Chapter Text
Plagg knew the scent of death and decay, fermentation and rot. They were old friends to him, responsible for tidying up things in this world that needed to be brushed under the metaphorical rug so Tikki could dip her nubs into the well of creation and pluck up some new innovation.
The smell as he and Adrien descended into the bowels of the Agreste mansion was worse, fetid but not mouldering; bitter but not pungent as it wafted into his nose and choked out his breath in a way that was far beyond the physical need for air.
Adrien didn't seem to notice.
Mostly because he didn't seem to be breathing at all.
Mould, rot, the proliferation of spiny fungal tendrils through a carcass as it collapsed in on itself, were all beautiful in their visceral finality, as natural as the sunshine and scent of orchids and blossoms carried on a summer breeze.
But this place. This place didn’t smell of life or death, growth or rot.
From his place, poking out of Adrien's front pocket, Plagg hissed his displeasure, little ears swivelling and flicking to pick up any sound of danger; Gabriel had disappeared while they were descending the hidden elevator.
Wherever he was, he was reeking and festering.
Dangerous.
Stupid, and a lot like a cat, to get fixated on the little oasis, that felt like anything but, in the center of the room.
The metal gangway that his wielder now traversed led up to a glass enclosure, illuminated by a flood of artificial lights that bathed the place in unnatural radiance, snapping with the hum of electricity and the whir of a distant generator system.
A little choked sputter burst from Adrien's mouth as the hazy figure inside what appeared to be a coffin of glass came into focus, her features a slightly wrinkled mirror of the boy himself.
Now, Plagg could place that odor.
It wasn't death or decay, life or creation.
It was abomination. Aberration. Violation.
Plagg breathed it in, feeling his skin prickle with fire ants, gnawing.
Unnatural.
Just like the horde of white butterflies.
There was only one explanation.
Screw staying hidden.
With a faint humph and pat to Adrien's chest, Plagg remained poised to phase through his wielder's body should he be called upon for a transformation or quick action. At the best of times, he trusted Gabriel about as much as he did lactose free cheese. The Kid was in danger, even if he didn't realize it because he thought - had convinced himself - that his home was safe.
Under other circumstances, the Kid might have chastised him for grumbling and growling, but he was far too closely fixated on the woman, locked up in her tube of glass and... suspended decay. It was like a- a rape, as far as Plagg could understand the concept; a body kept from dying, hung on display.
Even as the pieces began to slide into place in his mind, transformation seemed like a relatively good idea, and that supposition was proven correct when, just at the opportune moment, Adrien collapsing nearly to his knees before his mother’s not-corpse, the rat-bastard showed up.
And, yeah, he was a rat-bastard, already, only reaffirmed when Gabriel spoke, looming over his son, and Plagg's hackles raised at the sound and aura of manic violence that seeped out of the rat-bastard's every pore.
“A hundred times, I’ve tried to get hold of Ladybug and Chat Noir's Miraculous to bring her back,” Shadowmoth gloated, bearing down on his son and crushing him back against the prison that housed whatever that thing was. Plagg could feel the sweat and heat pouring off the Kid's body; heart palpitations battered his little body, even though it was impossible for him to experience real, physical pain.
It didn't feel like it right now.
He was going to murder this inhuman piece of shit, though that was an insult to shit considering that certain forms could be used as fertilizer.
The only thing holding him back as he tugged at Adrien's shirt in a plea for him to focus, transform, and flee, was the thready knowledge that watching his father die right in front of him would probably just make the abuse worse.
“Who would have thought that the solution was right under my roof?” With that somewhat sardonic exclamation, he extended his cane, a squeeze of his palm setting loose a burst of force that washed over the room and pummelled Palgg's guts.
Corruption.
Unnatural.
A butterfly undulating with soiled power and distorted emotions, hateful and loathsome, fluttered unerringly towards the cell phone that his Kid had been using only a few hours earlier to chat up Pigtails.
Akumatization.
If anyone could resist it (especially since that bitchy, abusive hat kid who'd mocked Adrien to his face, and the Ladyblogger had) his Kid should be able to do it, but Plagg wasn't going to take that chance.
The moment that the little butterfly struck, delving into the black casing of Adrien's cell-phone, so did Plagg.
“Ephemeral, I am your father, Shadowmoth-”
“ Cataclysm!”
With only a second to reel backwards as Plagg leapt forth from his wielder's pocket and the crackling, bubbling black aura of an unrestrained cataclysm poured out of the kwami's body, Shadowmoth could only choke bitterly, mouth folding into a grimace of disgust, before-
A flash, and a half-scream before the fabric of his costume, right between Plagg's little nubby hand and the spot on Gabriel's chest where his heart might have been, began to blacken. Wisps of smoke and specks of ash bloomed and swirled around Plagg's body as the rolling wave of destruction sent cascades of toxic energy lancing in all directions, all to the new guttural exclamation of horror from behind him as a thump sounded out.
No time to worry about the kid, though, as Plagg poured forth years of hate, an eternity of pent up malice for every kitten whom fate had plucked from his paws, into the contorting and shriving figure that now only possessed the vaguest suggestion of a human form, mostly due to the metal plating, slack and loose around what once had been a head, bent and rusted and caved in under the strain of corrosion.
And then there was ash, and the shrieking stopped.
All that was left was Plagg, fur bristling with the lingering static cling of his Cataclysm, and Adrien on his knees.
Tentatively, the kwami turned in mid-air to gaze down at the boy who had dropped to the ground; the hunk of plastic and metal that had once rested in his hand was right now spurting out the little butterfly that took to the air and fluttered about aimlessly, a dull and brainless puppet.
Adrien's eyes were glassy and dull, his mouth drooping like he was in a stupor. Out of some vague instinct, Plagg butted up to his neck, little arms pawing and clutching.
“It's okay, kid,” he muttered, though it was a struggle to keep the lingering bile out of his voice. “You're going to be okay.”
No response came; not even breath.
That wasn't unexpected, really. His soft-hearted kitten should never have had to see that, but the alternative was unthinkable. All they could do now was find Pigtails, who could restore the rat-bastard, Nooroo, and Duusu alike. You didn't just get over watching someone die, let alone a parent, however much of a piece of shit he was, but he wasn't fully gone.
They could fix this.
Grasping hold of Adrien's chin while letting loose the best comforting purr that he could muster, Plagg forced the now trembling child to focus, look him in the eye.
“Kid, you've got to find Ladybug,” Plagg insisted.
As if for the first time, like a baby fresh from the womb, Adrien blinked. Swallowed. Blinked again.
“Find. Ladybug.”
The boy nodded shakily, hand scrabbling on the railing before him as he tried to rise and failed.
Pitching over the side of the railing, Adrien hacked and heaved, sick erupting from his lips in frothing thick liquid and chunks of half digested food, before he huddled in a corner and didn't cry.
Didn't move.
Didn't say anything for hours as the cracked, but still functioning cell phone blew up with notifications for text messages and phone calls, all ignored as Adrien just stared into the empty hollow where once there had been something alive.
Plagg sighed, half in disgust at himself, wishing for a fleeting moment that he was large enough to hold the kid in his lap, and settled for curling up in his hands, nibbling at fingers until they made a glacial motion, just a twitch born of instinct and muscle memory, to begin petting him as he loosed purrs and coos and grumbles.
Humans were large, alien things, and this was all that he could do.
It was only when, despite the reinforced bunker walls, Plagg picked up the sound of sundering brickwork that he felt that he had no choice but to leave, assuring his charge with a quick lick to his forehead that he would return.
“I'm going to be right back, Kid.” Said Kid's eyes showed a flicker of acknowledgement, a plea for him not to leave, which led Plagg to place a paw to the boy's chin. “You're mine and I'm going to keep you, so don't go anywhere.”
Slowly, after a choral ode of silence punctuated only by faint echoes of a cacophonous rampage upstairs, Adrien was brave enough to nod.
With one last, lamenting glance towards his charge, his good Kid who gave everything, was generous and self-immolating in ways that a creature of pure selfishness – that was what he was – like Plagg could never understand, the kwami floated through the high ceiling. The mansion was already in a shambles, bookshelves tossed and furniture rent apart with papers and tufts of material from torn curtains and bedding floating about through the air.
Ryuuko and lightning and wind dragon powers together, he imagined, possibly as a show of force.
You could do a lot of damage to a place if you were possessed of a power that could restore everything that had been broken, and he was well aware of the fact that only Marinette could do that.
The heroes had fanned out across the mansion from what Plagg could tell, but it was easy enough to find her, barking orders to the entire team from a central command location.
It took only a few seconds for her to process the horror before she set her jaw, nodded once, and was already racing after him, hyper-fixated.
They found the kid waiting for them, but as soon as his form became visible through the transparent glass of their elevator, Ladybug put a fist through it with an resounding and nearly inhuman snarl before crashing bodily through the barrier to let gravity carry her down more quickly, following him since he just phased through to reach his Kitten.
He was a little mewling ball, arms curled over his legs, knees to his chest. Yellow stains bled into his shirt.
Vomiting up empty froth and then a slurry of words, the kid lurched to his feet, mumbling “Mari” over and over again in an insane, nigh-ritualistic chant. Pigtails was right there for him as he fell into Ladybug's arms.
“It's okay, Adrien,” she cooed as he finally wept, face to her chest, and though she was all steel as she glared at the remnants of Adrien's mother, she melted for him, stroking his hair like he was a child, freshly awoken from a nightmare.
“I'm here, Adrien. We're all here for you. All the people who love you.” Sobs, primal, animalistic, infantile, and gasps, gummed up with snot, were muffled by her form as she rocked him gently, the massive boy suddenly small in her arms, dwarfed by her. “You did so well, Kitty. My strong and brave Kitty.”
“M-mari,” emerged the voice, a cry through a sludgy morass of sewage. “I- father- he-”
“Shhh, Kitty,” Marinette placated, not even bothering to wipe away tears as she brought his head back to her breasts. “I know. I know. You just rest. Everything's fine. You did it. Did so well for me.”
He did.
His kid survived this place. His father. Came out the other side as something that was still human and good.
There were miracles beyond the Miraculous, some that Plagg didn't even pretend to be able to understand, and perhaps humans themselves, all the complex threads of their identities and boundless possibility that seemed to transcend causality, were some of them, just like the Kid, his Kid, weeping himself into a fitful sleep before his mother and father's tomb.