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Chapter Text

Skates and Sticking Plasters

Professor Sycamore is going to be happy with my progress!

The trainer was grinning as they took the elevator up to Professor Sycamore's office, Pokedex (almost complete!) in hand, ready to show their mentor every last one that they've managed to see or catch. The last time they checked in, they had just completed the mountain region dex - now, they had just a few left in the coastal region, and then they would be done.

It was a pretty good feeling, and the trainer was in a buoyant mood as they stepped out of the elevator.

"Ow! Merde, that stings!"

The trainer stopped short, creeping closer to the dividing wall, hand hovering protectively over their Pokeballs and heart in their mouth. Was there something dangerous ahead?

"Don't be a big baby," came another voice, this one calm and just a tiny bit amused. It was familiar, and as the trainer carefully peered around the corner, they weren't too surprised to catch sight of Lysandre's flaming hair.

The Professor was perched on the edge of his desk in the midst of a sulk, a small cut above one eye trickling blood. Lysandre stood before him, patiently dabbing at it with a cloth with something damp on it, the smell of antiseptic washing through the room.

"You don't want it getting infected, do you?" Lysandre pointed out, catching the Professor's hand and raising it to the cloth. "Here, press it against the cut while I find a plaster."

He moved away, and now the trainer could spot two pairs of discarded skates propped up against the desk. They hid a smile.

With more gentleness than the trainer would have expected from the mildly terrifying Lysandre, he pressed a sticking plaster over the Professor's injury, and Sycamore chuckled a little. "I suppose I should try to avoid corners from now on. Or stopping suddenly. Maybe just a very long straight line to practise on would be best."

"Only if it's lined with cushions," Lysandre added dryly. "There - how does that feel?"

"Ooh, it's terrible. I think you need to kiss it better."

The trainer ducked away, face flushing as Lysandre chuckled, and, from the sound of it, did just that. But the Professor made a little disappointed noise, pointing out teasingly, "I think you missed."

"I'm not kissing a wound I just slathered antiseptic all over."

"Point well taken. I think you'll just have to aim for my mouth instead."

Maybe this wasn't the best time, the trainer decided as they slunk back to the elevator, trying to hide a smile at the wordless little sound of undeniable contentment they could hear from the office. The Pokedex, they decided as they made their retreat, could wait.

Chapter Text

The Reunion

So this wasn’t quite the reunion he had been imagining.

Granted, very few people tended to imagine a certain heroic trainer on a dragon crash-landing on the side of a mountain in the middle of a horrendous storm, dazing the dragon and knocking said certain heroic trainer out, but still, N dutifully dragged Hilbert back into the caves that made up Victory Road, murmuring quiet reassurances to the rather unhappy Reshiram accompanying him (rain and fire dragons did not go well).

Who would be best to help them…? Rhyperior, he decided, calling for him to help him cart Hilbert back to the castle, the trainer looking very small over Rhyperior’s broad back.

They arrived and he said his thank yous, letting Reshiram settle in a corner of the room to dry off (“No, I’m sorry, I’ve already let Zekrom go - but you might see her one day, the girl that was able to win him over!”) and Rhyperior go and find some dinner, leaving him to tuck a blanket around Hilbert and stare at him in peace.

When Hilbert did finally awaken, it would be to a cloud of green hair and a gleeful tackle of pure joy.

Chapter Text

Blood and Flame

By the time Lysandre was able to bring himself to move without practically collapsing again from lightheadedness, he had found himself aware of two things - the first being that he was utterly freezing, shivering even in the soft spring evening, and the second being the most plaintive sound he had ever heard, desperate apologies mingled with soft, gasping, shuddering sobbing.

Forcing his bleary eyes to focus, he found the source in one Augustine Sycamore, practically curled up in a ball, one arm wrapped around his trembling legs, the other hand pressed against his mouth, his fingers and lips streaked with blood.

His own blood, he recalled dimly, his left hand moving to clutch at his right wrist and the puncture marks there. That's right - he -

The Professor had been shivering, his movements shaky and uncertain, earlier that evening. Lysandre had asked him if he was ill, and he had started up at him with uncertain eyes, shaking his head and shrugging in one movement.

It had taken him some time to find the true cause of Augustine's misery. It had also taken him some time to convince him to accept the only thing that would end this illness, this weakness, this curse of blood.

"Augustine," he said, and his voice was thick in his mouth. "Are you..."

"I'm sorry," came the terrified whisper, "Lysandre, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have - it was too much - I couldn't - I'm sorry!"

He shook his head, pushing himself into a sitting position, Augustine automatically reaching out to help him up, his movements far stronger than they had been a little while ago. Despite his tears, he looked... substantially better, no longer shivering, no longer pallid, the colour returned to his cheeks, and when he reached past Lysandre to drag his coat closer, Lysandre found that he was gloriously warm.

The coat helped. Wrapping his arms around Augustine's waist and burying his face in his soft dark hair helped substantially more.

"Please know this," he whispered with a fierceness that the shakiness of his body could not prevent, and Augustine turned his tear-streaked face towards him, tongue darting out automatically to lick a little of the blood off his lips. "Please know this, Augustine," he said, and closed his eyes, so incredibly weary, the heat of Augustine's body warming him like a furnace. "Whenever you need it, no matter what for - I will gladly share my fire with you."

Chapter Text

Restraint

Augustine Sycamore was a dangerous man.

Often, Lysandre could feel his breath freeze in his throat around him, the simple act of respiration arrested by a careless gesture from the professor - one hand sweeping dark hair out of his eyes, the casual flick of a wrist as he reached for a pen. His fingers were long, the tips coarse from field work, the nails bitten, and Lysandre wanted nothing more than to trace the elegant lines of his hands, to feel warm skin beneath his own, to cling on to them and never let go.

He would hungrily watch the progression of movement, from the hand resting on the keyboard of his computer up to his hair, and he found himself imagining both caressing that hand and running his own fingers through that beloved hair, imagining the softness (it looked sinfully soft, it had to be, he could not accept it any other way) and the texture, imagining his fingers grasping and tugging, imagining his own fingers instead of Augustine’s absently twirling a curled strand around the digits.

He could certainly imagine other things to do with that beloved head of hair - twining his fingers through it as he gazed down at the dark head in his lap, the little gasps that would emerge if he was to suddenly pull, the muffled groans as he twisted strands around his fingers to guide his movements. He could imagine those silvery eyes peering up at him, bright and clear and eager to please, or dark and hazy with lust, or warm and soft with an affection that he knew he would see, that he would be terrified to see for what it meant, for what it said about his sense of restraint.

He was losing control.

But no, he could not give in, and he would clench his hands into fists, the nails digging into the skin of his palms, until the images would be blotted out. He could not allow himself to imagine stealing time or affection or kisses, could not let himself imagine those hands gliding over his skin, could not let himself imagine what could come of a careless gesture, by a brief fantasy of running his fingers through dark curls, by anything other than cool detachment.

Augustine Sycamore was a dangerous man, and Lysandre knew that if he relinquished his tightly-held self control, let his restraint be eroded away, let himself give in to temptation, then his fall would not be far behind.

Chapter Text

Again and Again and Again

It's strange, seeing him again.

The years have been good to Lysandre. He has somehow grown even taller, the neatly-trimmed stubble grown out into a neatly-trimmed beard, his clothes (fashionable for a university student, more expensive than anything Augustine could have afforded) replaced with a neatly-tailored suit. But his eyes - his eyes are as same as ever, piercingly blue, suddenly wide and disarmed at the sight of just who is stepping in through the door.

Augustine can't blame him too much. His own eyes have widened a little when he notices just who is sitting in the cafe, red head bent over a newspaper and an expresso.

"Lysandre," he breathes, and strides forward, halting at the table, suddenly unsure what to do next. Does he sit down with him? Hug him? Kiss him, as if the past four years have never happened, as if he hasn't spent time studying in Sinnoh, seeing the world, learning all that there was to know about Pokemon, as if they hadn't ended things at the airport with only the most vague idea that they'd ever see each other again?

Lysandre answers that for him, rising from his seat and greeting him with a kiss on the cheek that may linger just a little longer than is strictly platonic. "Sit down," he almost orders, pulling the other chair out, "When did you get back to Kalos? How have you been? Have you..." There's a pause, just long enough to be noticable. "...Met anyone?"

He shakes his head, settling in the seat. "I had a few flings. Nothing serious. Nothing..."

Nothing like you and I, nothing like us.

"Nothing that would have lasted."

Lysandre nods once, his gaze suddenly fixed on Augustine's face. "I haven't been seeing anyone either," he murmurs, and Augustine draws in a steadying breath and bumps his ankle against Lysandre's, under the table.

There's an answering nudge, Lysandre's foot sliding up against Augustine's leg in a gentle caress.

"You look good," Lysandre says softly, and there's sudden familiar desire in his eye.

"So do you," he says in return, and he means every word. And there's still that spark, still an energy between them that leaves Augustine's skin tingling and his senses on high alert, every breath Lysandre takes, every move he makes, going noticed and reciprocated and his body responding in kind. "Come out to dinner with me some time," he blurts out, and Lysandre actually looks surprised for a moment.

And then he smiles, and the tips of his fingers brush the inside of Augustine's wrist, as intimate as a kiss. "I'd love to," he murmurs, and leans forward to offer him a real one.

Chapter Text

Ithilien

"What're you reading?"

Lysandre glanced up from his book and the blanket around him; Augustine looked sleepy and rumpled, smiling at him in a way that suggested the sun was beginning to creep out from the clouds. Fingers keeping place, he half-closed the book, patting the spot next to him, and Augustine curled up at his side.

"Lord of the Rings," Lysandre murmured, showing Augustine his copy of The Two Towers. "Book four, Of Herbs and Stewed - well, never mind what's being stewed. Have you read it?"

"Mm-hmm. Years ago, I don't remember it well." Augustine's eyes closed, his arms slipping around Lysandre's waist. "Read it to me? I love your voice."

Lysandre smiled, and returned to the beginning of the paragraph. "Gollum disappeared," he read out loud, his voice clear and soft. "He was away some time, and Frodo after a few mouthfuls of lembas settled deep into the brown fern and went to sleep."

Augustine stifled a yawn, head dropping to Lysandre's shoulder. "Good plan," he mumbled.

Chuckling, Lysandre nodded and pressed on. "Sam looked at him. The early daylight was only just creeping down into the shadows under the trees, but he saw his master's face very clearly, and his hands, too, lying at rest on the ground beside him." The early morning sun, through the curtains, shone dimly. "He was reminded suddenly of Frodo as he had lain, asleep in the house of Elrond, after his deadly wound. Then as he had kept watch Sam had noticed that at times a light seemed to be shining faintly within; but now the light was even clearer and stronger."

The dawn light lit up Augustine's skin and hair like gold, his lashes dark against his cheeks, eyes half closed as he listened to Lysandre read. Lysandre smiled involuntarily; Augustine smiled back.

"Frodo's face was peaceful, the marks of fear and care had left it; but it looked old, old and beautiful, as if the chiselling of the shaping years was now revealed in many fine lines that had before been hidden, although the identity of the face was not changed. Not that Sam Gamgee put it that way to himself."

Lysandre glanced down and found Augustine's eyes closed, his breathing slow and even in his sleep, warm and heavy at his side and utterly content. Lysandre's voice softened.

"He shook his head, as if finding words useless, and murmured: 'I love him. He's like that, and sometimes it shines through, somehow.'"

Gently, Lysandre set the book down, tugging the blanket up over both of them, and recited the last words from memory: "'But I love him, whether or no.' Sleep well, Augustine," he whispered, and closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

Apples and Honey

Lysandre lets out a sigh as Augustine releases the cuffs, gently massaging his wrists and stretching his arms. His shoulders ache a little from the position he had been held in for the last hour, and immediately, he feels the warmth of Augustine's hands on his skin, gently massaging the kinks out. "How're you feeling?" Augustine murmurs, his lips following the paths of his hands, dropping feather-light kisses over the most sore parts.

"A little achy." Lysandre assesses his own condition briefly, his actions practiced. "I can feel the effects of the adrenaline wearing off."

"Does anything hurt, aside from your shoulders?"

"The backs of my thighs."

Augustine nods once, moving around to give him a soft, sweet kiss. "Relax," he instructs gently as he tucks the blanket around Lysandre, "I'll just get the gel from the bathroom, then something to eat from the kitchen, alright?"

Lysandre barely answers verbally, simply letting out an, "Mm-hmm" as he curls into the warmth of the blanket, only just aware of Augustine switching on a playlist of their favourite relaxing songs as he leaves.

He feels better already, clean and purified, Augustine's hand purging the taint from his soul. The act of being punished is what brings him relief, the knowledge that he has done wrong and that he is being treated fairly, and the aftercare... Oh, the aftercare is what tells him that no matter what his sin is, he is still forgiven and still loved.

Augustine returns quickly enough, climbing back on to the bed with a tall glass of water, a plate of sliced apples, and the gel. Setting the water on the night stand, Augustine prompts Lysandre to roll on to his front, sets the plate of apple slices before him, and starts to gently rub the gel into the marks on the backs of his thighs. "How's that?" he asks, a smile in his voice, "Do you want me to take the collar off?"

"Perfect," Lysandre sighs, and reaches up to brush his fingers across the metal adornments. "And no, I'll leave it on for now." Stretching out and luxuriating in the sensation of a warm bed and gentle hands and cool gel, he takes a sip of cool water before picking up a slice of apple. It's oddly sticky, and he glances at it curiously before popping it in his mouth to suck the substance off the fruit. "...Honey?"

"Oh, didn't I mention?" Augustine says with a laugh, leaning over to drop a kiss on Lysandre's shoulderblade, "Shanah tovah, it's Rosh Hashanah!"

Chapter Text

Hole In The Ground

“Hi. Sorry it’s been a while since my last visit, I’ve been ridiculously busy. You know how life is! Well, no, you don’t, haha. Sorry. Gallows humour is the only type I have left these days.

Everyone is doing well. It’s already time to select my next lot of students, can you believe it? You remember how much hard work it is! The last five are all doing well. Tierno has moved to Unova to work on dancing, and Trevor is now working for me at the lab. He’s suggested some wonderful changes to the Pokedex! Shauna and Serena both decided to go back to school - Serena gets a lot of attention, of course, she does have the Honour of Kalos, but they’re both thriving. Calem is working on becoming a professional trainer, he’s got a gym trainer position in Anistar. Diantha thinks he might make gym leader one day.

Oh! She’s doing well, too. She’s talking about moving on as champion and just focusing on acting. She’s been doing wonderfully there, and she’s become quite a well-known spokeswoman talking about depression. Looking for warning signs. You know.

You know, they’ve finally demolished the cafe? I went by afterwards - Magenta Plaza hasn’t changed, not in nearly a year. It was strange being there, though - I just kept looking at where the cafe was, and thinking about our last conversation. I just kept thinking about what I should have said. You know, I told Serena that the way you saw things weren’t necessarily the truth? I keep wondering what would have happened if I had said it to you, instead. Maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to a hole in the ground. I’m sure I look quite strange to anyone passing by!

I’d best be off, for now. The new starters are at a tricky age, and I’d better keep an eye on them. I wouldn’t want to be giving new trainers difficult starters, right? I have to support them as much as I can. I can’t fail anyone else.

What else can I do?

What else can any of us do?

I’ll see you later. I love you. I’m sorry. Au revoir.”

Chapter Text

The Egg

Neither Manon nor Alain are happy Steven is leaving.

Alain learns this from Steven, since he has yet to actually talk to Manon since storming out of Fleur-de-Lys Labs. Steven looks unhappy as he relays this to Alain; he often looks unhappy these days, the cockiness he showed during their first battle in Hoenn nowhere to be seen. He looks grave, worried.

But he has to return home, and so he will be leaving Kalos, and leaving Alain.

And there's still so much they need to do. Alain needs to help find a way to cure Hari-san, he needs to find a way to make Manon smile again, and he wants Steven with him, wants quiet support and some significant firepower from Metagross, he wants a companion -

A friend?

Steven's hands are warm and the rings he wears are cold, a pressure against Alain's own hand. Both of Steven's are clasped around one of his own; ostensibly it's a handshake but Steven has yet to let go, Alain has yet to pull away, because that would make it real, that would mean he's on his own.

No Professor Sycamore supporting and encouraging him. No Manon, a ray of sunshine that manages to clear even his own clouds. No Director, gently pointing him where to go next.

No Steven, and the solidity and support that comes from one so immersed in rock and steel.

"I want you to have this," Steven murmurs as he finally draws his hands from Alain's, dipping them into his bag and retrieving a Pokemon egg. Alain's breath catches. "This is - well, I visited parts of Kalos that apparently had a population of wild Dittos. This is from Metagross."

"A Beldum?" Alain does not reach out to touch the egg, but he does not turn away from it, either. "I hear they're extremely difficult to train."

Steven smiles fleetingly. "I'm sure you're up to the task. And Charizard can help with the early training. Just -" He hesitates. "I want you to have it. Metagross are very powerful - it can be a good asset to your team."

"Charizard is strong enough."

Steven raises his eyebrows, gives him a familiar and almost insufferable smirk. "I seem to recall that even with the type advantage you had, I was winning that little battle before. Trust me, a Metagross can help you out."

It can protect you, he doesn't say. It can keep you safe in my absence, he doesn't say.

"I'll think about it," Alain says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Besides, it'll be a juvenile for a while. I'll have to babysit it."

"It might be fun," Steven says, and shrugs, "Having a little one around to protect for a while."

Alain thinks of Manon, lost and lingering in the Director's labs with a comatose Chespin for company, and winces.

Steven sets the egg down gently, then reaches out to shake Alain's hand properly. "Anyway, you'll be fine, right? And I'm sure we will meet again. Au revoir, Alain."

Steven's Kalosian is terrible. Alain hides a smile, nods tersely, and leans in to kiss Steven on the cheek once, twice, in the Kalosian fashion. He watches Steven go, egg warm and heavy in his arms, and wishes he had grabbed Steven by the stupid cravat and kissed him properly, had said thank you and please stay with me and come back soon.

Instead, he places the egg gently in his backpack, releases Charizard, and sets off down the path.

He's twenty years old and can't waste all his time mooning over foreign champions like a lovesick teenager. He has a Beldum to raise, and a mission to complete, he has the Director's orders to follow and Manon's smile to return.

He can't waste any more time.

And he moves on, and on, and on.

Chapter Text

The Next Day

Alain awakens the next morning feeling like he's been trampled by a herd of Rhyhorns, a splitting headache, his bad shoulder feeling like it's on fire, his chest bursting, and a smile on his face so wide that his cheeks are hurting.

He looks down at his left wrist - bare, his gloves gone, the Mega Ring gone, and smiles, and at Manon curled up against his side with Hari-san sleeping in his arms (sleeping! Not in a coma, just sleeping!), and smiles, and looks to his right to find the Professor dozing in a chair pulled up beside him with his head pillowed in his arms, and smiles, and looks to the foot of the bed to find Charizard trying to curl up in a space not made for two, let alone two and a rather large fire dragon, and smiles, and smiles, and smiles.

Garchomp is keeping watch, a sentinel beside the resting professor. She spots him watching and huffs gently, awkwardly squeezing around the professor to lower her head for a pat.

He digs his fingers into her scales and gives her the kind of scritches he used to do back at the lab, all that time ago. His fingers remember. He's still smiling.

He's sore, exhausted. He still needs to talk to Manon properly, to give an apology that's not a rushed, messy thing in the midst of a battle, to give her the apology she deserves. He's fairly sure he's going to be having nightmares for the rest of his life - the things he's seen, the things he's done.

But they've won. They've saved Kalos. They're free.

He's free.

They've commandeered an entire hospital room, it seems. There's Satoshi, snoring gently with Pikachu in his arms. There's Clemont and Bonnie, Satoshi's friends, sleeping in the arms of someone he assumes is their father, Bonnie clinging to the Core that Hari-san had saved and who had saved Hari-san, who they had all saved and who had saved them all. There's Serena, Satoshi's other friend, sleeping in a chair beside the bed of a brown-haired girl; there's his first opponent, Trevor, and one of the quarter-finalists, Tierno, dozing together against the wall, there's Shouta, Satoshi's semi-final opponent, glancing up from the notebook he's writing in to give him a bleary smile.

They're all safe. They've all won. They've all saved Kalos, all together.

Manon yawns and stretches, flinging one arm out and elbowing Alain in the stomach. He lets out a soft 'oof' that makes the professor stir, and the three of them blink at each other, smiling in sleepy, unfocused ways, taking a moment to marvel that they're all safe and well and alive.

Alain doesn't remember much of that day (he's on rather a lot of painkillers).

He remembers Satoshi and his friends being checked out one by one, Satoshi promising him a rematch once they're both healed, Trevor shaking his hand formally and thanking him for a most informative fight, groups of friends, companions, all together.

He remembers the nurses shooing Manon back to her own bed, and Manon sneaking right back as soon as she's left; he whispers apologies and she holds his hand and says he can make it up to her by taking her to Alola, she's always wanted to go, and now they can travel together as much as they want without anything else hanging over them.

He remembers the professor hugging him fiercely, saying he's proud of him, saying he's missed him, asking if he found what he was looking for, if the burden upon him has been lifted, if that means that now he can come home.

He's ready to go home. He's ready to stop being the Director's - to stop being Lysandre's loyal Furfrou and going back to being Alain, Alain the professor's assistant, Alain the trainer, Alain, Manon's friend.

They finally give him the all-clear, and he leaves the hospital with one arm in a sling, his other hand in Manon's, the professor's steadying arm across his shoulders keeping him upright and on his feet. Hari-san is in Manon's other arm, Charizard is so close behind him he can feel the warmth from his flame, Garchomp is trotting merrily at the professor's side.

And they go home.

Chapter Text

Family, part 1

The professor fusses over Alain with a care and concern that, honestly, he’s missed more than he expected, telling him to rest up, that he’s done well, that he’s proud of him, and that he’ll be back in the morning to take him home to the labs, and Alain is so fogged up on painkillers and exhaustion that he doesn’t realise he’s murmured, “Okay, Papa,” until Manon’s fit of giggling tips him off; by then, he’s both beet red at the slip and coming to the realisation that it’s a pretty appropriate title after all.

Balancing Act

He’s a scientist at heart, and he loves the thrill of discovering new things and solving puzzles, but he’s also enjoyed battling; battling to test his skills, battling to bond with his Pokemon, and although Metagross is fairly new to the team and the other four he barely knows, he wants them to know that he appreciates them; he pits his team of six against the trainers of Lumiose City, battles friends and visitors, and takes notes on every moment and every interesting reaction, because he can be a scientist and a trainer both, he’s got that choice, he can choose who he wants to be.

Family, part 2

They make assumptions whenever they travel, people who look at him and Manon and assume - assume straight off - that they’re brother and sister; Manon certainly plays the part well, being the typical bratty little sister, puffing out her cheeks and pouting when she can’t get her way, and it’s only when he finds himself sighing and promising, okay, he’ll buy her one ice cream but no more or she’ll ruin her appetite for dinner that he has definitely become the older brother.

Recovery

The nightmares are less frequent now, but when they do hit, they hit hard; Alain wakes up trembling and in tears, clinging to his damp pillow like it’s a lifeline - Charizard is at his best in these times, not needing words, not needing human language, the language they share is enough to let Alain know that he’s not alone, he’s got Charizard, he’s got everyone, he’ll make it through this.

Family, part 3

The lab’s family day is an opportunity for people from all around Lumiose to see what goes on in a Pokemon lab, and Alain finds himself playing tour guide - he knows it like it’s home, knows it like the back of his hand, and one of the kids visiting asks him where his family is; he looks at Sophie, guiding a little girl in colouring a picture of a Fennekin, at Cosette, organising the meet-ups between kids and new starters, at Garchomp, children climbing all over her, at Manon, enthusiastically explaining how to apply for a starter to a group of kids, at the professor, talking to some of their parents, at Psyduck, clinging to the hem of his labcoat and waddling after them, at Charizard, soaring above them; he smiles and says, “My family is right here.”

Chapter Text

It’s not exactly easy to work out what It is, but noticing it, noticing it, that’s nearly impossible to not do. It’s scrambling the landscape, glitching and fizzling in ways that make Magnemite’s visual receptors itch, turning the Cinnabar coast into a painful-looking mess.

Ne hesitates for a moment, then, cautiously, hovers out to meet the distortion.

The story it tells - the story it tells, that’s the thing that leaves Magnemite hanging on every last word. Fairies and creation dragons, Mega Evolutions and titanic beasts, a world where things are the same and different and so, so new. It’s not Home for the distortion either, that lies far, far away - but it’s a good place, one the distortion likes, one the distortion wants to stay in.

The distortion says ey don’t remember eir name. Ey only partially remember eir designation. An Ultra Beast with a missing number, UB-???, a mystery.

Magnemite looks at UB-MissingNo and decides that ey’re lonely. Ne’s going to stay with em, to see this new world, to ensure that UB-MissingNo won’t be alone on eir journey home.

No one should be alone.

UB-MissingNo is alone now, but ey weren’t always. Ey had come with company - UB-(00), a colossal double, a seven-metre behemoth. ‘M is UB-MissingNo’s friend. They need to find xem, and then they can go home together.

Magnemite promises em that ne will stand by UB-MissingNo. They’ll find ‘M. And then, they’ll find this new world, together.

Chapter Text

It was three in the morning, and the Professor's light was on.

Perched on a rooftop two blocks away, Meyer frowned. The lab was a good landmark for this part of town, with its distinctive roofline and glitter of glass from the enclosure, but at this hour he was used all being quiet and dark, the staff gone for the night, the Pokemon sleeping.

Not lit up like this, with Augustine's office a glowing beacon in the dark.

With a nod to Blaziken, Meyer crossed the roof tops, coming to rest on the other side of Southern Boulevard. No doubt about it - it was Augustine's office, alright, the lights on and - he could not help but notice - the window slightly ajar.

Well, that was an invitation if ever he saw one, wasn't it? Grinning to Blaziken and making a 'keep watch' gesture, he sprang across, swinging up the ornate moulding, perching like a bird on the window sill, only to see...

The Professor, sleeping at his desk. Meyer grinned wryly, shook his head, and quietly pushed the window open.

His footfalls were silent against the plush rug; Augustine did not stir as Meyer approached. He was fast asleep, head pillowed on one arm, the other hand still loosely grasping a pen. Gently, Meyer eased it out of his hand, saved the report open on the laptop, and put it into standby; like handling glass, he slipped one hand behind Augustine's thighs and the other arm around his shoulders and lifted him easily.

Augustine barely stirred, save to turn his face into Meyer's shoulder.

Meyer smiled fondly.

The break room had a sofa, he knew that well enough. Careful to keep his steps light, he stepped out of the office, down the hall, into the break room at the end.

Augustine did stir now, blinking up at him with bleary eyes. "Carried away by a handsome hero," he teased through his sleepiness, "S'nice."

Meyer could not help but return the smile. "Go back to sleep," he murmured, and gently deposited him on the sofa. "I'll turn the lights off."

"Kiss first."

"So demanding!"

(It was no hardship, of course. No hardship at all, dropping light kisses on Augustine's lips.)

He was already starting to fall back asleep, curling in on himself on the sofa. Feeling rather warm and fuzzy, Meyer turned to leave before pausing, noting that perhaps the warm and fuzzies had disguised just how cold the room was; Augustine shivered a little in his sleep.

Without second thought, Meyer unclipped his cape and laid it gently over the sleeping Professor.

"Good night," he murmured, and left, turning out the lights, locking the window up after himself.

He may have had to go without a dramatically swishing cape for the night - but at least he would go without knowing that his Professor was safe and warm.

Back in the lab, Augustine Sycamore brought the cape up to his nose and breathed in deeply, and a content smile crossed his face. And then he rolled over, tucked the fabric around himself, and went back to sleep, safe and secure in the knowledge that his hero was watching out for him.