05 August 2019

Prompt: Sound (Word)

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Character/Pairing: Tom Dupain, Chat Noir

Notes: S3/post-Weredad. Didn't have a lot of time today, and I swear this was going to be something silly, but my default mode is angst? Light angst. Tom is the papa Adrien deserves-angst.

Tom Dupain whistled a jaunty little tune as he shouldered open the door to the back alley, a large trash bag in each hand. Light spilled into the darkness, illuminating the dumpsters near the door, and carried with it the warm scent of rising dough. He dropped one of the bags by the dumpster and reached for the lid when a clattering sound to the side cut his whistle off short. He froze, glancing to the side, where the corner of the dumpster was still shielded by darkness.

It was probably a stray cat, or a rat. Something harmless that was attracted to the scraps in the dumpster. But this was Paris during the time of Hawkmoth, and one could never be too careful…

He dropped the trash bag next to the other one and let the dumpster lid close with a gentle thwump. He crept closer to the edge of the dumpster when a low moan cut him short. Ok, so not a stray cat…

"Hello?" he asked, blocking any light from the open door as he peeked around the corner. His eyes widened as they fell on an unconscious Chat Noir leaning against the alley wall, his arm clutching his stomach. So maybe it was a stray Chat after all, he thought as he scooped the boy up and took him inside.

– V –

The first thing Chat Noir was aware of when he regained consciousness was the smell of bread. The aroma of fresh bread, straight from the oven, surrounded him like a warm hug. His nose twitched – as well as the ear not pressed against a pillow – as the scent pulled him further from unconsciousness. His eyes opened to a somewhat familiar living room even as his ears registered an unfamiliar whistling. He sat up with a groan, rubbing his head, and the whistling stopped.

His stomach dropped to his feet (or, well, maybe his butt, since he was sitting) when Tom Dupain suddenly appeared next to the couch, his arms folded crossly over his chest. It was a pose – and expression – he was well acquainted with from the times he'd annoyed Marinette. He gulped, claws fiddling with the blanket that had fallen to his lap.

"S-sir," he mumbled, and Tom nodded.

"Chat Noir," he said, still frowning. "Mind explaining what you were doing passed out by my dumpster?"

"I…what?" Chat asked, blinking in confusion. His eyes narrowed as he chased his thoughts, trying to remember the past few hours. They were all kind of blurry, honestly. He hadn't slept much the past few days – or eaten, he was reminded as his stomach growled. Between school, his extracurriculars, and work assignments…then he'd had patrol on top of it, and… "I'm so sorry, sir."

"Eat," Tom said, and Chat blinked as a plate with three massive croissants on it was shoved under his nose. A polite refusal was on the tip of his tongue, but then his stomach growled again and Tom's eyes narrowed. Chat mumbled an apology and thanks as he grabbed a croissant and shoved it in his mouth. "Son…you need to take better care of yourself."

Chat Noir's face turned red as he looked away, still munching on the bread.

"I…I'm sorry," he mumbled. "It's…my schedule has been a little intense the past few days, and I…I can't believe I passed out. Ladybug is going to kill me."

"I should hope so," Tom said, but then he sighed as he sat on the edge of the coffee table. He reached out and laid a comforting hand on Chat's shoulder, bringing the boy's attention back to him. "The two of you…there's so much pressure on you, and you're both so young. You need to take care of yourself. Make sure you're sleeping. Eating. She needs to be able to depend on you, just as you depend on her. If you don't take care of yourself, you can't do that."

"I'm sorry," Chat said again. Tom smiled at him and handed him the plate of croissants. This time, Chat took them.

"Marinette's with her mother at a movie for another hour or so," he said, standing with a stretch. "I still have to sweep up downstairs. I…know things ended amicably between you, but I'd still appreciate it if you were gone by the time my little girl gets home."

"Yes, sir," Chat said, wincing at the memory of Marinette's confession and the disastrous brunch that followed. He started to stand, as if to leave himself, when Tom laid another hand on his shoulder and pushed him back onto the couch. At his confused look, Tom smiled kindly at him.

"After you eat," he said. "Can't have one of Paris's top superheroes passing out in the streets now, can we?"

Chat smiled weakly as Tom turned away, resuming his jaunty whistle as he walked back down to the bakery.