Chapter Text
“Marinette,” Tikki hovered over her holder, “You have to get out of bed.”
“Go away, Tikki,” she mumbled.
Marinette, Plagg, and Adrien had been holed up in her room all day. Marinette was curled under her blanket with Plagg resting on what Tikki assumed to be her head, and Adrien, in his full-size, wrapped around them.
“Plagg, a little help?” Tikki pleaded.
“Not today, Sugarcube,” he didn’t even bother to lift his head out of the small ball he was keeping himself in.
Tikki sighed. She knew today would be hard, but she thought that her holder had made significant improvements over the past several months. The other kwami also tried to help, leaving offerings of their favorite foods or toys on the bed, but each item was left unnoticed.
Today marked the one-year anniversary of the Final Battle. One year since everything came to a head. One year since Adrien died.
Plagg had lost his fair share of holders in his time, but he always grew far more attached to them than Tikki did, though he rarely showed it. Adrien was a particular favorite. The boy brought out every overprotective instinct that the kwami had. Losing him, especially so young, had destroyed him.
Marinette wasn’t faring much better. Adrien was her literal soulmate. Tikki knew that his death was hard on her, but she couldn’t lose another holder to this invisible battle.
“Marinette, please. You haven’t eaten all day. At least step out into the main foyer and get some sunlight.”
Marinette groaned from her cocoon of blankets. “Fine.”
Tikki watched her holder unfurl herself from the blankets and panther. She kept a blanket wrapped around herself as she trudged out of her room.
Tikki floated close behind as Marinette dragged herself into the living room and collapsed face-first on the couch. It didn’t take long for her, Adrien, and Plagg to take up the same positions they had in her room.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Tikki asked tentatively.
“What’s there to talk about?” Marinette mumbled from under the blankets. “I’m a failure of a holder who couldn’t even defeat one bad guy without incurring losses on my side, and I can’t even visit Adrien’s grave without risk of being seen. I’m pathetic.”
“You’re not pathetic, Marinette.”
“Yes, I am,” she curled into a tighter ball. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’m going to go back to wallowing in my own misery.”
“Why don’t we go over our favorite memories of Adrien?” Tikki suggested. “It could be nice to think of all the fun times that you guys had together.”
“Plagg and I already did that. That’s how I ended up like this.” She lifted the blanket that was covering her face to show her swollen, red-rimmed eyes.
Tikki winced. “Oof. Um,.. okay. Here’s what we’re going to do,” she elicited the help of the other kwami to unceremoniously rip off the blanket that Marinette had enveloped herself in. She was lucky that the girl didn’t have a tight grip on it.
“Hey!”
She ignored her holder’s protests as they dumped the blanket on the other side of the room. “You are going to absorb the last few rays of sunlight here, while I and the others cook you something to eat. Then you are going to go to eat, drink water, and then go to bed and get a healthy amount of sleep.”
Marinette groaned from where she had her face pressed up against the couch cushion. “Isn’t it too early to go to bed? See,” she raised her head to look out the window, “The sun is still rising.”
“It’s setting,” Tikki deadpanned. “And it’s seven. Anyway, sit up and get what little sunlight you can from the Gotham skies.” Tikki gave her one last warning look before flying off to the kitchen with the others.
Marinette repositioned herself so that she was sitting up on the couch with Adrien fully sprawled out on her lap and Plagg still on her head. She purposefully ignored the clamoring in the kitchen as she watched the last of the sun's rays disappear behind Gotham’s cityscape.
It was her fault that things ended up the way they did, but it still hurt. She had spent the day checking up on her city. Paris was thriving without her. There was a memorial service for her and Chat that she wished she could have attended. The city had accepted the Justice League back with open arms, and it looked like Wonder Woman was more than happy to join in on the celebration.
She knew today was going to be hard; she just didn’t know how hard. Today was supposed to be a day of celebration. She was supposed to be eating and drinking with her friends today, swinging through Paris as the entire city was filled with festivities, but thanks to her, Adrien was dead, she couldn’t face her old friends, and Paris had no heroes.
“Marinette,” Tikki called, bringing her out of her thoughts. “Dinner’s ready.”
She watched as the Kwami carefully carried a plate of scrambled eggs and pancakes over to her.
“Breakfast dinner?” She asked.
Tikki shrugged. “It was the only thing I was sure we wouldn’t completely destroy.”
Marinette gave her a weary smile. They were trying, and that’s what was important. She gently took the plate from Mullo and Xuppo, making sure to give each of them a scratch under the chin.
“Whoa!” She moved her plate just as Adrien shot his head up, barely dodging the cat. “What the heck, dude?”
Adrien ignored her as he flicked his ears back and forth. Marinette watched as he was clearly listening for something. After a few more seconds, he jumped off her lap and into the shadows of the couch.
Marinette stared at the shadow he disappeared into before covering herself with a new blanket to make up for the lack of warmth. She figured he would come back once his curiosity was satiated.
She brought the plate back down and began to pick at the pancakes and eggs. Her trust in the little deities' cooking skills was nonexistent, so she made sure to pick at the food slowly, filtering out any eggshells and cutting off the burnt pieces.
Adrien hopped out of the shadows, startling Marinette and causing her to drop her plate of barely edible breakfast-dinner. He seemed agitated as his tail swished back and forth. Marinette watched with slight concern as he paced before grabbing her hand gently in his mouth and tugging it toward him.
“What do you want, Adrien?”
The panther let out a low growl, letting go of her hand once he realized that she wasn’t going to stand up. He instead grabbed the edge of her blanket and yanked it off, throwing it to the ground. Seriously, what was up with them stealing her blankets?
“Adrien,” she huffed in slight annoyance. “You know I can’t understand you like this.”
Adrien let out a nearly identical huff before jumping into another shadow.
Marinette sighed as she threw her head onto the back of the couch. Her thoughts of dinner were long gone, not that there was much to eat in the first place. Staring at the ceiling, her mind began to wander back to Adrien. Not the panther, but her Adrien. The first one.
She felt tears begin to prick at her eyes for the umpteenth time that day. Unfortunately for her, she was brought out of her ruminations as a bird flew several inches away from her face.
“Wha–,” she sat back up to see that Adrien was back staring at her expectantly. “You know most cats at least take the initiative to kill the bird before they bring them to their owners, or you could, you know, not bring one at all.”
Adrien rolled his eyes. Like legit rolled his eyes at her before looking at the panicked bird. Marinette followed his gaze as the bird flew in frantic patterns by the ceiling. She winced as it tried to make an escape out of the closed window.
The bird fell to the ground with a thud.
Marinette sighed as she got off the couch to assess the damage. “This is what I was talking about,” she said. “You should know better, Adrien.”
The cat let out a low growl as he followed her to the falling bird. Thankfully, it wasn’t dead. Adrien walked past her, sniffed, and let out a huff of air before pacing and swishing his tail in aggravation.
The poor creature flapped its wings in a frantic attempt at escape, but she could tell that one of its wings was broken. Marinette gently cradled the bird, a small robin, in her hands, even as it tried and failed to escape.
She began to imbue the little bird with some of her magic to try to fix its wings. “Now why would you bring me a ro–,” Marinette felt her blood run cold. She blames her physical and mental exhaustion for taking so long to understand what Adrien was trying to relay to her. “Is there something wrong with Robin?”
Having apparently hit the mark, Adrien let out a string of purrs.
Marinette cursed as she let the now healed bird outside. “Can you tell me what’s wrong with him?” She asked.
Adrien hopped into another shadow. He reappeared a few minutes later and dropped something at her feet. She looked down at the object and her heart dropped.
“Shit,” she ran to her room and dug around for her Blue uniform. She didn’t have time to fully change, but she refused to go unarmed.
Once she had her rope dart secured around her waist, she rushed to grab the necessary miraculous. Unfortunately, she couldn't find Robin's exact location from her panther, and she refused to be seen fully transformed on the Gotham rooftops, but she could still follow Adrien with the horse, without having to transform.
She also makes sure to grab the fox that was on her dresser. She was going to need an extra layer of illusion to make up for the lack of non-identifying clothes.
With both miraculous equipped, Marinette made her way out of the room before freezing at the threshold. Making up her mind, she turned tail, running back into her room and upstairs into the study.
She goes to where the miracle box is hidden, quickly opens it up, and grabs the last needed piece.
“Are you sure about that, Marinette?” She hadn’t noticed Tikki following her. “Four miraculous at once will cause quite a strain on your body.”
“I don’t want to risk not having it,” She stared at the jewelry in her hand. “If having this means that one less person dies, then I’m willing to bear the consequences.”
She puts on the miraculous before placing the box back in its hiding place. Once she was back downstairs, she called for all of the kwami.
“I want all of you back in the box for the night,” there was a multitude of shouting as the kwami protested her decision. Marinette raised a hand to quiet them. “I don’t want to hear it. Tonight could be dangerous, and I don’t want to risk anyone seeing you, especially when I don’t know when I’m going to be back. Hopefully, I shouldn’t be gone long, but would you guys please humor me?”
The kwami muttered their begrudging agreements as they flew off to the miracle box.
“What about us?”
Marinette turned to see Trixx and Kaalki still there.
She sighed. “You know I don’t need you guys near to use your powers out of transformation.” They pouted. “We’ve tested the limits, and I don’t want to risk any more kwami than necessary out of the box right now. So please…”
The two gave her identical puppy eyes before flying off to the box.
“Tikki, are you ready?”
Tikki nodded and flew into her pocket.
Marinette took a steadying breath before making her way to the balcony. She stopped just short of the door to stare at the object that Adrien had dropped at her feet prior. A mask. Not just any mask, a clown mask.
The Joker had Robin, and by kwami, she refused to lose another soul to a crazed psychotic killer.
“Adrien, let’s go.”
~~~~~~
Damian woke up to ice water being dumped over him.
“Ah~, there you are.” The Joker gave him another one of his chilling smiles. “Can’t have you falling asleep on me before the party’s over.”
Damian didn’t even have the energy for some type of comeback. He was losing blood fast, and if the maniac kept dumping water on him, he was going to die of hypothermia before he died of blood loss.
The Joker had cut him open and sewn him shut on repeat. He pushed and prodded and sliced and burnt every part of him to try and see what made him tick. What would make him break? It was hell.
Damian could feel his will to hang on dwindling. Batman should have been here by now. He knew he snuck out, but he wasn’t planning on being gone long, and Alfred should have noticed at least an hour ago. He had made sure to keep his trackers on him so he wouldn’t be that hard to find. Why weren’t they here yet?
“Oh, I can’t wait to see what Brucie comes up with when he finds you,” Joker giggled.
Damian felt the last bit of air in him leave his lungs. The pathetic excuse of a wheeze left him coughing and choking on his own blood.
“Oops,” the Joker said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “Did you not know I knew?” Damian glared at him. “Me and Ol’ Bruce go way back! How else did you think I found you outside of those garish colors? Yes, we’ve been having this back and forth since before you were in diapers. Why, at this point, it’d be embarrassing if I didn’t know who he was. So when I was notified that one of the birds flew the coop alone, how I could I not take up this opportunity?
“Now playing with ol’ bats has always been a hobby of mine, but I always considered myself more of a playwright.” The Joker slowly paced in front of him, twirling a bloody tire iron in his hand. “I used to write the most wonderful stories! Beautiful tales full of action, adventure, and comedy. The story of a young boy rising from the ground up, becoming like the heroes he once admired from afar. A rags-to-riches story, if you would.”
Damian’s blood ran cold. There was no way.
“How is sweet little Jaylad doing?”
He felt the need to puke.
“His story was the most fun to write,” Joker had a nostalgic smile on his face. “I orchestrated it all, you know? What great story doesn’t start with the tragic death of the parents? Getting him to steal those tires? Now that was a struggle. I had to sprinkle in just enough bread crumbs for him to take the bait but not leave a trace, and sweet ol’ Brucie, always the bleeding heart, played his part perfectly.
“It was just beautiful watching him play the caring father for those years and then seeing him break. I never would have expected that Jay would come back, though. Talk about a plot twist! But what can you do?” He shrugged his shoulders as if he wasn’t destroying Damian’s very sense of reality. “Characters don’t always follow the author’s wishes.”
Damian felt like his world was collapsing around him. How long had the Joker known? Were they all just toys in his little world for him to make and destroy how he pleased? Did his father know? How much of his life, of his brothers’ lives, were a lie? He could never tell them. They could never know.
“Chin up, little birdie,” Joker lifted Damian’s head with the end of the tire iron. “I have a new way to fix the plot. You.”
Damian wasn’t sure if his sudden bout of shivers was from his onsetting hypothermia or from the Joker’s sickening laugh.
“You will be the pièce de résistance to set this story back on track!” His smile grew. “The sweet prodigal son. Raised in the wrong crowd with the wrong values. Bruce tried so hard to set you straight, but he always came off as cold and distant. You never could make him proud, could you? And just when the little bird is finally growing, opening up, making friends, Bruce tries a new approach to try to get to know his long-lost son. Everything is looking up, and then BAM! Another Robin dead. Almost like clockwork.
“I can’t wait to see how he breaks!” The Joker giggled at the mere thought of the future torment. “He’s going to tear himself apart from the inside out, pushing everyone he knows and loves away in some vain attempt to try to protect them. Of course, he doesn’t stay that way; he never does,” he says this with a hint of disdain in his voice. “I wonder how long it’ll take for him to get a new bird this time, but by the time he’s back to his old self, new bird in tow, it’ll be too late. No more bats, no more birds, they’d have all left by then, and we’ll be back to the beginning. A bat, a bird, and a butler. The perfect circle.”
Damian felt nauseous as he listened to the Joker’s monologue. He wanted to tell him to shut up. To beg him to stop, but his jaw was broken, practically shattered. He couldn’t let out more than a strangled whine. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he refused to give the maniac the satisfaction.
“And all you have to do, my sweet little robin,” the Joker continued, “is stay on this wonderful stage I prepared for you, and play your part.”
His laughter echoed through the warehouse, and Damian hoped that there was someone coming to save him. Someone who could protect him and his family from this crazed killer.
~~~~~~
Marinette stared at the supposedly abandoned warehouse, just outside of the Bowery's.
“That it?” She and Adrien stood on the roof of an old, condemned building on the other side of the street.
Adrien let out a low growl.
“Good,” Marinette nodded. “Thank you, cherie.” She gave him a light scratch on his head, eliciting some content purrs. “But I am going to ask you to go home.”
Adrien let out a whine as he circled her legs protectively.
“None of that,” she scolded. “I need you to protect the miracle box while I deal with this. I don’t want it left alone, especially with this lunatic out and about. I need you to keep anyone and everyone away from it until I come back. Please?” Adrien let out a huff before he licked her hand and disappeared into the darkness.
Marinette sighed. Now that she didn’t have anything else to worry about, she had a bird to save.
The entire city was eerily quiet that night. Almost as if all of Gotham knew that it wasn’t safe out. Normally, she would be hearing sirens, screams, and gunshots by now, but everything was still. Or at least the part of the city she was in was. Marinette jumped down from her perch and stalked toward the building, making sure to keep to the shadows.
“Ughhh”
She froze to look down into her pocket. “Tikki?”
“Marinette, I don't feel so good.” The small deity was curled up, holding onto her stomach.
“I’m sorry, Tikki,” Marinette patted the pocket. “I’ll get this over with soon, and then I can check you out once we’re back home.”
She turned the corner of the warehouse and came face-to-face with the Joker. He was closing a lock around a chain he had wrapped around a door handle. They both froze.
“Why, hello,” he clicked the lock and gave her a small wave, greeting her like he was some next-door neighbor and not a crazed sociopath. “While it is always nice to meet new people, this clown has got to bounce.”
Marinette now knew why Tikki felt so sick. She watched the Joker turn around to run, his aura unlike any other. It wasn’t a single color, but a myriad of them.
Under other circumstances, it would have looked beautiful, swirls akin to that of a rainbow, each moving and dancing between each other, but this was … wrong. The colors were off, muted and polluted, and they didn’t dance. They writhed, as if they were in pain.
She had never seen something like this before, but she innately knew what it was. They were other people’s auras. Pieces of his victims that he had stolen over the years. They’re joy, their light, their hopes, dreams, their sanity, their charm, their souls. He had taken them and turned them into something new. Something disgusting. Fuel for his twisted soul to feast on as he lay in wait for his next victim.
The Joker only managed to take a few steps away from her before she was hurling her rope dart at him, lodging it into his shoulder. A small part of her heart sang as he screamed in pain.
She held tight to the red ribbon, even as he tried to break free. In one swift, fluid motion, she yanked the knife from his shoulder, sent him flying back, and pounced. He was under her foot in seconds, clutching his shoulder as it stained the concrete red.
Now that he was closer, she also felt sick. She could see the auras of hundreds, if not thousands, of people. Underneath it all was the Joker’s own aura. It was a familiar mix of black, brown, green, and purple, just like the Gotham cityscape she had spent the last several months looking over, almost as if he were the source of it all.
The Joker laughed as she had him pinned to the ground. She felt goose bumps as his sick laugh echoed into the silent night.
“I had heard there was a new character in town,” he smiled up at her. “I just didn’t think we’d get to meet so soon.”
His stolen souls convulsed as she pressed her foot harder on his chest, and then she heard it. Screams, cries, and wails of women, men, and children alike. They begged for mercy, cried for their parents, screamed in agony, and vowed revenge. She faltered for a second, giving the Joker just enough time to squirm free of her grasp and make a run for it.
They were loud, overwhelming, and painful. Again, her intuition filled in the blank. The sounds were the last thoughts and words of all those he had killed.
Marinette felt rage bubble up inside her chest. She threw her weapon at his retreating figure, watching as it wrapped around his throat. She pulled, sending his body careening back at her feet. She pinned him under her foot again.
“You’re a monster!”
He held a hand to his throat as he coughed, but still managed to crack one of his signature smiles.
“How many people have you killed?” The screams got louder. “How many have died in cold blood, to satiate your sick desires?”
Despite his hoarse voice, his laughter rang out. Sick, maniacal, evil. The wails begged for release, for freedom, for revenge, for justice.
Marinette took a deep breath, steadying her heart. “Joker, I have seen your transgressions, your soul. You have no remorse for your actions, and no thoughts of repentance.” The wails grew quiet, turning into whispers; they told her everything, and she listened. “The fates have not been kind to you, and for that I am sorry.”
The Joker looked bored. He was no longer smiling, but merely looking up at her in apathy, as if he’d heard this all before.
“You lived a hard life; however, bad days are not what define you. I have had many, and I know that one bad day does not turn you into a villain. It merely reveals what was already in your heart.”
The whispers grow louder, telling her more. She hears it all. His thoughts, his fears, his past. She stills, waiting for what is sure to come. A name. His name. Who he was before all of this. Before Arkham, before the Red Hood, before ACE. The man behind the smile.
She whispers the name back. The name of a man long gone. Hidden under jokes, smiles, and laughter.
He no longer looks bored. She feels his heart stutter beneath her foot. She sees his own aura quake beneath her gaze.
“You have been given enough chances. You have ruined enough lives,” he struggled under her grasp. “It is time for your judgment.”
She watched impassively. He stared up at her in fear. An emotion he no doubt hadn’t felt in decades.
She started slow, pouring pure creation magic into his being. The second her magic touched his body, the voices grew louder again. They shouted in joy, in hope, in anger.
He writhed under her foot, but she just pressed it down harder, pouring more in. She knew he couldn’t feel it yet, but she could tell that he was aware that something was wrong.
She could feel every cell in his body working overtime as she continued to pour in more and more creation. His hair and nails began to grow, and his body broke down every last fiber of food to try to make up for the loss in energy.
She felt it when his organs began to shut down, having served their purpose with nothing more to digest. The voices cheered for his downfall, but she blocked them out. This wasn’t revenge, though she knew the voices thought it was. She wasn’t here to enact vengeance on behalf of those he had wronged. She was a judge. Sent by the universe to bring balance back and restore all that was once lost.
She watched as his skin began to slough off, new, clean, fresh skin underneath. He screamed, begged to be released, but she did not let up. He scratched at her legs, his nails breaking and leaving bloody marks.
The next thing to go was his muscles. They atrophied as his brain tried to break down whatever resources it could to stay functional. His new skin sagged with nothing to hold on to. The voices grew quieter.
His breathing quickened as his heart raced. His left lung had given out. His heart worked overtime to try and supply his remaining organs with oxygenated blood. His skin dried as all remaining moisture was pushed into his veins to try to keep his blood moving.
He looked at her helplessly, his eyes and cheeks sunken. He didn’t have enough air to scream or beg. All he could do was stare at her. His executioner. His reaper.
She felt him take his last breath, but he didn’t die immediately. The magic she had been supplying forced his organs to continue their work.
His heart tripled its rate, supplying his brain with as much energy and oxygen as it could scavenge from his failed organs.
She looked him in the eye. The voices were practically nonexistent.
She said his true name once more. “You have served your time here on earth. The universe has chosen me as your judge. When you are gone, you will not be missed. There will be no mention of your name, no celebration of your death. Your disappearance will be taken as fact. No one will look for you or seek you out. The scars you have left on this planet and its inhabitants will heal. You will be forgotten. Your memory left in oblivion. Your name erased from all history and records. The place that has been left in your death will be filled. You have wasted your life for nothing. You have caused nothing but pain and suffering to everyone you have ever met. The only impact you will make in your death is on the souls you have stolen. They will be free from your grasp and your torment, and finally seek rest. You have been judged and tried by the Ladybug, the Balancer. So it has been said and so it shall be. Goodbye.”
A single tear fell down his face. His heart had stopped.
She stared at his body coldly. She had never killed before, but she felt no remorse. She looked down in disgust, the smell of blood and excrement penetrating the air.
She doesn’t know how long she stared down at the unmoving body below her, but when she finally came to, she realized that the voices were gone. The souls and spirits of his victims having finally gone to rest. All except one.
It was small, a bright red, almost pink. The soul of a young child, no doubt taken from this world too early. She could tell that he had a painful death. He was beaten and tortured as he cried for his father. A cry that never reached its intended recipient.
This soul was no longer tainted by the maniac’s darkness. It was bright and happy and pure, no doubt a reflection of who the child was before he died.
She watched as the small soul flew circles around her. She could hear his bells of laughter, filled with joy and hints of mischief. His laughter was infectious, and soon she was smiling and letting out little huffs of laughter with him.
After a few seconds of flurrying about, he stopped in front of her, and then she could see him. A small child in familiar colors. His smile was blinding.>
He looked down at the body and chuckled. “You saved me again. Thank you.” He was still smiling, but it was different. It was no longer filled with joy, but more melancholic.
Again?
She wanted to ask him what he meant, but he cut her off.
“Promise me you’ll save him.”
“What?”
He turned to look at the chained warehouse door. “Don’t let him turn out like me.”
Marinette followed his gaze and nodded her head. “I promise.”
He turned back to face her. His smile was back, it was cheerful and refreshing. “Thanks again. I hope you live a happy long life.”
She watched as he waved goodbye, slowly disappearing into the Gotham night.
As if on cue, Marinette felt her pocket stir.
Hey, Tiks,” She looked down at her kwami, “How are you feeling?"
“Mmm, better,” Tikki stuck her head out to look at the body on the ground. “I’m sorry.”
Marinette shook her head. “Don’t be. I know I’m not. He deserved every second of it.” She turned toward the door. “Now let’s go get that little bird out there.”
She headed over to the warehouse and inspected the door. She could technically break the lock and undo the chain, but she didn’t want to waste any more time.
Marinette took a half step back and kicked the door down. The door flew off its hinges and landed several feet away, echoing in the mostly empty warehouse.
Her eyes adjusted slowly to the barely lit room. In the center was a lone figure chained down to a chair.
“Robin!” Marinette rushed over.
He was in bad shape. His face was swollen in a gross myriad of blue, purple, and yellow. Blood trickled down his forehead around his mask and mouth. His hands were chained behind his back, but she could tell that both arms were broken. His torso wasn’t faring much better. His shirt was in tatters, exposing the gashes, bruises, and burns along his ribs and stomach.
Robin looked up at her, his mask barely hanging on. “B-” he tried to speak, but broke out into a wet, sickening cough.
“Shh,” Marinette soothed. “Yes, it’s me, Blue. Try not to speak. I’m going to treat the worst of it and then try to get you out of those chains. This is going to hurt, but try to bear with it.”
She pushed her hands on his ribs, pressing the bones back into their relative positions. She apologized as he grunted in pain. Normally, when she healed, she went slow and steady, careful not to push the body's limits. She had no such luxuries this time.
Marinette didn’t know how much blood Robin had already lost, but judging from the stained floor and the table of tools she refused to look too closely at, he was barely holding on. If she had come even a few minutes late, she wasn’t sure if he would have made it.
Robin gasped as she poured her magic into him. Last time, she was like a surgeon, slowly sewing his broken pieces back together. Now, she was a welder. Her hands weren’t warm like before but burning hot as she forced the bones to fuse back together. Twelve of his ribs were broken, several of them puncturing major organs.
“O-,” Robin gasped as his ribs clicked back into place. Marinette refused to let up, though.
The gashes and burns on his chest healed subsequently as she tried to fix up his torn organs.
She moved a little to the side as he began coughing up all the blood that had flooded his lungs. She winced in sympathy as he tried to gasp for air. She used her magic to try and help him push out the last remaining blood in his respiratory system.
Damian groaned as he was finally able to breathe again. “M…”
“I got you, Robin,” she assured him. She could feel her magic dwindling. She had spent too much teleporting herself here and killing the Joker. She could feel her nose begin to bleed at the strain she was putting on her body.
She moved onto his left side next. His arm was broken and dislocated, his clavicle fractured, and his leg was shattered in various areas. She put a hand on either limb and continued to imbue her magic into him.
Robin shouted in pain as his arm popped back into its socket and healed his broken clavicle. He looked at her and weakly shook his head and jutted his chin at her.
“I’m fine,” she assured him, though her head was throbbing and the light nose bleed had turned into a full-on stream.
“B…” he tried to speak again, but his voice was hoarse from coughing up all that blood.
Marinette took pity on him and moved to his face next. His jaw was dislocated, and several parts had been broken, if not shattered.
Robin groaned in pain as she set his jaw and mended each of the broken bones back in their respective places.
“There,” she removed her hands from his face. “Is that a little better?”
Robin shook his head again and jutted his chin again. “B-bomb,” he barely managed to croak out.
Marinette realized that he wasn't pointing at her, but behind her. She turned in time to see a digital timer with one second left.
Oh.