Chapter Text
Adrien with plurality, acquiring company for himself after isolation for so long.
Adrien ending up with headmates consisting of Chat Noir, the first arriving after adrien distanced himself so much from him that he formed; Chat Blanc, forming from The Incident traumatically and when the timeline got wiped out he got embedded in the current adriens subconscious (trust me sandman 2 in my head goes awesome), same for Ephemeral, the third and last.
Now, if you read this before the fic update, you might ask "How about Cat Walker? Didn't you have him as one of them too?", and my answer to that is! I had an idea of how cat walker is the system episode, not an adrien episode but about the internal communication and how they all work together and how its hard to work as one whole person when you're not.
Adrien finds out through an episode in which he almost gets Akumatized...not.
Adrien flinches as the glowing deep purple butterfly approaches him, instinctively dragging himself backwards and shouting "NO!" in terror.
It approaches. Slowly. Fluttering inch by inch, as the corner gets closer and closer, until he's too close to avoid contact. His breathing, already unsteady, picks up. If he breathes hard enough, maybe his head will ache so much as to make him faint and neutralize his feelings.
He feels it graze his neck.
It touches the area where resides his heart.
...Nothing.
Nothing?
Nothing!
He watches his nails pinch between the wings and stretch the butterfly out, gaze firmer, heartbeat sharper, hyperventilation harsher.
He watches his hands tear the thing apart. Piece by piece. His hands start by the wings, peeling apart the black spots, shredding half of it already by the sheer shakiness of his hands, yanking them off the body. Then, the center; Pulling apart the legs, staring directly at the antennae of the beast with the wide eyes of what he would say resembles a roadkill deer. He plucks those too. Right as he feels his mouth open to speak—
"Hey, Rapunzel, you okay?" He hears his voice ask with an air of concern beneath teasing smile, the sound of himself placing his pint glass down. (He...he's pretty deep into his subconscious right now. It's probably gonna be my problem if he goes any further.)(No puns right now, serious business. ...maybe one.)
He lurches, feeling his body and mind detach itself while his eyes— the ones he's certain were still trained on destroying the parasite— swerve to look behind his skull. Into his mind.
Behind him.
Behind him?
Yes, behind him, a comfortable looking couch that could also serve as a bed, nestled with pillows and a blanket. An orange rug, fuzzy and akin to the one in Nino's home. A collage on a corkboard, memories. A drawer below, similar to the little figures of the foosball table, harbors shelves with DVDs and a player; More memories. Some are locked in a treasure box, something he's never meant to see.
He is also never meant to see another there, nestled in a matching chaise. (If you look closer, it's just the one Marinette with another color pallette, hehe.)
His persona, his alter ego, his face, lies there, relaxed, beverage of choice placed on a coffee table.
The walls are empty, quite literally, as he sees nothing but void beyond decorations.
"...Why are you drinking milk like it's beer?"
"THAT'S your question after cannonballing into your own subconscious?? MIND YOUR—"
Yeah, maybe the first meeting was chaotic, but it was his. Theirs? He still isn't sure where he ends and they begin, and he's pretty sure that'll never be answered. He still doesn't notice exactly when it's someone else talking, but he usually ends up noticing there is depending on reactions.
He doesn't know how to tell others. Maybe later. He has time, doesn't he?
...He doesn't know why the white Chat was able to prevent Akumatization; but when he asked, the poor purple one has a panic attack trying to convince him to never ask again. Creepy...But he clearly can't know yet. They'll tell him eventually.
Right?