her life.

Like Nice Lady, for example. Marinette could barely remember her life without her, but Nice Lady had the habit of disappearing for weeks, sometimes more, and Marinette didn't latch onto anyone else while she was gone.

But while Nice Lady was gone that time, things had gotten out of hand.

Since creeping away in the night, her fears of being alone were lessening slightly from just how easy it seemed to be. The sound in the evenings scared her, yes, but it was better than the shouting from others. After the last fight she'd seen, and her belongings that had disappeared, she'd wandered off when the weather was warm.

It was an old man that lived in the house by the woods. The house was large, all the lights never on at the same time, and the garden was long with the large building that was out back. She saw some other children entering it with him during the day, but she wasn't sure what they were doing.

The windows were too high for her to see inside.

But when it rained heavily, the trees not providing any protection and the ground turning squishy and horrible, she'd gathered up the courage to trudge to the building out back, curiously approaching the door first to see whether it was left open.

She almost cried out in glee when it really was.

The old man had to be forgetful.

Marinette didn't dare to turn on the lights, having been told that lesson by others, and she tried to position herself so she wasn't visible by the door.

It was a lot better than sleeping outside, that was for sure.

And when she'd wandered back the second night that it was raining, her confidence soared.

She grew more daring when she wasn't caught sleeping there the second time. Sometimes, she stayed for longer in the morning, staring at the large windows at the top, inspecting the room in the daylight, taking in the large room that had scuff marks on the floor.

There was another room, but it was locked along with a large locker (much larger than any other locker she'd ever seen, all by itself).

There wasn't much to do during the day.

Marinette explored through the woods sometimes, or she followed the trail out to the road, wandering down to the town to dart into the alleyways. She recognised a few of the people that she'd lived with previously, but other than asking her whether she was okay, most of them didn't bother her too much.

It was a surprise to find out that Nice Lady was back.

She had bruises on her face and a few scratches, but her voice was as soft as her touches, and Marinette naturally gravitated towards her when they were together.

It wasn't hard to say that Nice Lady was the nicest person she knew.

Although she didn't say where she was staying, wanting to keep it to herself—not to share, to have it taken—she did make a promise to come back into town every day to talk to Nice Lady.

Marinette chose not to bring her backpack into town with her. At times, Nice Lady would share food with her, which she gratefully accepted, while others they looked for some together when their stomachs growled. She knew that she had a good thing at her current location, with the forgetful old man that forgot to lock his backdoor, but telling just one person could mean that others would come.

She'd seen it happen before, after all.

She wanted to protect what was hers, for once.

Nice Lady brushed her hair when they were together.

"It hurts," Marinette complained, her head jerking back with almost every brush.

"It won't if you do it more," was the advice she got in return.

She grumbled underneath her breath, repeating the words in a more higher-pitched voice.

But the weather was getting hotter.

Her face had gotten burnt from staying out under the sun for too long, and the skin of her shoulders had started peeling uncomfortably.

The blanket that she used at night only made it itch more, frustrated tears welling in her eyes whenever she accidentally brushed up against something and hurt herself, and ended up crying more than she would've liked.

Nice Lady pushed her on the swings to try and cheer her up, but the chains felt too hot to touch, so holding on was too hard.

The ice cream she had after was nice, though.

There were times when she wandered into the parks further, venturing alone without someone else she knew accompanying her, and she tried to play with other children at times, but it—it wasn't what she really knew. It was fun at times, but the others her age were always pulled away by their adults quickly, or she was asked weird questions that she didn't quite know how to answer.

There was only so much that she'd learned.

But school didn't sound that bad, not from what she'd been told. There had been a few other children that were a few years older than her, or even those that were almost adults, but they'd never really stuck around long, not like the others.

"Why can't I school?" Marinette had questioned, a few months ago, back when Nice Lady had just disappeared for a while.

The response she got was that if she wanted to go, she'd have to leave—leave everyone that she knew, and all the horror stories that she'd been told flashed through her mind. While some had tried to tell her that it would be a good thing, for an adult to take her in and play families for her, she'd heard so many conflicting stories that she didn't know what to do.

The only thing she really knew was that she trusted Nice Lady more than anyone else.

But that didn't mean Marinette wanted her to come and share her new make-shift home. It was selfish, the thing that she was told not to be too often, but she—it was hers.

Nice Lady always disappeared, but she was just glad when she returned.

Marinette had learned with others before, had another girl to play with, but she'd gone a few months prior along with a few other members of the group. There had always been questions, some asking whether she wanted to go with them, but she didn't—she didn't know them well, not really. While they gave her toys sometimes, took care of her when she felt bad, it didn't mean that she'd wanted to leave the remnants of the group that were all that she could really remember.

At least, until the fighting escalated.

She thought she was doing well on her own, somehow. She'd stashed away her ratty sleeping bag, her blanket and other belongings hidden with her bag, and she'd found a nice hiding spot for her food and everything else while she wandered off to the town for the day.

It was all thanks to the forgetful old man.

But others didn't agree with her so much.

"This really isn't a place for a child," Nice Lady said as she brushed her hair again, tugging at the knots. "You're still young, there's—there's a place out there for you, you know."

She'd heard that before.

Marinette crossed her arms stubbornly as her response.

"Don't give me that," she was chided. "You'd be able to have a family, maybe even a dog. Don't you want that?"

She sniffed. "I don't like dogs."

"You don't like the one that almost bit you," she was corrected. "But that was just—just a stray, honey. They're not all like that."

She liked what she had. Her skin felt itchy, but it was better than the shivering in the winter, and she didn't have to share it with anyone else in the evenings.

Other than the burned skin, it was a nice routine that she had going. Nice Lady—who'd constantly remind Marinette of her name, but it was too hard to pronounce, so she continued to call her what she wanted—got her hands on new books for the two of them to read, and she even offered for Marinette to stay with her in a place she'd found to stay.

Regardless of whether that meant outside or not, Marinette didn't want to share again.

She didn't come back the day after saying no, scared that it would be taken away from her.

Nice Lady didn't bring up the subject again, much like the previous times that it had happened. No matter how much Nice Lady tried to insist that it would do wonders for her, she never pushed her for it—she never pushed Marinette to do anything, really.

"I'm not mother material," Nice Lady said with a laugh when Marinette had won their debate on what to read that afternoon. "I always give into to you too easy."

Marinette didn't say that she always asked Nice Lady to stay, but she always disappeared. It hurt to know that when she came back she had bruises and looked worse than before, but the affection that she gave her wasn't something she wanted to give up.

So, she held that in, happily sitting beside Nice Lady as they started to read.

It all came apart quite quickly.

Nice Lady went away again.

She gave Marinette a kiss on her forehead, a promise that she'd be back soon with a present for her, but all Marinette could do was frown and stop herself from asking her not to go.

She always did in the end.

The weather was still hot, the sun blazing in the sky, and she tried to stick to the shade as much as she could. Her belongings were still untouched in their hiding spot, and she slept almost every night in the old man's garden building—which she still hadn't quite figured out the purpose of—a routine that she was slowly getting attached to.

It helped that he still never locked the doors.

But it made her wonder why no one else was taking the opportunities that she was. Stealing was a common thing, wasn't it? It was something that people got punished for if they were caught, but it was necessary—

When the day came that she did get caught, it wasn't by the old man.

"What are you doing?"

Marinette fell down, backside hitting the floor and her hands touching the dirt as she stared up at the person standing in front of her, startled.

They laughed.

She continued to stare, wide-eyed.

But it wasn't really a they, not really. It was a boy, small like her, his clothes free of dirt and hair as smooth-looking as Nice Lady wanted her to have.

He crouched down in front of her, smiling. "Are you playing a game?"

It was her normal reaction to glance over his shoulder, trying to see when an adult would come to tug him away from her. No one liked people playing with her, not for long.

And yet, he just giggled when she continued to stay quiet. "Is it fun?"

But he—it wasn't a space where someone was supposed to be.

Marinette scrambled back, trying to hide where she kept her backpack behind her. It wasn't something that she wanted anyone to see, not when they'd take it without a second thought. She'd worked so hard to get what she had, to continue living in the easy-going life that she'd found, so for someone to appear in front of her?

It made her feel nauseated.

"Is that a sleeping bag?" he questioned, peering over her to see where she really had stuffed her sleeping bag in with her bag.

She lurched backwards, covering it with her body.

He tilted his head in confusion.

Her heart was thumping loudly in her chest, the sound hard to be ignored, and she could only stare at the boy, terrified of what could happen. He—he could tell someone that she was there, couldn't he? That would mean that she'd have to wander back to the others in town, to admit that she couldn't make it on her own without them—

But she'd seen fights before. Wasn't the situation she was in what they'd fought over? Their belongings?

And as she stared at him, noting the way he was just kneeling in front of her, not reaching out or doing anything else, she realised that she really didn't want to hurt him.

It wouldn't really do any good, would it?

"Do you live here?" he asked, expression lighting up visibly at that. "I do! I mean, in the summer, yes. I come here to stay with my grandfather because he doesn't like the city, but I've heard things, you know? Whispers. I know that's not really the reason—oh, do you know him?"

It was so much said all at once, that even if she wanted to reply, she wouldn't know where to start.

He frowned. "I did it again, didn't I?"

She had no idea what he was talking about.

"You can tell me to shut up," he said joyfully. "Not those words! They're bad words. Let's pretend I didn't say them, okay? I really want dessert tonight. It's hot."

Marinette continued to stay sat awkwardly on the floor, hands touching the dirt below, trying to cover her belongings behind her.

He started to open his mouth to say something else, but he comically turned his head around when there was a loud call of, "Adrien!"

"That's me," he whispered, quickly standing up and smoothing out his outfit. "I have to go!"

There was barely any time before he started to run back from where he'd come, going through the small trail that it had taken her so long to find. He didn't pause in his movements, running through without giving her a second glance, but it was still enough for her to realise that she needed to change her hiding spot.

Someone knew about it, after all.

When she saw him again, he looked just as clean as the last time.

It was in town, while Marinette was sat on a bench in the shade, one of the newest books Nice Lady had gotten them perched on her lap. She'd been too busy looking at it before someone to stand in front of her, the shadow making them noticeable.

"It's you!" were his opening words, a bright smile on his face. "Remember me? I hope you do, I really think we can be friends since we live so close together now!"

She promptly closed her book.

"I'm Adrien," he said, happily sticking a hand out towards her.

She stared.

His gaze flickered between his hand and her face, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. "No?"

She really didn't know what to expect from him.

"Friends shake it," he said, demonstrating shaking his own hand with his other. "Like this, see? And friends that are only just meeting do it, too. That could mean us."

But when she continued to stay silent, he frowned.

"Am I being rude?" Adrien asked, putting his hands on his hips. "I am, yes?"

She just didn't understand why he was talking to her at all. They'd met in the woods, on the outskirts where she kept her belongings, and yet he'd readily approached her in the town, unlike all the others when they'd been caught together.

Where was his adult?

Her first words to him were, "Why?"

He brightened at that. "Why?"

She frowned.

Adrien beamed. "You can talk!"

It had never really crossed her mind that she hadn't said a word to him before.

"Oh, this is awesome," he whispered, clenching his fists in front of his chest excitedly for a moment. "You live next door, right? Right?"

She furrowed her brow.

"That's what my grandfather said!" he said, nodding his head. "That means we'll be so close all summer! You're my first friend here."

Friend?

And when he enthusiastically nodded his head once more, she realised that she'd said it aloud. "Friends!" Adrien confirmed, excitedly swaying in front of her before he dramatically paused. "But—but I don't know your name."

She swallowed. "M-Marinette."

"Marinette," he repeated, butchering the pronunciation, smile growing wider as he said it another time, clearly pleased with the development. "I'm being bad."

She blinked.

"I'm not—not supposed to be here," Adrien whispered, putting his hand around one side of his mouth, as though it would stop the sound getting out. "But I'll see you again, right?"

And with that, he was off again, running down the street before entering a building. The only different between that time and the last was that he paused halfway, turning around and enthusiastically waving at her before continuing on his way.

But everyone always disappeared—Nice Lady, the girl that had read with her, others in their group, so she wasn't expecting too much.

She didn't think she'd see him again.

As always, the old man that lived in the large house—alone, she presumed—continued to have children follow him into where she slept, all of the children excitable and visibly happy to go inside. The only difference to the previous times she'd seen it was that Adrien was there, holding the old man's hand as they wandered across the large garden.

She stared.

The windows were still too high up for her to peer in and see what they were doing, but she was as curious as ever. The scuffed floor and lockers were all she had to go on—what could the old man be teaching them in there?

Rather than going into town, waiting for Nice Lady to return, Marinette bravely climbed one of the trees to sit on a branch, shifting until she got comfortable on it to wait and see how long the old man would be inside.

She didn't really have a good sense of time, but when the sound of cars started to appear again before adults came out of them, appearing along the fences as they wandered down to be closer to where the children were, that was the sign that it was over.

Adrien didn't go with any of the new adults.

He continued to hold onto the old man's hand, the two of them going back into the large home together through the door that Marinette knew was never locked.

He'd said grandfather before, but she'd never thought it would be there.

But he—he'd said that his grandfather had mentioned her, right? Adrien had assumed that she lived next door because of him, and that knowledge made her feel sick.

She slipped down onto the floor clumsily, her palms stinging from the awkward fall.

That meant the old man had seen her, hadn't he? She knew that there had been noises the first time that she'd gone into his home, but no one had shouted after her, and the following times had been so—so easy.

But she'd been seen, and the worst things were supposed to follow when that happened. She'd heard so many stories, been told so many warnings, but nothing of the sort had happened, had it?

She'd continued on peacefully, slipping into the garden building in the evenings, taking any food and drink that she needed from the kitchen when the old man was gone, and wandering into town without many questions being directed her way.

She sniffed loudly.

It took her two days to work up the courage to approach the backdoor to the kitchen, trying to see whether it was really left open after the old man had become aware of her.

The noise of the handle was almost deafening as she moved it.

Her eyes watered in confusion.

It wasn't—it wasn't normal, was it? Everyone had warned her that being alone was hard, but she'd managed to make quite a nice life for herself on her first try.

The lights were off, but she knew that already. In the beginning, she'd used the backdoor when the old man had gone out, but she'd grown bolder and went in a few hours after the lights had turned off before retreating back to the garden building.

The door didn't creak as it opened. The house was as clean as ever—as clean as Adrien's clothes—and when she opened the fridge, it was as full as ever, prime for the taking. There was enough that taking a bit wouldn't be noticeable, something that she'd almost perfected over the amount of time she'd been stealing from them.

But it wasn't as smooth as the other times.

"Marinette, right?"

She dropped what she was holding onto the floor loudly.

Startled, she jumped away, the door of the fridge still open and acting as a light, and she was terrified as she took in the sight of the old man that she'd only ever seen from afar.

He was leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed with a frown, and it confused her even more than he wasn't shouting or telling her to get out.

The backpack that was by her feet was quickly picked up, and she clutched it to her chest as she took a step backwards, only hitting her back against the door of the fridge. It wasn't a smart move, but her heart was racing, staring with wide eyes as the old man continued to look at her, not saying anything.

When the silence was broken, it wasn't by her.

"Adrien's in bed," he said, lifting his chin up to gesture to the ceiling above. "It would be best if you're quiet."

She gulped.

With a step into the kitchen, the old man pointed towards the stools by the countertops. "If you don't want me to call the police, sit down."

The world was familiar, one that she'd been warned against.

"Come on." His voice was gruff. "I'd rather get this over and done with, don't you?"

There wasn't really much she could do, was there? Even if she ran and managed to get away, it would be too dangerous to keep coming back. The sight of the old man, who was so casually talking to her, meant that she'd lose the home that she'd found, lose the building that she slept in every single night.

And it was all because of Adrien, wasn't it?

Her feet didn't touch the floor when she finally managed to sit on the stool the furthest away from him.

"Now," he started, clearing his throat. "Since you've been living on my land for a while, want to tell me why?"

Her lower lip wobbled.

-x-

Aloys, as he introduced himself as, treated her like she saw strangers treating unknown dogs.

She didn't know how to feel about it.

After telling her that he knew that she was on his land all along, that he'd purposely left the door open to try and entice her in to get her supplies, she'd just started sobbing from being scared of him. Marinette had no idea what he wanted, not when he was going against what she was taught—they were supposed to want to get rid of her, not try and lure her in.

But after giving his name and saying that Adrien would be staying with him for the summer—confirming what she'd already known—he slowly got up from his seat and went to a cupboard, bringing out a small box from inside of it.

Then, he slid it over to her on the countertop.

"For you, kid," he said gruffly.

She stared down at it, confused.

And that was it, really. Aloys stuffed his hands into his pockets and wandered away, leaving the light on in the kitchen that he'd put on after she'd finally sat down on the stool and listened to him, and left her alone.

She took a few minutes before leaving.

He hadn't said anything about getting off his land, nothing of the sort, but she still looked over her shoulder to see whether any of the lights were on in the house before she went into the garden building.

It was the same as ever, but it felt different.

He knew she was there, definitely. Aloys was encouraging her, even.

Opening the box revealed individually packaged food of all sorts, ones that wouldn't spoil any time soon. They were the same as some of the ones she'd taken from the bottom cupboards, the ones that she could actually reach, and it made her wonder whether he really knew all of the things she'd taken all that time.

She'd really thought she was doing okay by herself.

But—but someone was looking out for her, right?

Nice Lady would've known what to do. She would've known what to say to Marinette, how to advise her, but all Marinette could do was stare at the food, wondering whether it would fit in her new hiding spot and be safe with the rest of her things during the day.

She really wasn't doing it alone, was she?

The doors continued to be left open.

She saw Adrien playing in the large garden, Aloys close by either sitting in a chair or standing, always keeping an eye on him, and Marinette found herself watching them sometimes. It was something close to what she had with Nice Lady, that was for sure, and there was always that tugging feeling of wanting something that she couldn't.

Nice Lady still wasn't back.

Marinette stayed later than normal in the town, sitting on a bench and waiting to see whether she'd really appear. A familiar-looking man had come to talk to her for a little, but she stayed silent, minding her own business, and he gave up after a while.

She didn't want to go back to them.

Even if Aloys was aware of her from the beginning, he wasn't doing anything that she'd been warned about. She wasn't getting into a stranger's car from the promise of candy, wasn't staying anywhere dangerous—

She was okay.

A knock startled her awake from her sleep.

"Kid?" was called out, and it took her a few seconds to recognise the voice.

With a glance above, the light coming through the high windows proved that it was morning. Had she slept past the normal time? She'd never been caught before, hadn't had him come to knock on the door—

Aloys called out again, "Kid, you in there?"

Her response was to stuff her belongings into her bag, quickly putting it on her back before she cautiously approached the door. He hadn't opened it, but she knew that he was standing just outside, clearly knowing that she was inside.

So, why wasn't he coming inside? It was his property—she was the one intruding, wasn't she?

She cracked open the door a little, stepping back from being startled as Aloys pushed it, the gap big enough for him to see her.

His expression was blank. "You've got ten minutes before the parents get here. Unless you want to be hauled off, I suggest you get out of here."

Her breath caught.

"Ten minutes," Aloys repeated, looking her in the eyes before he cleared his throat and started to walk away, back up the trail across the garden and into the large house.

She watched him go.

That wasn't the last time she saw him.

Marinette was sitting on her bench once more, waiting for Nice Lady's eventual appearance as she stayed in the shade, and much like the last time when Adrien had approached her, it was the shadow over her that alerted her that anyone was there at all.

Adrien grinned happily, showing his missing teeth. "Hi, hello, hey—I mean, hey, you. Marinette. That's you."

Aloys appeared before she could even reply, gently taking Adrien's shoulder in his hand and tugging him towards him. "I told you not to bother her," he muttered, making a noise close to a sigh when Adrien looked up at him and just continued to smile.

"It's Marinette!" Adrien exclaimed, excitedly gesturing towards her.

"Yes," Aloys confirmed, barely showing any emotion. "And she's reading a book, unlike you, you little terror."

Adrien giggled.

"Come on, leave the poor girl alone," Aloys said, tugging Adrien along without actually dressing her.

Adrien waved at her unlike they were out of sight.

It was so strange, like something she'd dreamed before realising it wasn't really true, and she didn't quite know how to react to that. She'd seen adults pull away other kids before, not wanting them to interact with her, but it had never—it hadn't been like that before.

It was even stranger when she went into the garden building that evening to find a bowl of some sort covered in foil. She touched it curiously, not knowing whether it could really be food like she was hoping it to be, and when she saw that it really was a meal—not a packaged one, one that had actually been cooked—she was even more confused.

Why would anyone leave it there?

The only person that knew she was there was Aloys, the same man that had tugged Adrien away that afternoon, not wanting him to talk to her. For him to give her the food made her nervous.

She didn't know what he wanted from her.

The following days came with more gifts, all within the garden building. She'd managed to leave in the mornings before Aloys could come and warn her that parents were coming, but she never quite knew which days that would be, not really. It was just her wanting to be gone before someone else could come across her.

Be quiet and out of sight was what she'd been taught.

And yet, Aloys placed another plate of food in the building. It was a meal that she couldn't take away and hide with the rest of her belongings, something that she had to eat then and there on the spot, and bottles of water and others drinks soon started to follow.

He included an umbrella for her, one that was brightly-coloured and would stand out terribly.

She took it.

She didn't understand, not at all. Aloys went against everything she was told about people, but he was still—he was giving her things, even if he had dragged Adrien away.

When a meal appeared in the morning, when she'd cracked open the door and intended to wander into the woods to stash her belongings, she picked up the plate in confusion.

It came with a note, but she wasn't confident enough to read all of it.

She could recognise her name, though.

After a few moments of wondering what it could mean—whether it was an invitation, or a letter to tell her to leave—Marinette worked up the courage to approach the house. It was only after she'd finished the food before stashing her backpack in her usual place, then she trudged to the backdoor with the plate in her hand, gripping it tightly as she stared at the door.

Was she even supposed to knock?

In the end, she didn't have to.

Aloys' face appeared in the glass, peering out into the garden before his eyes flickered down to see her standing there.

She stiffened.

He didn't smile, though, didn't say anything to welcome her.

Instead of that, Aloys opened the door wide enough for her to fit through and said, "Adrien's already at the table."

And after he'd taken a few steps, he looked back to see whether she was following, raising his eyebrows before gesturing past him, past the doorway of the kitchen that she'd never dared to venture past.

She ran out the backdoor instead.

Nice Lady still wasn't back in town, and when she wandered to where the others were, they took one look at her and told her that Nice Lady hadn't been spotted.

She might've cried a little.

Aloys gave her food in the morning the following day, the same note attached to it. She ate it slowly, gripping the piece of paper in her hand, and only dared to go near the backdoor to put the plate beside it.

She didn't stay to see whether he'd appear to see her.

It continued for a few more days before she took off the foil in the morning, only to see that the plate was empty.

Marinette frowned.

There was no denying that she'd feared that the food would stop, that it would only last a day or two, but to see the bare plate—she didn't know how to feel.

The note was still there.

It was asking her to go to the house, wasn't it?

But she didn't go.

It wasn't until the fourth day—third with an empty plate in the morning with just a note on it—that she wandered over to the backdoor. She had her backpack straps digging into her shoulders, having not stashed it in the woods, and she lifted up her trembling fist to knock on the door.

The seconds passed by with her heart hammering her chest.

It wasn't Aloys' tall and scary-looking figure that answered the door; no, rather, the door opened without a creak to show Adrien's messy hair, the messiest she'd even seen it, and brightly-coloured pyjamas as he rubbed at his eye with his free hand.

And then, when he saw her, he visibly brightened up and babbled out, "Mari—Marinette! You're here!"

She just stood on the spot, unsure on what to do.

Adrien bounced in front of her, appearing to be more awake by the second, before he started to try and usher her inside. "Breakfast is ready!" he exclaimed, not adding anything onto it, but he did continued to make hand movements.

Marinette stayed in the doorway until Adrien started to frown.

Then, there was the sound of footsteps as he wandered out, further into the home that she'd ever been, and when a figure returned, it wasn't Adrien.

Aloys didn't seem surprised to see her. "You here for food, kid?"

She looked down at the empty plate in her hands before back up at him.

"It's in the dining room," he said gruffly. "Come on, then."

She followed slowly.

-x-

It started off small, meals in the morning for a few days before Adrien begged to play with her afterwards. Aloys just nodded, saying that it was fine, and Marinette was utterly overwhelmed the first time she was taken upstairs with Adrien's hand in her own.

He took her to a large bedroom, one with toys scattered all over the floor. Aloys was a few steps behind them, there for the whole time. She didn't know whether he was there to watch her, or if he truly spent all that time with Adrien.

"You're the nicest," he said, passing her what he dubbed to be his favourite toy. "They hit me with their swords, even though they're not supposed to. Isn't that mean?"

Marinette only stared at him, wide-eyed.

"But you don't." He grinned, the same teeth missing as the previous time she'd seen them. It was silly to think that anything would've changed so quickly, but with how her life had been altered, she—she'd expected something, anything. "And you're so cool."

He continued to say things like that.

Marinette was just waiting for him to leave, just like everyone else. But as the days passed, and she continued to eat breakfast with him and Aloys—who indulged Adrien's every want from the looks of it—she slowly started to relax around the two of them.

She slowly started to stay for longer each other, either playing with toys or listening to Aloys read the two of them a book (which always resulted in Adrien climbing onto his lap and trying to take it for himself), and she shyly started to talk, mostly when she wanted to ask what a word meant.

Aloys was better than Nice Lady at explaining.

But whenever she grew quieter, thinking about how to leave, Aloys would clear his throat and say, "It's time for Marinette to go home now."

Aloys walked her to the backdoor.

Sometimes, he'd remind her about the umbrella and say that it was going to rain the next day, or that it would be hotter than usual, so she'd want to stay out of the sun for too long.

And if she wandered into town afterwards, searching to see whether Nice Lady had returned or not, there was always dinner covered in foil on the doorstep of the garden building.

Her chest felt warm.

It was the most she'd been cared for.

There had been some, like Nice Lady, that had always checked to make sure that she was okay, to share their food with her, but they'd—they'd never actually cooked the meals consistently, worrying about her because of the weather. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one that she didn't quite understand.

The following morning, when Aloys opened the backdoor to let her in, her voice cracked as she asked, "Why—why is this happening?"

For a moment, she thought the man wasn't going to say anything before he cleared his throat. "Don't question it, kid."

That was all she really got in return.

She started to stay until it got dark outside.

There were times where Adrien didn't want to play, asked her what she wanted to do instead, and Marinette would shrug, not quite knowing what the options were. She never really felt comfortable to help herself to anything—if she was thirsty, she kept that to herself, even though she kept the backpack on her back the entire time that she was there.

She was starting to like them, but she didn't want to part with her belongings.

And when she was there long enough to eat breakfast and a snack of Adrien's choice in the afternoon, then came the question from Aloys whether she wanted to stay for dinner, too.

She'd said no the first time, but that meant that she wandered outside with a plate of hot food that she'd have to eat alone, rather than in the presence of Adrien's bubbly personality or Aloys' confusing attitude.

So, she accepted.

The first time Adrien whined that she wasn't allowed to stay over—for a sleepover, as he put it—Aloys had made a noise of his tongue before saying, "She has her parents to get home to."

It just made her frown.

Didn't he know that she—she didn't have any adults?

And yet, she kept being invited back, given a place to stay in the evenings, and Aloys continued to be different to what she'd been warned about.

When Adrien wanted to play in the garden because of the sunshine, Aloys had passed her a cream to put on her face and arms, saying that it would make it so it wouldn't hurt.

It was little things like that; the food, the umbrella, the way Aloys stayed in the background for the most part, letting her and Adrien interact.

It was so strange.

And as the days passed, with her slowly opening up, talking more and trusting them enough to leave her backpack in the kitchen, along with her shoes by the backdoor, things began to change.

The first time she slept over, it wasn't in Adrien's room like he wanted.

Aloys had insisted that she had to have her own room for her to sleep in, but it happened to be right beside Adrien's.

The room was large, the bed bigger than she'd ever seen, and she was wide-eyed as Aloys pointed out the nearest bathroom and showed her how the lock on the door worked.

Her eyes began to tear up when she was given some of Adrien's clothes to wear to bed. They felt soft, a lot cleaner than anything she had in her backpack, and she hugged them to her chest for longer than necessary.

It was an awkward night.

But in the morning, after she'd slept on the floor since the bed felt too strange to be on, she woke up startled to knocks on the door. It took her a few moments to realise where she was, and she only opened up the door when she'd calmed down.

She left that morning with Adrien's clothes on, clean hair with barely any knots in it—Nice Lady would've been so proud of her—and a container food in her hands as she wandered outside.

Aloys taught lessons of some sort, ones that Adrien attended, but Marinette had quickly shook her head and said that she didn't want to attend when it was extended to her. She just—it was one thing trusting the two of them, but everyone else?

There was a reason she'd watched from the outside for so long.

But that evening, when she'd wandered back into the garden after investigating whether Nice Lady was back, Aloys knocked on the door to the garden building—the gym, he called it, but she liked her name—and asked whether she wanted to come and stay with them another night.

It seemed too good to be true.

She cautiously accepted.

They'd given her so much without explanation, but she wasn't going to reject them. It had taken weeks, maybe more, for her to even start talking to them more, almost as much as she spoke to Nice Lady. The rare moments where Aloys wasn't there to watch the two of them, she talked a bit more with Adrien, but she was too shy to be as loud as him.

Adrien continued to be nice.

He was just—he was so nice.

While Marinette had trouble parting ways with her backpack, not wanting anyone to touch it, Adrien seemed to throw any of his belongings at her, wanting to share. Adrien wanted her to play with his favourite toys, to watch the shows that he loved, and even ask Aloys to make his favourite food, all so she'd understand what he was talking about.

He was bad at being told no, though.

The first time he started crying loudly, it was because Aloys told him that Marinette couldn't share a bath with him.

It was a little bit weird.

But as she started to spend almost all her time with the two of them, inside the house and within the room that she'd been given, she saw a lot more moods from Adrien and Aloys. From Adrien smiling, talking loudly in excitement, to stomping his foot as tears welled in his eyes, to Aloys crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at Adrien with a frown, her grinning widely and causing his eyes to be more wrinkled, she started to see it all.

She felt like she was out of place, but whenever she grew quiet, not knowing what to say, either one of them would turn and direct a question at her.

It was usually Adrien demanding to know if she was going to take his side.

When she cried, she didn't let them see.

It was awkward, but when her eyes welled up and she got up to leave the room, going to the nearest bathroom to blow her nose, Aloys always made sure that Adrien didn't follow after her. And when she took a while, Aloys would come and knock on the door, asking whether she was okay.

It just made her feel worse.

When she forgot about checking whether Nice Lady had returned for over a week, the realisation made her stomach twist uncomfortably from guilt. Nice Lady was everything she wanted in an adult—

She had been, at least.

Aloys was taking that role and surprising her with every passing day.

"Your parents must be so nice," Adrien said, vibrating with happiness as she stayed another night at his house.

She didn't look him in the eyes as she nodded.

When she woke up thirsty in the night, still dressed in Adrien's pyjamas (and wearing his clothes during the day, but he never complained), Marinette had finally gained the courage to go down the large staircase, holding onto the banister on her way, before wandering through the home in the direction of the kitchen.

She wasn't surprised by the light in the living room.

When she peered around the corner to see Aloys reading a book on his favourite armchair, it didn't take him long to look up and see her. And rather than his expression smoothing out into a disapproving one, one corner of his mouth lifted into a lopsided smile.

Barely anyone looked at her like that.

"Everything okay?" he questioned.

She nodded, pointing towards the kitchen.

The plan had been for her to drag a stool from the other side of the kitchen to try and reach a glass, but Aloys was more than happy to get up and get the glass for it, and he even filled it up with water before presenting it to her.

She held the glass with two hands.

"You know," he started, his voice sounding as though he needed to cough. "You're welcome to stay here with us for as long as you need."

She chose to stare at the floor.

"I don't know what happened to you," Aloys said, crossing his arms and leaning against the countertop. "But I'm not going to send you away."

But that—wasn't that what she'd always been told? That if she was caught, then someone would call others that would take her, put her in a horrible situation that she didn't want? She'd heard all the horror stories, the whispered words from other children that had been with her overtime, but they'd always disappeared, one way or another.

And even when Nice Lady had suggested that she could find a family—a word that she couldn't really associate with herself—she was still warned about it.

She'd been warned against Aloys and Adrien, hadn't she?

She didn't realise her hands were shaking until Aloys had kneeled down in front of her, putting one of his hands on hers.

Her voice quivered as she asked, "Why?"

It seemed to be a question she asked him a lot.

To her surprise, he chuckled quietly. "You never just take an answer, do you?"

Marinette didn't know what to say to that.

"It's obvious you don't want to be found, kid," he answered, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. "But when you do, I'll be here, okay?"

She didn't know what that meant.

-x-

She didn't go into town with Aloys and Adrien, but she did stay in the house when they went. And when Adrien went to the lessons in the garden building—no longer her bedroom, but she did try to wander in there when she was in the garden with Adrien, only to find out it was locked—she stayed inside, sometimes peering out through the windows to see whether all the other adults had gone, trying to count down the time until she had company again.

It was strange how she'd gone from being alone for so long to wanting to be with them.

But they—they were so nice.

And even if she lashed out, not wanting to be touched, or didn't want to talk much that day since she was irritated, they didn't turn her away, asking her to leave. Marinette was always given the option to spend the time alone, but Aloys would come after a while, knocking on the door and asking whether she was okay.

He asked her how she was feeling every day.

It took her a while to respond, and when she did, he asked her whether she was happy.

With Adrien's silly comments, his soft clothes on her skin, and the way Aloys hovered over the two of them, trying to see whether they were okay, even if they'd just stumbled on the grass, it was an easy answer for her there.

She was.

And she didn't want that to go away.

When she was told that Adrien would be gone, to go back to his parents so he could return to school—school—she absolutely started sobbing.

They always left, didn't they?

Adrien handed her a load of tissues, shoving them in her hands and trying to tell her to stop crying, but it made her sob even more. And as she squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing the palms of her hands into her eyes, when she opened them again, it was only her and Aloys kneeling down in front of her.

He did that a lot.

She didn't know many others that would try and be on her level, and even though Aloys' knees cracked and his body made weird noises when he stood up, he continued to do it with her and even Adrien.

He was really nice.

He looked angry at times, when he was reading and his eyebrows were tilted downwards, but nothing about him was actually bad. He had a beard that hid his chin—to which he told Adrien that he did have a chin, it was just covered by the hair—and his hair was so long that he had it in a ponytail.

Marinette worked up the courage to ask him to do her hairs like his.

Aloys was surprised at that, but he agreed to do it. He wasn't as rough with the brush as Nice Lady was.

At breakfast when Aloys mentioned that other children and adults would be arriving for the day, Marinette quietly asked, "What lessons?"

Aloys looked at her pointedly and helped her to phrase her question better—that was something he'd started to do with her, but had always been there for Adrien.

"Why don't you come see?" Aloys suggested.

She looked at him with wide eyes.

It was strange to be in the garden building with someone else, even if it was just Aloys and Adrien at first. Adrien happily ran ahead in the garden, standing by the doors and bouncing on the heels of his feet, waiting to be let inside, while Marinette was cautiously walking by Aloys' side for the first part, so very curious.

The answers she'd gotten from Adrien about what they did in there weren't very clear.

One of the areas she'd never gotten into was unlocked to reveal equipment, and Adrien stood beside her, holding her hand in his and swinging them excitedly as Aloys put mats out over the floor, grunting as he did so.

The transformation of the room wasn't much, but it was more than she'd ever seen.

When the adults and children started to appear, Marinette chose to stand behind Aloys, peering out to see what they looked like for the first time up close. And when they noticed her, she shied away from the other children, sticking to Adrien, but she did hear Aloys saying to an adult that her parents had entrusted her to him for the afternoon.

That came up often, didn't it?

The lessons were—they were cool.

She'd only seen moves like she saw in films, never in person. And to see Aloys—who grumbled whenever he stood up too quickly—quickly demonstrate moves and correct those that weren't holding their wooden weapons right, it was such a strange sight to see.

He was good at helping her learn words, but to see him teaching almost a room full of children on how to use a sword was something else entirely.

Her attention was torn between him and Adrien.

She remembered Adrien complaining that he didn't like the others in the class, but no one seemed to really be bothering him. They weren't including him in their talks between techniques, so when Adrien looked towards her during that time, she intentionally made silly faces to make him laugh.

It made him smile.

The lessons were held once a week, according to Aloys, at the same time. She learned to follow the dates on the calender on the wall, able to understand when they were coming up, and she readily accepted the chance to watch the following week.

Adrien dragged her across the garden that time.

The lesson looked as fun as before. Marinette made silly faces at Adrien when the other children were talking, and although he was at the front of the class, he was at the edge, closer to her than before.

It wasn't him that came to talk to her first that time.

Instead, it was another girl, someone that she'd barely paid attention to the previous week.

Marinette looked up at her when a shadow appeared in front, confusion clear on her face, and the girl just stared down at her, no longer with a wooden sword in her hand.

And then, the girl spoke to say, "You look like me."

Marinette didn't know what to say to that.

They didn't talk any more, though. When Adrien came bounding over, the other girl looked at him once before walking outside to leave for the week, and it was all without another word being said.

"Who?" Marinette questioned, pointing to where the girl had walked out.

Adrien shrugged. "I—not sure. She doesn't speak much."

She tried again, later that evening over dinner when Aloys brought up the question of whether she liked the class or not. He was like that; he waited a while for her to give an answer, rather than asking immediately afterwards.

"She looks like me," was what Marinette said when he asked for a description.

It didn't take him long. "Kagami," Aloys replied. "Quiet girl, but she's enthusiastic. She didn't... upset you, did she?"

She adjusted her grip on her cutlery. "Why does she look like me?"

That was how Aloys explained to her and Adrien that people could look different, including pulling up pictures on his laptop to show the two of them. He was patient, listened and answered any questions that the two of them had, and by the end of it, she understood why she had dark-coloured hair that matched Kagami's, along with the shape of their eyes and facial features. Aloys had gone as far as to get out a mirror for her and Adrien to look at themselves, comparing what parts of them looked different.

Aloys took pictures of them while they were doing that.

She couldn't really describe how happy she'd come to be from staying with them. Marinette had started to use the bed that they'd provided for her, the soft mattress wonderful on her body, but she still kept her backpack to herself, though she hadn't really touched her belongings for a long time.

But when she brought up that she left some things in the woods—in her hiding place—Aloys said that he'd accompany her there.

She looked at him curiously at that.

"I don't want you to get hurt, kid," was his explanation.

Adrien complained that he wasn't allowed to come along, but he was more than happy to be given the task of finding something for the three of them to watch when they got back.

When she collected it all—the blankets, the packaged food that had to still be good to eat—Aloys was kind enough to show her to a cupboard that she could use to store it all in. Then, to her utter surprise, he put a lock on the outside of it before passing what the said was the only key to her, just to assure her that no one else would be able to touch her stuff.

She didn't run away when she cried.

Much as Adrien had done, Aloys passed her a bundle of tissue, far more than she needed, and hovered awkwardly in front of her, telling her not to cry—but it just made her cry harder, from a mixture of surprise that he was so alike Adrien to being grateful that she had anyone there to care about her at all.

"I—" Marinette hiccuped. "I don't remember my family."

Aloys' hand was gentle as it touched her shoulder. "It's okay."

She sniffed loudly. "I'm not a neigh—neighbour."

"I already figured that out," he said with a chuckle, but it still sounded like he needed to cough. "But if you want to stay here permanently, we can sort something else."

"Per—permanently?"

He nodded. "For good, okay? If you want it to be, this can be your home. I'll make it happen."

It just made her cry again.

-x-

Kagami had brown eyes.

Marinette's were blue.

Their noses weren't the same, nor the rest of their faces, but the shape of their eyes were, along with their hair colours. But Kagami had hers cut short to the bottom of her ears, while Marinette's was long and pulled back into a ponytail, courtesy of Aloys.

And yet, Kagami was the first she'd seen that really did look like her.

"Your eyes are brown," Marinette said as her greeting the next week.

It was the end of the lesson, the same time that Kagami had approached her previously. But when Adrien had wandered over to her, Marinette had mustered up the courage to approach Kagami after watching her for the entire lesson.

Kagami looked at her blankly. "Yours aren't."

"No," she replied, nails pressing into her palms. "They're not."

Kagami smiled at that.

She was Marinette's second friend.

Aloys couldn't count as one, could he? And Nice Lady was more than a friend, even when she was gone.

It was getting Adrien to befriend Kagami that proved to be the difficult part. After Marinette had told him after that lesson that she'd spoken to Kagami again—and that she'd smiled—he'd taken it upon himself to ask Kagami's parents whether she could stay with them for dinner the following week.

And because they knew Aloys, and that Marinette was there to play with Adrien, it didn't take much convincing for them to do.

When Kagami came into the house for the first time, Marinette didn't know what to do. She—she knew that she was living there, had been for weeks, but showing someone around the house wasn't something that she'd done. It wasn't hers, was it?

Adrien had seen her doubt and put his hand in hers before telling Kagami to follow them. It was the less enthusiastic version of the tour she'd been given in the beginning, and Adrien stuck close to her side the whole time, hugging her or keeping their hands together.

He threw a tantrum when Aloys tried to get him to sit beside him, rather than by her side. It ended up with Marinette sitting at the table with Kagami at her side, Aloys and Adrien on the opposite side—all the while Adrien sat there with crossed arms, pouting.

"I wanted to sit with Mari," he grumbled, having latched onto the nickname as her name was hard to pronounce.

Aloys patted his head. "She has a friend over right now."

That was what stuck out to her.

Kagami was her friend, wasn't she? Kagami hadn't approached Adrien after their lessons together, hadn't smiled at him—

But to her, Adrien was the cause of all the good things that had happened in her life. It was because of him that she was sat in the fancy dining room, dressed in his clothes, clean, and happily looked after.

It became her mission to make him and Kagami friends.

She'd seen the circle on the calender, had it explained to her that that was the amount of time that was left before Adrien disappeared, and she wanted to try and return all the happiness she'd been given to him.

Sharing her second friend was good, wasn't it?

But when Kagami had gone and he was sulking still, Marinette wandered upstairs, going into one of the drawers that she'd been given—that had since been filled with Adrien's clothing that he wanted her to have—to get the key that she'd stashed there.

Aloys didn't stop her when she wandered over to her cupboard, kneeling down as she concentrated to try and get the key into the lock.

Adrien stopped sulking when she gently prodded him with a snack.

It was something she'd kept away for weeks, hidden away for a bad time when her stomach would hurt from hunger, but seeing Adrien taking large bites of it—causing his cheeks to stand out—made her happier than she thought it would.

Maybe, just maybe, sharing wasn't too bad if it was with him.

However, he continued to sulk when Kagami's name popped up on their conversations. It took her a while to make the connection, to fully realise it was the mention of her that was making him upset, and it confused her greatly.

"Why?" Marinette questioned, befuddled. "She's nice."

He crossed his arms, but it didn't have the same effect as when Aloys did it (usually while staring down at them). "No."

"She is!" she insisted, louder than she would've dared to talk in the beginning. "She's like me. Doesn't that make her nice?"

"You're Mari, she's not," was his stubborn reply.

Aloys was the one to tell her what was really wrong when Adrien chose to dramatically slam the door to his bedroom, wanting no one to go in. But unlike Marinette's room, he didn't have a lock on his door.

"He probably thinks you're replacing him," Aloys explained. "He doesn't like any of the other kids, and now you're suddenly friends with one. He's known Kagami for years and couldn't even remember her name before you."

It was—it was so strange for her to hear that. She was used to being replaced, for being to disappear and leave her behind—but for Adrien to think that of her?

She hugged him tightly when he opened his door.

And when she asked to spend the night with him, just as Nice Lady had done when she'd been sad the first few times she'd disappeared, he didn't say no.

"Don't leave," Marinette whispered, the duvet clutched tightly in her hands.

But he was already sleeping, breathing deeply and not able to reply to her.

He shared his clothes, secrets, and with the addition of his bed as she curled up beside him that night, Marinette was more than happy to sneak him more snacks in the future. She tried to avoid Aloys' eyes—as he said she would spoil their dinner—but whenever he saw that she was going to her cupboard, his protests died.

She really liked the two of them.

It's what made it even worse as Adrien's date for leaving was only growing closer. Aloys had sat her down, explained it to her properly that he only came over for the summer, and the thought of it being a whole year before he came again made her chest feel tight.

They always left, didn't they?

Aloys coughed into his hand. "If you want, kid, you can send him letters while he's gone."

She looked up at that. "Letters?"

"Yeah," he said, wiping the hand on his trousers. "And talk on the phone, too. It'll be like he's not really gone when you can hear him rattling on."

It sounded nice.

No one had kept in contact with her before, not after they'd gone. And she really liked Adrien.

"Okay," she replied, her lower lip quivering. "I—yes."

"Okay," Aloys echoed, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

Kagami didn't stay for dinner the following week, but Marinette did talk to her—with Adrien by her side—until it was time for her to leave.

Marinette laughed when Adrien grumbled out his good-bye.

The second time they slept in the same bed, it was because Adrien asked her to. Marinette had grown to trust them enough that she no longer kept her door locked at night, and the last time they'd slept together, she hadn't been too startled in the morning. There had been something nice about the two of them curled up beside each other, whispering in the night, trying not to wake Aloys up.

She agreed without much hesitation.

And as it grew closer for the time for Adrien to leave, she continued to sleep with him at night. He complained about it with every passing day, begging over food to stay where he was, but Aloys didn't give into him.

"You're lucky you're allowed here at all," Aloys replied, pointing at him with his fork. "Don't go complaining to your father about it, or you'll only be here for a week or two next time."

Adrien decided to complain about that instead.

Marinette started to turn quiet again.

Would Aloys still want her to stay when Adrien wasn't there? The only reason she was there was because Adrien had asked about her, wasn't it? So, for him to be taken out of the picture, it was only natural for her to be on her way—right?

It really had been too good to be true.

Adrien tried to make her talk more, prattling on about anything and everything, and he kept telling her that she had to reply to his letters, otherwise he'd find a way to come and kick her shins for ignoring him.

They were in bed together when she quietly asked, "You'll come back, right?"

"Yeah!" Adrien insisted. "You—you can't be best friends with Kagami, okay?"

It made her laugh.

"Okay," she said with a giggle.

He held out his little finger. "Pinky promise?"

"Only if—if you promise you'll come back," Marinette responded, hooking her little finger with his.

He grinned. "It's a deal!"

The day that Adrien had to leave, Aloys offered for her to come along with the two of them in the car. Adrien's parents weren't coming to pick him up, meaning they had to travel for a few hours instead, and Marinette was terrified of being in a vehicle for that long.

Aloys left on the condition that she'd be careful, and that she wouldn't get into any trouble without him gone, and repeated several times that he would be back by the evening.

She cried a lot after the car went into the distance, Adrien waving through the window the whole time. He'd left behind some of his clothes for her, his favourite toy, and kept saying that he'd call her when she could, so she had to be there to answer.

For the first time in weeks, she walked into town after wiping her snotty nose and eyes.

Nice Lady wasn't there.

She recognised some of the other adults, but they all said that they hadn't seen her. A few commented on the nice state of her clothing—to which she was happy to know they were Adrien's, but she didn't voice that to anyone—and questioned where she was staying, but much like before, she didn't give them any definitive answers.

The little space she'd had to stash her belongings and how easy it had been to steal from Aloys had been one thing, but to share how opening and caring the old man had been to her?

It was something she didn't want to share with any of them.

It was okay to be selfish, wasn't it?

-x-

Living with Aloys alone was something else entirely.

The old man continued to pay attention to her, talk to her and ask how she was feeling and whether she was happy, and made sure they continued to eat their meals together. He didn't bathe with her—just stood outside the door, talking to her and making sure that she was safe—and she continued to leave the bedroom door left unlocked, though she did wander over to Adrien's bedroom at times, finding the sight of the few scattered toys sad.

She wasn't going to question his niceness, though. Even after Adrien had gone, Aloys was looking after her with the same care and attention that he had while Adrien was there.

It was when she asked why he had to go that school was brought up.

She clammed up at that.

Aloys say anything more.

The first time they had a guest over, Aloys asked her to stay in her bedroom, to keep out of sight and not interact with the newcomer.

Marinette didn't question it.

She saw Kagami at the weekly lessons, but she didn't stay for dinner. They talked in the breaks and while waiting for the adults that took Kagami away came, and Marinette was more than happy to whisper with her friend as people passed by them.

People didn't stare at her much any more.

But as the weeks passed, there were some evenings where Aloys went out for a few hours, telling her to keep the doors locked and not to wander outside alone. He always seemed frazzled, kneeling down to her height and asking her to repeat his words back to him so she knew what they were, and apologised that he had to leave in the first place.

She really didn't know what to think about that.

Since starting to live with him, Aloys had slowly made it so she didn't go outside alone often. He seemed to feel bad about leaving her in the house—like with when he dropped Adrien off—but there were times when it was needed.

Like for grocery shopping, apparently. As Marinette didn't want to go in the car, and he didn't want to walk down with her when Adrien wasn't there with them, she had to stay in the house, waiting for him to return.

But he explained it—said that if others saw her, they'd asked questions. And questions were bad.

She knew that.

But she could hear Aloys' coughs echoing through the house when she cracked her bedroom door open, the low murmur of whispers that were surely from the living room.

She stayed put.

Since she wasn't ready to go to school—or ready to live with him legally, as he put it—Aloys had taken it upon himself to buy some books, saying that they were surely the ones that Adrien was using at school.

Aloys helped her with them, and he helped her to make her handwriting more readable.

The first time she heard from Adrien, it was three weeks after he'd gone.

It was a phone call in the middle of the day.

"Mari!" he practically shouted as she was passed the phone.

Marinette's breath caught at that, utterly surprised. Aloys had only called her over by her name, not giving her any more information before she was passed the phone.

She'd seen them use it countless times—Adrien to talk to his family, Aloys to many people during the day—but it was her first time actually holding one.

They talked for over an hour, apparently. Adrien rambled on about his school, the friends that he'd made, but he complained that he missed spending time with her, and that there wasn't anyone that he liked that much that he wanted to share his things with them.

Although she didn't talk much, it was still nice to hear from him. When they had to hang up abruptly, because Adrien's name was called loudly in the background, Marinette's words were cut off quickly as the phone was given to someone else.

The voice sounded feminine. "Father?"

Marinette panicked and almost dropped the phone.

She looked at Aloys across the room in panic, gesturing with her free hand towards the phone.

He got the hint and took the phone from her quickly.

She was happier after that, but she did voice the question to Aloys about why it had taken Adrien so long to contact them, and why she wasn't allowed to reach out first.

"His... there's some people that just don't like each other, right?" Aloys started, crouching down in front of her, as he always did. "His father's one of those. We... we don't get along, and that's why I only get to see Adrien in the summer."

It didn't make sense to her, but she accepted the answer.

Time continued like that.

Marinette would see Kagami once a week, would excitedly talk with her and tell her all that she could, and she'd hear from Adrien every two weeks or so, always with whispers before a male-sounding voice called his name and he had to leave.

She learned a lot with him; from words, making her handwriting better, to learning more about the world around her. There was so much that she didn't know, but Aloys was more than happy to tell her anything when she asked. There was barely any time where he'd shook his head, telling her that she had to wait until she was older, and he never told her to go away.

The most he did was tell her to hide in her room, but that was only when people came over.

Halloween was new to her.

Adrien told her excitedly about his costume, but she didn't have anything to say to that. After the call, Aloys explained it to her, but even though she'd have the option to cover her face, willingly going up to knock on doors was something she'd always been told not to do.

She stayed hidden away in her room when people kept coming to the door that evening, not wanting to be seen. There was still the rule that people couldn't know that she was living with Aloys, not from fear of being taken away, even though he assured her that he'd do his best to stop that from happening.

The following week came with a surprise.

"Do you want to join?" Aloys asked over breakfast, the question coming out of nowhere.

"What?"

He made a disapproving noise. "Don't talk with your mouth full."

Her cheeks felt warm. "What—what do you mean?"

It turned out, he meant the lessons from that day onwards. He explained that she'd been watching long enough to understand the rules, and that if she wanted, she could have Kagami partner up with her and help her out—but only if she wanted.

It had never even seemed to be an option to her.

"I can?" she questioned, wide-eyed.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah."

Just to make sure, she asked, "Really?"

"It'll be good for you," is what he said in response.

And so, she started the lessons. It was strange at first, as she wasn't used to holding anything in her hands with the intention to use it as a weapon, and the sword felt heavy in her hands. After the first lesson, her arms felt sore, and Aloys had laughed when she'd said that, but he put a hand on her hand and ruffled her hair.

It made her smile.

It was fun to spend time with Kagami, too. They could talk a lot more when Marinette was actually included in the lessons with her, and if she ever messed up, Kagami pointed out what she was doing wrong before the other children could insert themselves into their conversation.

Marinette was still wary of approaching the others. They looked at her, of course, curious as to why she was only just joining the lessons after sitting on the sidelines for weeks, but no one really bothered her, not when Kagami was by her side.

Adrien was jealous when she told him that she'd taken his place for lessons.

And with the lessons included in her routine with Aloys, she started to adapt to the life without Adrien. Of course, she spoke to him on the phone sometimes, but it took until the end of November, according to Aloys, for her handwriting to be good enough to send him a letter.

She almost ran down the road away from Aloys when they went to send it.

Aloys had told her it was Adrien's birthday then, so she'd included a birthday card in the envelope. It brought up the question of when hers was, but Marinette didn't have an answer for that.

She wasn't really sure at all. But instead of pushing it, Aloys let the topic drop.

Adrien's response came almost a week later.

So, exchanging letters was added into the routine, too.

The life that she'd started to have was so drastically different to the one she'd had before. And as the weather grew colder, she didn't have to wonder about being covered in the night, worried that the rain would get her and make her clothing damp for too long. The people that she lived beside wouldn't be leaving to find somewhere else to stay—leaving, always leaving—and the only times that Aloys left, he always told her beforehand, giving her an answer to when he was coming back.

The first night where he didn't come back at the time she'd said, she'd sat in the living room, staring up at the clock.

He came in walking funny, a pained noise escaping him as he came inside, much like the sounds he made when he stood up too quickly.

He sucked in a breath when he saw her sitting there, her knees pulled against her chest.

"You didn't have to stay up," Aloys said quietly, coming to sit beside her, a loud sigh leaving him as he relaxed against the cushion.

She rested her chin on her knees. "Late."

"Pardon?"

"You're late," Marinette said, pointing towards the clock.

"Oh." Aloys let out a loud breath. "I am. I'm sorry."

But as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat, all she could say was, "You're—you're late."

There was silence for a moment, Marinette only aware of the sound of her breathing, before Aloys gently put his hand on her back. "It won't happen again," he said, voice as soft as his touch. "I'm sorry I scared you."

She hiccuped. "Am not scared."

"Sure, you're not."

It took a few days for him to walk properly again.

Another letter she received from Adrien brought up some questions.

"Christmas?" Marinette asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

Aloys cleared his throat. "Yeah, kid. It's me and you this year."

She blinked.

"...Do you know what it is?" he quietly asked when she didn't make any move to respond.

"I—yeah," she stuttered out, putting her hands into her pockets. The clothes Adrien had given her were starting to fit her properly, meaning she'd filled out some and grown. "I... I had it with Nice—Nice Lady last year."

But she doubted that Nice Lady was back.

And it was because of that conversation that Aloys went into town with her, just the two of them walking along the road as she was still scared of being in cars, and they looked around to see whether Nice Lady was there or not. She wasn't sure about Aloys' expression when she'd told him about her, but he was the one to suggest that they look for her together.

She wasn't there.

Marinette tried to fight down the tears, but they bubbled up to the surface.

Aloys, as always, passed her more tissues than necessary.

"We don't have to celebrate, if you want," he murmured softly. "Hell, if I was alone, I wouldn't do anything."

She sniffed.

It was halfway home that he suggested, "What if we get a little tree?"

"They're all big," Marinette muttered.

"Well, we'll try and get one smaller than you," he responded. "It might be a challenge. You are quite the gremlin."

She wrinkled her nose at that. "Am not."

"Oh, are you not?" Aloys said, raising his eyebrows as he looked down at her.

"No!"

When they went into town for groceries, the two of them walking along the road, Marinette was allowed to pick out a present to send Adrien. It took her a while to pick what she thought he'd like, especially since she was lost from so much choice, and from the small smile that Aloys gave her, she had to assume that she'd chosen correctly.

They sent it along with her letter and a card for his family.

After she'd seen Aloys wrapping up Adrien's gift, she asked for some paper herself, and he just raised his eyebrows before giving it to her.

She wrapped his gift without him looking.

At when it came time for Christmas, he really did find a tree that was smaller than her. It was tiny, not decorated at all, but it was her first. She stared at it for longer than necessary, amused by how out of place it looked in the living room, and it was only when Aloys put a gift underneath it—one that she didn't even know he had—she did the same with her one for him.

He got her new clothes, ones that were actually meant for her.

"Since you're growing," he said with a shrug when she looked up from the gift, wide-eyed. "You need something that fits you."

She hugged the clothes to her chest.

And when he opened his gift, to see the items that she'd taken out of her cupboard and terribly wrapped, he just laughed and thanked her.

Her smile was really wide.

-x-

Aloys started to teach her more things.

It was how to take care of herself, that was what he said. From getting a stool to show her how to do the washing up, how to clean things in the home, to going to the garden building to learn how to defend herself with more than a sword.

"You won't always have a weapon," Aloys announced as his explanation.

She didn't protest to any of it.

Everything he did was for a reason, that was what he said. Whether it was him teaching her to fold laundry—which she just wanted to hug the warm clothing to her chest instead—to learning not to talk to strangers, no matter what they were offering.

It was like an echo of things that she'd been told before, but more fleshed out. Aloys explained anything she asked, was patient with her, and with how often he told her the exact amount of time that he'd be going out for, she trusted him.

She really, really did.

She got better at holding the wooden sword during lessons.

"Do you use a real one?" she questioned when they were inside the home, after Kagami had gone back. "A sword—I mean a sword."

His smile was lopsided. "You bet I do."

She tilted her head. "Why?"

"Sometimes, it's necessary," was his reply.

She rocked on her heels, reminiscent to how Adrien always did when he was excited. "Will I learn?"

"You bet, kid." Aloys grinned, wrinkles more pronounced. "You'll be able to beat the hell out of anyone when we're done."

She made a scandalised noise. "That's a bad word!"

"And I earned the right to do it," he replied, crossing his arms. "When you've finished your self-defence, you can swear your little head off."

Marinette squinted. "Really?"

He threw his head back and laughed. "We'll see, you little devil."

Aloys was the most responsible, put-together, and kind adult that she'd ever met, but he had things that he was bad at. For one, when he trimmed his beard, it always came out as lopsided as his smile at times, which she snickered to herself about. He wasn't good at multi-tasking either; if he was cooking while talking to her, he tended to get caught up in the conversation, meaning the food would burn.

But despite all of that, she quickly grew to realise just how great he was.

What other adults would've opened their homes to her without turning her way after a few days? None of them would've allowed her to stay after Adrien had left, would they? And he'd continued to make sure she felt safe, even got her new clothes—

She felt wanted.

And wasn't that something strange?

Her voice was soft when she asked him, "Why am I here?"

Aloys just hummed. "Do you have anywhere else to be?"

And that was all there was to it, to him.

Aloys had told her to stay upstairs while he had someone over, but she needed the toilet. Marinette crept across the hallway, avoiding the stairs so she wouldn't be seen, and her heart was beating terribly when she opened the bathroom door, checking whether it was clear or not.

She could hear their whispers echo more out there than she could in her bedroom.

"I'm not telling you—"

Her door didn't creak as she opened it.

"—Aloys, stop being a stubborn prick!"

She closed it before she could hear anything more.

She didn't know what he did.

Adults had jobs, didn't they? That was how they were supposed to get money to buy what they wanted—she'd learned that much, but she didn't know what Aloys did. He disappeared sometimes, but it was only for a few hours, and while he did come back grumbling and injured a few times, she really didn't know what he did.

Was it his friends that he had over that he didn't want her to meet?

And when she brought that up, he gently placed a hand on top of her head. "No, sweetheart," he said, the petname one that he'd slowly started to use. "They're not my friends. They're—just not the type of people I want you to meet, okay?"

She frowned. "I don't get it."

"They're not as... open-minded as me," Aloys explained. "They'd turn you in in a heartbeat."

That was all that needed to be said.

But with her questioning who they were, Aloys started to be more open with her about it.

When he was teaching her self-defence one day, he dropped to his knees in front of her, gently putting his hands onto her shoulders, causing her to look up at him curiously.

Aloys met her gaze. "If anyone—I mean anyone—comes inside when I'm not here, I want you to hide, okay?"

She couldn't hide her curiosity. "Why?"

After a moment of hesitation, where he opened his mouth before closing it, clearly thinking over his answer, Aloys said, "They'll be after something."

"But what?" Marinette asked.

"Something special," was the response she got. "It's my job to protect it, and they won't hesitate to hurt you to get to it."

She furrowed her brow. "But I don't know what it is."

"No, you don't," he agreed, reaching up to run his hand over his head, even though his hair was all pulled back into the low ponytail that she still asked him to do for her as well. "But they don't know that, okay? If anyone sees you, they'll... they'll do bad things."

It was the first that she'd really heard of it.

Then, to her surprise, he added on, "You can't tell Adrien this."

Her eyes grew wide. "But—"

"Promise me," Aloys said gruffly. "You can't let him know any of this—it'll keep him safe, okay?"

But in her mind, she was only safe because of Adrien. He was the reason for why she was with Aloys at all, wasn't he?

It didn't take much to convince her to agree with him.

She didn't tell Adrien when they had their call, didn't include it in her letters, but rather than feel guilty that she wasn't telling him everything she—she was protecting him, wasn't she?

It was the least she could do after everything.

Kagami stayed for dinner the following week. Marinette hadn't expected it, but she wasn't complaining. The two of them didn't go into Adrien's room, not while he wasn't there, and instead played in the living room before dinner was ready.

She didn't tell Kagami either, even though she hadn't been told not to.

She wanted Aloys to trust her as much as she trusted him.

But when he had someone come over again—that time in the middle of the day—Marinette slowly pushed her door open, trying to listen in.

She knew that she shouldn't, but she just—she wanted to know. They were bad people, weren't they?

Anyone that hurt another purposely was bad, that was what Aloys taught in their lessons. It was only reasonable to defend herself, and that was exactly what she was learning to do.

It wasn't Aloys' voice that she heard. "You're being ridiculous!"

"You can fuck off if you think I'm going to trust you," Aloys replied lowly. "You? You brag about your latest kill when you're in the fucking pub."

She crept closer to the stairs, wrapping her hands on the bannister to keep her balance.

"Mate, you're so fucking dumb—"

The loud noises that followed weren't from voices. Marinette put a hand over her mouth to stay quiet, but she—she was sure that what was happening downstairs isn't what normally occurred. But she had to stay hidden, couldn't go downstairs to see what was happening, but she could hear the sounds of what seemed to be a scuffle.

The pained grunts that came from Aloys, along with the other person that was there, made her eyes prickle with tears.

She had to just sit there for minutes on end, her heart thumping in her chest.

But she was small—so small—and there was no way she'd be able to stop a grown adult from hurting Aloys, was there?

She was weak.

The last words that were said downstairs weren't from Aloys. "Make the right choice."

The slam from the front door could be heard upstairs.

How long did it take her normally to go downstairs? She didn't want to be too quick, too fast, to reveal that she'd been listening in—

Her footsteps were audible before she could really stop herself, running downstairs and through the hallways, trying to find Aloys.

And when she did, he was slumped against the countertop in the kitchen, barely in the stool. He had his head in his hands, and as she took steps closer, she could see the red liquid that was dribbling down his wrists, splattering onto the countertop and standing out horribly against it.

Her sobs came back up to the surface.

Aloys turned his head to look at her slowly, revealing the reddened parts of his face, cracked skin, and cuts that hadn't been there previously, and he grimaced instead of smiling at her appearance. "I told you not to listen in, kid."

She stared, wide-eyed.

"I could see your shadow."

Her lower lip wobbled.

-x-

Nightmares didn't happen often.

But sometimes, when she woke up in the middle of the night with sweat covering her body, all she did was curl into a ball and wrap the duvet around herself.

She wasn't going to go to Aloys, not when he was surely already asleep.

But he noticed her mood was off in the morning, no matter how much she tried to hide it.

"Nightmare," she admitted, not looking him in the eyes.

He didn't ask what it was about.

She didn't want to admit it was about the fight he'd gotten in getting out of control, being like some of those flashes of violence she'd seen on television.

And when he just pulled her into a one-armed hug, Marinette worked up the courage to ask, "How—how do you keep them away?"

"By having something powerful under my bed," he answered with a wink. "Why don't we do the same with you?"

The answer to that was for him to put one of the wooden swords that they used in lessons underneath her bed.

It made her laugh.

Aloys told her where his secret was.

Well, not what the secret was, but he did say to never let anyone into his room. He gave her a second key to his bedroom—it had a lock, just like Marinette's did—and he instructed her to make sure that it was locked when someone came in.

It was a responsibility that she didn't have before.

He healed from his injuries quickly, not stopping their lessons at all. A few children questioned the dark bruises across his face during their weekly lesson, but he waved away their concerns.

With her, however, he admitted they hurt.

And in return, she confessed that she wasn't happy the days following his fight.

She didn't tell Adrien.

The secrets started to grow, but—but Aloys was trusting her. He was telling her things that Adrien wasn't allowed to know, he was giving her knowledge that she wasn't supposed to have, and he was teaching her to defend herself and the things that she knew.

And all that in exchange for affection, a place to live, and someone to brush her hair in the mornings?

She didn't complain.

She did cry when her hands started to be painful, or when she tripped over and skinned her knee, but the difference to before was that Aloys was there to pass her the medical kit, reminding her every time that it was there for whenever she needed it.

She wondered whether she'd have to use it on him.

There was another fight.

Marinette hadn't crept to the stairs to listen in, too terrified that she'd been the reason for his injuries the first time, but when the noise quieted down after the front door closed, she crept downstairs.

She probably shouldn't have.

Blood was soaked into the carpet, the red standing out against the carpet, and she could see the droplets that led out to the front door.

Aloys had blood smeared on his cheek.

"You shouldn't have come down," he said when he saw her, lips curling down into a frown.

She could hear her heartbeat in her head. "I-I was scared."

When he coughed wetly into his hand, she could see the damaged skin of his knuckles. "Why?"

"That—that you were hurt," Marinette admitted.

"It's not my blood," he answered. "Not this time, I promise."

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

That was the night he taught her how to get bloodstains out of the carpet.

She didn't question whether it was a normal thing to be taught; alongside the self-defence, it seemed to blend in with teaching her to how to take care of herself within the home. So, it was normal, wasn't it? There always seemed to be arguments involved when visitors came, and if it was going to continue happen she—she wanted to be helpful.

And if that involved kneeling down alongside Aloys in the living room as they scrubbed the carpet, she was fine with that.

The way he patted her head afterwards was worth it.

She beamed.

"Is it locked up?" Marinette questioned as he taught her to cook. "Your secret?"

His laughter sounded throaty. "You bet. Even if I let you loose in there, you'd never find it."

She huffed. "Wanna bet?"

"No, I don't want to," he responded, flicking her forehead. "You're a little demon, did you know that?"

"I can stab you."

Aloys chuckled. "We'll see about that."

With a pout, Marinette crossed her arms. "I can!"

"With your little wooden sword?" He grinned, showing his crooked teeth. "The most you'll do is give me a splinter, sweetheart. You have a while to go before you can do any damage."

Frowning, she asked, "How long?"

Aloys held up a hand above her head. "Until you grow bigger."

But she had. More of Adrien's clothes were turning too small for her, meaning she chose to keep wearing the outfit that she'd gotten as a gift, but it was starting to get dirty too quickly.

It was because of that that Aloys got her more clothes in exchange for her helping out with the chores around the house. She was already doing those things with him, sticking by his side for most of the day, so she didn't have anything to complain about.

She even got to pick them out from a catalogue, but he had to go in the car to get to the store.

She still didn't want to do that.

While Adrien had always talked about his class-mates, their next call had him even more excited than usual. It turned out that he'd finally been allowed a pet, and he was gushing about all the options that he was given.

The following week, his letter to her included two pictures of the kitten.

All she had to say to Aloys about that was, "I'm happy it's not a dog."

Aloys laughed a lot at that.

He attempted to ask whether she wanted to go to school, to be like the other children, but Marinette had clammed up at the thought of it. She wouldn't—they'd take her away from Aloys, wouldn't they?

He didn't even try to deny it.

"N-no," she stuttered out, wrapping her arms around herself. "I don't want to."

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't the right thing to do. She didn't see any other children hiding out and refusing to go to school. In the films she saw on the television, they always gave in in the end, found a family and lived happily-ever-after—

But that wasn't it for her, was it?

She'd only just found happiness, and she wanted to selfishly hold onto it.

As long as Aloys wasn't going to force her to do anything, she was fine with what she had. Even with the skin of her hands turning red and painful from practising too much, or the bruises that she had appearing on her body from when she tried to replicate a self-defence move that he'd taught her, she liked it.

She didn't want to change it.

But she didn't control change, did she? It wasn't a power of hers, and it never would be.

Marinette followed the instructions she was given whenever someone visited. She'd creep across the hallway, making sure Aloys' bedroom door was locked, no matter how curious she was as to what was inside.

He trusted her.

That was confirmed when he sat her down, taking out a small book from a drawer than he'd unlocked.

"This," Aloys started, putting the book down on the table in front of her. "This is what you'll need to look for if anything ever happens to me, okay?"

She furrowed her brow. "But... ambulance?"

"No." He shook his head. "No ambulance."

That wasn't something he'd ever said to her before.

"These are the okay ones," Aloys said, opening the first page and pointing to what she identified to be his writing. "I wouldn't go as far as saying good, but I'll add in some sort of code for you, so you know which are bad."

It just confused her. "Why?"

"To be safe," he said. "If anything—if I'm not around or don't return for a few days, I want you to call one of these people."

She frowned. "But no one knows me."

"You'll tell them that I sent you, okay?" Aloys replied, pushing the book closer to her. "You know more about me than any of these bastards ever will, but that doesn't mean you tell them everything."

"You said a bad word."

He shook his head. "That doesn't matter right now, sweetheart. You have to promise not to tell them our secrets."

She mouthed the word our to herself.

"They'll help you, if you need it," he assured her. "They owe me favours, and I reckon this'll just about cover it."

But all Marinette could do was ask, "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere soon, hopefully," he answered. "But we have to plan things, kid. The unexpected can happen."

Another key joined her collection.

-x-

He kept coughing.

Marinette caught a cold, slept with tissues beside her pillows so she wouldn't have to get out of bed, and by the time she'd recovered from that—with Aloys hovering and making sure she was okay, something she hadn't had before—he was still ill.

"You cough a lot."

He just smiled, making the wrinkles on his face more pronounced. "It's my age, I guess."

"How old?" she questioned.

Aloys raised his eyebrows at her. "How old are you?"

She shrugged.

"Well, when you've decided, I'll get back to you with my age," he proposed, probably not expecting her to take him up on that.

Marinette perked up at that. "I want to be the same as Adrien!"

"You're so much smaller than him, though," he mused. "Even with your little growth spurt."

She crossed her arms. "I'm not little."

"Sweetheart, you have to use a stool for a reason—"

"No!"

He assured her that it was just because he smoked a lot, but she'd never seen him do it. Aloys said that he'd given it up for when Adrien was with him, and hadn't picked it up since.

Adrien's letters and calls kept being about his kitten, expressing how many he was for being allowed to get one. She always enjoyed the stories that he told her through the phone, along with the drawings he included with his letters, but she didn't have much to say in return to him, not when she had to keep certain things secret.

He kept huffing and demanding that Kagami not take his place as her best friend.

And as much as she enjoyed time with Kagami—the few hours during their weekly lessons and the occasional dinner—she still much preferred talking to Adrien on the phone.

Since Adrien kept including photographs with his letters, she asked to do the same. Aloys gave her a disposable camera, telling her that she could take pictures of anything she wanted and that he'd print them out.

Her following letter included pictures of Aloys, some of Kagami, and one of Marinette and Aloys together.

Adrien sent her back one of him smiling at the camera.

Aloys bought her a frame to keep it in her bedroom.

It made her happier than she could express.

There was so much that she didn't have before. Marinette slowly grew used to the change in her life, but she always wondered whether it would be gone when she woke up—that the soft duvet would be replaced with the tattered blankets, that she'd be back in her dirty clothing, rather than the ones that she'd been allowed to pick out for herself from a catalogue.

Over breakfast, she asked, "Are you my adult?"

Aloys choked on his drink.

When he'd recovered, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, though his face was still red (from what she could see, other than the beard), he enquired, "Your... adult?"

"Yes." She nodded. "Adrien—Adrien has his adults that he lives with. Does that mean you're mine?"

"I'm not your father," he replied, clearing his throat. "Do you mean guardian?"

She shrugged. "I've never had an adult."

"You had—what was her name? Nice Lady, right?" Aloys pointed out.

"But she wasn't my adult," she insisted.

Aloys frowned. "Why not?"

"She left," Marinette simply said. "Adults don't do that."

"You mean, well, like a caretaker, don't you?" he mused. "Someone older to take care of you—like family, but not related, yes?"

Marinette made a thinking noise. "Maybe."

"That's a guardian, kid."

She squinted. "Are you mine?"

"In everyone else's eyes, I'm not," Aloys stated. "But... I kind of am, aren't I?"

With a frown, she replied, "I don't get it."

"To really be your guardian, people need to know you're here," he explained, reaching up to smooth out the hairs going into his ponytail. "But that's not what you want, is it?"

She quickly shook her head.

"So, you still don't want to go to school?"

Marinette stubbornly said, "I'm not leaving."

It was nice. They had a system, a way to live comfortably together, and before she knew it, she'd been living with him—without Adrien—for months.

Adrien was just as excited as her for the upcoming summer. He was being allowed to stay with Aloys again, the same amount as before, and it meant that within a short amount of time, he was going to be standing before her.

Would she be taller than him?

Aloys had said that she'd grown a lot—had filled out into the clothing and become stronger—but she couldn't really tell the difference when she wasn't lifting heavy things. The small wooden sword that everyone used for lessons was becoming easier to hold, but it wasn't as though she was brilliant at that.

Aloys assured her that it would come with age.

But she was just so excited for Adrien to come. Aloys warned her that she'd have to hide away for a few hours, while Adrien was dropped out since she couldn't be seen, and the plan was for her to just lock her bedroom door and wait for someone to knock on it to tell her that it was safe to come out.

Aloys had even said that Adrien could bring his kitten, as there wouldn't be anyone to care for it back home.

"It's still a while away, kid," Aloys told her when she kept asking how long.

He made a point of flipping to the next page of the calender for a bit, pointing out the circled date so she'd know how long it would be.

She started crossing off the days as they passed.

It was the most excited she'd ever been.

But as the days counted down, something else happened.

When she woke up one morning, she was surprised that she was the first up. Aloys usually waited for her in the kitchen, to let her help him make breakfast so she'd know what to do, and it was early enough that the sun wasn't shining through all the windows, meaning she had to turn the lights in the hallway on as she wandered through the house.

He wasn't downstairs.

"Aloys?" she called out loudly.

Her voice echoed in the hallway.

But he wasn't in the rooms downstairs.

Her footsteps were audible as she walked through the house, poking her head into the rooms. But as she continued to come up empty, she found herself standing outside of his bedroom.

The door didn't creak as she opened it.

With a frown, she entered the room and said, "Aloys?"

There was a lump in the bed—large enough to be him. She wandered closer, jumping up onto the mattress and reaching across the shake his shoulder, something that would've normally grabbed his attention, but rather than groaning and telling her to get off, he continued to stay still, not responding.

She shook him harder.

There wasn't any response.

She used all her force to push him, trying to do anything to get a reaction, but there was no response from him. His body was still, having been on his side and been pushed so his face was pressed against the pillow—

It wasn't natural.

She scrambled out of the bed, stumbling around to the other side, calling out his name as she went. And yet, when she pushed his shoulder so his face wasn't on the pillow any more, his eyes were still closed.

Her throat felt tight.

She looked at his chest, trying to see whether there was a steady rise or fall, but she couldn't really see anything through her blurred eyes. And as she sniffed loudly, she reached out, clumsily putting her hand on his throat, where he'd taught her to check for a pulse—

They always left, didn't they?

Her adult wasn't supposed to leave.

-x-

Aloys didn't have a wooden sword underneath his bed to keep the nightmares away.

It took Marinette a long time to realise that she had to move, to do what Aloys had taught her if something ever happened to him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, there was a lump at the back of her throat, and she just felt so tired, but she followed his instructions.

It was only when she'd packed her bag—a new one, not the one she'd originally came with—and got the book Aloys had locked away in the kitchen that she remembered about his secret.

How—how was she even supposed to protect it? Aloys wouldn't be there—

She couldn't think about that.

When she went into his bedroom, she refused to look at his body on the mattress. She stubbornly got on her knees, using her pitiful strength to pull out the drawers beneath the bed, but there wasn't anything special inside; just socks that she checked the insides of being tossing aside, frustration causing her tears to appear once more.

There wasn't anything inside.

At least, not until she'd pulled the actual drawer out, dropping it on her fingers in the process so she shrieked in pain. Once she'd gotten over that, holding her throbbing hand to her chest, she saw that there were only floorboards underneath the bed.

It was the same as the rest of the room, but the shape of the wood wasn't quite the same.

It was probably her smartest moment.

When she lifted up the small section of the wood—that was really stuck together as a sort of cover, not the separate planks as the rest of the floor—Marinette found a large duffel bag inside.

It was too large for her to carry, though. She already had her backpack that she'd stuffed full of everything that she could, not quite thinking about how much it would hurt her back, but she knew that carrying another bag along wouldn't be possible, not if she wanted to go far.

Aloys had never told her anything about it; just that he was protecting something, it being the reason that those visitors had argued with him and wanted it before.

She'd always wondered, wanted to think that it would be something grand, but when she slipped her hand inside, she pulled out an item that wasn't too big, only just longer than the length of her hand.

It was a knife—a dagger—that had a cover over it, looking innocent in her hands.

She was very confused.

But when she reached into the bag again, she just found an identical one. Two covered knives that were matching, clearly a part of a pair, but why would such little things by in a large bag?

There was only one other item in the bag, and it was equally small—but larger, round, and she couldn't wrap her hand completely around it, not with her little hands.

It was a bandalore.

With the knives and bandalore out, there wasn't anything else left inside, not at all. She checked for pockets, crawled under the mattress to see whether there was anything inside the flooring still, but that was it.

Aloys—he protected this?

As much as she didn't want to believe it, it was all that she could find in his room. She checked the other areas, even crawling into his wardrobe, but she couldn't find anything else that was out of place.

It was all she had to go on.

She stuffed them into her bag, shoving them to the bottom and covering them with her belongings, thinking that it would be best for them to be down there. No one would look at her and suspect her to have such things, would they?

It was okay, she'd—she'd be fine.

She'd managed to be alone with Aloys' help before, she was different now, wasn't she? He'd taught her the basics of self-defence, for if the worst happened, and she was taller, able to lift more than she could before.

The worries could wait.

With her nose and eyes surely red, she went out the back door for what could be the last time, recounting the instructions in her head. In the front pocket of her bag, she had the small notebook with the different numbers and addresses in them, complete with the names of many adults that Aloys associated with, each marked with how trustworthy they were for her.

She'd be fine, right?

But as she walked, sticking to the edge of the road as she went into town, her hands curling tightly into the straps of her backpack, she felt numb.

She'd never really felt that way before.

She'd lost those that she'd lived beside before, them disappearing out of the blue, but none had taken her in as Aloys had done. And if he was gone—

She wouldn't see Adrien.

A sob escaped her at that.

She couldn't stay in that big house alone, not at all. Aloys had made it clear that she'd have to leave if anything ever happened to him, that someone would come to check it out and find out that he wasn't there, and it had happened when Adrien was supposed to come so soon.

But he wouldn't be coming if Aloys couldn't pick up the phone.

Aloys had always kept her hidden for a reason. To the outside world, he was just an old man that had lived alone, occasionally taking care of his neighbour's child—that was lie that he'd taught her to say to Kagami, after all.

She couldn't see Kagami either. Marinette didn't even know where she lived.

Kagami had never been a part of the plan.

It was only made worse when she found out that Nice Lady wasn't in town.

She was alone, then.

It brought more tears to her eyes.

-x-

It felt like it took a long time to get to the first address. Marinette had packed a map to bring along with her, had stopped at a library to ask for help and ask for directions to her destination, pretending that she was planning it out for the trip with her family.

It caused a lump to appear in her throat.

After spending so many months—almost a year—inside and being pampered, it was startling how different it was being back on the streets again. Marinette stayed by herself, not trusting anyone that came near her, not when she cradled her backpack against her chest, not wanting anyone to touch anything that was inside.

Aloys had never told her to take it with her, but it was the last thing she had of him, wasn't it? And for someone to steal that away from her, it would've meant that she'd failed terribly.

She didn't want to do that.

The weather was hot again, horribly so. It should've meant that she would've been in the garden with Adrien, not wearing a jacket because it didn't fit inside her bag and kept falling off when she wrapped it around her waist, and definitely not that she was alone, trying to follow a map to someone that wasn't Aloys' friend.

And when she thought she couldn't really cry any more, the tears kept coming.

But she continued on, even when her feet hurt, when her back was aching from adjusted to sleeping without a bed again, but she couldn't really hide her flinch whenever a stranger wandered up to her and asked where her adult was.

She looked them in the eyes when she replied that she was going to meet them.

It wasn't really a lie, was it? She wasn't walking aimlessly without a goal in her life, she—she'd been given a plan, something to follow.

She just didn't know what it meant for her in the future.

Although she knew she shouldn't, Marinette sometimes pulled out one of the daggers from the bottom of the bag, but never did she take the case off of it. Aloys had taught her with wooden swords only, but she assumed that using a dagger couldn't be too difficult, could it?

She didn't want to find out.

The money she'd taken with her was starting to run out. She'd been buying food along the way, trying to make it last instead of stealing it like before, but it was dwindling slowly.

By the time she reached her destination, she had blisters on her feet (she wondered whether they'd match the ones on her hands in time), peeling skin on her shoulders from the sun, and her back hurt from the amount that she had to carry.

It wasn't an old man that answered the door.

It was a woman, one with not as many wrinkles as Aloys had had, but there was grey in her hair. She stared down at Marinette at the door, waiting for either of them to speak, and Marinette could feel her palms growing sweaty as she looked at the woman.

Why would she look after her?

As it turned out, after confirming that the woman was who she was looking for, saying that Aloys had sent her gave her entrance into the house. Marinette was sure that she looked a mess—mud was covering her previously white socks—but she couldn't find it in herself to feel guilty as she let mud on the carpet.

The lady didn't tell her to take her shoes off.

"Is Aloys coming?"

Marinette didn't explain herself; didn't tell the woman what had happened, that she was by herself, or that she didn't know what she was doing—all she did was point out that she owed Aloys a favour.

It earned her a bath, food, and some money to along her way.

Marinette didn't ask for any more.

It was clear that the woman was suspicious. While she was eating, she could hear the woman on the phone, whispering to her friends, Aloys' name popping up throughout the conversation.

Marinette didn't savour the food.

"This is it, all right?" the woman said as she opened the front door, allowing Marinette to walk out. "I don't owe him anything any more, and I expect you not to turn up again."

All that time of walking, wandering under the trees to try and avoid the sun, talking to strangers and risking being caught—all of it had been for nothing in the end, hadn't it?

Aloys had never told her that this would happen.

But what had she expected, really? For a stranger to take her in? She wasn't given any instructions, wasn't told what to do other than to leave, and it left her feeling number than before as she fished out the little book that Aloys had left her full of addresses, finding the second name listed that was classified as friendly.

What if one of them really wasn't as trustworthy as she was told?

Even if it was some food and money that she was given, it really didn't seem worth the long trek to get there. Marinette had managed to survive before, hadn't she? It may not have been relying on Aloys or his friends, but she'd had Nice Lady and the other adults looking out for her for a bit, something that she didn't have any more.

Did she really want to just travel from house to house?

It was a question that kept nagging at her.

What made it worse was that when she was alone, trying to find a place to sleep at night that wasn't too out in the open so she'd get caught, she wondered what Adrien was doing at that time.

It felt like forever since she'd spoken to him. She hadn't taken her collection of letters from him, only a picture of him and the one she'd taken with Aloys (that Aloys had kept a copy of), but whenever she pulled them out, it just made her cry any more.

She wondered whether he made it down to Aloys' home before realising that something was wrong.

But Adrien wasn't like her. He had adults to look after him all the time, to care and look out for him, and he had a school to go to since people knew about him—

She didn't want that.

Aloys had tried to tell her otherwise to the horror stories that she'd been told before, but she wasn't going to believe it. Rather than being shoved with other children, the ones that were just waiting for a family to pick them (a terribly thing, some had told her), she wanted to do what she'd been doing all along.

It had worked for so long, so there was no reason in her eyes why it wouldn't any more.

Sometimes, when she didn't want to wallow in sadness and wanted to do something, Marinette picked up a stick that was close enough to the size of the wooden swords she'd used before, trying to remember the moves that she'd been taught.

She didn't have someone to practice self-defence on, but she did try to remember that, too. It would come in handy, Aloys had said, and she wasn't going to doubt him on that.

She was just over halfway to the next destination when she ran out of money, no food in her backpack.

The route she'd taken her made it so she'd arrived at a village, one where it wasn't bustling with traffic or a crowd of people that towered over her. Still, she stayed on the outskirts at times, trying to keep out of sight—the old familiar tactics she'd been told coming to mind.

She stole someone's wallet.

To her glee, they didn't even look back, hadn't felt the jostle of their bag when she reached in, trying not to made a triumphant sound and stopped herself from running off to look at her spoilers. Marinette just walked off slowly, as though nothing had happened, but the pocket of her shorts was bulkier than before.

She'd bought a small tent that was around her size, right back when she'd first started her journey. It seemed like a better choice, especially since Adrien had had a similar one that they'd had to assemble whenever they'd wanted to use it.

Adrien—

No, she didn't want to think about him.

The weather was growing colder, the layers on her clothing adding up, and she shivered terribly in the evenings. It was only when she realised that she really wasn't going to be able to be by herself in the cold, not when she didn't even know how to make a fire, that she wandered around to try and see whether there was anyone else like her outside.

It resulted in a lady asking her where her parents were.

She ran away as fast as she could.

She didn't make it to the second house.

-x-

"What about you, Mari?" was called out to her, pulling her away from her thoughts. "Have you punched anyone yet?"

There was a chorus of laughter from that, but she just hugged her backpack tighter to her chest, shooting the speaker an unimpressed look.

It just caused more from the others. "I'm sure that glare will work wonders when someone's trying to steal your shit."

"Fuck off, like you could even stop anyone from knicking yours—"

"Are you trying to pick a fucking fight with me, Kim?" It was emphasised with the sound of knuckles cracking. "I can show you what a loser you are, if you want."

Marinette tuned it out.

She didn't talk much with the make-shift group that she'd found. They varied in ages, some close to hers, while others had deep voices and towered high above her—but despite that, they all had something in common.

Although she didn't trust them completely, it wasn't the worst arrangement to have. She didn't have to share her food, give them any more attention than she wanted to, and she mostly kept to herself. Marinette wandered off when she wanted to, came back in the evenings to sleep, but she made sure to keep her backpack with her at all times.

No one had tried to get inside it yet, and she'd been with them for a few months.

Somehow, because she was the youngest, they were under the impression that she was horribly weak and had ran away from home. Marinette didn't correct them on that—she had run away from a home, hadn't she?

They didn't need to know that she knew where to punch them to give her enough time to run away.

It worked well in her favour, actually. A few of them had taken pity on her and given her some of their food, a blanket, and always beckoned her over when the fire was roaring, just so she'd be warm enough.

None of her smiles were as bright as before, though.

Sometimes, when she stared into the flickering flames, she wondered where Nice Lady was; wanting to know whether she was safe, if it was as warm for her as it was for Marinette.

She didn't have to worry about Adrien.

She wondered whether anyone worried about her.

For the most part, Marinette kept to herself. Although she didn't let her belongings out of her sight, not the ones that she needed to take at a moments notice for if she had to abruptly leave, she did start to have a collection of books that she'd found.

The book were kept in a pile to the side of where she preferred to sleep. She added to it slowly, all different genres that she'd found along the way, and despite knowing that she couldn't take them along with her, she still felt protective other than, meaning she hesitated when someone asked to borrow them.

But the others started to add more to the pile, coming home from wandering the streets—or whatever they did, Marinette didn't know since she never went out with everyone—with a few tattered or stained books that they'd found outside, happily showing her their spoils.

It was a tight-knit group, it seemed.

They had a lot of horror stories; from abusive homes to actually being dumped on the side of the road (as they insisted, though she wasn't sure whether to believe them or not), there was more than enough reason for her to believe them when they said that getting caught wouldn't do them any favours.

At least it was consistent. There wasn't anyone telling her that she could ask for her, to find a family and go to school, but telling her to keep her head down and out of trouble if she wanted things to stay the same.

That was the plan, at least.

It was her job to protect the items Aloys had had, wasn't it?

No one would expect a child to have them, but she knew that others would want to get their hands on them. The daggers and bandalore stayed at the bottom of her bag, safely tucked away and kept away from everyone else.

Of all the people that she was staying with in an abandoned building where they'd started to make their own—from the fabric that had been stuck up on the walls and specific areas for everyone to sleep—the person that paid her the most attention was male, and a lot older than her.

His eyes were almost the same as hers, but she knew why that was. It didn't confuse her like it had with Kagami—

Marinette didn't want to think about her either.

Kim was tall, had his hair shaved unevenly, and talked louder than everyone else. He had the habit of getting in fights with others, so she came home in bruises and with bloodstains on his clothes, and the first time that it had happened, Marinette couldn't help but stare at him.

And then, he'd launched in a rant about how he hated someone else in particular, and all she knew was that they didn't live with them.

She didn't concern herself with it that much.

Kim liked to clap his hand down on her shoulder to get her attention, but it failed to surprise her due to his loud approach. She imagined that if he was silent before touching her, she'd freak out in response.

"What you reading today?" he asked, squeezing her shoulder before letting go.

She looked up with a frown.

He had a cut on his lower lip that had only just stopped bleeding.

In response, she lifted the book up so he'd be able to read the label.

Kim whistled. "All right, smartass."

She didn't take any offence to his words.

It was a rule that they wouldn't steal from each other; whether it was clothes that they left up to dry, to food that was by specific beds, it was there to try and stop everyone from fighting. At night, the older ones pushed heavy objects in front of the door—but only after making sure that everyone was inside—and it was a better system that she'd seen in the past.

Then again, it was quite a while ago that she'd been with the various adults, left there wide-eyed after Nice Lady had disappeared for her short amount of time.

But she was in a more populated area, no longer in a small town where people knew each other. The noise of cars was loud and constant, bins were filled often, and there was countless people that she could steal from.

Marinette had quite a collection of wallets.

She stuck to buying from smaller shops, the ones that weren't too crowded, and she was barely ever turned away. The public toilets scattered everywhere were a good place to clean up, though she wasn't able to see herself in some of the mirrors, and she had a routine that she stuck to.

The only deviation was when she tripped over her shoelaces.

There wasn't anyone she knew around her when it happened.

Marinette let out a pained noise, getting up to her feet with painful knees. She'd scraped her palms, too, and tiny little pebbles were embedded in the bed, beads of blood starting to appear from the impact.

She kept her tears in until she was in a toilet stall.

There was a time when she was given brightly-coloured plasters, a pat on the head for enduring the pain, but that wasn't any more, was it?

And that thought just made her cry more.

She felt tired, curled up on top of the toilet seat. The tissues she'd used had fallen down to the ground when she'd pulled her knees up to her chest, closing her eyes tightly, and all she had to wander was what she was even doing.

She didn't understand what she was even protecting.

Wiping her eyes with too much force, Marinette reached down into her bag, clawing her way to the bottom before she felt the familiar texture of one of the items she'd taken from underneath Aloys' bed. The bandalore looked much the same; innocent, not at all plastic-looking, and she really wanted to know the point of it even was.

She hooked her hand through the small hoop that was attached to a string, frowning as she let it fall, the body of it clattering to the floor unceremoniously, the string barely coming out from the short distance of the fall.

It looked like a toy she'd had before.

With a sniff, she reached down to pick it up before using it properly, as Nice Lady had showed her how to do before. It worked as any other; flicking back up into her palm for her to hold, the weight barely-there, light and unimposing.

It didn't feel like anything special.

She played with it a bit more until she accidentally dropped it again, and when she picked it up to inspect it, it didn't have any scratches on it, no scuff marks or anything to show that it had been misused.

It must've been expensive.

She shoved it back down at the bottom of her bag.

And after that, when she was alone and had nothing better to do, she pulled it out to play with for a few minutes. She practised catching it in her hands, never trying anything too fancy, and it was a fun past-time that she picked up.

Kim had bruises on his face, all of them various colours.

It was because of that that she made the decision to ask him whether he knew any self-defence.

He scrunched his face up at that. "The fuck do you mean with that?"

He was dubious because of her size—barely coming up to his chest—and it was only when she elbowed him in the stomach and managed to make him fall over that he seemed enthusiastic about it at all. Kim was more than happy to tell her about what he did in his fights; reckless, stupid things that he could only just think of on the spot, and even showed her how to throw a punch.

She had to tuck her thumb in.

A few others tried to join them, but Kim promptly told them to fuck off before hauling Marinette up to her feet, taking her into another room in the building.

"Why?" she questioned.

He spat on the floor. "Fucker's never help me much."

There wasn't any venom in his words, though.

He wasn't any adult—he wouldn't be any time soon—and he would never be her adult, but he was kind.

Kim warned her that kindness would get her hurt.

She saw that first hand when a stranger was holding onto someone from their group's arm, and Kim had ran in and punched the stranger in the face without hesitation, trying to get him off.

It ended up with Kim looking before battered than before.

But he was smiling, even with blood coating his teeth.

One night, Marinette was walking back through the park, taking her time. She'd been clean enough to be allowed into a library, able to read the books there, even if she couldn't take them back with her.

With the bandalore in her hand—a presence that was becoming more familiar—she was fiddling with it, the loop securely around her finger, the chances of her losing it lessening.

And with a flick of her hand, the bandalore was back in her palm before she let it go again, the action one that she was slowly getting better at.

Her shoelaces made her fall over again.

But the difference to the last time—where she'd ended up sobbing in a public bathroom—was vastly different. The bandalore had shot out as she let out a noise of surprise, about to collide with the floor, only for her body to lurch forward, the feeling of wind going through her hair as she rapidly moved from where she'd been previously.

She let out a loud breath as she landed in front of a tree, stumbling and falling against the bark, not at all harmed.

Marinette was utterly baffled as she looked to see the bandalore's string wrapped around the trunk, something that definitely shouldn't have happened, and with a panicked glanced behind her, she saw that her original spot was many metres away.

It was impossible.

And yet, the loop was still around her finger, the string from her hand connecting with the bandalore that was wrapped around the tree innocently, looking as though she'd been the one to tie it around it.

But she hadn't.

She hadn't even thrown it that far, definitely not enough for her to be tugged along—

But she wasn't hurt.

She stared at the tree in wonder.

Things were starting to make a lot more sense.

She didn't get the chance to test it out until the following evening. Marinette wanted to be alone, going as far as wandering down an alleyway that looked to be deserted in the dark before squatting down and getting the object out of her bag.

She gripped it tightly.

It looked—it was so simple-looking, no scratches or anything other-worldly about the appearance. But nothing was ever as it seemed, was it?

She played with it normally at first, testing to see whether anything would've changed, but it acted the same as ever.

There was an audible noise as she caught it in her hand.

It was stupid, reckless, and it was something that Kim would've done, but when she looked up to see the roof of the building high above her, she barely hesitated before throwing the bandalore in the air, knowing that she wasn't strong enough to make it reach.

And yet, she could see it soar through the air, reaching higher than it really should've, and there was barely any time to react before she was pulled upwards, hair whipping around wildly along the way.

It was over it seconds.

Somehow, some way, she'd made it onto the roof safely without using the stairs. Marinette was standing on the edge, able to see where the bandalore had chose to wrap around—it was roughly where she'd thrown, but many metres further than it should've gone—and the feeling flowing through her could only be described as glee.

She threw her hands up in the air, cheering, and lost her balance in the process.

But she didn't hit the ground.

The bandalore tugged her back up, her terrified scream being cut off as she was thrust back up onto the roof, much in the same position as she'd been before.

A hysterical laugh escaped her at that.

She was the yo-yo at that point.

Marinette felt giddy.

Gently, she tugged the bandalore off from where it had been wrapped around tightly, somehow able to pull her such a great distance, and she—she felt like she understood why Aloys had been protecting it.

It was a feeling that anyone would've wanted to have.

Maybe, it was because of that feeling that she got carried away.

She stuck to using it in the evenings, when people were unlikely to see her. She'd always been secretive, wanting to keep most things to herself, and the new discovering wasn't any different.

With her hair tucked into a ponytail and the straps of her backpack tightened so they weren't likely to fall off, she continued to test out the bandalore, seeing which things it would attach to.

Almost everything, it seemed.

While it could act like a normal toy, Marinette wasn't sure where the differences actually came in. It seemed that when it wanted to—when it mattered—it behaved fantastically and tugged her along, making her feel the wind on her face as she flew through the air, always landing without hurting herself.

It didn't matter if it was a rooftop, a large tree, or even across the street—if it attached onto something, she was pulled along for the ride.

Her smile was wide, the thrilling feeling absolutely wonderful, no matter how many times she felt it.

She didn't mention it to the others, not giving any more answers than usual. But she did get told that she was smiling more, looking happier than she had been in the beginning, and she really didn't have a reply to that.

She was happy—she knew what she was doing.

At least, that's what she wanted to think.

Marinette's greatest, and worst, idea was when she decided to combine two of her hobbies. After all, no one would be able to catch up to her when she was capable of escaping so quickly, could they?

She wasn't as subtle as usual, didn't watch who she was going to steal from for a while, and chose to instead snatch the bag of the first lady to walk past her in the night.

There was a squawk of protest, shouted insults, but Marinette was off running, the familiar feeling of the bandalore in her hand, and in a matter of moments she was high, far above the ground and out of reach from the woman that was still screaming for her down below.

Laughter escaped her.

It never should've been that easy, but it was.

After searching through the bag, the only things she took back with her was the brightly-coloured umbrella and wallet, not finding use in the rest of it. When she'd looked through all of it, Marinette dropped the bag off the edge of the roof again, letting it fall down to the floor.

The lady wasn't there any more.

The possibilities of what she could do with the bandalore involved was endless. The amount of money she could steal was beyond her imagination—but she didn't do it daily. It would draw attention, wouldn't it?

So, it was only after she'd new clothes to replace the ones that had gotten ruined from her attempts of trying to do fancier things with the bandalore, that she snatched another bag. It was from a male that time, some kind of briefcase that the man had been holding in his hand, and he'd barely turned around before she was running off with it.

The giddy feeling didn't quite leave.

She wondered whether that was why Aloys had kept it hidden away. It made her feel—feel powerful, so unlike the small child that she actually was.

And if it could do that for her, she didn't want to think about an adult using it.

The weather was getting hotter again, no need for the fire that they'd had going in the evenings. Still, they used it to cook food—something that everyone there had insisted was useful to know—and she'd even been shown how to ignite it with a lighter a few times.

For all the things they showed her, she didn't share much about herself. Much like before she'd met Adrien, Marinette was mostly quiet, entertaining herself instead of interacting with others, and the only exception to that seemed to be Kim, but that was only because he barged into her business, as though he belonged there.

The make-shift self-defence lessons between them had gotten better.

"I piss off a lot of people, Mari," he said as his explanation for his wounds.

She pursed her lips at that.

"What?" Kim questioned, crossing his arms. "Not going to believe me now?"

Marinette looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I'm not letting you see the shit I get into, you know. You just have to trust me here."

That was the thing, though. Kim went out with others, but he always said that Marinette wasn't allowed to come—that she was too young.

Age didn't really seem to matter between them often.

She didn't feel the need to convince him that she could take care of herself; she probably could better than him, but that was only because she had a foolproof method of getting away, as long as the bandalore was within reaching distance.

None of the others had seen it.

However, that did change one evening.

It was an accident.

Marinette had been out for the day, had been in the library looking at books, picking out the ones to help her learn more words, and it was a few hours after it had closed that she was wandering back towards the general direction of the building they lived in.

The looks she got for her attire were still there, but barely anyone approached her and asked where her adults were. It could've been because it was a busy place, with lots of people running through the streets during the daylight, and although it had downsides compared to little towns, she liked that people ignored her most of the time.

The bandalore was in her hand, but she was using it normally, as any other would with a toy. She hummed a tune underneath her breath as she walked, not feeling any urgency to move quicker.

She'd taken to using the bandalore if it started to rain.

"Mari?"

She jumped.

And in the time it took her to turn around, she was able to see Kim closing the distance between them, coming to stand beside her with his hands tucked into the pockets of his dirty jeans.

"What you doing here?" Kim questioned, shooting her a grin that showed his teeth. "Hey—you found that just now?"

Her hand curled around the bandalore, but she wasn't big enough to cover it.

"Shit, I haven't seen this in years," he exclaimed, reaching out to try and take it from her without any hesitation.

And even as Marinette tried to move away, to hold it to her chest, he was bigger, able to just reach over and pluck it from her hands.

She tried to get it back, but Kim put a hand on her head, pushing her away.

With a laugh, he held her away as he inspected the bandalore. "You're still a kid, eh?"

There wasn't enough time.

Marinette was about to jam her elbows into him, anything to get the bandalore away from him, but Kim started to play with it in his hands, only acting as though it was a normal toy for a moment, aiming it at the floor, before it was directed more forward-facing.

She saw him move before she could feel the hand that was removed from the top of her head.

There was no giddy feeling from watching someone else use it; rather, Marinette's stomach clenched uncomfortably, nausea becoming apparent, and it was a matter of seconds of watching Kim's body fly through the sky before the end result happened.

The angle he'd been holding it at made the bandalore latch onto the top of a building, bringing him high up before she could barely even take a few steps, and rather than land gracefully on the floor, she ran to catch up to see what had happened to cause the sickening sound that seemed to echo through the streets.

All that was coming from Kim were gasps and wheezes, not full sentences to communicate anything. The sound of her footsteps as she ran to catch up echoed in her ears, heart beating painfully against her chest, and as she walked into the alleyway, her breath hitched.

He hadn't made it on the roof at all.

She'd hoped, maybe, that she just couldn't see at the angle that she'd been at—

But there was Kim, a crumpled heap on the floor, on his back and staring up at the sky above them. The ever-growing pool of red liquid kept seeping out, steadily coming from more parts of his body—

She choked out a sob.

And as she unsteadily got closer, calling out his name, trying to get a reaction, she was able to see how his legs were bent at awkward angles—not what they were supposed to be, not at all—along with one of his arms that didn't look natural at all.

It wasn't the strong Kim that she'd always seen.

Through her tears, she could make out the little bits of white that were sticking out of his legs, the river of blood that was coming out, and there was no doubt that his legs were unusable at that point. And by the sound of his breathing, the unnatural wet noise that were coming out, it didn't seem like he was going to be okay.

But there, in the hand of the arm that wasn't damaged, was the bandalore.

Kim wasn't responding to her, no matter how she tried.

The pavement dug into the skin of her knees as she kneeled down, hands hovering uncertainly, not knowing where she was supposed to touch. What—what was she supposed to do?

It wasn't like Aloys.

Aloys had already been dead, but Kim—Kim was struggling with intake of breath, coughing up blood with his pained breaths.

Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

The sobs continued as she stayed there, kneeling pathetically by his side, not knowing what to do. As tears ran down her cheeks, she watched as his subtle movements became less and less, and she didn't jump back when the pool of blood had extended to touch her knees, staining her skin.

It wasn't like in the films—Kim didn't die with some nice words that he had to say. He sounded weak, so unlike himself, and hadn't even had the strength to acknowledge her.

The blood didn't stand out against the bandalore when she took it.

-x-

The first time she used one of the daggers, it was when she went off on her own.

Kim was another reminder of someone that she'd lost—that she'd grown close to and cared about—and it was no different to the last time when he'd gone, because one way or another, they always left her.

The thoughts of Aloys and Kim just made her angry as she continued on.

It was in the evening when she took the dagger out, roughly cutting her hair above her ponytail. It wasn't a clean cut, the clumps of hair were uneven, but the emotional weight of dropping the hairband down onto the floor as she walked away meant much more to her than the hair had in the first place.

Nice Lady had liked it, but she was gone.

She'd be fine on her own, wouldn't she?

She couldn't leave herself, after all.

It got easier.

As she got taller, growing used to the new height and trying not to be awkward in her body, she got better at relying on herself. Marinette didn't join a group after what had happened the last time—she got reckless, more than anything else.

A lot of children had treehouses in their gardens.

If she got caught, the bandalore allowed her to escape without anyone being able to catch up to her, and she doubted that they'd report her for what had happened—after all, who would believe a child had escaped with such a thing?

When she found out what grappling hooks were, she laughed a lot.

She took to talking to herself, holding conversations to make sure she was able to pronounce words, and to make up for the silence that was around her for the most part. She'd moved on from the city, but the different towns and villages she went to allowed her into the library, and when she lied and said that her friends or her family was coming soon, sometimes employees let her through into other buildings, even though they really shouldn't.

Although she didn't know how to swim, she liked being let into there first—she'd bought a swimsuit on sale after thinking of that plan, and if all that she needed to do to shower was flash a smile at the employee out front and see whether they were irresponsible or not, she wasn't going to complain.

The amount of people that let her get away with things when she was clean was astounding.

She found out the wonders of a laundromat. It was a lot easier than the washing and drying she'd had with others before, and as she was getting older, not many people questioned her when she said that she lived across the road and was being trusted with doing the chores for the day.

It was possible that her lies were getting more believable.

But that was good, that was fine. She didn't need people butting into her business, asking whether she was okay, or whether she was lost.

She was fine.

Marinette just didn't know what she was doing.

Sometimes, when she saw children in their school uniforms, her wind wandered to Adrien, but she never kept her thoughts on him for too long. Adrien hadn't—it wasn't his choice that he'd had to leave, and he'd intended to come back.

She really wondered whether he made it back that second summer or not.

But she knew that nothing good would've come from her being found with Aloys' body—she'd always been warned about that.

And much like with Kim's, she didn't wait around for anyone to find her afterwards. She hadn't even gone back to the abandoned building to collect the blankets and books she kept in her section, only taking her backpack to leave.

She was fine.

It didn't matter that she had conversations with herself, or that she had a collection of wallets in her backpack that didn't belong to her. It was all part of the grand scheme of life, wasn't it?

If people were just going to keep leaving her, she didn't want them.

She wasn't a stranger to violence; she'd seen it countless times, had been on the other end of it when she was unlucky, but it was the cries that attracted her attention that evening.

It was someone holding a knife up to a teenage boy, demanding for his belongings. It was just like when she stole—but violent, so different to her quick grab and getaway.

It wasn't that she felt sorry for the boy.

She was curious.

With the bandalore, Marinette flicked her wrist, sending it out to wrap around the attacker's knees in seconds, the string looped around tightly before any of them could comprehend it. And as she'd done with objects, she pulled her hand to the side, curious to see whether it would cause a grown adult to be tugged by her.

Within seconds, the attacker's feet were taken off the floor as they fell back against the wall behind them. The impact had been loud—louder than the pained breath they escaped—and the knife that had been in their hand clattered to the ground.

The boy simply ran away without looking at her.

With a tug of her wrist, the bandalore had returned to her hand, the string back inside as though nothing had ever happened to begin with.

They were making pained noises—wheezing—but that didn't stop her from approaching, kicking the fallen knife away with her foot. Then, when she saw how they were holding onto their chest, the tell-tale signs of blood coming from their mouth, Marinette just walked away.

She didn't feel bad.

They'd—they were holding someone at the end of their knife, demanding for their things. They would've done the same to her, wouldn't they?

She hated people that tried to touch her things without permission—it always ended up badly.

Without using any of the self-defence that she'd been taught, none of the punches or violent moves that would give her a chance to escape, she'd taken someone down with only a few flicks of her wrist. Her breathing hadn't even increased from the effort she'd put out—and yet, the only other person that had tried to do the same as her had ended up mangled.

She was only a kid, but she'd been able to do that without breaking a sweat.

Marinette grinned.

-x-

It wasn't like she sought them out on purpose.

It was only natural to see shady-looking people throughout her life. It just happened that in the less populated sections of the city, late at night, was when more appeared than during the day.

The motels of those areas didn't care that she was a kid. If she had the money to spend the night, they let her in.

And it was because of that that she'd overheard shouting in the room next to hers. She hadn't planned to do anything, but their voices were loud, the screams of pain were annoying to listen to, and all she wanted to do was sleep because her head was hurting.

She didn't feel bad when the slamming against the wall was because of her throwing them until they fell unconscious—at least, that's what she thought happened due to the lack of blood—and it meant that she was able to go back to her room and sleep peacefully.

Why would she feel bad about it? Bad things happened to everyone, she knew that, and it wasn't as though they were good people—

She didn't think many people were.

There was always something, wasn't there?

The light-hearted films she'd watched all those summers ago—back in the luxurious home with company by her side—felt more like lies with every passing day.

It was hurt or be hurt, wasn't it?

Sometimes, when she looked in the mirror to see her roughly-chopped hair and gaunt-looking cheeks, she wondered whether anyone would actually recognise her any more.

She laughed at that until she started crying.

But when she really thought about it, why would she feel sorry for anyone else? They didn't genuinely care for her—no one really did, not any more—and their version of help would be turning her over to authorities, the ones she'd heard all the horror stories about.

She was fine by herself, the bandalore ensured that.

She wouldn't leave—she could care for herself. If she needed a new jacket, she could get one, could get any food that she wanted as long as she stole the money for it—

It was the ideal life, wasn't it?

Someone tried to change that.

That probably wasn't their intention. They might've been living day-to-day like her, but when her backpack was snatched off of her back, she was furious.

If she hadn't had the bandalore in her hand, it would've been lost forever. The very blades that hadn't been entrusted in her in the first place would've disappeared, meaning that, for sure, she'd failed with the only thing that she was looking after.

She saw red.

But it was dark, the harsh glare of the lights outside making some spots visible, and the mugger had purposely gone down a dark route, surely to get away safely.

It didn't work out that way for them.

It wasn't curiosity that had her wrapping the bandalore around their legs, she didn't flinch as their head hit the ground, and she didn't pay attention to them as she reached down to snatch her bag from their trembling hands.

She didn't check how much damage she'd done.

They hadn't thought about the damage they could've done to her, they had?

There was a lot that she didn't understand.

Kim had always stood up for the others, gotten himself hit instead of them, saying that he was stronger and therefore he could take it—but she didn't want to do that to anyone.

She didn't have any feelings of attachment where she wanted to be suffering instead of them. When she saw someone being hurt, it wasn't because she felt sorry for them that she intervened—it was anger, fury that she knew that no one would've done anything if she was in their place.

It didn't matter to anyone that she was a child, did it? Her time alone had proved that—from having her bag stolen, to an adult scolding her and telling her to sleep somewhere else, or the countless people turning up their noses at her and not giving her any attention.

If she was so little in their eyes, why should she care?

Something had to go wrong eventually.

It was the usual routine; Marinette stealing a bag and using height to her advantage, not wasting any time before checking the bag to see her spoils.

But—but there was a noise in front of her, a breathy chuckle, and her breath caught as she saw someone standing in front of her.

They hadn't been there before—she'd been alone.

"Interesting," they said—no, it was a woman, one with tight clothing and perfected make-up—and leaned down, lips curling into a wide smile that didn't look welcoming at all. "I admit, I was planning to snap your neck, but this might be more fun."

She stilled, the bandalore feeling heavy in her pocket.

It was the woman she'd taken the bag from, but they should've been on the floor. No one had been able to catch up to her before, so why would it be any different that evening? There was nothing in the woman's hand, no bandalore that allowed her up to such a great height, and yet, there she was.

The grin widened. "Nothing to say to that, darling?"

Marinette swallowed, the grip she had on the stolen bag tightening.

"Not very smart, are you?" the woman observed, tilting her head as she looked at her.

It just made Marinette angry. Who—who was she to even say that?

Something must've shown on her face, because the woman let out a laugh again. "Oh?" she said, clearly amused. "Maybe you do have a bit of fire in you. What a shame, I'll have to snuff that out of you."

It didn't make any sense.

"Let's forget this, shall we?" the woman proposed, reaching out and tugging the bag out of Marinette's grip. Then, it was tossed to the side carelessly, the contents of it spilling out without the woman looking at it at all. "You're much more interesting. Tell me, what made you think you'd be able to get away with it?"

This was the only person to ever catch her and she just—Marinette didn't understand how.

The woman ran a finger along Marinette's jawline, pushing her chin up to make her look at her. "Where is it?"

Marinette stared at her as blankly as she could.

Nails started to dig into her skin. "I'm only going to consider sparing your life if you talk, child. Come on."

But the bag had been tossed aside.

The hand trailed down to her throat, squeezing gently. "The weapon," the woman said slowly, pronouncing each syllable carefully. "Where is it?"

The weight felt heavy in her pocket.

The grip tightened. "Where?"

It was a risk that she had to take.

"Back—backpack," Marinette rasped, finding it hard to talk normally with the pressure on her throat.

The woman pushed her with enough force for Marinette to stumble to the side, her hands catching her and stopping her face from hitting the floor painfully, and she couldn't even protest as the backpack was taken off of her back.

But before the woman could make it to the bottom of the backpack, too busy searching through the food and clothing that she had at the top, Marinette got out the bandalore from her pocket, and with a flick of her wrist, the string was tightly wrapped around her body.

Marinette didn't take any chances.

With a tug, the woman was shooting off to the left, the sound of her body hitting the neighbouring building almost deafening, and Marinette flinched as she beckoned the bandalore back, hearing the sound of a body hitting the floor.

She didn't need to look over the edge to see the result.

Her backpack had been knocked over, but it was there—with her.

She packed her bag again, carefully putting the contents back in. Her hands were scratched, throat felt a bit sore, but it wasn't anything worse than she'd had before.

There wasn't any time to think about her victory, though.

Marinette heard something.

It wasn't—it didn't sound normal, not really. It was a mixture of pained noises, cracks of bones, and it was her curiosity that had her edging towards the edge of the building to see what was happening down below that was so close that she could actually hear.

The pool of blood didn't have a body in it.

She stared.

With sweating palms, Marinette hastily went back to her bag, taking the bandalore out, just for the feeling of safety. The woman shouldn't have been able to get beside her in the first place, and for her to walk away after a fall like that?

It went against everything she knew.

It was the noise that gave it away again.

Marinette tumbled out of the way, the bandalore wrapped around a pipe to pull her along, and she barely missed the body that would've collided with her. And as she scrambled to her feet, she saw the bloodied body that was standing before her—

Except there wasn't any visible broken bones, no limbs bent out of place, and she could barely make out any cuts where the blood was smeared across the skin.

Her stomach lurched.

The only reason she had the upper-hand was because of the bandalore, she knew that. Even with the self-defence that she knew, it wouldn't do anything in the long run, not when she was tiny. Catching someone off-guard once was completely different to someone actually trying to attack her.

The string were wrapped around the woman in a matter of moments, causing her to fall to the floor. Marinette didn't toss her off the roof again, instead watching as the woman struggled, trying to break free from the hold.

But she knew that it wasn't possible. For as strong as the string was, they couldn't cut through anything—but they were strong enough to snap things, weren't they?

The fall hadn't broken her bones, so would it even work?

Marinette's grip on the bandalore tightened. "Why?"

It was a grown woman, someone almost twice her height, but it had been so one-sided. It wasn't the fights that Kim had gotten in that always resulted in him sporting bruises, not the bloodied face that Aloys had had before—her knees and palms were her only injuries.

And all she could feel was anger.

The woman just spat out a mouthful of blood on the floor.

Marinette pulled the string towards her, making the hold tighter. "How did you get up here?"

That was all that needed to be said to make her laugh, apparently.

"Get—get up here?" the woman repeated through her laughter, the noise loud and imposing. "You don't know anything, do you?"

It just made her angrier.

She was just—Marinette was so fed up with people assuming things about her. And for this woman, someone who surely should've been dead, to be right about something?

It was infuriating.

With a flick of her wrist, the string adjusted, wrapping around the woman's throat, mirroring how Marinette had been choked all those minutes ago. She didn't feel bad as she saw the woman wince, only pulling tighter, able to see how it was digging into the exposed skin of her neck.

She made it loose only to demand, "Explain."

The laughter she received was the last thing she wanted to hear.

Marinette tightened to grip again, watching as the woman started to choke, not able to breathe properly, and she kept her hold there. The woman wasn't taller than her what she was on the floor, wasn't able to look down on her, and yet the echoing of her laughter was still in her ears—

When she loosened it again, she wasn't disturbed by the blotchy quality of the woman's skin.

"You—you can't kill me," was wheezed out, not at all the smooth-sounding voice that had taunted her. Then, after a series of coughs that sounded painful, she said, "I heal faster than you can hurt, darling."

It didn't make any sense.

Again, Marinette asked, "Why?"

"Because I'm better than you." The words were emphasised with a bloody smile. "You are nothing compared to me."

It was so out of place. Marinette wasn't the one tied up at that moment, unable to use her arms.

The woman just let out another laugh. "Break my neck, I dare you."

Marinette adjusted her grip on the bandalore.

"I'll just be back in a matter of minutes," the woman cooed, not at all sounding scared of the situation she was in. "I'll hunt you down, sweetheart."

It was the petname that caused her to react. Marinette could deal with the petty words, the insults thrown at her face—but for someone to call her that?

It wasn't the fond tone that it had always been before—there was no kind and wrinkled face to go with it, no; rather, it was a face without any visible wounds, but the blood seeping into the hair and staining the skin and clothes gave a lot away about how their state had been only a few minutes ago.

She didn't know what to think.

She knew—she knew that no one else could do what she could, and for someone to attack her?

There wasn't any reason to care about them, was there?

It was that realisation that made her body relax, the stiffness leaving her body. The woman couldn't get out of her hold, couldn't do anything more than sit there awkwardly with the strong holding them still, but Marinette could do whatever she wanted.

She wasn't a powerless child.

It was a matter of pulling the weapon—for that was what the woman had called it—closer to her, tightening the hold and watching as the effects started to take place. The noises weren't pretty, nor was the way the woman trashed, and Marinette only took a step back when she stopped struggling in her hold.

She didn't feel sorry for her at all.

It was ridiculous, she knew, but she kept the woman wrapped up, just to see whether anything that she'd said would come true. After all, Marinette didn't know everything, did she?

The bandalore was proof of that.

And in a matter of seconds—as fast as it had been for her to not look over the ledge to see the body down below—air filled the woman's lungs, the sound of tell-tale gasps of breaths becoming apparent.

Marinette loosened the hold, only just enough to allow her to breath.

Her hands were shaking.

The woman was wheezing, the pained noises from before, and when she snapped her eyes open to stare at Marinette, the wide smile that spread across their lips was almost disturbing to see.

"Not bad, kid," she remarked. "But snapping my neck would've given you more time."

It was filled with fake confidence that Marinette wasn't going to believe. If the woman could've escaped, she would've done so before.

There was so much she wanted to do.

This was someone else that wasn't normal—sure, they seemed deranged, but the knowledge is what she wanted.

It was because of that that Marinette asked softly, "How?"

"How am I alive?" the woman asked for clarification, seeming to preen underneath the attention. "Is that really the question you really want to be asking right now?"

She tightened the string. "You can't leave."

"No, but I can fucking slaughter you when you try and escape." The woman winked. "You can't stay here forever, like me, can you?"

Marinette wetted her lips. "Why can you?"

The laughter she heard wasn't sincere. "Do you think I'm going to spill my secrets to you?"

What was she supposed to do?

The woman should've been dead two times by that point, but she just—she kept coming back without any visible wounds. The redness that had been on her neck from where she'd suffocated had disappeared, skin returning back to the colour it had before, and even though the change had happened in front of Marinette's very eyes, she couldn't fully comprehend it.

She'd never been taught what to do when faced with the impossible.

Marinette's voice wasn't steady as she asked, "You'll—you'll kill me?"

The cackle she got in return was loud.

It was what she'd always been told, wasn't it? That she had to stop the problem before it was able to hurt her any further?

The woman in front of her wasn't a good person—and from what she'd seen, Marinette wasn't even sure that she could've been classed as a person at all.

For all the people she'd escaped with the bandalore, this was one that could catch up.

There was no choice, was there?

Marinette reached to the side, bringing her backpack closer. With her eyes on the woman—who was still smiling widely, the blood around their mouth dried and no longer glistening—she dug through her bag until she felt the case of one of the swords.

It would be a lot different to cutting hair.

But when she took the case off, the handle of the dagger fitting perfectly in her hand, the woman just laughed more, seeming to find the sight hysterical.

"A knife?" the woman choked out through her laughter, sounding genuinely amused. "Do you really think you can harm me with that puny human weapon, sweetheart?"

There it was again.

Sweetheart.

All she'd used the dagger for before was cutting her hair. That had been simple, easy, the blade feeling light in her hands and not awkward like the wooden swords she'd been trained with, all that time ago. She was confident that she could use it—especially against someone that couldn't move—but the question was whether she really wanted to go through with it.

But as the woman thrashed, looking at Marinette with that same smile that wasn't at all nice to see, the answer was clear.

Marinette had already killed her twice with the bandalore, hadn't she?

What was the difference?

She adjusted her hold on the blade, taking a step closer.

It just made the woman laugh more.

But if it was between the two of them, Marinette would always choose herself. That's what she was taught, wasn't it? Running for help wouldn't do much in that situation—the woman had been able to get onto the roof in seconds, catching up with her.

And if she wasn't sure that she could outrun her, she didn't have much choice.

Her life was hers, wasn't it? The woman saying that she'll kill her—that was worse than her backpack being stolen, wasn't it?

No one had taught her about where to hurt someone with a blade. Aloys' lessons hadn't covered that, not really, and Kim was too reluctant to teach her about the little blade she'd seen him put in his pockets at times.

Going for the heart seemed to be the best bet.

But when she took another step closer, gripping the knife with two hands to keep it steady—the bandalore wrapped around her wrist before being put in her pocket, impossible for someone else to get—the woman threw her head back and laughed.

She snickered. "You really think that'll hurt me?"

Marinette pursed her lips.

"My body will be fixed before you can even run away, sweetheart."

It was the word that urged her on, not the crazed look in the woman's eyes.

The dagger went in smoothly, as though she was cutting butter, and the amount of force that she'd put in it meant that her knuckles touched the woman's shirt in seconds. The slide had been easy, no resistance, and Marinette didn't know enough about the human body to say whether it was correct or not.

But as the blood started to touch her hands, the woman falling limp in seconds, she stared down at what she'd accomplished with horror.

It had—it was just been so easy.

And even when she pulled her hand back, taking out the sword and causing spurts of blood to come out—a rapid amount that stained the woman's shirt, gushing down to the ground—she still didn't feel sorry for the woman.

There was blood on her hands, spurts of it had gotten onto her clothing, and the slow-forming puddle on the floor was strange to look at.

But, before she could do more than wipe the knife on the inside of her jacket, something happened.

It wasn't someone impossibly following her up onto a roof twice, but it was close.

The woman's body just—it disappeared.

Except that wasn't quite right.

In the few seconds between where a bleeding body had been in front of her and she'd looked away, all that was left was a pile of ash that was settling down on the floor. No remains of clothing, no hair, no bones—

It was utterly baffling.

That hadn't happened when she'd thrown her off the building, or even when she'd choked, but for the knife to cause that?

She stared at the blade in her hand in wonder.

It had to be the reason it was hidden away in the first place.

-x-

She got taller again.

Marinette traded out her old clothes for new ones, even buying a pair of scissors to fix her haircut in a bathroom, and she continued to live day-to-day.

The only difference to before was that she had more of a sense of purpose. It wasn't just the bandalore that she was protecting—though, there had still only been one person that had recognised it. It could be classed as a weapon, after all.

She wanted to know what type of people Aloys had been involved with.

But she couldn't really do that, not without going to his contacts and trying to get information out of them. She didn't see any reason why they would willingly give anything up to a child, not after the first visit had ended up so terribly.

She didn't need someone to let her use their shower and eat their food. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

Bags were easy to steal as a whole, wallets fun to pluck out of pockets when she pretended to bump into people, and she especially liked taking them out of pockets while adults were looking around the supermarket, not paying attention.

It was easy.

But that easiness reminded her of how the blade had slid so easily into a body.

Marinette was curious.

It was because of that that she tested the blade out on different things—from fallen branches, trunks of trees, and most nature-related things that she passed on her way—and she found that all of them required the same amount of effort: almost none.

Wasn't that strange?

The blade didn't even feel heavy to her, not even when she dared to put one in each hand. They were small enough that she could do that, but she had no idea how to actually move with them. She'd only been taught how to use a sword—

She continued to keep one at the bottom of her bag, hidden.

How was she supposed to find out any more about what she had?

Going into a library and typing the text into a search engine didn't bring up any results—not that she thought that it would—and she doubted that the information would be in any of the books inside. She'd never seen any strange books in Aloys' house that could've told her, and it had been years since that time, so, surely, someone would've cleared his house out after he was found.

So, going back there was out of the question.

And even if she hated not having the information herself, that she had to reach out to someone for help, she did eventually give in and take out the small booklet that Aloys had left her.

She'd made a cross beside the first name in her anger the first time, and the rest were all untouched.

Rather than going to the second home, Marinette checked the addresses with a local map, trying to see which was closest to her.

To her disappointment, the closest was an hour or two away in a large city. It had advantages, though; she was sure there'd be a rough-looking area that wouldn't question if she wanted to stay the night in a motel, and she wouldn't be looked at strangely for not having anyone else with her when she was alone.

It was with that that she slowly made her way there.

She wasn't in any rush. It was just setting herself up for disappointment, wasn't it?

It wasn't clear whether turning up and saying that Aloys had sent her would even matter, not when he'd been dead for years. He'd kept in contact with his friends often—if they could've even been classed that—and as she'd never actually been mentioned, it was just trying to get someone to believe her.

What if they were just as unaware as her? She wasn't going to get the weapons out of her bag and show them, not at all. The time Kim had seen it had been a mistake enough, and the woman on the roof—

That still baffled her.

She didn't use the sword again to injure someone.

It wasn't because she was scared of it—certainly not, she was just confused—but due to the only times someone had bugged her, whether it be to try and get her wallet or she saw them doing something dubious, the bandalore was more than enough. There wasn't much that they could do when they were yanked out of nowhere, crashing into nearby objects and wheezing.

It kind of made her feel like a superhero.

The first time she thought that, remembering the stuff that she'd used to watch with Adrien, she'd laughed until she had tears in her eyes.

That seemed like a lifetime ago.

When she made it into the city, she didn't go to her destination immediately. She tried to familiarise herself with the streets first, trying to get used to it and roughly know which direction she needed to go.

She also made sure she wasn't dirty when she turned up.

Her haircut was lopsided, shirt didn't match the jacket she had on on top of it, but it was hers.

The house wasn't large. It was small, no room to park a car in the front of it, and it had countless potted plants in the front, taking up most of the room. She stared at the red-coloured front door for more than needed, wondering whether she was doing the right thing.

Her backpack was digging into her shoulders.

It took her a few minutes to convince herself to knock on the door.

When the door opened, Marinette had taken a step back, about to walk away from the time that it had taken. An old man was revealed, wrinkles clear on his skin, and grey hairs the most prominent on his head and facial hair.

The polite smile he gave her didn't ease her nerves.

Marinette jumped straight to the point. "Fu Wang?"

He nodded, smile widening. "Yes, that's me. And who might you be?"

"Aloys sent me."

The old man tilted his head to the side, curious. "Aloys Guerin, you say?"

That was the thing, though—Marinette didn't know his last name. It hadn't turned up in conversation, hadn't been something that Aloys had deemed important for her to know. He'd simply said to say his name.

So, she just nodded her head.

His smile showed that he was missing teeth. "Come in, then."

As she wasn't asked to take her shoes off at the door, she trekked mud in with her. The old man—Fu, as he confirmed—walked along steadily, not turning around to see whether she was following.

It was as awkward as the first home that she'd visited.

"What can I do for you?" Fu asked after he'd gestured for her to sit down beside him in the living room. "Consider me curious that Aloys reached out to you after all this time."

She perched herself awkwardly on the edge of the sofa. "Aloys is dead."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that," Fu replied patiently, his smile not reaching his eyes. "So, that begs that question, why are you here?"

Fu was more suspicious than the other. But she didn't blame him—Aloys had been dead for years at that point, hadn't reached out to Fu at all, and for her to appear after so long, saying that she'd been sent by him? It didn't add up well.

Marinette chose to reach into her backpack, retrieving the contact book that Aloys had given her, flipping to the page that had Fu's information on it.

Fu hummed, leaning back in his seat. "It's certainly his handwriting, but it doesn't answer any of my questions."

What was she even doing?

She wasn't going to spill her life story for some stranger—she didn't even want to be there. The only reason that she'd appeared at all was because she wanted to know whether he had any information about what Aloys had been hiding.

It was a risk, but she announced, "Aloys was training me."

Because he was—just with swords and taking care of herself, not to do his job (no matter what it even was).

Fu looked at her, considering. "Was he?"

She looked him in the eyes and said, "Yes."

There was a beat of silence.

Then, to her surprise, Fu let out a laugh.

"He's always had mad ideas, that one," he mused, as though he believed her. "And with your age, I can see why he sent you here."

That was all that needed to be said, apparently. Rather than just offering her a shower and food, Fu went as far as to say that she could use his spare bedroom whenever she needed, and that she could just help herself.

She didn't trust him.

Why would anyone willingly share what they had with her? If the situations were reversed, she couldn't say whether she'd trust someone that much to share her space. And yet, Fu was friendly to her, asking all sorts of questions, even going as far as to say that she didn't need to reply if she didn't feel comfortable.

And she really didn't.

She wasn't going to just stay with some strange man. He may have been a friend of Aloys', but she wasn't the trusting kind.

The bathroom had a lock on it, along with the bedroom, but that still wasn't enough to get her to stay. Fu even went as far as to ask whether she wanted to have meals with him, all of which she expected.

It was just—it didn't make sense.

Fu wasn't asking about her age, not after that one comment. He hadn't asked anything of importance, really, and hadn't brought up the topic of the one mutual person that they had in common.

She slipped out the window the first night, her backpack surely on her back.

When she returned the following morning, Fu remarked, "You could use the front door, you know."

Why was he even opening up his home to her in the first place?

She asked him on the second day.

Fu just grinned. "Because we have the same goal, don't we?"

It wasn't the answer that she was looking for. "Why?"

"Why do you think I live here?" he replied, leaving no room for her to interject. "The same as you, I suspect."

Fu liked not giving her straight answers, then.

And even though he repeated that she could stay for as long as she wanted, even if it was just for meals, she still didn't trust him. Why would she? It was an adult that wasn't giving her actual answers, making it so she had to read between the lines and be utterly confused.

She asked quietly, "Why aren't you telling me?"

Fu smiled patiently. "If Aloys really sent you here, then you'll know."

That meant nothing.

She didn't stay a second night.

Marinette was angry when she left, feeling useless and small—something she loathed more than anything else. She'd spent so long looking after herself, making it so she could feel safe with herself, and for someone to make her feel anything else was infuriating.

It just meant that the contact list was another bust.

She didn't even try and look for a third home to visit, not even after all those years. Marinette stuffed the booklet to the bottom of her bag bitterly, knowing that she was capable of looking after herself. She didn't need some old man taking pity on her and opening up his home to her, not the blind trust that made her terrified.

It just wasn't logical.

So, she continued doing what she did best—stealing.

The city was prime for the taking, it turned out. The streets were busy, even at the beginning of the night, and there were countless places were intoxicated strangers stumbled into the street, barely noticing when their belongings were snatched.

She didn't have to sleep outside, not when there was multiple options for her to choose from.

She grew braver in her spare time, sometimes eating her food while sitting on the edge of rooftops, her legs dangling off.

A thought crossed through her mind a lot when she did that, wondering whether falling would feel any different to the bandalore. The wind would still go through her roughly-chopped hair, yes, but would it feel like something else entirely?

She didn't find out.

While she kept to herself for the most part, Marinette ended up sharing her food with a stray cat.

It made her wonder where Nice Lady was, and whether she would've chastised Marinette to give dogs a chance again.

The thought made her laugh.

There wasn't much significant about her days. She'd wandered back to Fu's place once or twice, but she'd never made it to the front door, too annoyed with the lack of answers she'd been given beforehand. The old man had no reason to help her out in the first place, so for her to expect explanations—without even revealing what was in her backpack in the first place—seemed ridiculous.

She was as territorial with her possessions as ever.

It was while she was eating dinner one evening, her legs dangling from the rooftop, that she saw that someone from down below was being followed. The only reason she even noticed what was happening was due to the clothing covering the person that was doing the following, along with them glancing over their shoulder to see whether anyone was following them, too.

She wasn't going to jump in and save anyone.

Marinette didn't feel the need to vent her anger at that moment, busy savouring the food that she'd got from a stall a few streets over, and it was just coincidence that she had a view of what was happening down below.

The person being followed was a woman with a young child—small, tiny, and holding onto their mother's hand.

In a matter of moments, the child was shoved aside with enough force that when they hit the wall, cracks appeared in the brick, and the lifeless body dropped down to the floor before the mother could even react properly.

Then, when she went to scream, the covered person took the mother's neck in their hands, cutting off the noise. The mother was tossed to the side, too, neck looking to be bent at an awkward angle.

It was over in less than a minute.

That was—that was one of the worst people that Marinette had seen. There hadn't been any hesitation in what they'd done, no chance for either of the victims to get away, and Marinette—

Marinette wondered how they'd managed to do it at all.

She put her food to the side.

Falling felt easy, familiar, something that she did daily. She kept her eyes on the covered figure that was walking to the other end of the alleyway, not turning around to look at the bodies that were left behind, and it was because of that that just a flick of her wrist had the string of the bandalore wrapping around their legs, causing them to fall over.

And to be safe, she made it so the rest of their body was restrained, too.

She was curious whether someone with such strength could break from her hold.

The person thrashed in her hold, muttering curses underneath their breath, and Marinette didn't feel any sympathy as she took one blade out of the case, approaching the fallen figure.

It went in like butter.

But—but where the woman had stopped struggling before, all it caused this person to do was let out a choked noise, a strangled screech of pain escaping them.

That wasn't right, though. Had she missed the heart?

She twisted the blade that was still embedded in their back.

"What—fuck off," was hissed, a wet-sounding cough following the words. "Are you fucking—fucking stupid?"

She adjusted the dagger upwards a bit.

But as the blood poured out, and noises escaped the person below her, it didn't do anything to stop them from struggling, trying to get away from her. They were just as energetic as before, not ceasing to breathe as they should've been, and she was utterly confused as she kneeled down beside them.

It was because of her confusion that she asked, "Why aren't you dead?"

The only response she got was a series of swears.

It didn't take any effort to take the blade out. Marinette smoothed out the person's clothing on their back, lining up the weapon with the right area, and she plunged it in again.

It was the same as before.

Then, as she inspected closer, smearing blood on her hands as she moved the clothing to take a closer look at the wounds she'd inflicted, her stomach churned uncomfortably as she realised something damning.

The first cut she'd delivered had healed.

The fresh blood was still there—on the skin, soaked into the shirt—but the actual cut wasn't there.

But the lady on the roof had vanished, ceased to exist, after a strike to the heart.

The answer didn't come from her mind or the body in front of her.

Rather, it came from behind her.

"There's another heart."

Marinette whirled around, the bloodied dagger in her hands, and on a reflex she clutched the bandalore tighter, surely causing it to dig in viciously to the fallen stranger's skin.

The fallen body snarled out, "Don't you fucking dare—"

The last person she expected to see in front of her again was Fu.

And yet, there he was, walking closer and coming to stand by her side, not at all looking disturbed by how he found her. Blood was covering her hands, no doubt on her outfit, and she had a grown adult tied up on the floor with a steady puddle of blood growing below them.

But that didn't scare him, apparently.

Fu used his aged hands to pull his trousers up before he kneeled beside the body, reaching out to tap the other side of the chest.

"Here," he said. "It should be somewhere over here, if I'm correct."

Marinette was still standing there, a droplet of blood dripping off the blade as she stared at him.

Fu's smile reached his eyes. "Why don't you find out?"

It was just—so confusing.

Shouldn't he be calling for help? Telling her that it wasn't right to hurt someone?

But that wasn't happening at all. Fu's expression was gentle, completely contrasting the situation, and he tapped his fingers on the spot that he was indicating to, coaxing her to come closer.

She kneeled down in her previous position cautiously.

The struggles and insults from the person were ignored, neither her or Fu answer to them, and she stared at the old man, trying to see whether he was joking or not. Was it a test that she didn't know about?

It didn't matter, though.

Her original goal had been to get rid of a dangerous person before they could somehow harm her in the future. If she really let someone out there continue to walk around when she had the chance to stop them, wasn't it only smart to get rid of them in the first place?

They couldn't trouble her, then.

It was a matter of protecting herself, wasn't it?

Fu didn't move his hand as she lined the blade up with his fingers, plunging it in with ease. She held it there, staring at the struggling body for a moment before she looked up to see Fu's expression.

Fu was staring at her, not the person that she'd just stabbed with his guidance.

It was her grip on the blade that made it so it didn't clatter to the floor when the body turned into ash. As before, there wasn't any blood, clothing, any kind of remains that showed a person had been there at all—and it had all happened in the time it had taken her to blink.

"I think there's much we need to discuss," Fu announced, his knees cracking as he stood up. "It would be wise for us to leave here first, however. I'd hate for you to be caught red-handed, literally."

She looked at the blood on her hands before back at him.

Of all the things she could've said, all she asked was, "Why?"

Fu cocked his head slightly to the side. "Tell me, what do you know about demons?"