Paris Monsieur in Gotham) [DISCONTINUED]

(Chapter 28)

Tikki’s met many people, it was only natural when she was practically immortal.

She’s the kwami of Fortune and Creation. Like the former implied, she’s had the fortune of gaining numerous wielders, all of whom she came to see as her kin. They all had their ups and downs, their individual flaws and low moments but at the end of the day, no matter what new era she awoke to, no matter how many decades or centuries pass, she still loves them all the same.

Marcel was no exception.

And by the gods, she was worried for him.

She glanced over at wielder, watching as he tossed and turned in his sleep, muttering under his breath as he fisted his blankets. She saw a thin sheen of sweat coating him but upon touching his forehead, she was glad that at the very least he didn’t seem to be burning up from a fever.

“Tikki?” Kaalki’s sleepy voice reached her.

“I think he’s having a bad dream.” Tikki whispered.

“Again?” Kaalki asked, getting up from her perch, her eyes genuinely concerned now.

This wouldn’t be the first time Marcel got nightmares. If anything, they were considered common nowadays.

Tikki hated that something so heart-wrenching had become constant to the point it was considered as part of Marcel’s ‘normalcy’.

Marcel curled up into a ball, his knuckles whitening as his mutters turned into growls and grunts, his body trembling as though under strenuous effort. His hand scrambled, blindly searching for something just out of his grasp.

“No…..no……” he muttered, turning to the side.

“Marcel.” Tikki said, voice soft as she tried to wake him up. “Marcel, wake up. It’s not real, you’re dreaming.”

Whether he heard her or not, she didn’t know but, in that moment, his eyes shot wide open and with a gasp, he sat up straight.

“Marcel!?” Tikki and Kaalki called out worriedly.

Marcel panted, his shirt sticking to his body from sweat, his heart thudding in his throat and his throat constricted from air.

He shakily brought his hands up, clenching and unclenching them. His eyes slowly scanned the room and he saw only darkness and the two silhouettes of his kwamis.

“Marcel, breathe. It wasn’t real, you’re here with us, you’re safe.” Tikki soothed, running a small paw through his raven locks.

Marcel placed his face in his hands, trying to slow his rapid beating heart.

Deep breaths…..it was just a dream……………..

Or was it more?

Furry bodies, small yet fast, squeaking as they carried him away like a wave- mice, they were mice.

There were also statues…….no, mannequins. All of them etched with the same gut curdling malicious grin, blood red lips and yellowish teeth. Just thinking of that sickening grin made his goosebumps prickle.

But he’d been pushing against the horde. Pushing against the flow, reaching out, fingers blindly grasping for something-

The Mouse Miraculous.

He stared at his empty hands, mind racing.

Why had he so desperately searched for it? Was it crucial to put an end to the chaos he had been in?

The grin came back to mind. This time, the image was accompanied by maniacal laughter, mingling with the frenzied squeaks of mice.

He stumbled out of bed, grabbing his messenger bag and hoodie along the way, not even bothering to change out of his pyjamas.