Chapter Text
He was… stretched. Straining. Something so, so important had been close by, had been in his arms, and now there was nothing, only distance, and he ached with it.
Where was he? Where did he go?
—
He was trapped—he couldn't breathe—his arm was on fire—
(...None of this was right. None of this had happened to him.)
He was trapped and his Pokémon were trapped and he couldn't get out and someone was coming to help him, he knew that, he just had to hold on, but she got there first, she was standing over him with a blank grin and a swirling light that burned the closer it got, and his breath came short and he tried not to scream because he knew this would be agony—
But then he was on the outside of the cage, and he felt his relief turn to horror as he looked back inside the cage and met golden eyes, realized who had taken his place, and no, no, not him, he was supposed to keep him safe—
(Wait—but that was—)
—
“Paxton?”
A knock at his door. He couldn't move.
“Paxton? Are you all right?”
A nudge at his hand—the one that didn't hurt—and a low, concerned growl. His fingers twitched.
“Hey, I'm gonna come in, okay? I just wanna make sure you're…”
Footsteps, the rustle of cloth. The voice, familiar, but weakened with fear.
“...Paxton?”
He wanted to tell her he was alright, but he wasn't, because he was gone, he was gone, where was he, he was supposed to keep him safe—
—
Corbeau was already frowning when his phone rang. His sleep had been restless, and his entire body ached. He should have expected both, he supposed. He had certainly had an eventful few days.
Not all of it had been horrible. Some of it had been… wonderful. Interspersed with the terror of running and fighting had been grins and raised eyebrows and the glimmer in Paxton’s eyes as he rose to a challenge. And the way Paxton had tucked his face into Corbeau’s shoulder, seeking shelter and finding it, and the way their lips had met, turning their fear into a fierce joy… Corbeau did not lie to himself. Those things had been wonderful. But Paxton had left, so he supposed it was business as usual.
His office was empty except for Philippe (who was refusing to let Corbeau out of his sight), so Corbeau allowed himself to roll his head on his shoulders to try to alleviate the tension that crept up his shoulders and down his arm. He had foregone the sling today, refusing to be seen in it now that he was fully back to work.
His phone rang, and he glared at it, the sound aggravating his rapidly-worsening headache. He ignored the drop in his stomach when he saw who was calling.
“Taunie,” he said shortly.
“Mr. Corbeau, I think—I think you need to get here. I can't wake him up, I can't—”
“Stay there,” he snapped, already rising from his desk and gesturing for Philippe to follow. “I'm coming.”
—
His headache worsened as they drove, and when he stepped out of the cab and into the courtyard of Hotel Z, even the gently shaded sunlight felt like an icepick to his brain. He gritted his teeth and kept moving.
The other boy and girl from Team MZ—Lida and Naveen, he recalled—were waiting anxiously in the foyer of the old building. Naveen was standing with his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved deep in his pockets, glancing worriedly between the door and the elevator. Lida was pacing and shaking out her hands, restless energy making her movements jittery.
She whirled on Corbeau and Philippe when they entered.
“What did you do?” she cried.
“Nothing,” he said coldly. “Move.”
“You must have done something to him. You may have helped us when the Tower woke up, but you're still—”
“I saved his life,” he hissed. “You will let me pass.”
She quite obviously had to screw up her courage but continued to block his way. Corbeau could feel Philippe looming over his shoulder. He stepped forward, ready to battle, Paxton’s team member or no. But then the elevator gave a jarringly cheerful ding as it opened, and Taunie stepped out.
“Thank Xerneas,” she said. “Come on.”
“Taunie—we can't just—”
“Lida.” Taunie stared her teammate down with a true leader's steel. “Let him.”
Lida grumbled but subsided. Corbeau moved past her without sparing a glance, Philippe a steady presence at his shoulder. He glared at the elevator doors as they closed behind the three of them, trying to ignore the pounding in his head.
Taunie led the way down the short hallway to what must have been Paxton’s door. She paused with her hand on the doorknob and turned to look at Corbeau, that steel will strong in her eyes.
“I know you didn't do anything… to him. But something happened. He told me how you helped him. He told me you saw AZ.” Corbeau nodded wordlessly. Her face crumpled in grief for only a moment before she visibly pulled herself together. “He won't wake up or respond to me. But he said your name. I don't know what's going on, but please… help him.”
She opened the door and stepped aside. Corbeau glanced at Philippe, and his second in command nodded and settled his stance in front of the door, an iron defense against all comers. Corbeau took a breath and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
Paxton was curled on the bed, on top of the bed coverings and still in his clothes from the day before. His Pokémon were all crowded around him in concern. They each looked up as Corbeau entered, quite obviously on guard for threats, but they let him approach without challenge.
Paxton’s eyes were screwed shut, and his dark hair was damp with sweat at his temples. He looked almost as bad as he had when he’d woken up in the Rust Syndicate. Corbeau felt an echo of that fear in his own chest, remembering Paxton lying in the shattered remains of his glass cage, overwhelmed with Mega Energy.
He glanced backward, making sure the door was closed, before he crouched next to the bed and laid a hand on Paxton’s arm over the sleeve of his jacket.
“Paxton.”
No response.
“Paxton. Wake up.” He glanced at the door again and allowed his voice to soften. “You're safe. I'm here.”
“Cor…” he groaned. “Can't…”
Memories that had almost been drowned out by terror flooded through him—I can't I can't I can't and Corbeau and help—
Almost without his input, Corbeau's hand found Paxton’s, the scars from the Mega Energy they'd endured flowing seamlessly from one body to the other. He gripped Paxton’s hand as tight as he dared and wrapped his other hand around the back of his neck, then pressed his lips to Paxton’s forehead the same way he had in the sewers under the city. No matter what Paxton thought of him, no matter if he chose to leave, Corbeau had made a promise to give him shelter. And Corbeau, he thought to himself almost savagely, would keep his word, no matter what this fool had to say about it.
—
That horrible strain eased, and he felt like he could breathe again. He wasn't alone. They weren't separated. He was right here, and it was okay.
He dragged his eyes open to see Corbeau pulling back slightly and glaring at him. Paxton just smiled. Corbeau’s glare felt a bit like having Philippe hovering just over your shoulder—terrifying, unless you knew better.
“You idiot,” Corbeau hissed. “Why did you leave if it was this bad?”
“It wasn’t,” Paxton said. “I was fine. I just…” He frowned, trying for the first time to put that stretching feeling into words. He really had been fine when he first woke up in the Syndicate. The feeling had only really started once he left, and it got steadily worse over time. But now…
His hand was tingling, and he looked down to where Corbeau’s skin met his, their pale scars aligning with a strange beauty. Nothing looked to be wrong, but he felt… something. Something more than just the comfort of holding on. He released his grip experimentally, and almost immediately whatever energy he had started to drain away. Corbeau must have felt something, too, because his eyes widened and he seized Paxton’s hand again.
“...Okay,” Paxton said, trying to catch his breath. “What the fuck.”