Chapter Text
For the fourth time that week, Marinette feels wrong.
Not the kind of wrong where there’s danger ahead, and one needs to flee, the kind where you readjust your position because your existence is disturbed by an itch you can’t seem to reach.
The 18-year-old has felt this way for over two years now, and Marinette can’t seem to find the source of the issue for the life of her. In all their iterations , Hawkmoth was defeated last year, and feeling an intense wave of paranoia, she and Adrien agreed to keep their Miraculous in case it was needed again.
Despite this, Marinette can’t find any source or indication for what is going wrong, which is where the young guardian finds herself now, in an intense stand-off between Tikki and Plagg, the rest of the Kwami floating in various spots within her room, watching in anticipation.
After what felt like hours, the Primordial Kwami sighed in resignation; if they had shoulders, it’d be down in defeat.
“You were never supposed to be Ladybug , Marinette… you were supposed to wield destruction .” Tikki begins, looking at Marinette but quickly averting her shocked gaze.
Despite the revelation, Plagg continues quietly where she left off. “Sugarcube is right. Your soul calls for freedom, Minou… not order. Master Fu ordered us not to complain when we realized we didn’t have the right holders.”
Marinette looked at the two before hesitantly asking, “How long did you know about this? Is that why I’ve been feeling disgruntled for so long?”
“Why don’t you sit down, Marinette? It’ll take some time to fully answer what you’re asking.” After relocating to the young woman’s bed, Tikki and Plagg begin to tell their tale.
“It was a few months before we lost Master Fu, around when your Lucky Charms were getting a bit wonky. We confronted him while you and Chat Noir were asleep. Master Fu told us that it wasn’t just that you were supposed to be the Black Cat–Chat Noir isn’t compatible with any Miraculous, and that further threw off the balance between you two.” Tikki says, looking at Marinette with a distressed look. She hurries to Marinette’s cheek, and places her hands on them in an attempt for comfort. Marinette cups Tikki and looks at Plagg for confirmation.
“In case you’re wondering–Adrien, he doesn’t know any of this. Because you’re the Guardian and a true holder, it’s best that you’re aware. If you really want to fix this, especially before it gets worse, Marinette, you must go where your Ladybug is.”
~~~~~
Later that night, Marinette lay starfished on her bed, staring at her ceiling, her fingers heavily gripping her sheets as she tried to process the weight of Tikki and Plagg’s revelation. The room felt smaller as if the walls were closing in, suffocating her with the truth she never saw coming. She had spent years believing she was chosen, that the Ladybug Miraculous had been meant for her. Every sleepless night, every sacrifice, every moment she had given to Paris—it had all been based on a lie .
“You were never supposed to be Ladybug, Marinette… you were supposed to wield destruction.”
Tikki’s voice echoed in her mind, playing on repeat like a broken record. The words shouldn’t have made sense, but deep in her core, they resonated.
The unease she had felt for years, the exhaustion, the dwindling success of her Lucky Charms, and her literal unbalance had all been symptoms of something much larger, and she never knew about it . She was a puzzle piece forced into the wrong place, edges shaved down to fit, but never truly belonging.
Plagg hovered closer, his usual mischief replaced with quiet understanding. “Your soul calls for freedom, Minou… not order.”
The weight of it all settled in her chest, squeezing around her ribs. How could she not have known? How had she unknowingly spent years denying something so fundamental? Marinette had always felt a deep connection to Chat Noir’s carefree spirit, his recklessness, his ability to exist outside of rigid structure.
Now she knew why, and while training her to be a Guardian, her former mentor ensured that she wouldn’t find out about her true compatibility.
“Master Fu knew ,” she whispered, her voice hollow, tears brimming on the edge of her eyes. “He knew I wasn’t meant to be Ladybug, and he still gave it to me.”
Tikki flinched at the hurt in her voice and flew close to her face. “Master Fu… he believed in your ability to handle the responsibility. And you did , Marinette. You’re incredible with the Ladybug Miraculous. But the strain—it’s breaking you.”
Marinette swallowed, her throat dry. She thought back to every battle, every moment of weakness, every time she felt like she was forcing something unnatural. And then there was Adrien—Chat Noir.
Her partner. A mistake.
Her head snapped up after remembering their words. “Adrien… he’s not compatible with any Miraculous?”
Plagg sighed, his tail flicking behind him. “No, he never was. Master Fu gave him the Black Cat, sensing the need for freedom in his personal life. His soul, however, doesn’t align with any of us. He’s been pulling power he can’t handle, and it’s why his Cataclysm has been so unstable. Why his behavior has been more aggressive during patrols. You’ve been bearing the weight of that imbalance, Marinette.”
She felt sick. Her hands clenched into fists. “And he doesn’t know?”
Tikki shook her head. “He shouldn’t know. It would crush him. He loves being Chat Noir, but the truth is… if you two continue this way, it will destroy both of you.”
Marinette exhaled sharply, dragging her fingers through her hair. “Then I need to leave.”
The words surprised her even as they left her lips, but she knew they were true. She couldn’t stay in Paris.
Not when Lila continued her tirade against her, sinking her manipulation deeper into her former friends.
Not when the Miraculous were hurting her, suffocating her, destroying her.
If she stayed, she’d keep trying to force herself into a role that was never meant to be hers. And she couldn’t keep fixing Adrien’s mistakes—couldn’t keep pretending this partnership was balanced when it never had been.
“Where do I go?” She asked, her voice hollow and exhausted, eyebrows furrowed together from the weight of things she had just told.
Plagg grinned, but it wasn’t his usual smug expression. It was something softer, something understanding. “I hope you have your passport, minou. You’ve got to go to Gotham in the United States.”
Gotham. The name sent a shiver down her spine. A city known for its darkness, chaos, and toxicity. But maybe that was exactly what she needed. A place where she could shed the expectations that had suffocated her for years. A place where destruction wasn’t feared but embraced .
A place where she could finally— finally —be herself.
She nodded at the information, determination settling in her bones. If her Ladybug was waiting for her in Gotham, then that was where she needed to be.
As she began researching the transfer process, Marinette felt like she could breathe for the first time in years.
Telling her parents was harder than she expected.
Sitting across from them in their small living area, she watched their faces shift from surprise to concern as she explained her decision. She couldn't tell them the real reason—not about the Miraculous or the cosmic imbalance that had thrown her life into chaos. Instead, she told them half-truths. Things were a bit difficult at school. That she needed a change. That Paris had too many memories. She had an opportunity in Gotham, in its top high school, and the university there presented her with a wonderful opportunity
"Gotham?" her mother repeated, exchanging a worried glance with her father. "Sweetheart, that city is dangerous . Are you sure this is what you want?"
Marinette nodded, gripping the edge of the table. "It’s no more dangerous than what we endured during Hawkmoth. I have to, Maman. I feel this calling to go there, and Mme. Mendeleiev said she would work with me on the application."
Her father frowned, but after a long moment, he reached across the table and took her hands in his. "If this is what you need, we'll support you. Just… be careful, okay?"
Marinette smiled weakly. "I will."
~~~~~
The next few weeks passed in a blur of packing, goodbyes, letters, and a growing weight in her chest. Saying goodbye to Chloé, Kagami, and Luka was particularly painful—her best friends could tell there was something Marinette wasn’t saying but didn’t press.
The flight to Gotham was long, giving her too much time alone with her thoughts. Plagg and Tikki stayed hidden, though she could feel their presence. With each passing hour, the reality of her decision settled deeper into her bones.
By the time she stepped off the plane, Gotham’s air was thick with rain and the distant hum of sirens. Everything felt different here—colder, sharper, more alive. Marinette pulled her hood over her head, taking a deep breath as she stared out at the city skyline.
This was it. A new beginning.
She had left Paris behind.
Now, she had to figure out what came next.
Damian stood at the edge of a rooftop, the Gotham skyline stretching endlessly before him. The city lights flickered like distant stars, a false promise of warmth in the cold night air. He felt the weight of his mask pressing against his face, suffocating, as if the persona of Robin was another cage he had been forced into.
For nearly a decade, he worked tirelessly to mold himself into what his father expected—a son who embodied both discipline and justice. But no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough. His siblings ridiculed him for his Transatlantic accent , rigid demeanor , sharp tongue, inability to grasp their humor, and preference for solitude .
They thought their teasing was harmless, some initiation into the family, but to him, despite the near decade, it was an echo of the cruelty he had endured under the League. A reminder that, even here, he did not belong with them.
Father expected perfection. Perhaps he did not say it outright, but his every correction, every lesson, every lecture screamed it. Damian had given his all to be the Robin his father wanted, to erase the boy who had once been nothing more than an assassin. But standing here now, looking down at the city he had sworn to protect, a bitter truth settled in his chest. He didn’t want to be a weapon anymore.
The realization came quietly but with the force of a blade to the heart: he was done . Done fighting for approval, he would never truly receive. Done being nothing more than a tool in someone else's never-ending war. He wanted more . He wanted to create, not destroy. To heal, not harm.
But what did that mean for him?
Who was Damian Wayne without Robin?
Without the mission? The very thought unsettled him. His entire existence had been dictated by purpose, by orders, by duty. If he was not a soldier, then what was he? The League had taught him that his worth was tied to his skill, his lethality, and his ability to carry out a command without hesitation. And his father—though he never intended to—reinforced the idea that perfection was the only way to be accepted.
He exhaled sharply, gripping the edges of his gauntlets. The past clawed at him, whispering doubts in his mind. Would this family ever see him as anything other than a killer?
Would he ever see himself as anything else? His hands, once trained to take lives, now yearned to save them. Could he truly change? Could he ever be enough?
His mind drifted to the rare moments of peace he had stolen for himself—nights spent in the library, buried in novels, art textbooks, and medical journals, fascinated by the human body’s complexities, the way one can depict their surroundings, how one can describe a solution, a problem, and a fantasy. The way a surgeon's hands could mend what was broken, the way a doctor’s knowledge could mean the difference between life and death, not through violence, but through care and split-second decisions. The idea had always lingered in the back of his mind, a quiet rebellion against the path laid out for him. And now, he longed to embrace it.
He exhaled slowly. Robin had been his identity, but it was not his future.
A single thought crystallized in his mind, one that had been forming for months, perhaps years . He would leave. Not Gotham—this city was his home—but the life of a vigilante. He would dedicate himself to something that could never be twisted into a weapon.
He turned away from the skyline, already feeling lighter as he whispered to the empty night, no witnesses but the wind blowing quietly around him, "I refuse to be nothing more than a blade in someone else’s hand."
~~~~~
Gotham’s skyline stretched out before him, a jagged maze of steel and shadows.
A few nights later, in the latest version of the Robin suit, sans his mask, Damian stood on the rooftop of Wayne Tower, the city sprawling beneath his feet, but tonight, he didn’t feel like its protector. He didn’t feel like Robin. He didn’t feel like anything at all.
The wind howled around him, but its chill was nothing compared to the coldness settling in his chest. The weight pressing down on his shoulders was suffocating, growing heavier with every night spent as his father’s shadow. He had spent years proving himself, but no matter what he did, they still saw him as the arrogant, bloodthirsty child of the League.
And he was done.
A sharp voice broke through his thoughts. “Tch. What’s with the brooding Demon Spawn?”
Jason Todd.
Damian clenched his fists. “Todd,” he said flatly, barely turning his head, keeping his eyes on the skyline ahead of him.
Jason sauntered onto the rooftop, one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket, the other holding his helmet, eyes gleaming with mischief. “What, no witty insult? No death threats? You’re off your game, kid.”
“I am not ‘off my game,’” Damian snapped, glaring at him. “I am simply—” He exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. “I am thinking.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? About what?”
Before Damian could answer, footsteps echoed from the stairwell, and soon, Richard and Timothy emerged onto the rooftop in their vigilante suits. Great. Just what he needed—more interruptions.
Richard gave him a friendly smile, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. “Hey, little D. What’s going on?”
Damian’s fingers twitched. “Nothing that concerns you.”
Timothy crossed his arms. “That’s funny, because whenever you get like this, it usually ends with a destroyed training room or someone getting stabbed.”
Jason smirked, attention tilted towards the younger man. “Or both.”
Damian’s glare darkened. “Perhaps if you all spent less time attempting to irritate me and more time actually listening , you would understand that I have no interest in your games tonight.”
Richard sighed. “Look, Damian, if something’s wrong—”
“Everything is wrong!” Damian exploded. His voice echoed across the rooftop, cutting through the cold night air. The others went still. “For years, I have fought for a place in this family. I have played the role you expected, followed the mission, and sacrificed my identity to fit into the mold Father and the rest of you created. And yet, I remain nothing more than the violent, misguided child of the League in your eyes.”
His brothers exchanged wary glances, but another voice cut through the night before they could respond.
“Robin.”
Bruce .
Damian turned to see his father stepping forward, his presence as commanding as ever. The others fell silent, watching as the Batman approached his son.
Bruce’s voice was calm but firm. “You are not a child of the League anymore. You are Robin.”
Damian’s eyes burned. He shook his head. “No. No, I am not.”
Bruce frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I refuse to be nothing more than a blade in someone else’s hand,” Damian said, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “All my life, I have been a weapon. First for my mother and grandfather, then for you. I do not want to be a weapon, Father. I do not want to live in the shadow of death that seems to follow this family.”
His father’s expression flickered underneath his mask, something unreadable flashing across his features. “Damian, I have never seen you as just a weapon.”
“Then what am I?” Damian challenged. “What have I ever been to you except a soldier in your endless war?”
Bruce took a slow breath. “You are my son.”
The words should have meant something . They should have made this easier. But Damian only felt a hollow ache in his chest.
“Then let me be your son, not your soldier,” he said, walking closer to his father. With his age, his latest growth spurt, and his mother’s lithe build, the 18-year-old was just an inch under his Father's 6’2 height.
Standing eye to eye with the man, Damian solemnly said, “I do not wish to fight anymore.”
Silence hung between them, thick and suffocating.
Jason let out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t see that one coming.”
Timothy still looked skeptical. “So, what? You’re just gonna quit?”
“I am choosing a different path,” Damian corrected. He squared his shoulders. “I have enrolled in a few early college classes through Gotham University. I intend to study pediatrics.”
The stunned silence that followed was almost amusing.
Richard was the first to speak. “Wait, you want to be a doctor?”
“Not just a doctor,” Damian said. “A pediatrician . I have spent much of my life taking lives—I wish to save them instead.”
Jason snorted. “So, what, you’re gonna trade your cape for a lab coat?”
“Yes.” Obviously, were you not listening?
Tim shook his head. “Damian, you’re only eighteen. You don’t have to make this decision right now.”
“I have made my decision,” Damian said firmly. “And I do not require your approval. I am simply informing you so you won’t be surprised when my acceptance letters arrive.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened. “This is a drastic change.”
“It is my change to make,” Damian said. “And I will make it—with or without your support.”
For a long moment, no one spoke. Then, finally, Bruce exhaled. “If this is truly what you want…”
“It is.”
His father nodded once. “Then I will not stop you.”
Damian had expected resistance. He had braced himself for more of a fight. But this… this was something else entirely. Something strange and unfamiliar.
Richard clapped a hand on his shoulder, smiling softly. “I think you’ll make a great doctor, Dami.”
Jason smirked. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get all soft on us, Demon Brat.”
Timothy sighed. “I still think you’re being dramatic, but… good luck, I guess.”
Damian looked at them, and for the first time in his life, he felt something close to peace. Hopefully, it will last.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Then, without another word, he turned away from the city, walking back towards the staircase to head to Wayne Manor.