Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pikachu sticks close, after the Kalos Crisis.

It’s nothing new, of course. Pikachu sticks close after any sort of… calamity with legendaries. Partly for his own sake: he has the stupidest, kindest, most giving partner in the whole world and it's going to get Ash killed one day, permanently, if Pikachu’s not careful about it. Everytime something like this happens it's an unpleasant reminder of that terrible little truth. A reminder he needs to be more careful.

“Pikachu?” A quiet, raspy whisper into the night. Pikachu’s ear flicks away from the door and then he hops from the end of the bedspread and into Ash’s lap, scrambling upwards until he can press his head under his chin.

It means, I’m here. It means, I'll protect you.

Little reassurances, pressed into Ash’s skin, held between them before the dawn. It’s such a small thing, but he wonders sometimes if the mythical pokemon they encounter take note of the scent markings he’s left on Ash, purely on the basis that there are just so many of them: This Human Is Protected. This Human is Precious. Harm This Human And There Is A Pikachu Who Will Be Very Very Mad. 

They probably laugh, those legendaries. Afterall, what’s some pipsqueak yellow mouse to a god?

Pikachu takes solace in the fact that they probably stop laughing when he starts frying them. 

Two hands come up, calloused and only shaking slightly. They rub up his back, then behind his ears, and above him Ash breathes out a little sigh of relief. Pikachu can feel the rush of warm air through his fur. Can feel the way those fingers tighten briefly around his small frame before purposely loosening. 

Gentleness is a choice, and a gift. It always is.

“Pikachu,” Ash says again, but less uncertain this time. More firm, even if it stays sleep-soft and near silent. “We’re okay.”

Pikachu nods. Cuddles closer. He’s not the only one who gets clingy after their more dangerous adventures. Ash is not the only one who has died and come crawling and limping and gasping back to life. 

“Where were you? Keeping watch?”

Another nod. Dark brown eyes meet dark brown. Clemont, sleeping fitfully in a cot on the other side of the room, lets out a soft mutter and rolls over, borrowed pajamas sliding against thin sheets. Outside, bug pokemon whir and buzz, backed only by distant sirens. The mechanical wails are a constant reminder as to why they're all here at Professor Sycamore’s lab in the first place: it had been saved from the majority of the damage that Lumiose proper had suffered, being far enough away from the inner workings of the city. 

Still, Pikachu can hear the blares, smell the smoke. Still, the danger hasn’t ceased. If he had still been a wild pokemon, he would not have stopped running. Not yet.

“We’re okay,” Ash says again, combs his fingers through Pikachu’s fur, thumbs digging into where the muscles have clenched tight. “Nobody’s gonna attack us, here. Lysandre lost.”

Pikachu grumbles, arches his back to get that pressure in just the right spot, and then clambers up to affectionately butt against Ash’s forehead. For a second, in that quiet room after the almost end of the world, he lets himself stay there.

“We’re okay,” he tells Ash, because it’s what they do. The world goes to shit and they put it to rights, and then afterwards they reaffirm to each other, over and over and over again, that they can be set to rights, too. If they say it enough, if they believe it enough, it usually becomes true.

Apparently, Ash has been waiting on him to complete his part of the ritual, because immediately after his boy cracks a giant yawn and lays back down, curling onto his side. Pikachu finds that perfect little space that is always, always there, when it comes to his better half. That space where they’ll fit together like they were made to do just this: two pieces of a puzzle, two pieces of a whole. 

“Goodnight, Pikachu.” 

It’s hardly more than a mumble, words tripping over themselves as his boy quickly drops back into sleep. He was probably never fully awake in the first place, only aware enough to recognize that Pikachu wasn’t there and should have been. 

“Goodnight, Ash.”

He says it, but he has no intention of falling asleep. 

Ash had thought he’d been worried about Lysandre, of an attack coming from outside these hallowed halls of research and science. And he is, in some ways. There are weights Pikachu carries that he will never put down. 

But in the end what really worries him, right here and right now, is not an outside attack. It’s an inside attack. 

When Professor Sycamore had been offering all the children a place to stay for the next few days, while preliminary clean-up and inspections occurred, he had also extended the offer to Alain. 

Alain, who had been Ash’s rival. His friend. Alain, who had betrayed them, who had stood by while Ash had been kidnapped. Who had collapsed to his knees over morals when Ash had been screaming. 

No, Pikachu keeps his eyes wide open, watching the door. The older boy had come to Ash, in the aftermath, tears in his eyes and regret in his hands. He had apologised, seeming genuine. And Ash had forgiven him, because his boy has a bleeding heart the size of a wailord, and Pikachu had watched it happen.

He did not forgive, and he does not forget.

Pikachu doesn’t trust humans easily. He doesn’t. He’s learned to give them the benefit of the doubt, because Ash loves people almost as much as he loves pokemon and Pikachu can’t bring himself to hate anything Ash cares about. But at the end of the day he’s been burned more than once and he’s wary. 

At the end of the day, the quickest way to fall out of his good graces is to harm his partner.

Alain had done just that. Pikachu is Very Very Mad.

Ash gets into enough trouble every day simply by existing. How dare Alain put him into more danger? How dare he betray them, put his precious partner at risk? 

How dare he let him get hurt? 

Some things can be forgiven and looked over, but not this. Never this.

Outside, a spatter of rain begins to fall. The moon begins to wane. Inside, Pikachu stays curled up in his best friend’s arms, watches the door, and seethes until morning.

Lunchtime. The cafeteria in Sycamore’s lab isn’t anything as homely and cosy as Delia’s kitchen, but it’ll make do in a pinch. Ash volunteers to set the table while the others work at putting together a meal, and so he and Pikachu gather up plates and bowls and cups and knives and spoons in one huge haul and clomp off to the long stretch of plastic tables and white tiles.

Pikachu keeps a careful eye on his trainer. There’s been something off about him all day. Something he’s been trying to hide. He keeps dropping things, or pausing awkwardly in the middle of sentences. Everyone else might be fooled by his partner’s good spirits and brilliant smile- or at least distracted enough by their own woes to not notice anything off- but Pikachu knows his best friend. He can see the tension gathered in the corners of his eyes, feel the tight way he holds his shoulders.

Still, still, Ash talks about how excited he is for soup, how hungry he is for a good homemade meal after these past few days of craziness, and Pikachu allows himself, tentatively, to relax.

Which is when- of course- Ash’s whole body suddenly spasms, dropping an armful of thankfully plastic bowls to the floor with a clatter. Immediately on edge once more, he lets his own load of plates and cutlery slide down to the tiles, rushing towards his partner who is standing, stark still, fingers twitching but otherwise not moving.

“Ash!”

His boy snaps out of it, blinks once, twice, then wavers unsteadily on his feet. Pikachu is forcefully reminded of the early phases of Ash-Greninja, when the bond hadn’t cemented yet and had resulted in collapse, especially when Ash’s knees give out from underneath him and his partner finds himself sitting disjointedly on the ground. 

It reminds him of the Crisis: Ash on the cement, still, and Pikachu fading fast beside him.

Shaking memories out of his head, Pikachu scrambles up to Ash’s elbow, not wanting to clamber onto his shoulder until he’s sure it won’t make anything worse. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? How can I help? Ash?”

“Shh, Pikachu, ’m-okay. I promise- I’m. I’m okay.”

Ash’s arms shake, when they pick Pikachu up and deposit him onto his lap. He realises he’s shaking a little, too, all adrenaline with nowhere to go. He did not like that. He did not like that.

Breathing, breathing, cold tile floor. Pikachu scans his human, his trembling frame, the way Ash’s strained inhales and exhales are slowly settling, even as he hisses through his teeth. 

“You’re hurting,” Pikachu murmurs. He knows how his partner carries pain.

Ash doesn’t deny it. Smiles, faintly. Whatever that had been, it’s fading now.

“It comes and goes.”

“The beam?”

A wince. Ash resettles himself so that he’s leaning most of his weight against the table, knees drawn up to his chest with Pikachu balanced carefully on top of them. “Yeah, yeah. I think so.”

Pikachu frowns and nuzzles carefully into Ash’s cheek. Remembering is worse than taking a Bone Club straight to the face, but he forces himself to do it. To push past the echo of Ash screaming and remember that red eerie glow, how long his partner had been forced to take it. That beam had been made to corrupt legendaries, and even though his friend is hardier than most humans, it couldn’t have been good for him.

He wishes, suddenly, desperately, that Brock was here. Brock would have insisted on checking Ash over, in the aftermath. Would have known that there is more to his friend than what meets the eye, than what he’s willing to admit out loud. Maybe he’d even know what to do with these- episodes. Whatever they are. 

“Are you alright?”

Pikachu is off Ash’s lap and in a battle stance in an instant. Tail raised, feet apart, canines bared. 

Alain, who had taken several steps closer, quickly backs up.

Smart move.

There are two stacks of glasses on one of the tables that hadn’t been there before. They must have forgotten them in their first major haul of dishes. The others in the kitchen must have sent Alain out with the cups in order to help finish off setting up for lunch. 

Why him? Pikachu thinks, blood racing. Why couldn’t it have been anyone but him?

It’s not safe. It’s not safe. Ash can’t defend himself and Alain is too close and it’s not safe.

His cheeks spark. His fur bristles. He won’t be unprepared this time. If Alain takes even one step closer-

“Pikachu. Buddy.”

Warm hands, wrapped around his sides, and then he’s lifted and tucked away against Ash’s chest. Alain watches this all happen with a cautious air of confusion. Pikachu glares mutinously at Ash’s collarbones. For a moment, everything is quiet and strained.

“Sorry about that,” Ash says, all smiles. He doesn’t get off the ground. “I kinda took a tumble and Pikachu’s… jumpy.”

Pikachu snorts and squirms around. Jumpy. Yeah, right. More like justly wary of a known traitor, whom he takes the opportunity to leer at until Ash pointedly pinches his flank.

Alain watches this whole interaction with a continued befuddled expression, off-put and wrong-footed. Then, carefully, he takes a step back, glancing between Pikachu and Ash and then Pikachu again. There is something growing in his eyes. Some sort of understanding. Some sort of budding guilt. 

Good, some vindictive part of Pikachu calls out. He’d better.

“Alright. If you’re sure you’re feeling well, then. I will return to the kitchen.”

The older boy does just that, turning on his heel, scarf trailing behind him.

One second. Two. He doesn’t come back.

Pikachu turns his focus on his partner. Checking him over. Looking him in the eye. Brown eyes, they both have dark brown eyes, two sides of the same whole. They’re okay. 

They’re okay, they’re okay, they’re okay-

A sigh, inhale and exhale, and Ash plonks his head against the plastic edge of the bench, closing his eyes. “Try for me, okay, bud? You don’t- you don’t have to trust him, but, uh, let’s keep this at least kinda friendly.”

 Immediately, guilt floods Pikachu senses. He’s been trying to help, but instead he’s just been making things harder for Ash. Another worry to heave onto his already aching shoulders.

“Fine,” Pikachu says, nuzzles back into him and gives a very gentle and loving buzz of static. “Anything you need.”

...He’ll just have to be sneakier with his watch.

From the kitchen, there’s a cacophony of yelps and Clemont’s frantic apologies. Bonnie’s groan of exasperation echoes clearly throughout the whole building. The overall tone of the interaction is a little more muted than usual, but a welcome grab at familiarity after the Kalos Crisis left everyone feeling so low. 

Ash smiles, eyes brightening, lips twitching. “Guess we better go see what that’s all about, huh, Pikachu? Wouldn’t want to miss out on anything fun!"

Fondness blossoms deep in his core, brilliant and bright. There is so much strength in this boy. So much love for life and living it. Pikachu nods, scrambles off to the ground so there won’t be any extra burden as his human pulls himself slowly and carefully to his feet. He busies himself by gathering all the scattered plates and bowls and utensils, placing them haphazardly around the table in what he thinks is a suitable arrangement. Mimey would be proud. 

By the time Ash is upright, his eyebrows are furrowed and his breath is far too controlled, escaping in and out in measured hisses. But he offers Pikachu his arm, eyes twinkling, and Pikachu takes the offer for what it is, leaping high and landing expertly on his shoulders.  Adjusting easily to the little shifts Ash makes beneath him, they settle into their own well worn familiar.

His best friend’s gait has steadied by the time they’ve exited the cafeteria. Once they’ve reached the kitchen, it’s like nothing even happened at all. They laugh as Bonnie makes silly frosting moustaches and Serena enlists all their help in cleaning the counters, and no one suspects a thing.

No one at all. 

….Well, Alain is suspiciously absent, but Pikachu does his best to keep that out of mind.

“ How many more times?”

“I’m fine.”

“Ash. How many more times.”

“...Just four, Pikachu. Didn't even fall down. Promise.”

“Okay. I’ll keep watch.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I’ll keep watch.”

Chapter Text

It is too early in the morning for this.

It's just. It’s too early. Pikachu is too fucking tired to deal. 

He should have suspected it. There always comes a point, in the aftermath of legendaries, where Ash starts poking and prodding and trying to curb their habit of sticking together like they’re made of glue, a process that only ever lasts a couple of days before they both give up on it. Brock had said something about ‘co-de-pen-den-cy’ once, how it was kinda unhealthy, and his partner had taken it to heart.

Doesn’t mean Pikachu has to like it.

“You need to socialise with other pokemon,” Ash had said when they woke up. Had insisted. Had bribed with an entire bottle of ketchup. He had looked like a man walking to his own execution even as he had placed Pikachu on the ground, smile fake, body twitching in reluctance. “C’mon, just one hour, I’ll be fine. You might even have fun!”

This does not look like fun.

In fact, this looks just about as far opposite as fun as possible. Greninja and Alain's Charizard are butting heads. Not physically, not yet, but they're definitely getting there and it is too damned early. 

"Let's just calm down," Hawlucha says, because Hawlucha is actually wonderful and useful and a good mediator when it wants to be. Pikachu decides right then and there that he's in love, just a little bit. It's always such a relief when Ash gets picked up by the somewhat levelheaded ones.

Two pissed off and admittedly powerful pokemon whirl on Hawlucha, orange and blue, contrasted and yet so alike in their anger. The bird jumps back, hands raised, and it's probably a smart move. Their combined rage is nothing to sneeze at. 

Pikachu doesn't move away. Pikachu trundles forward and thinks, longingly, about Ash's warm arms. Maybe after this he'll take a nap. He hasn’t been sleeping well. He hasn't been sleeping really at all, too busy keeping guard.

"Stop postering," he snaps, and jumps up to land on Greninja's shoulder to make up for the fact that he's so arceus-damned small in comparison to their Kalos Team. "What's going on. Why are you two starting shit with each other."

It's stupid early. He doesn't have it in him to be nice right now, and there are no babies to watch his mouth around. It’s just him and two pokemon who should really know better.

Greninja's shoulder is just this side of too narrow- especially with all the tongue Pikachu is politely trying to avoid- and it shifts awkwardly to accommodate him, crossing its arms tightly in front of its chest. Charizard huffs smoke through his nose, tail thrashing. 

Deescalation time, then. Otherwise poor Professor Sycamore is gonna have to pay for damages done to his lab. Again. That's reason enough to step in by itself, but mostly he knows that Ash would be disappointed if he doesn't at least try. Pikachu had promised to keep things civil: an all-out brawl in the greenhouse would not be civil. 

"Well?" he snaps, and sparks with electricity to get across his impatience and frustration.  Usually it's best to force communication between hard headed pokémon rather than laying it out easy for them. 

Pikachu has been doing this for a long time. He knows these things.

Charizard breaks first, breathing more hot air. "It's being a sore loser," he says, and Pikachu narrows his own eyes. That was totally baiting, and a lie to boot. Greninja wouldn't get this worked up about just losing. He’s travelled with the frog pokemon long enough to know this.

Sure enough, his teammate is drawing itself taller. "That's not what this is and you know it. This is about Ash. About what you let happen to him."

Oh. Yeah. That would do it. 

Pikachu reminds himself he needs to keep a somewhat impartial game face on if he doesn't want this entire situation to implode. As a precaution, he glances at Hawlucha, who cocks its head and then nods in understanding. It hops up and vanishes into the hall.

Already, he misses Ash's presence like a lost limb. A thrum of anxiety that just won’t leave.

"You don't know Lysander. You don't know Alain. We did what we had to do," Charizard is saying, somehow sounding righteous and mutinous in one.

Civil. This is just a civil conversation. Take the anger and shove it down. Not the time. Not the time.

Greninja apparently disagrees. Greninja apparently thinks this is the perfect time to get into it. Greninja, for all that it is a wonderful teammate and friend, can be a bit of a headstrong idiot. It’s like Ash in that way. "Yes. Of course. Working for a monster was one of those necessities, I presume?"

Snarling, Charizard pulls away. 

"We thought we were just getting stronger! We thought we were doing good!"

Pikachu overbalances when Greninja shifts, webbed fingers going down to its sides in a mimicry of fists- an act probably picked up from Ash. He lands on the ground easily enough, but suddenly it’s like he doesn’t exist, entirely ignored by the two contesting pokemon. Out of sight, out of mind.

Why is everyone so tall?

"That wasn't strength-"

"Strong enough to beat you."

Baiting, again. Pikachu opens his mouth to cut the argument off and gets ploughed over, conflict continuing. Hawlucha should return soon with back up, worse comes to worse. But Pikachu should be able to handle this on his own.

He just needs to get higher. He just needs to get their attention. 

"You only won because you cheated by gathering mega evolution energy!"

“I can take you on right here, right now!”

There’s a boulder. Perfect.

“Bring it on-”

It takes an iron tail or two to get the rock to be something he can comfortably stand on, and the crack of metal against stone cuts off the rising voices. Pikachu takes the opportunity to leap to the top of his newly made podium and glare at the pair of troublemakers before him. 

"Would you both shut the fuck up!?"

Silence. Blessed silence. He leers at the two much larger pokemon and sparks again. This time it isn’t as intentional but he can’t bring himself to care. “Greninja, Ash has said to drop it, so drop it. Charizard, stop being purposely antagonistic. If you wanna have another battle, let’s do it with our trainers and be done with it.”

There’s a moment. Then another. Greninja is back to being the very picture of cool, calm, and collected except for the twitching of its webbed hands. Charizard hasn’t stopped thrashing his tail.

Finally, his teammate acquiesces, pivoting on the spot and heading further into the greenhouse. Pikachu thinks Talonflame might be roosting nearby, and hopefully will be able to soundboard for Greninja’s frustration. 

Charizard stands by him while it leaves, watching the frog disappear into the greenery. Pikachu keeps his gaze locked on the lizard, guard up.

The argument has been mediated. Pikachu did what he came to do. And he doesn’t care that it’s not been an hour, he’s had enough and is going back to his human for reassuring yes we are both alive cuddles and a nap.

Except-

Except Charizard turns on him, and mutters a little gruff, “Thank you. Alain and I appreciate it.” 

Pikachu can only bring himself to stare.

It’s still too early for this. 

“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Ash.”

Charizard opens his mouth again, but Pikachu cuts him off, anger all too suddenly exploding in his chest. He needs to understand that Pikachu is not his friend. Pikachu does not trust him, or Alain. Especially not Alain. They lost any friendship he had to offer when they betrayed Ash. 

“You're here because my partner wants you here. If it were up to me, you and your trainer wouldn’t be allowed in the same city as us, much less the same house.” Pause. Breathe. Get your head on straight. Think about how poor Professor Sycamore’s architecture doesn’t deserve another hole in it. “However, Ash is forgiving, so you've not been booted out yet.”  

The fire type is looking down at him, eyes startled. Pikachu thinks, only a little viciously, Good.  

“But if you and Alain put a toe out of line? If you betray us again? Don’t think I’ll hesitate. I will get rid of you, one way or another. And it will not be fucking pretty.”

Charizard blinks at him, blinks at him. Pikachu stares back quite calmly, despite the rolling emotions in his gut. 

He knows that at a first glance he looks like the weak link of this Kalos team, not fully evolved and miniscule in size when compared to the others. Random strangers call him adorable, and little kids always want to pet him, and he’s never going to be naturally intimidating.

So many people and pokemon underestimate him, even the ones who should know better.

It’s the way Pikachu likes it, usually. Anything can be twisted into an advantage when it comes to a battle.

But right now he needs Charizard to understand that that isn’t all he is. That Pikachu can more than hold his own. That Pikachu can be dangerous, if he needs to be. He has taken on legendaries and won. For Ash, he’d do so much more.

The lizard has beaten Greninja before, sure, but he's never gone one on one against Pikachu. Not when he’s ready for it. Not when Ash is on the line.

Pikachu shows his fangs in the mockery of a human smile; in the world of pokemon, it’s a threat, and they both know it.

“See you around,” he says, and hops off his perch just in time for Hawlucha to come sailing into the room, looking more than a little relieved at the lack of catastrophe. Ash follows almost immediately after, and Pikachu scampers up to him, clambering up onto a shoulder that is just the right size, nuzzling into his scarred cheek. 

“Hey, buddy,” Ash murmurs, flashing him a grin, something tense dissipating in his shoulders now that they’re together again. Pikachu smiles back, ignoring Charizard’s stare. “You’ve seen the others anywhere? Hawlucha said there might be trouble.”

Pikachu shrugs. “Already handled it.”

He looks at the lizard pokemon as he says it. It’s a challenge, a dare, and a warning all in one.

Charizard, wisely, says nothing. Just flaps his wings and takes to the air. 

“Huh,” his partner says, “Wonder what’s up with him?”

Pikachu shrugs and curls up close. The exhaustion is back. He’s done his job and now it’s time for a nap. As long as Alain is nowhere nearby and Ash is awake and aware then it’s probably safe.

“Probably nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah… I guess.”

“Pikachu?”

“Hmm?”

Ash is distracted, comforting Serena, who is crying again. Pikachu doesn’t blame her.

Greninja is looking at him, crouched low. “I’m sorry,” it croaks, quiet. “You were right. I shouldn’t be starting confrontations with Charizard.”

Pikachu shrugs. “I don’t exactly blame you for it. I’m pissed, too.”

Silence. Serena says, "I just felt so useless-”

“Pikachu.”

The couch cushion dips under his weight, and he’s careful to keep his claws retracted. He doesn’t look Greninja in the eye.

“Yeah?”

“Ash is blocking me, in the bond. There’s… dissonance.”

He cracks his eyes open, just a peak. Greninja doesn’t see, though, its own gaze too focused on Ash as he wraps Serena up in a one-sided hug.

The beam. The incidents. Ash crumpling to the ground at random intervals throughout the day. Greninja hasn’t figured it out.

It’s bad, probably, that Pikachu feels a little relieved. Even though Ash and Greninja have the bond phenomena, he’s the one who knows Ash best. When things are off with their trainer, their team turns to him.

Pikachu never said he wasn’t selfish. And he’s too tired to scold himself for being petty. 

Still, his friend deserves to know. Pikachu’s a little possessive, not an asshole. “He’s being a bit of a martyr,” he says, and Greninja’s eyes snap to him. “Team Flare’s beam hit him pretty hard and he’s been having some… issues. He doesn’t want you getting hurt.”

“Oh.”

“It wasn’t your job to fight Zygarde, Serena.” Ash says, quiet, from across the room. Serena wipes at her eyes furiously with a handkerchief. The faded pink bleeds darker with her tears.

“It wasn’t yours, either, and you were still out there!”

Ash doesn’t say anything in response, biting the inside of his cheek. Pikachu knows what he’s thinking; it is, it is, it is. 

Heart the size of a wailord indeed.

To Greninja, he murmurs, “Hmm. Nurse Joy also said your energy levels were dangerously low, right? That could also have something to do with it.”

The frog pokemon winces at that, unable to deny the truth. Both it and Ash had gone practically comatose after the Crisis, sleeping for sixteen hours straight as soon as their bedraggled troop had been dropped off at the emergency centre set up in an abandoned school gymnasium. 

Pikachu remembers keeping guard then, too, refusing Nurse Joy’s attentions and sitting with his collection of shell shocked children, Professor Sycamore all the while dashing around the room. Through gritty eyes, he had watched as the gym leaders came and went, how Alain had vanished to another secluded corner with Marian for a long, long time. There had been a lot of wounded, human and pokemon alike, and far too many worried, hushed conversations to count.

There had been a lot of wide eyed looks directed at Ash and Greninja, curled up in their own secluded corner, even though Clemont and Serena had tried to keep them somewhat out of view. The prying eyes had made Pikachu… twitchy. To say the least.

When Sycamore had offered the lab as a place to stay after the pair had woken up, everyone had been more than willing.

  “Okay.”

The quiet word pulls him out of his reverie, and Pikachu shakes his head blearily, trying to clear it. Greninja may be awake and mostly hale at the current moment, but he’s not surprised that Serena is only just now coming to terms with what happened. He doesn’t think she slept much in the emergency centre either, holding everything together until it felt safe to fall apart.

He sighs and pulls himself to his feet. Serena is still crying and her pokemon are nowhere in sight, probably by design. She doesn’t like making them worry. 

Sometimes, he thinks that Ash and Serena have more in common than most people would give them credit for.

After hopping off the couch, he glances at Greninja, still half crouched behind the armchair. “If it bothers you, talk with him. Just, maybe not right now?”

A nod, and as silently as it appeared, the frog pokemon vanishes. He can just hear it padding down the hall, possibly back to its pokeball to think. 

Pikachu has a different destination, trundling across the scant few metres separating the couch and the armchair. With how tired he is, it may as well have been miles.

Still, he hops up onto the couch. Still, he nestles between Ash and Serena, resting his chin on her thigh. She blinks down at him, eyes wet, and then her lips twitch into a smile, her hand relocating to pat gently on his head.

“Did you come to comfort me, Pikachu?”

He presses closer in confirmation. Ash scratches behind Pikachu’s ear in approval. “You’re gonna have your moment, Serena,” he says to her, voice soft. “Just you wait and see.”

Chapter Text

“Oh dear, look who loves its trainer~”

Pikachu is there, asphalt under his paws, smoke in his lungs. Pikachu is a million miles away. Ash is on the ground.

“Shut up,” he says, the words garbled, the words quite not there. “Just shut the fuck up-”

“Pikachu. Pikachu?”

They are on top of a castle. They are at the bottom of the sea. No. Wait. The asphalt is so rough under his feet, hardly more than dust and debris. Brock’s soup is in his nose but he can’t find him anywhere. Where is he? Where is he? Ash needs their help-

Ash is on the ground. Ash is right in front of him, smile crinkling his eyes. He’s wearing a wig. He looks ridiculous. “Aw, you love me, you love me so much, don’t you buddy-”

Ash is on the ground.

“Look who loves its trainer~”

“Pikachu. Can you hear me?”

Ash is on the ground. Pikachu can’t get to him. His limbs aren’t working. Something touches his shoulder and he jerks away-

Falling. He’s falling?

Pikachu opens his eyes. Suddenly awake, suddenly almost aware. The world cements into something close to solid. He is falling, the carpeted floor coming into view a mere few inches away-

Caught. Rough hands, grabbing at him. Someone is holding him. Now. Too tight. Too close. They’re saying something.

They’re not Ash.

It’s instinct, to lash out. Pikachu bites at a hand reaching for him and then spasms, electricity flaring. Release comes all at once, wild and uncontrolled, and he backs up, backs up. Falls off soft cushions but manages to land on his feet. Stumbles.

He remembers, blearily, falling asleep. Serena had been there, cross legged on the couch with a little furrow between her brows, talking, no longer crying. Ash had been there, barefoot, running his fingers through Pikachu’s fur. Listening.

Neither of them are here now. It’s just Pikachu.

And Alain.

Alain, who looks at him with wide eyes, frozen still. Alain, who has a bleeding palm and scorched eyebrows, who had been grabbing him. Alain, who is here when Ash is not.

There are weights he carries that he will never put down.

“Where is he!? What did you do with him!?” 

It comes out furious. It comes out in a screech. Pikachu is so pissed and so, so scared and the world is made of too many colours and too many sounds. Ash is gone. Ash needs to be here.  

He never should have fallen asleep. He’s such a fucking idiot.  

Alain still hasn’t gotten off the couch.

“Pikachu,” he says, tone low and quiet, coming through a million miles of earth and utterly incomprehensible. “You are okay. You are in Professor Sycamore’s living room-”

 There was a time that that voice was taken as one of friendship. He had thought the older boy understood how special Ash was. 

Not anymore. Alain is dangerous. 

His heart thuds in his chest too fast. Like it’s trying to make up for the fact that Ash’s heart isn’t here to beat alongside it.

He can't do this again. He can't let Ash get hurt again. Not so soon. His heart can't take it. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. He let himself be lulled into a false sense of security and now Ash is missing and it’s all his fault, again. Idiot-

“Where. Is. Ash.” He is going to explode. Vibrations rattle up and down his frame and he’s going to blast Alain away. Just like Team Rocket. The boy’s never getting near them ever ever ever again. 

“Pikachu!”

He blinks. Suddenly his view is all worn blue fabric and red rim cap. Ash’s tan face, his wrinkled brow, his worried eyes. “Hey, buddy,” he murmurs, “Hey… hey… shhh. I got you. I got you. I’m okay. We’re both just fine.”

Warm arms swoop him off the ground, gentle, and Pikachu digs his face into Ash’s neck, into his pulse point. Hello, hello, hello , his human’s heart says, I’m alive, and he could shake with it. 

He is. Shaking with it. And sparking, too, by the feel of it. Ash had been on the asphalt and he had been so still.

“Is Pikachu okay?’

That’s Bonnie’s voice, coming from the entryway. 

Not outside. No asphalt. They’re inside. Right.

Breathe. 

He feels Ash nod, the way his calloused fingers press into his back, and rub circles into his fur.

It means, I’m here. It means, I’ll protect you .

Pikachu appreciates it, those little motions. He could use the reminders.

His partner turns and faces Alain. Pikachu squirms around to watch them interact because he still doesn’t trust the older boy at all. He’s not letting his guard down. Not again.

He's still shaking.

“You really can’t grab Pikachu when he’s not suspecting it,” Ash says, quite calm. “I’m sorry, I shoulda told you: everyone else knows. But, uh. Yeah. Don’t pick him up suddenly or anything like that. Especially when he’s asleep. Pikachu hates that.”

Alain is watching them, singed, blood still dripping from his palm. It pools into the hand he has cupped underneath, little red droplets raining down. 

“It was having a nightmare. I was just trying to help.”

“I know.” Sincerity just fills Ash’s voice. “Thank you. Next time, though, just come get me, okay?”

Alain nods and then is whisked away by Professor Sycamore to treat his wounds. There’s a murmur of voices moving away with them, Bonnie’s ringing the loudest, asking what’s going on, followed only by Clemont’s shushing. For a moment, he wonders how large their audience was.

It doesn’t matter. Ash is here, now, and nothing else matters. Pikachu can breathe.

A horn blares outside, briefly drowning out the noise of the emergency generator that's been a constant companion for the last few days. A vent blows air into the room and the light above them buzzes and flickers, too bright. Pikachu wants to hide away from all of it, for the whole wide world to just be quiet. 

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Ash is mumbling into his fur. At some point, they’ve adjusted so they’re sitting on the ground, in the corner. Pikachu focuses enough to take note of the window, the door. Ways out. He always feels better when he knows there’s a way out.

Then he presses back into Ash’s shoulder. Breathes. Breathes. Sweat and laundry detergent. Ash, Ash, Ash. 

Safe. Ash means safe.

…Ash also means feeling a bit pissed off. He left him! Alone! He’s not ever ever ever supposed to leave him this is not how they work-

“I shouldn’t have left you alone in here. That was really dumb of me, huh? I had been talking with Alain and I thought it would be okay cause it was only for a second- I was just gonna go to the bathroom. Really! And I didn’t want to wake you up cause I know you haven’t been sleeping but-”

Ash is probably biting his lip. He’d be clenching his fists, too, digging his nails too hard into the palms of his hands, but he’s too busy holding Pikachu for that. Which is good. It means that Pikachu is doing his job, making Ash be gentle to himself.

“I’m sorry,” his partner says again, in that soft little voice of his that sounds like his too-big heart has been shattered into a million pieces. “I’m sorry, Pikachu. You don’t deserve to be scared. Not ever.”

And he curls into the arms of his human who is just too goddamn good for this world and breathes. He curls into his arms and forgives him, just like he always does, because Ash is Ash and Pikachu is Pikachu, and together they can get through anything.

Even this.

“Are you alright?” Noivern asks, her eyes wide and luminous as she looks up at him, gangly limbs awkwardly curled inwards rather than out. It’s times like these where it’s hard to forget that she’s the baby of their Kalos team, no matter how fast she grew up, how proud she made everyone with her final league battle. “You didn’t come eat.”

She’s crouched low, out of sight from most of the humans sitting at the table. They must be able to hear her, but no one’s commented on it, not yet, and Pikachu is oddly relieved for it. The choice to come and sit with Ash while they had dinner had not been a difficult one. Still, there’s an odd spike of guilt at her guileless worry for him.

“Wasn’t hungry,” he murmurs, and presses himself closer to Ash’s stomach. His partner is bouncing his knee- up and down, up and down- and the rhythm is almost soothing. This doesn’t really answer her question and he’s trying really hard to not care.

Noivern blinks slowly, in that way she does when she’s taking an entire moment in, holding all its angles in her brain. “Okay.”  They both pause when Ash almost absentmindedly leans over to run his fingers between her ears, garnering an appreciative hum. He doesn’t stop talking about how cool ghost types are with Sycamore even as he gives a bounty of scritches. 

The bat pokemon doesn’t stop looking at Pikachu the entire time, either.

“I hope you feel better soon,” she says, like she means it, and turns to amble away.

Pikachu watches her go and doesn’t say, I hope so, too.

Cold tile, white floors. Pikachu nudges at Ash’s hairline and licks at the trickle of blood there, ignoring how the taste of copper makes him feel sick. Waits for his human to wake up and pretends he’s not panicking. 

Another episode. Another fall. In the bathroom, this time, with an unfortunate added danger of poorly placed sinks that knock partners unconscious and send their beloved companions into a state of very, very controlled calm.

“Ash,” he murmurs. “Ash, please.”

It’s nighttime, the lab corridors lit up sparingly with orange wall lights eye-level with Pikachu’s head, the world outside dark and cool. It’s only been an hour or two since the professor had shooed them all up to bed, and Ash- realising he had forgotten to brush his teeth- had slipped out to the tune of Clemont’s quiet snores.

Their quick trip has kind of turned into a nightmare scenario. With every passing moment, Pikachu is having more and more trouble keeping out mental images of asphalt and Ash, limp and perfectly still.

It’s been less than a minute. Pikachu is keeping track. Brock always used to keep track. Sometimes he thinks they’d both be dead without Brock.

If over two minutes pass, Pikachu doesn’t care that Professor Sycamore will have to deal with more holes in his lab. He will blast the door open and call for help.

“Ash, cmon. Don’t make me shock you. I’ll do it. You know I will.” The words come out too shaky to be any real kind of threat, further undermined by the fact that he’s still gently pressing against his better half’s face. But they work, too, because Ash’s dark eyes flicker open, his body starts to shift.

“M’okay. M’fine. Uh- Ugh. Wha…?”

“Beam thing again. But you hit your head this time, on the sink. You were passed out for fourty-six seconds.”

His human brings a hand up to his head, prods tenderly at the bruise already forming on his temple, the small trickle of blood that’s been gathering since Pikachu stopped his ministrations. “Oh,” he says, almost monotone. “Ow.”

This kid, Pikachu thinks, just a little hysteric, is going to be the arceus-damned death of me.

Externally, he stands quietly by Ash while his boy carefully levers himself upright, leaning against the bathtub. He ignores how the lights above their heads are too bright, giving him a headache. He ignores the tiredness pulling at his limbs.

“Pikachu.” Soft fingers, tapping him twice on the flank before picking him up and pulling him close. They’ve been in this position an awful lot, these past few days. Ash on the ground. Pikachu, helpless. “You’re shaking again.”

He sits and lets Ash run small calloused hands up and down his frame, as if checking him over for injuries when he’s the one bleeding from his forehead, when he’s the one who keeps mysteriously collapsing and handing out free heart attacks to all concerned parties involved. When he’s the one Pikachu has failed once more.

“I scared you again, didn’t I? Twice in one day. That’s really sucky. I’m sorry, Pikachu.”

Gentle. His better half is always just so gentle, and it tears his defences down like nothing else. Pikachu knows what it is to live with humans who choose worse things, who hold only cruelty in the palms of their hands.

He breathes. Breathes. 

“It’s alright. Are you okay?”

A nod, chin moving up and down against his back. “Yeah, think so. ‘Specially cause this is only the second time it’s happened today.  It’ll stop all together soon, hopefully.”

“Good.” 

They sit there for a while in the gathering silence. It’s a comfortable sort of quiet, a welcomed one after such a long day.

Finally, Ash lets out a breath like a long, wheezing balloon. “C’mon, bud. Let’s go to bed, okay? Let’s get some sleep. Things’ll look better in the morning.”

But Pikachu shakes his head, shakes his head. Backs up and sits on his haunches, looking up at his human as firmly as he can muster. “No. I have to keep you awake, right? You hit your head so that means no sleeping… Like what Brock does?”

“What- Oh. Oooooh. Aw, man. And we’re both really tired, too.”

Pikachu shrugs and doesn’t deny it. He would have stayed up either way: someone has to keep watch and if it’s not going to be Ash then it has to be him. 

Outside, a low siren wails some miles away.

They listen to it, the both of them, contemplative frowns in place. Professor Sycamore has offered to lead an excursion into the city proper tomorrow morning. None of them have been back since they had left the emergency relief centre in the immediate aftermath of the Crisis. There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to ever do it, that wants to run and run and not once look at the world he’s leaving behind. There’s a part of him that wants to thunderbolt the whole region into submission for making Ash hurt so much.

But Ash doesn’t do things like that, so Pikachu doesn’t either. Not anymore.

“Well, if we can’t sleep, we may as well get something to eat.” His human pokes him in the stomach. “No protests, either. I know you didn’t have anything for dinner.”

Pikachu sighs. Agrees with a murmur.

They go and feast on the finest midnight pallet of cheese and stale crackers. The stiffness doesn’t return to Ash’s lanky frame, and Alain never turns up to darken the kitchen door, but he keeps an eye out for both. Just in case. 

He’s not going to get caught off guard again. He's not.

Pikachu is perfectly in control. He's just fine.

Chapter Text

Ash is trying to keep everyone’s spirits up, and it’s not really working. Their little group has become a collection of huddled limbs and drawn faces.

Seeing a place you called home in ruins is always such a devastating thing.

Luxray snuffs softly at a bit of debris, huddling around Clemont’s sad frame, who seems to be taking it hardest. The young scientist’s mouth is nothing more than a thin-lipped line, eyes shuttered and dark, fingers clenched into the ruff of Luxray’s neck. Watching him, Pikachu is reminded of Ash on his worst days, the kind of days where guilt almost swallows him whole. Lumiose Tower glimmers in the distance, a symbol of the city reborn as a stark, bitter reminder of its destruction.

Everyone’s off-footed and quiet. Bonnie, holding Serena’s hand, has hardly muttered more than a few words. Mairin had met up with them earlier, and her good cheer seems to have sputtered out as her fingers clench onto Alain’s forearm, their pulled frowns for once matching. Chespie spends most of its time curled up and sleeping in her shoulder bag, recovering. Quiet.

Quiet, quiet. It’s like the whole wide world is holding its breath. Pikachu sits stiff on Ash’s shoulder and keeps watch.

It’s a morbid sort of curiosity that keeps them wandering through discarded giant vines, massive piles of rubble, and the gutted frames of buildings. Occasionally, someone will point out large shards of concrete and tile that used to be bakeries, offices, stores. Places they knew. Places that were whole and hale just a few short days ago. Occasionally, they’ll be redirected by Officer Jenny or rescue teams, sent out and away from areas still considered unstable. Unsafe.

Finally, after an hour of aimless walking, Bonnie begins to cry. Professor Sycamore takes one look at her, the rest of their shadowed, shattered faces, and then sighs. His own face looks waxen and pale in the morning light.

“Let’s head back,” he says, and no one disagrees.

“So! I was thinking I could maybe try and make poffins today. I saw a recipe on pokevision and I thought it could be fun?”

Serena smiles, but it’s strained and a little cracked. Their trip to the city rests heavy in all their minds, leaving every last one of them subdued. And now they’re here, in one of the lounges, people and pokemon alike sprawled across couches. Noivern and Hawlucha are quietly chatting, and Talonflame is crooning as Ash carefully preens her feathers. Greninja has taken a seat in the corner, eyes closed but clearly alert to anyone who knows it well enough.

“That sounds great, Serena,” Ash says, warm, and Serena’s smile becomes a little more real.

“Do you want any help?” Bonnie asks, quiet, and Serena glances at Ash before nodding. Pikachu watches as the two girls head to the kitchen, Dedenne chasing behind them. 

Clemont leaves, next, wandering out of the room with Luxray quietly tailing behind him. Ash had glanced after him, biting his lip in that way he does when he’s worried about his friends but unsure if his help is wanted or needed. Pikachu presses more firmly against his side, keeping him seated. Luxray has it handled.

And then they’re alone. Just Ash and the team of pokemon that had almost won it alll.

In the quiet, it’s a little easier to breathe in the leftover air of comfort. No one to bother them, no one Pikachu doesn’t trust implicitly to keep his human safe. All the tension held inside his chest their entire outing slowly drains away. Ash moves on from preening Talonflame’s feathers to working on Hawlucha’s. 

Unfortunately, the peace doesn’t last.

Alain pokes his head into the doorway, apparently finished with whatever conversation he had been having with Sycamore. Pikachu stiffins, ears falling back and tail jerking upright, every muscle tensing, electric pouches already starting to spark. Get out, he thinks, and hopes that Alain can sense it, get out get out get out-

“Pikachu,” Ash murmurs, soothing, and it isn’t much of a surprise. But then he says, “C’mon, guys, let’s all just calm down-”

That’s a bit more shocking. Pikachu takes a moment to glance quickly around the room, realising that all of his fellow pokemon had tensed with him, sitting upright and alert, eyeing Alain warily.

Huh, he thinks, processing. 

Huh. 

Alain seems to be able to read the room, the way it slid into a startling cold and standoffish feel the moment he poked his head inside. He nods, awkwardly, and stiffly turns to walk away. His hand is still wrapped from where Pikachu bit him.

Ash, for his part, sighs loudly, watching him go. “What am I going to do with you all?” he asks, reaching out to smooth down the ruffed up fur on Noivern’s neck. “You know it’s not his fault, right? Alain was tricked.”

“It was a little his fault,” Greninja murmurs, and Ash shoots it a disapproving frown. The frog pokemon looks away, quickly, but doesn’t actually take back its words. No one else disagrees with them, either.

“He was dishonourable. He got you hurt!” Hawlucha adds on, fist pumping into the air and back straight, and Pikachu nods, quickly, to show his agreement. Their human just stares back at them with no small amount of bewilderment, his face shuttering between confusion and exasperation. 

He doesn’t get it. Likely never will, and Pikachu knows it. Ash is just too good, and if there is even a chance that his kindness can be earned he’ll be willing to give it his all. That’s just how Ash is, and Pikachu loves him for it, they all love him for it, he’s sure, but-

But most pokemon in general have very strong pack bonding instincts. Their trainer is family. They’re all a family now, after their adventures, after everything, and not a single one of them will take a slight to their pack lightly. Pikachu knows that, logically, but it’s nice to see it come into play. It’s nice that Ash’s other pokemon see his side of things, and even agree with him. 

Talonflame nips, very gently, at Ash’s ear . “You’re flock,” she says. “That means it’s our job to take care of you just as much as you take care of us.”

Quiet breathing in a quiet room, and Pikachu presses closer to Ash’s side as his best friend bites the inside of his cheek. He wonders if his partner understands, just a little better, where he’s coming from.

But Ash just inhales and exhales deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, I guess I can’t make you guys like Alain, or forgive him or whatever. But, uh, please try? If you can? He feels bad enough as it is.”

After receiving confirmation from all his other pokemon that they’ll at least try, the conversation moves on. It’s mostly just them sitting in a quiet living room, murmuring to each other while Ash helps with deep cleaning their fur, feathers, and webbing. Pikachu hadn’t even realised how dirty he’s been feeling since the Crisis until the layers of grime had been brushed out of his coat.

He hadn’t realised how tired Ash must have been feeling all day today until he passes out an hour later, head lolling back against the couch cushions. Staying up all night would do that, he supposes, and really, it’s sweet. Pikachu nuzzles softly against his partner’s cheek before turning back to the others-

The others. Who are all staring at him.

“What?” he says, only a little self consciously, and shifts to sit on the back edge of the couch so he can be a bit taller, a little more at eye level.

Quietly, so as to not wake their trainer, Hawlucha steps forward. “We just wanted to say, Pikachu, you’ve known Ash the longest. When it comes to this situation, with Alain…”

Greninja gives him a small nod. “We’ll follow your lead.”

Ash sleeps next to him, and Pikachu nods quickly, confirming his understanding. Then they all pile around Ash for a nap, Pikachu taking up his customary spot on his partner’s stomach when Noivern shoots him a look and says that she’ll keep watch. 

It’s an opportunity for sleep. Pikachu should take it. He hasn’t slept well in days.

Still, still, something inside of him clenches uncomfortably. It feels, strangely enough, like guilt.

Bonnie finds them, after their nap. It’s odd to see her so subdued.

They’re in the hallway, Pikachu’s curled up on Ash’s shoulders, heading towards the gym to run through some light training. They’re both getting a little restless, cooped up inside the lab, and battling has a way of reminding you that you are alive. That you’re still here. That, no matter your loss, you can almost always come back stronger.

It’s another reminder that Pikachu can use, these days.

“Hey, Ash,” she says, very quietly. Her small voice immediately draws Ash to his knees, so that he’s crouching in front of her with concerned eyes. Hands flutter around her shoulders before settling down.

“Hey, Bonnie. What’s wrong? Can I do something to help?”

(All Ash ever wants to do is help and help and help-)

But Pikachu is concerned, too, so he leans closer-

Only for Bonnie to minutely flinch away.

Pikachu freezes. Ash freezes.

Bonnie sniffs.

He holds himself perfectly still.

“Is Pikachu gonna bite me?” she asks, still in that small voice, and now Pikachu’s the one to flinch. Oh no, he thinks, oh no. 

Luckily, where Pikachu remains frozen and stiff, Ash bursts into life. He reaches out and grabs Bonnie’s hand in his bigger ones, all calluses and soft grip. There was a time his human’s hands were that small, he realises, distantly. It must not have been all that long ago. 

“Maybe,” Ash says, and both Pikachu and Bonnie wince this time. “But only if you’re not gentle with him. Remember when you squeezed him too hard, when you first met? And then Pikachu let loose a thunderbolt because he didn’t like it?”

“Uhuh.”

“It’s like that. Alain didn’t know how to hold Pikachu gently, or not to wake him up. It made him scared, and so he felt like he had to protect himself. But you know how to be very gentle, and you always come to get me if we need to wake Pikachu up for some reason, so that means…?”

Blond whisps fall to the side as Bonnie tilts her head. “It means he won’t bite me?”

“Exactly. You want to try and pet him?”

The hallway lights buzz above their heads, dull and continuous. Ash taps his thumbs against Bonnie’s wrists, one and two and three and four. After seemingly an entire eternity, she nods her head, pulls one of her hands free, and reaches for Pikachu.

Pikachu holds himself very still. Let’s tentative fingers trace his ears, the crown of his head, scratch under his chin. When the appendages get close enough, he gives them a small lick, receiving a wet giggle in response. 

Talking with humans who aren’t Ash is always a little bit like playing a game of charades. You can’t just come out and say things, most of the time. You have to… imply. Gesture. See how gentle I am being with you, he tries to show. See how much I care about you, how much I want you to feel safe. 

It’s the best way he knows how to say, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Gentleness is a choice. It always is. Sometimes Pikachu thinks life made his edges too sharp, his hurts too deep. To this day he doesn’t know what Professor Oak was thinking, giving him to a kid like Ash. Surely there must be a point where you are simply too scarred to be kept around decent company.

But the small child before him keeps petting him, and Ash keeps letting him sit on his shoulder, and the world keeps spinning round. 

“I hate this,” Bonnie says, breaking the silence. She’s not talking about Pikachu. “I hate feeling scared all the time. I hate being sad and angry. I wish the bad men had never come, had never tried to capture Squishy or hurt Chespie or Clembot or anything. It isn’t fair. ”

Ash’s shoulders hunch, guilty. “I know," he says, soft and very real. "I’m sorry.”

The response seems to spark some life back into the girl, and she rolls her eyes in the way only eight year olds can. She’s still petting Pikachu. “Well, it’s not your fault. It’s stupid Team Flare’s fault.”

That startles a laugh out of Ash, and Bonnie grins, more and more like the bright spark Pikachu’s used to. Then her smile falters.

“Would you talk to Clemont?” she asks. “He’s been really sad, but he won’t tell me anything. Maybe he’ll talk to you cause you’re older and stuff.”

“I… Yeah. Okay. I’ll talk to him.” Ash’s solemn face finally gives way to something more joyous. “For now, though, you wanna help me‘nd Pikachu train?”

And Bonnie, of course, agrees.

“Any more incidents?”

“Not since last night.”

“Good.”

….

“Thanks for being here, Pikachu. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Chapter Text

Team Rocket possibly has the worst sense of timing in the world. 

Pikachu really dislikes them sometimes. Pikachu would be spending more time expressing said dislike if he was not so busy absolutely freaking the flip out over the fact that his last sight of Ash had been his human being thrown through a wall.

Pikachu hates being helpless. He hates it. He hates it.

The capsule is small and he needs out. He needs to get to Ash right the fuck now or he is going to lose it.

He needs his partner to be okay. He needs-

Lighting blows out around him, resulting in a self contained light show-

And does absolutely nothing to the cage.

He’s changed his mind. Right now, he hates Team Rocket, too.

On their part, the trio seem to have actually noticed that he’s more irritable than usual. It’s a testament to their intelligence, which isn’t much to speak of. They must have somehow found themselves in the proud possession of half a brain cell for the day.

“...uh, you guys?" James says, leaning close. Pikachu leers at him. "Is it just me, or is our yellow friend a tad upset?"

"Yah," Meowth responds, leaning close too. The balloon goes higher and higher, passing well beyond the cracked glass dome of the conservatory. (And the contractors had only just finished fixing up poor Professor Sycamore's lab from their last visit, too.) "What's up wit’ youse?"

Pikachu snarls and says something not meant for polite company. James glances curiously at Meowth who just shakes his head. "I'm not translating dat, it would up the rating of da whole story," he says, sounding squeamish, and Pikachu feels surprisingly vindicated.

Not that the vindication helps anything. Ash could be hurt and he’s just here being utterly useless-

Jessie whirls around from where she's battling Serena and Ash’s pokemon both, hair flying in the racing wind and eyes burning with dramatic rage. "Less yapping, more attacking!" she yells, and the boys trade guilty glances before leaping into action. 

Pikachu just tries to knock the capsule off the pedestal again, his breath short in his lungs. The turbulence of the basket being tossed around by the surrounding battle is not helping with his tightly strung panic, which in turn is not helping with his tightly strung anger at the entire situation. 

He wants out.

"We're coming for you, Pikachu!" Hawlucha says, voice distorted by the glass, and then the bird is taking a flying leap off of Noivern's back. The air shivers against his stout wings and it seems, for a moment, that he might make it. Then Hawlucha gets batted to the side by Gourgeist, and a shadow ball takes down Noivern in turn.

Dammit. Without Ash there to guide them, not to mention their levels of exhaustion, the whole situation is turning sideways.

As distracted as he is, it comes as a complete surprise when a mechanical hand suddenly shoots up and grabs the glass chamber, dislodging it from its space entirely. His insides violently protest the jerky movements, but he pushes that aside in favour of being relieved that the whole ordeal is going to be over soon. He’ll be able to check on Ash. It will be okay. 

Pikachu traces the thick metal coils that keep the hand suspended in midair, down and down and down below to where they are connected to some strange box-like contraption. Clemont's glasses flash white in the afternoon sun. 

With startled dread, Pikachu realises that this isn't Clemont's backpack hand. That this invention is entirely new, which means, any second now-

The machine explodes in a cloud of smoke and ash, engulfing the ground far below in smog. Pikachu screeches as his jerky descent becomes a free falling one, claws skittering against smooth glass.

They're so high up, and the flying pokemon on Ash's team are all down for the count. In his head, he starts calculating what the chances are that Ash will be able to catch him, knowing all too well that he's probably still recovering from his meet-up with the wall. 

It's not looking pretty.

Pikachu curls up small- or, well, smaller, because the arceus damned container is already quite tiny- and braces himself for impact.

It's an impact that never comes. 

Two hands, far too large and pale to be Ash's, reach out and snatch the capsule from the sky. Pikachu gets thrown roughly against the glass as his momentum grounds to a sudden halt, pressing air out of his lungs and conking his head solidly against the top. Breathing shallowly, he squints at the figure who caught him. 

Blue hair. Fluffy scarf. A large orange pokémon underneath.

It appears that Alain and Charizard have gotten back from their flight.

Dammit.

There's a part of Pikachu that would have preferred to crash against the pavement.

As is, a well placed flamethrower pops a hole in the balloon, and Jessie and James and Meowth go crashing to the ground as the entire contraption starts violently zigzagging across the sky, farther and farther away. Hopefully, it will be the last that they see of them for a while. 

Pikachu knows better than to expect the trio to be kept down by something as simple as a crash landing for long, though. 

Alain slips off of Charizard, Pikachu still stuck in his terrible, evil capsule that he very much hates. He can tell that the older boy feels awkward, his mouth in a thin line, his feet shifting, the awkwardly shaped dome tucked carefully into the crook of his elbow. All around them, the remains of Professor Sycamore’s greenhouse lay covered in rubble and dust and broken windows. Even though it’s muffled through the glass, Pikachu can hear coughing and muttered words as people check in with each other, making sure everyone is okay.

That’s great and all, but Pikachu would like out. He would very much like to check in on his partner. Now, please.

He knocks on the glass of the capsule, glaring up at the distorted figure of Alain who startles and looks down at him. Charizard is leaning his long neck over his partner’s shoulders, watching too, and Pikachu points towards the top of the container. What he really wants to do is point at the wall where Ash has disappeared so he could be brought over there, but that would mean leading Alain to Ash, and that’s not happening.

Alain balances the capsule with one arm and starts trying to twist the top off ineffectively. Pikachu ears flick and his cheek sparks and he swallows stale air, forcing each breath in and out. This is fine. This is fine. If someone- anyone- else would come and take over it would be better, but Pikachu is just fine. 

 Ash should be here by now. It’s concerning that he’s not. 

The top of the capsule is still not off. This is not helping with Pikachu’s overall panic and anger at the situation. He feels dizzy with it.

…that might be in part because the whole head smashed against the capsule wall thing, though.

Suddenly, webbed fingers reach out and grab onto the trap, suction pads sticking to the glass. Greninja takes several steps back, capsule held protectively to its chest, and Pikachu tries not to sigh too loudly with relief. 

For a second, there is silence, a quiet standoff in an aftermath. Alain and Charizard watch them with careful eyes, completely still.

Then Greninja turns and walks away. Pikachu leans his aching head against the glass. “Thanks,” he breathes. And then, “Is Ash okay?”

The frog Pokémon tilts its head to the side, probably poking at the bond phenomenon bridging it and their trainer together. A slow nod is all Pikachu needs to breathe a little deeper on the next inhale.

“Can you get me out of here?” he asks next. He doesn’t lift his head. The ground below looks like a strange, all natural treadmill, the trail sliding out of view and behind as Greninja moves to meet up with Ash. 

“...The opening mechanism is tricky.”

Pikachu huffs another short breath, trying to hold back the disappointment curdling in his stomach. That's Greninja speak for No, I can’t, and it’s what he expected to hear. If Alain struggled to do it with the advantage of opposable thumbs, then the chances of Greninja succeeding were monumentally low. 

He really doesn’t like being caught up in small spaces.

Garchomp is holding up a big slab of collapsed wall when they arrive, Professor Sycamore crouched half underneath it and helping to haul Ash out of the way. Ash himself is near grey with dust and dirt, clothes all off colour. Luckily, however, that seems to be the extent of the damage.

Relief floods his veins. He loves it when they’re dealing with scrapes and bruises instead of broken bones or still bodies. It’s great. Immediately ups his mood.

“Ash!” he calls, and knocks on the walls of the container. His better half glances up, attention caught, and his shoulders immediately slump with his own version of relief at the sight of them. 

“Pikachu! Greninja! You’re alright!” A frown sneaks across his features. “Pikachu, why are you still-”

“The seal,” Greninja explains. “It’s tricky.” And then it hands Pikachu over.

What follows is a ridiculous string of attempts to get the capsule open. Ash tries. Garchomp tries. The rest of Ash’s Kalos team tries. Serena comes over and so then she and all her pokemon have to try as well. Pikachu sits in a little curled up miserable ball and suffers through it.

He doesn’t complain.

Much.

After Sycamore attempts to dislodge the lid using some weird contraption he pulled out from his pocket, Bonnie pokes Ash in the stomach. “Maybe Clemont can help?”

It’s a good idea. A spectacular idea. Technology and inventions are right up Clemont’s ally. Pikachu is suddenly wondering why they all bothered with this irritating game of pass the pikachu when the obvious solution was right in front of their noses the whole time.

The problem is, of course, that Clemont’s nowhere to be seen. 

The extended grabbing hand invention is still sitting exactly where it was last, blown to pieces and darkened with smoke. Usually, Clemont would already be muttering over it, taking notes and pulling out wrenches and screwdrivers, figuring out where things went wrong. Usually, he would have already chimed in with a way to get the capsule open without having to be prompted. 

Usually. 

The humans of the group trade worried looks. Ash somewhat uselessly brushes at the dust clinging to his clothes and hefts the container slightly higher into his arms. “I’ll go find him and ask!” Ash says, smiling. 

With his distorted view, Pikachu can’t tell if it meets his best friend’s eyes.

He has a sneaking suspicion, though, that it doesn’t.

“Clemont?”

Ash’s voice is unusually subdued, and Pikachu knows why. It can be a hard thing to see a close friend looking so dejected. 

Clemont’s sitting at the edge of his bed in their shared room, the palms of his hands pushing up his glasses as he presses them tight enough against his eyes that it has to be aching. He jumps, a little, at the sound of Ash’s voice, and when he looks up his cheeks are blotchy and red.

“Oh,” he says. “Ash. Hello. I didn’t see you there.”

There is very little Pikachu wouldn’t do to escape from this damn trap as soon as physically possible, but the deadness to Clemont’s tone worries him enough that he can put aside the panicky feeling in his chest for the moment. Quickly, silently, he and Ash trade concerned looks.

Ash approaches slowly, socked feet silent against the floor. He lets the door fall close behind him, and it almost feels like that the whole world has compressed into just this moment, this room and this bed and these two friends alone. The frown on his better half's face just keeps drawing tighter the longer he looks at Clemont’s sad expression.

Pikachu, still stuck, can’t do anything at all.

“You look sad.”

Sometimes Ash has the subtlety of a brick to the face. Usually, Pikachu finds this bluntness endearing. Right now, he can tell immediately that it’s not the right move to take.  

Clemont tenses like he’s been jolted with electricity, spine growing rigid. He won’t look Ash in the eye, voice pitching higher. “Ah. Well. Do you need something…?”

“Wha- Oh! Oh. Yes. Um. Pikachu’s stuck.”

Ash presents the capsule before him. Clemont’s distorted form blinks at him through the glass, and then he carefully accepts the container into his arms. Pikachu tries really hard to be patient as Ash’s travelling partner carefully pokes around at the seal, gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

Finally, after a minute of this, Clemont blinks, sits back, and says, sounding almost surprised at himself, “Oh, I can open this.”

Please do so. Now. Pikachu thinks, and tries not to go crazy and start scraping at the walls with his claws.

Ash just whoops, beaming happily. “I knew you could! Science is so amazing!” he cheers, and Clemont flushes red for an entirely different reason. He and Serena have a condition or something. Their incredible amounts of blushing should be studied for science. 

After he gets out of here. 

 It takes a few minutes. He gets deposited on an old lab table that had been shoved into the room to work as an improvised workbench, and Clemont putters around him, mumbling to himself. Ash watches and makes the occasional silly face at Pikachu, swinging his feet.

“You know,” Clemont says, more to himself than anyone else in the room as he carefully slips an oddly shaped screw into one of the nearly invisible seams of the contraption, “this is actually a really genius design. I know that Team Rocket aren’t very good people, but I’d love to pick their brain’s at some point about-”

He catches Pikachu’s unimpressed look and wisely falls silent with an apologetic frown. Behind him, Ash snickers into his elbow. Traitor.

And then, with far less fanfare than Pikachu feels is appropriate, the trap pops open with a quiet click. 

Pikachu scrambles out as quickly as possible, jumps on top of Clemont’s shoulders and ignores his flailing in favour of giving him a quick gratefulness nuzzle, sparking happily into his cheek. Then he leaps onto Ash, crawling all over him and satisfying that ever growing itch to make sure his human is okay. 

“Bud-” Ash says, almost laughing, halfheartedly trying to grab him. Clemont watches with a peculiar look on his face. “Pikachu, just wait one sec-”

For the sake of being a little shit, Pikachu scrambles under Ash’s shirt and then pops up through his collar, wiggling out in an awkward little squirm before finally settling on his head. Ash’s chuckles are exasperated and fond, his hands gentle when he scoops Pikachu out of his hair and plops him back into Clemont’s arms.

Pikachu wonders if Clemont looks as flummoxed as he feels, the pair of them staring at Ash with confusion. But Ash just winks at him, and his eyes say trust me, and Pikachu does. Pikachu always, always does. And so he curls himself back up. Settles comfortably into Clemont’s noodle limp grasp. 

Clemont, who is much less willing to simply go along with it. Who tries, briefly, to hand Pikachu back but is met with Ash purposely - or perhaps accidentally?- turning away to sit back down on the bed. “Ash, what-”

“I need my hands,” is all Ash says, and scrambles briefly for his backpack, shuffling through the contents before pulling out a miniature first aid kit. “I got some scrapes from the wall. Wanna cover ‘em up.” With his tongue sticking out between his teeth, he gently peels open an alcoholic wipe and starts dabbing at some of the grazed skin on his forearms and hands and fingers. 

Now, in reality, Pikachu has sat on Ash’s shoulder while he’s disinfected and wrapped his cuts and ointmented his bruises almost more times than one could count, and certainly more times than he would prefer. In reality, Pikachu actually does not need to be held every passing moment. He is not a stuffed toy, undeniable cuteness aside.

Pikachu knows this. Ash knows this. 

Clemont, apparently, does not. He sits down without any further protests, absentmindedly running gentle fingers through Pikachu’s fur. It feels nice, so he lets out a little chirping noise that most humans are capable of interpreting as don’t stop.  Clemont, because he is smart, receives the message loud and clear.

(Gentleness is a choice. It always is.) 

There’s a plan here, and although Pikachu doesn’t get it entirely, he trusts Ash. 

“Okay, so,” Ash starts, “Professor Sycamore was trying to explain friendship verses affection as an evolution base thing, and it was making no sense-”

They talk, mostly about boring things that Pikachu doesn’t care much about. He sits on Clemont’s lap, mostly content, energy slowly seeping out of him. Gradually, gradually, sleepless nights and the adrenaline crash catches up to him, and slips into a doze.

Time passes. Snippets of conversation float over his head. Something about evolution. Something about Squishy. Something about dinner, and who was going to be in charge of making it. Something and something and something else.

Something about Clembot, and Clemont beneath him stiffens up entirely, shifting as if to stand. It’s enough to make Pikachu’s ear twitch, to drag him upwards to a state close to wakefulness. 

“Wait!” Ash says, voice in a whisper-shout. “Don’t move! Pikachu’s asleep!”

Clemont freezes. Guiltily, Pikachu thinks about Bonnie and her fears of being bit, of Alain catching blood in the cup of his palm. Ash, oblivious, continues. “It hasn’t been sleeping very much lately.”

“Oh.”

Pikachu doesn’t dare to move. Keeps his breaths even and steady. The moment seems small and quiet, in his head, but maybe that’s only because he is walking a thin line between wakefulness and a doze. He thought this plan was for Clemont, but he’s realising it might also be a bit for him, too. His human is good at multitasking with the weirdest things.

Ash shifts, probably nudging Clemont in some small way. “It must really trust you, to fall asleep on you like this. And Pikachu only trusts the good ones.”

The hand in his fur tightens momentarily, then loosens. 

“I’m not, though.”

“What?”

Clemont’s voice is hard, almost rough sounding. “I’m not good. I’m not a good inventor, or a good trainer, or even a good big brother.” His grip gets tighter again. “I keep messing up.”

“What?” Ash asks, sounding lost. “No you don’t-”

“I do! I do. My inventions keep exploding in my face and my gym is completely destroyed. Bonnie- Bonnie went through so much, and I should have protected her better. And Clembot-” Clemont cuts off sharply, swallowing a gulp of shaky air.

Pikachu still has his eyes closed, the light of the room penetrating only in splashes of blobby red. Still, he can picture his better half’s face, that frown of indignation and determination he gets when hears something that he thinks is really, really wrong. The face that used to mean he was gonna blow up and challenge someone to a battle, and now sometimes just means he’s about to be inspiring and so, so good.

“Have I ever told you about when I first met Pikachu?”

A questioning hum, and the hand stills on his back. “No. I don’t believe so.”

“Yeah, well- I was. Aw, man. I was so dumb back then. I thought I knew everything about pokemon, about being a pokemon trainer. I showed up to Professor Oak’s lab way late and I totally manhandled Pikachu and then I tied it up on a piece of string and dragged it out of Pallet Town with, like, a pair of rubber gloves on.”

A startled laugh escapes from Clemont, shaking his shoulders, vibrating Pikachu from where he sits on his lap.

“Yeah! It was so stupid! Pikachu totally hated me.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“But that’s what I’m trying to say!” There’s a moment of displaced air, and he can picture it: Ash throwing his arms wide, something bright in his eyes. “I messed up so many times, and I was so dumb, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I didn’t give up. And now I got second in the Kalos league, and Pikachu is my best friend, and-”

Pikachu cracks his eye open just in time to see Ash flap his hands dismissively in front of him, as if waving a thought away. “That’s not my point,” his human says, “My point is- it’s that just cause you mess up it doesn’t mean you're a bad person. It just means you’re a person person. Does that make any sense?”

Clemont pushes his glasses up. “Possibly?”

There is some shifting on the bed, and then Ash sighs. Pikachu watches him lean against Clemont’s side,bumping their shoulders together, a small sad smile slipping onto his face. “None of it was your fault. It was- it was Team Flare’s fault. And Lysandere’s. When bad stuff happens, you can’t hold it all to yourself. It drives you crazy. You just gotta keep moving and getting stronger.” 

Fingers trace down the crown of his head, and Pikachu closes his eyes all the way. He recognizes Ash from that small touch alone. “Pikachu taught me that,” his human says, and it’s sweet and it’s gentle and Pikachu loves him. He loves Ash so much. 

Clemont’s voice still sounds small. “I don’t know where to start.”

“That’s okay. I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time, and I get by fine.”

Startled, Clemont lets loose a sudden bark of laughter. Pikachu lets out a murmured protest when it jostles him, and grants the inventor his forgiveness upon receiving a hushed, giggled apology. 

Ash pulls Clemont into a one-armed hug, and Clemont wraps his arms round his friend in turn. Pikachu can’t see the scientist’s face to tell if he’s blushing or not, but he does hear it when Clemont opens his mouth and says, more happily than anything else he’s said for the last few days, “Ash.”

“Yeah?”

“You really need a bath. You’re covered in dust.”

“Wha- Oh! Oh. Oops.”

Clemont is chuckling again, and Ash is probably beaming his million megawatt grin, the one that scrunches up his eyes. It’s good to imagine.

“Will you watch Pikachu for me? I’ll only be a minute.” Ash asks, and Clemont nods, soothing a hand down Pikachu’s spine. It feels nice. Not as nice as when Ash does it, but still good. It’s almost enough to soothe the worry of his better half leaving his line of sight.

Ash runs scratches behind his ears. “Pikachu,” he whispers, and Pikachu flicks an ear to show he’s listening. “I’m going to get all the dust off, so I’ll be gone a minute. Is that okay? Or you wanna come with me?”

It’s tempting. It’s tempting to haul himself upright and make Ash pick him up and carry him to the bathroom. The urge to keep Ash in his line of sight is nearly overwhelming.

But Clemont is warm beneath him, and the showers are just across the hallway in easy reach in case anything goes wrong. Ash hasn’t collapsed in two days, and there’s something in his tone of voice…

Ash has asked him to be brave, before, over and over and over again. Here and now, Pikachu knows there will be no judgement either way, but this is another request for his bravery. To let Ash do things on his own. To take care of Ash’s friends.

Pikachu trills, softly, and tucks his tail in close. Ash hums, pats him one last time, and walks out of the room.

The room is quiet, with Ash gone. Pikachu feels more awake after his nap, more of a functional pokemon despite the still heavy aching need for sleep. It won’t come, he knows, now that Ash is out of reach. He keeps one ear perked towards the bathroom down the hall, the sound of running water. Clemont doesn’t stop petting him.

He does, at one point, lean forwards a little to whisper, “You have a really great trainer, Pikachu.”

And Pikachu chirrups, sleepy but sure, because he completely agrees.

Chapter Text

“I want to apologise.”

Alain looks determined, crouched down carefully in front of him as Pikachu holds himself stiff on Ash’s lap. Outside, the sun sets slowly into the eaves. Inside, the professor’s voice filters from down the hall. Even though the world keeps spinning around him just like normal, Pikachu isn’t sure what he should do, so he keeps quiet. Watches Alain kneel before him with careful eyes even as Ash gently scruffs the back at his neck in small comforting motions.

“I’ve already apologised to Ash,” Alain continues, “but I see now it was an oversight, not apologising to you as well. You were also hurt by my endeavours, and I’m sorry.”

It takes a second to process what Alain is trying to do. It takes a second to process his own emotions, the way he wants to respond. Which, coincidentally, involves a lot of lightning and shouting.

Which. Hmm.

Perhaps having him on Ash’s lap was a tactical decision. 

Pikachu thrashes his tail a little bit, biting down on the anger growing between his ribs. It comes back to this. It always does. Pikachu knows frustration well, and he knows the protectiveness surging up inside of him like the oldest of friends. The guilt- the guilt is familiar, too.

Today- Team Rocket’s shenanigans aside- had been mostly a good one. Clemont was out and about- smiling more than he has in a week- and Bonnie was happily clinging to him. Dinner was good, and he and Ash had managed to squeeze some training in. 

This is ending it on a sour note. 

Alain's face is solemn, his eyebrows turned downward and a slight frown tugging at his lips. There are tiny little scars on his fingers, white marks left behind from years on the road. His eyes are seeking.

Pikachu sits there, too many emotions bundled behind his ribs. Ash's eyes were seeking, too, when Alain had betrayed them, when Alain had done nothing and Ash had been on the ground, still. Friends were supposed to protect each other. Friends were supposed to have your back. If a terrible thing was happening, you were supposed to be there and do anything anything anything to stop it. 

How could Pikachu forgive someone who wouldn't do that for Ash? Ash, who was the best thing that ever happened to him. Ash, who was the best thing that maybe ever happened to anyone. 

Communicating with humans is hard. Not all of them are as good at it as Ash. Still, he’s pretty sure that Alain understands when he turns himself completely around and buries himself into the fabric of Ash’s jacket with a decisive harrumph.

Ash groans, something like exasperation tinged with exhaustion. After a moment's pause, Alain walks away and says nothing at all.

Pikachu doesn’t feel guilty about that. He doesn’t.

Through the window, the sunset fades from pinks into a dull and bleeding red.

The night comes, like the night is wont to do. Glimpses of the stars sneak through the smoke hanging over the city, flashes of light lost amidst the smog. Bonnie, wearing only a pair of fuzzy socks and her sleeping clothes, is slowly getting dragged around the tiles of the room by Luxray as Clemont squints thoughtfully at the tip of Lumiose Tower just barely visible through the window. Hawlucha and Noivern have joined Serena and her pokemon in practising some trick that involves synchronised hoop tossing. They're playing music. It doesn't drown out the sirens.

Sycamore is on the phone, the bags under his eyes stark, talking about bringing in more supplies and what hour he should return to the clinic in the morning, or if he should return later this evening, or both. The influx of injured pokemon and humans keeps climbing. It feels strange, being tucked away and separated instead of in the midst of it, where he and Ash usually end up in any sort of aftermath.

(It feels strange. It feels, maybe, like relief too.)

The call ends, and Sycamore presses his palms to his eyes for several long moments before letting his hands fall limp at his side. He smiles, strained but mostly real, and sends one last searching look over the children gathered in the room before turning to leave.

Ash doesn't give him the chance to get very far, hopping to his feet and following after. Pikachu follows, too, two steps behind, and he notes how Talonflame and Greninja perk up and trace their movement with their eyes.

"I can go out there," Ash says. "I can help."

(All Ash ever wants to do is help.)

Professor Sycamore just shakes his head. The hallway lights make his face look like polished stone, like an absol in the face of an oncoming storm. "You've helped plenty, Ash. Besides- the Kalos reporters can be mandibuzzes at the best of times and these…. are not that."

"I don't mind." 

Pikachu's ear twitches. Lie, Pikachu thinks, because Ash only doesn't mind when all he has to talk about is battling or his pokemon, and reporters never just want to talk about battling or pokemon. But he knows, too, that it isn't what Ash means. For Ash, I don't mind and I can grin and bear it are far too often one and the same.

Maybe Sycamore can sense that, or maybe the man is simply too tired for any argument based on expressions of logic, or maybe he knows that expressions of logic aren't how you convince Ash Ketchum to do anything. He places a hand on Ash's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "I'd feel much better if you left this to me and the authorities, Ash. Let yourself and your pokemon rest and recover for now."

Ash opens his mouth to protest, fingers curling into fists, and then he stops. Glances at Pikachu.

His mouth closes with a click. He nods, once, jerkily, and tucks his hands into his pocket. Professor Sycamore pats him on the back and retreats further down the hall. 

For several long moments, Ash stands illuminated in the flickering lights, the sound of the generator a steady rumble in the background. For several long moments, Pikachu watches his human, the stiffness of his spine. His hands curled into fists in his pockets. The nails no doubt  biting into skin. 

Then he jumps up onto Ash's shoulder, a move so familiar he could do it with his eyes closed, could do it asleep, could do it in the face of the end of the world. He nuzzles aggressively into Ash's cheek, practically butting their head together, until at last Ash responds and reaches up to pet him in turn.

His fingers scratch behind Pikachu's ear, and then there is that swooping sensation as he's picked up and cradled against Ash's chest. Outside, the sirens sing and sing and sing. His partner, for once, hasn't collapsed to the ground. It still feels like losing. It still feels like something lost.

"There are a lot of people out there, Pikachu." Ash whispers. "Pokemon, too."

"I know," Pikachu says back. It's all he has to say. "I know."

 They stand there like that for a long time. Listening.

The sirens keep ringing.

Ash finally falls asleep around one in the morning, passing out after hours of watching rain pelt against the windows and worrying his fingers into Pikachu's fur. The entire Kalos team had sat with them, a mix of warmth and feathers and damp skin that should have been a little gross and was simply reassuring instead. He feels himself slump with the weight of his own exhaustion as Ash's grip goes slack. 

The nap with Clemont wasn't enough. He can't keep going like this.

He doesn't know how else to keep going, except this. 

Greninja blends into the dark, nothing but the mere echo of a shape as it shifts, glancing at Pikachu. "This isn't the first time," it murmurs, adding nothing else. It doesn't need to. Pikachu knows what it means; not the first calamity, not the first legendary, not the first sleepless night. 

Pikachu shakes his head and Greninja turns back to Ash, who has slumped upright against Goodra's side and is slowly slipping downwards. The rain falls, softer now, and Clemont rolls over in his sleep.

The hours stretch long before morning. Pikachu shifts and detangles himself from Ash's fingers, landing lightly on his feet and stretching out his spine. If he keeps laying there, he'll fall asleep, and if he falls asleep he'll dream, and if he dreams he'll wake Ash up with his thrashing.

For a long moment, though, he stands there hesitating. His better half sleeps, and the idea of stepping away sends something cold and shivery deep into his chest. 

"Go," Noivern says, blinking at him. Her eyes swallow up all the light in the room, leaving them luminous and bright. "We'll keep watch."

Pikachu swallows something stale and bitter and goes. It will just be for a minute. Just a chance to stretch his legs and wake himself up. Everyone's perfectly capable. Really. 

He wanders down the hall. The lights are turned low. The rainshower drums on the roof, creating a soft rhythm and muffling all the sounds he makes. His blurry vision twists the carpet beneath his feet into odd shapes and colours. 

There are voices, coming from further down the hall.

"...achu hates me. There's no denying it."

Alain, Pikachu thinks, and pads closer with soft steps. He pauses just around the corner, ears twitching.

Sycamore's voice comes next, tentative and low. "Pikachu is…. protective."

He almost snorts. That is putting it incredibly politely. 

Almost as if Alain is listening to his thoughts, he hears the boy left out a quiet huff of dry amusement. It sinks quickly into silence though, a long and heavy pause.

"I don't blame it. Pokemon hate me for good reason."

Pikachu's ears pin to his head, the sheer amount of loathing tucked into every word a near physical thing. He hears Professor Sycamore make a noise, something instinctive and protesting, caught in the back of his throat. Pikachu hears all of it, crouched on the carpet just mere feet away. He makes no sound. 

"Alain-" Professor Sycamore sounds lost. 

"It's fine, Professor." Alain just sounds small. 

Pikachu sits, and he breathes, and he listens as Alain's footsteps fade away deeper into the residential area of the house. He dares to peek his head around the corner, and catches a view of Professor Sycamore with the palms of his hands pressed tightly to his eyes, fingers white knuckled against his forehead. It brings about the vaguest sense of deja-vu, a double image of another time, another place-

He remembers.

It was earlier. Much earlier. It was an aftermath before they even realised that there were always going to be aftermaths, before they made their little routines and started carving their lives into the ways legendaries intruded on them. Back when they'd go to a new place and it was a shock for the world to end, not fate. 

It was an aftermath, and it was late, and Ash and his mom had been fighting. Not a battle, but a fight, high emotions and sharp tones and Pikachu hiding under the couch, the bristle of springs cold against his spine.  Ash had stormed outside, and Pikachu had hid and prepared to follow-

And Ash's mom had collapsed onto one of her dining room chairs, digging her fists into her eyes, and breathed shakily enough that the very foundations of the house had felt unsteady. She had fumbled, one handed, for her phone, dialing a number without looking. Garbled tones had come through, indistinct, but she had cut him off.

"I don't know what to do," she choked. "Samuel- he's going to get himself killed. I almost lost him- I almost-"

Pikachu had followed Ash before he had heard the rest. The wooden floors had scraped against his claws.

It was a good reminder, then, that he was not the only one who worried. It was a good reminder that he had to protect Ash for other people's sake, too. Ash is a sun and people tend to orbit. He refused to be responsible for an imploding star. 

Here, now, Professor Sycamore looks like he could use someone to call. He looks like he could use someone to remind him to be gentle to his own self. He looks thirty years older than their last visit, the bags under his eyes carrying more exhaustion than skin.

Unsettled, angry and lost with it, silent as he had arrived, Pikachu turns around and returns to Ash.

There's a click, and the lights in the hallway flicker off one by one.

“Pikachu.”

Pikachu blinks, curled up by his human’s feet, and has to stretch his neck into an awkward chink in order to see Ash’s concerned face, sitting up on the bed on his elbows. Instinctively, he presses himself tighter to the mattress; he recognizes that face. That’s Ash’s we need to have a talk face, and Pikachu doesn’t hate it, not really, cannot hate anything that is Ash, it’s just-

Emotional talks aren’t really his strong suit.

Something about his hesitancy must show, because Ash’s face just goes softer, warm calloused hands reaching forward to scoop him up and scoop him close. Cradled in one arm, he watches as Ash slips out from underneath the comforter and braces himself for the cold floor, feet bare and pale against the wood. The rest of the Kalos team sleeps steadily, their breathing an unsynchronised orchestra of sound.

Silently, they plod out of the room, down the hall, and then out into the darkness of the world at 3:00AM. The air is crisp and cold and Pikachu swallows great lungfuls of it, trying to alleviate the heavy thing sinking in his chest with something light. Night pokemon chitter and chatter in the trees, but otherwise it’s blissfully silent. 

No sirens tonight. At least, not right now. 

“Buddy-” Ash starts, and falters, words twisting his mouth in the way they do sometimes when Ash wants to get some meaning across but doesn’t know how to express himself properly. Pikachu watches his partner’s eyebrows scrunch and smooth out, tired even after his dozing, and waits.

Sometimes his partner needs a little time to figure things out. That’s okay. Pikachu’s patient, when he wants to be, and he always wants to hear what Ash has to say.

Even when he knows the words are going to be disappointed ones.

“Pikachu,” Ash finally settles on, “you need to sleep.”

His fur puffs up in indignation. “I did!”

“An hour nap is not the same as a good night’s sleep and you know it.” Ash’s voice is soft, quiet and almost teasing, and fingers run down his back in long smooth strokes. It feels good, and Pikachu reluctantly presses into it, not quite willing to look Ash in the eye. Really, it’s much more interesting to stare at Ash’s tanned feet looking pale in contrast to the dark of the earth below, mud getting between his strange little human toes. 

“I need to keep watch,” he says, inspecting how the toes absentmindedly wiggle up and down, up and down. “It’s not safe.”

“I- okay. Then I’ll keep watch tonight, and you sleep-”

“No!”

The word explodes out of him, rough and too loud in all this quiet dark. Pikachu swallows down his panic along with the cool night air and then squirms closer. “No,” he says again, quieter, and presses his nose into Ash’s pulse point. Like this, he can feel Ash’s heartbeat.

It’s one thing to let Ash take a ten minute shower, to take a tiny walk up and down the hall, and quite another to leave him exposed and vulnerable for hours.

He’s shivering. He thinks he’s shivering.

Or maybe trembling. It’s really not cold enough for shivering.

Ash peers down at him, huddling him closer with almost as much effort as Pikachu is putting into trying to press in tighter. “Pikachu,” he says, quiet, “what’s wrong?”

“He’s here!” The anger flares alive like a kindling spark to a campfire, something to hold onto when everything else is shadowed. He does not think of the conversation in the hall. “That’s what’s wrong!”

“Who? Alain?”

“Yes, Alain! I don't understand how you can forgive him when he got you hurt! He could have gotten you killed!”

“And he apologised! He didn’t know, he risked his life getting me out again, and he apologised, and he’s trying to be better- what else do you want from him?”

“HE SHOULD HAVE PROTECTED YOU!”

Pikachu is looking up, looking right into his human’s big brown eyes. Match. They match. But Pikachu’s flank is heaving and Ash’s breath is calm in his throat, out of sync, and Pikachu hates it but he can’t calm down. Can’t let go of this bitter thing growing in his ribcage.

Ash just blinks.

“This… isn’t about Alain, is it.”

The wind disappears from his sails. Insightfulness is always touch and go when it comes to his better half, but the touches always come when it's most important.

Petulant, he replies, “...it is.”

“Okay, yeah, but there’s something else too.”

It’s gnawing at his insides, Pikachu thinks, like when he’s got too much electricity stored in his small frame and all it wants is out. Like when he’s trapped in some small dark space and all he wants is out out out. This ugly thing inside him is alive and aching.

And all Ash wants to do is help.

All Ash ever wants to do is help.

Every time Pikachu closes his eyes too long, he sees Ash on the ground, still.

“I was supposed to protect you.” The words escape his mouth without him quite meaning to, quiet and dull.

“What?”

Ash’s eyes are wide, his brows furrowed in confusion. He doesn’t understand, and maybe cannot understand, the extent of Pikachu’s failures. He’s too good. Too good for the world, maybe, and too good for Pikachu for sure. The thought is an ache, and a spark, and a cackling of electricity all at once. It feels like drowning. It feels like being buried alive.

"It’s my fault you got captured; you got hurt because I didn’t protect you…”

“Pikachu, you can’t think like that-”

“They took me down with one move.” It comes out in a hiss. It comes out furious and tight and lashing, like lightning, like a flare in the dark. Pikachu feels bitter, acknowledging his own uselessness, but it’s also true.

Capable of taking out legendaries, and yet when his partner needs him, he falls apart. Can’t even hold up to a couple of lousy trainers, a couple of lousy moves.

Weak. Pikachu is weak. 

“And you were exhausted! We didn’t even get a chance to heal you after our battle with Alain before the Crisis started-”

“It doesn’t matter-”

Ash holds him tighter. “Of course it matters,” he says, and ducks to press his head against Pikachu's own. “Bud. Of course it matters. You’re my best friend. I know you’d do anything to keep me safe.”

The wind rustles the trees. The moon paints the world in silvery light. They stand in the garden and they breathe and breathe and breathe. Inhale, exhale, and with every breath he’s shifted in Ash’s arms and it’s a good little reminder that they are together, that they are alive and still here. That they’re going to be okay.

I can’t lose you, Pikachu thinks, and curls in tighter. Ash holds him closer in turn, this time in sync: a call and a response, a give and a take. 

 Sometimes, in Pikachu’s worst moments, he thinks they are working on borrowed time. That there will come a moment when the world ends, one of them falls, and then doesn't get back up.  Sometimes, in Pikachu’s worst moments, the thought of it is paralysing. 

He imagines Ash on the asphalt, utterly limp and still, but this time forever , and feels sick. 

His better half keeps holding him anyway, his hands gentle. His breath is sure.

During the Kalos Crisis, Ash had been betrayed, and Pikachu had fallen. During the Crisis, the sky had been painted red with the strength of the corrupting beam, and Pikachu’s ears had felt like they were bleeding with the sounds of Ash’s screaming. 

Zygarde had been all grief and all rage, a twisted form of a friend lashing out from what humans had done to it. Pikachu, all pain and determination, could feel a part of himself resonating with that. It’s an ache that does not leave, the way other people hurt you when you are vulnerable and small.

Pikachu knows this. Pikachu has carried this with him for most of his life. He cannot put it down.

Ash breathes, and the exhale ruffles his fur. A bird pokemon hoots somewhere in the eves, a long soft call under the stars.

The aftermath of a battle can sometimes feel just like this. Muffled, just him and Ash and the world turning around. Just a tension, leaking out of Pikachu’s small frame. Just a battle won or a battle lost, and the aftermath. This is how they live, now.

Pikachu’s not sure if this one counts as a victory. But he is sure that he loves Ash, and counts for something. It has to.

Chapter Text

The next morning dawns reluctantly, the sun half hidden behind great bushes of grey clouds, still lingering even after the rain shower. Pikachu dawns reluctantly, too, another night of little to no sleep under his belt, another day of half-disguised worried looks awaiting him.

The smoke, at least, seems to have stopped clogging up the horizon.

His chest feels hollowed out almost, like Pikachu died last night and some wild pokemon licked his insides clean. It is a morbid thought for this early in the morning. He curls up tighter in his little ball on the couch and leans into the warmth of Ash's thigh, letting his human run his fingers through his fur.

The night had been a long one, with half whispered reassurances and a guilt that had carved into Pikachu's every bone. There are things that he carries that he can never put down, and all Ash wants to do is help, and Pikachu does not know how to let him even if it kills him, a little, to be a source of his human's pain. 

It was almost a relief, when at last they had slipped into silence.

Sycamore had been in, earlier, back from another shift at the clinic. His eyes had been half closed, hair in utter disarray as he wandered through. He had said something to Ash, but Pikachu is pretty sure that it wasn't in any human language and was rather a series of disconnected syllables. Ash had had on his I don't get it face, which typically features a confused but enthusiastic grin.

It didn't matter. Afterwards, Sycamore had wandered away. Hopefully towards his bed but more likely towards another pot of coffee. 

(Unfair, that. Professor Sycamore is almost as bad as Pikachu is, and no one is nagging him to get more sleep.)

Pikachu stays where he is, curled up, eyes closed. Occasionally, Ash stops petting him and Pikachu makes a disgruntled noise, but otherwise everything is quiet. Peaceful.

Footsteps. Pikachu's ears twitch. One small, one larger, rushing down the hall-

Bonnie and Dendenne, then. 

Halfway through the room, Bonnie's footsteps transform into tiptoeing and Dedenne's footsteps disappear entirely as he climbs on top of her. She creeps closer and whispers, "Is Pikachu asleep?"

"No," Ash pokes Pikachu's side. "He should be, though."

Rude. Pikachu thwacks him with his tail, not even bothering with opening his eyes.

Bonnie laughs, bright and happy, and Pikachu follows her with his ear as she crouches down before him. Familiar with this routine, he squints his eyes open and is met by her blinding grin, Denenne sparking cheerfully in greeting. 

"Serena says we're making pancakes for breakfast this morning! Do you want some, Pikachu?"

The offer is tempting. Pancakes have nothing on ketchup, but they do have a particular flair that deserves to be acknowledged. With as big a sigh as his lungs will allow, Pikachu squints his eyes open to look blearily up at Bonnie, who grins back at him with all the enthusiasm an eight year old can muster. It's no small amount. 

It would be hard to say no to that face.

Also, pancakes. 

Pikachu nods, and Bonnie laughs. There's a moment where she reaches out and then withdraws, something slightly wary in the outlines of her actions. Ash just laughs, softly, and unceremoniously dumps Pikachu into her arms. It's rude. His partner can be very, very rude.

"We'll come help," Ash says, and rises to his feet with far more fluidity than a person who has spent the last six and a half hours sitting on a couch has any right to have. There's a divot in the cushions, even. Pikachu himself feels like every single one of his bones is creaking. 

Also rude. Also unfair. If he could find the energy, he'd be more mad about it.

Bonnie cheers, though, and Pikachu gets jostled a little in her arms as she hop-skips back into the kitchen. Serena is squinting at the recipe, scrolling up to watch a video and then back down again to read the instructions. Meanwhile, Chespin is snoring away on the counter. Pancham stacks razz berries on its belly, his face the picture of concentration,  and Sylveon helpfully hands extra berries over one by one. 

Pikachu refuses to be their next victim. If nothing else, it will motivate him to stay awake. He's not getting covered in sticky juice today, and if the others try he'll fry him. 

"Serena! Ash and Pikachu are gonna help out!"

"Hi, Serena!"

Predictably, Serena startles slightly before breaking out into a grin. "The more the merrier," she says, flustered, before suddenly deciding to crouch down to start rifling through the professor's highly disorganized kitchen cabinets. It's funny, in a way; every laboratory in the building is labeled and filed down to the smallest utensil, and every living space is a jumble of just about everything shoved into cabinets and closets and wardrobes. It's very clear where Professor Sycamore's focus tends to narrow in on. 

They make the pancakes. Bowls clatter on counters and whisks batter the batter. Everyone has to take a break to wipe off Braixen's fur when the mixture goes flying and lands on her tail, and then they have to take a break again when Chespin wakes up and sends berries flying everywhere.

The skillet heats, and the batter is poured in Serena's perfect circles and Bonnie's lopsided ones. Bonnie successfully flips pancakes for the first time to a round of cheers, Dedenne dancing happily on her head. Ash… less successfully flips pancakes and manages to burn them, sparking a round of laughter. 

Pikachu sits in the middle of it all, not quite enough energy to join in. He sits, and he listens, and the world spins round. Through the window, the skies continue to clear. Surrounding him, his friends laugh and joke and tease. The pile of pancakes on the plate stacks dangerously hgh, and he absentmindedly uses his tail to keep them from falling over.

This, too, is an aftermath, maybe. An aftermath's aftermath. The act of relearning joy. The act of letting the joy in. 

"No, no, listen," Ash is saying, grabbing frantically at the charred remnants of pancakes that Serena is dutifully trying to throw away. They are giggling, the both of them, and Ash's smile is big enough to make his eyes look almost closed. "I've had tons and tons of fire types who set my food on fire like- all the time! I can totally eat those!"

"We have perfectly good pancakes that you can eat instead, Ash."

"I think he should eat them," Bonnie says, grinning like a gengar. "He burned them, so he should eat them! He should eat them for his pancake crimes!"

Ash gasps, dramatically. Pikachu ducks his flailing arms nonchalantly with the skill of long practice and Chespin yelps in terror as it falls on its butt in its panicked avoidance of errant limbs. Pancham laughs, and so Chespin tries to unsuccessfully kick it. Ash doesn't notice any of this at all, swooping Bonnie up in the air and making her giggle fiercely. 

"Exactly! My pancake crimes!"

"Why does he keep insisting?" Sylveon asks quietly, sidling up next to him on the kitchen island, and Pikachu glances at her. 

"It makes him nostalgic. His mom can cook everything except pancakes, which are always burned."

"Why doesn't he just say so?"

Pikachu just shrugs, and Sylveon shrugs back. They turn to watch their humans be ridiculous.

Serena is staring doubtfully down at the blackened pancakes. "Oh, I don't know, Ash, these really are, uh, quite charcoal-ly."

"Pancake crimes!" Bonnie gasps, and spirals into another round of uproarious laughter.

It's all it takes. Serene glances up at her- still held high in the air, feet kicking- the way her face is near red with the sheer force of her giggles, and softens. She sighs and hands over the burnt pancakes without further prodding, and Ash deposits Bonnie on his shoulders and starts stuffing them into his face. He tears one half off and gives it to Pikachu without needing to be asked.

Pikachu gets nostalgic, too, after all. 

He eats it in small bites, watches the other pokemon and the humans laugh at Ash's antics, watches the pancakes still on the skillet go abandoned a little too long and subsequently rescued. Clemont comes strolling in, face buried in schematics as he mutters to himself, but he does pause long enough to compliment Bonnie's excellent cooking, to smile at everyone like he hasn't done in days. The rest of Ash's team stream in soon afterwards, clamoring for breakfast, and Chespin gleefully smashes razz berries right onto Pancham's head to the general uproar of the kitchen.

It feels like moving on, almost. 

Almost. 

Clemont is talking with Ash, sorting through piles of sketches as he plans his next invention. Ash is listening in rapt attention, stars in his eyes, and things feel oddly normal.

Pikachu stretches and makes eye contact with Greninja, who nods without saying anything.

Then Pikachu slips away.

It feels wrong, in many ways, to leave Ash's side with purpose; like someone has sucked out all the static from the room. But last night hangs heavy, and Pikachu's chest is nothing but a lingering ache, and he cannot let go of the conversation he overheard between Sycamore and Alain.

Greninja is with him, he thinks. You're not going far, he thinks. 

And still his heart kicks up a frantic beat. 

Pikachu pushes through it; there's something he wants to see.

The hallway carpet is thin under his feet, and he follows the geometric patterns down to the residential areas of the building, wincing as the lighting pierces his eyes and stabs at his brain. He passes a tiny kitchenette and what can only be Sycamore's room. He passes an office and the slumped frame of the professor himself, collapsed on his own desk in a moment of stolen slumber. He walks a little further and stops at the door that smells strongest of Alain. 

It's a small room. 

The bedsheets are blue and made up neatly, all crisp thin lines. The curtains are a dark green with rows of skiddos tracing tiny paths along the fabric. The floors are clear of all goods, but the shelves are crammed with children's books and small medals and toys. There are a series of miniature action figures on the desk, sprawled out like someone had been playing with them just a little bit ago, except for the fact that they're covered in dust. 

Alain's room looks like Ash's room from when he was a kid. It looks like Ash's room now, that cramped space that hallmarks all of Ash's successes and losses from his years on the road. That strange space where Pikachu is always finding things that belong to another life that Ash had before he stumbled into it, clothes that are several sizes too small and toys that would be more fit for Bonnie than the person Ash has become. A room of a wanderer.

There's just one thing. Alain's room looks like Ash's room, except emptier. There are no photos on the wall of companions, snapshots of a person living their life. There are no signs anyone has been home in a long time. There's a travelling pack tucked into the corner. When Pikachu pokes the canvas fabric, it feels full. Ready to be picked up and ready to leave, again, again, again.

It feels more like a memorial than a bedroom. Pikachu gets the sneaking suspicion that if he had come here a few months ago, he wouldn't have been able to smell Alain at all. 

The marks of a child who wandered away but never made it back.

(Here is the difference: Ash makes a home wherever he goes, and it looks like Alain treats even this hallow space as nothing more than a hotel room.)

Pikachu doesn't like it. 

He stands there for a few more moments, caught somewhere between exhaustion and anger and something strikingly close to pity. He thinks, again, about Professor Sycamore. He thinks about Delia at her kitchen table. The way other people hold onto things they cannot put down.

Pikachu walks away and doesn't look back.

Hours later, and they're back in Professor Sycamore's small gym. Ash is having them run through training drills and exercises, his voice echoing against the walls, his eyes alight. Pikachu loves Ash for many reasons, and this is one of them; the light in his eyes, his will to improve. The way they fall and fall and fall and always get back up. 

Noivern and Talonflame are spiraling higher and higher in ever tinier circles, their faces mere pinpricks of concentration. Hawlucha and Greninja are running through a homemade obstacle course, twisting to and fro. Pikachu faces off against Goodra, the pair of them both  listening as Ash shouts out commands and counter commands. 

For once, Pikachu's head is quiet. It always is, in a battle like this. Everything zeroes in until it is all sight and sound and adrenaline, the way Ash's voice thrums through him

"Goodra, Ice Beam! Try to hit Pikachu and keep it in one place! Pikachu! Quick attack- try and dodge!"

Quick Attack is all speed and steady feet. It's his heart, pounding in his chest and every atom in his small frame singing. It's the world turning slow as time seems to warp around him, and Pikachu looks up as Goodra inhales and feels the seconds expand. 

He runs, and dodges, and runs again. He closes in on the dragon type quickly, for all that he occasionally has to dance back to avoid the crackling streams of ice. 

The air whistles around Noivern and Talonflame as they dive. Hawlucha crows in victory after completing the obstacle course first. Ash-

All of Pikachu's fur stands on end. 

Ash is calling out, something wrong in the way his words are forming. Pikachu feels it in the core of him before Ash even opens his mouth, paws skidding against the gym's floor.

Behind them, Greninja suddenly stiffens and straightens. 

"Great! Now, Goodr- Go-"

Ash chokes, and starts to spasm, and Pikachu's heart plummets.

He knows what this is. 

Like a venomoth to a flame, like how planets orbit around the sun, Pikachu is aware of all the other pokemon in the room turning towards Ash. He knows that it is happening with the same certainty that rivers must feel meeting the sea.

He pays it no mind. He just runs. 

Quick Attack is still active, and time still warps. Here are his paws, pounding against the floor. There is Greninja, sprinting across the gymnasium. There is Ash, starting to fall. 

Ash hasn't had a collapse in days. Pikachu had thought they had gotten better. He had thought that they had made it through.

His heart is in his throat. 

Ash legs give out, and Pikachu just barely manages to cushion his head before it hits the ground. He squirms out from underneath and frantically checks Ash over. His better half's breathing is fluttery and strange, and Pikachu's breath breaks in sync. 

If the scary things stopped being scary, Pikachu would probably be dead.

He still wishes the scary things would stop being scary, if only so that he could think instead of panic. Ash's every muscle has gone stiff and trembling, his eyes fluttering rapidly, and Pikachu grabs onto one of his fingers and holds on. The others have clustered around, asking what to do, asking what's happening-

"This is what he's been hiding with the bond!?" Greninja asks, sounding pissed. The anger contains its worry like a clampeal clutches its shell.

Pikachu doesn't answer. Pikachu is counting in his mind. Pikachu is thinking about the other times. 

Ash has never lost consciousness in any of the other collapses, not without banging his head first. 

Something's wrong. 

A wave of exhaustion washes over him, and he ignores it; something's always wrong, these days. 

There's no use in answering Greninja's question, not when the truth of it is laying before them and still spasming. He turns to Talonflame and Hawlucha and says, fast and low and urgent, "We need help. Go."

They take off without another word.

The seconds add up agonizing slowly. Greninja stays silent and perfectly still, eyes closed as if it is trying to do something in the bond. Noivern shifts nervously, glancing at Ash and then Pikachu and then the door, over and over and over. Goodra keeps tugging at its own tail. 

It feels like hours. It's a little less than fifteen seconds. The trembling stops and Ash goes still and quiet at last, head tilted awkwardly far and his eyes shut. Pikachu releases a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding, and Greninja slumps with relief. 

"Ash," Pikachu says, and squeezes tighter on his fingers. "Ash, you gotta wake up."

Here is the truth of it: Pikachu doesn't believe in miracles. Pikachu has carried far too many weights and far too many scars to believe that life itself is something miraculous. There are some things he can never put down.

Another truth: Pikachu doesn't believe in miracles, but he does believe in Ash. 

Sometimes, they feel like the same thing. 

Ash's eyelids slip open a tiny sliver, and then close. His brows furrow, twitch, and go lax again. His head lolls, and Greninja gently holds onto it to keep it from rolling too far. He takes a large, shuddering breath. 

The gymnasium is silent. Almost perfectly so. The only noise comes from the way they breath, in and out and in and out again. 

All of them. 

Ash, too.

Pikachu holds onto that. 

Another moment passes, and Ash's eyes sliver open again. They roam aimlessly for a moment before landing on Pikachu and staying there, gaze wavering and unfocused. His finger twitches. His mouth works open and closed twice before he manages, "P'k-chu…"

Crying does not come naturally to him. Crying is reserved for the worst of things, for losing in ways you cannot come back from, for his entire world falling apart. Still, Pikachu feels something akin to it now, hard and desperate in the back of his throat. He holds on tighter. 

"Ash…"

It's then that the silence is broken by Hawlucha sweeping into the room. "How does he fare?" spills out of his beak almost before he's fully in the gym, and Talonflame is right behind him.

Pikachu feels relieved; here comes back up. 

The relief sours, just a little, when he sees who exactly the back-up is. Alain stands, board-stiff and pale as his eyes fall on Ash's prone form. There's some sort of foldable stretcher tucked under his arm, and Charizard looms behind him with something like a frown on its face. 

"We couldn't find anyone but him," Talonflame cries out, her chest heaving with exertion and stress. "We must have searched half of Sycamore's laboratory!"

Alain makes no move to come closer, hesitating. A small part of Pikachu wants him to stay there, to send Talonflame and Hawlucha away again to find someone else. There is, after all, another half of Professor Sycamore's laboratory to search. But then he looks at Ash, the way his eyes have closed again, the way he still hasn't gotten back up.

The way Ash is in no place to make any decision. 

The way the others are looking to him to decide. 

You'll be there, Pikachu tells himself, You'll be there the whole time. You won't let anything happen. Not this time.

He makes himself believe it. If they believe it enough, it usually becomes true. That's how this works. That's how this is supposed to work. 

Pikachu does not trust easily, but this is not a matter of trust. It is a matter of necessity, and that is the oldest friend that Pikachu's ever known.

He remembers Charizard saying, fierce and fiery, "We thought we were doing good!"

In the span of a breath, he makes the call. 

Pikachu gestures to Alain to come over, and the others start to make room. Perhaps it's only him, then, that sees how Alain startles in response before rushing across the gymnasium floor. In moments, the stretcher is unfolded and locked into place, and the various shuffle of bodies feels impossibly loud. He can hear the others trying to ask what happened, but Pikachu has no head for words. He only has eyes for Ash, for the boy maneuvering him.

Alain works with Greninja to carefully shift Ash to the stretcher, and his hands are gentle.

The lab had been converted to a tiny hospital in the end, Charizard disappearing in a rush of displaced air and Alain carefully peeling off Ash's shirt to start placing sensors across his chest. Greninja handed them over one by one as asked. His human had just let it happen, confused and dazed, fading in and out of consciousness.

Goodra and the others waited in the hall, not willing to get in the way in the small room. Pikachu didn't. Pikachu had stayed in his human's line of sight, doing his best to keep him calm. The time dragged, and the sunlight reflected against tiny metal implements, and Alain cursed as he tried to get the heart monitor to work. 

Then Sycamore had rushed into the room with a whirl of his lab coat and had taken over, asking a storm of questions. Charizard, mission complete, had watched from the hall with the others. No one said anything about it.

The verdict is that Ash was being pretty dumb, not telling Sycamore right away when the collapses started happening. The verdict is that having a beam meant for legendaries shot at a human being in sustained frequencies isn't good for one's health. The verdict is that Ash needs to take it easy, and wear a monitor, and tell people if he starts feeling off again.

The verdict, in the end, is that Ash is going to be okay.  They were there when it counted, this time. He didn't fail.

Pikachu curls up in a small ball on Ash's chest, surrounded by everyone's breathing. The other humans had stopped by, earlier, all well wishes and light scolding. Now, the room is quiet, the hazy afternoon sun painting the room with honey light. The other members of their team sleep, and Pikachu stays awake and keeps an eye on the teenager slumped in the small armchair in the corner of the room. 

Alain's mouth is open, slightly,  his brows furrowed even when he's dreaming. Like he's got weights he can never put down, maybe, even now, even here. 

He still looks younger, like this. He still looks young. 

You have to live in your own skin, is the heart of it. The world ends, and ends, and ends, and you breathe through it. The very worst happens, and you breathe through that, too. The world ends all the time; it does not change the shape of your lungs. 

Pikachu breathes. Ash shifts in his cot, just a little, and breathes in sync. 

Alain's clothing is rumpled, his scarf wadded up in an awkward pillow. He has his knees pulled up to his chest and his head leaning against Charizard's shoulder. There are creases on his cheek. His finger twitches and settles. His chest inhales, and exhales, and inhales again. Tiny little motions, and they all say that Alain is alive, alive, alive . That he's still here. 

In some other life, Pikachu wonders if Lysandre and Alain never meet. He wonders if it makes a difference. If Sycamore worries less, and the room in the laboratory with the blue bedsheets is lived in. If the world still ends. If Alain still crumples and falls. 

If Alain still stands back up. Again. Again. Again. 

Pikachu is not good with trust, is the truth of it. It does not fit well in the shape of his ribs, the way they curve to try and protect his battered heart. He does not trust, and he does not forgive, and he does not forget. 

But you have to live in your own skin. You have to move on. You have to let the joy in. There are aftermaths and there is what comes after. There are things Pikachu carries that he can never put down, yes, but maybe his own guilt does not have to be one of them.

Noivern huffs and shifts, just a little. Hawlucha coos. Charizard snorts and settles, and Talonflame's feathers ruffle ever so slightly. Goodra is curled around its own tail, and its great side shifts up and down like the swelling of waves far off from the shore. The sounds of their napping is the world's quietest orchestra.

He glances at Alain, curled up and small. Fallible. Trying, nonetheless.

(Pikachu can relate.)

Ash stirs, slightly, and blinks his eyes open. His voice is sleep-soft. His voice is almost silent. He says, rasping, "Pikachu, we're okay."

Pikachu lays down. He nudges into Ash's neck, right where they fit together like two puzzle pieces, two parts of a whole. The room is warm and quiet. He says, "Yeah. Yeah. We're okay."

His better half sighs and slips back into dreamland, his hand still resting warm on Pikachu's back. Pikachu blinks, and his eyes weigh heavy. 

He closes them.

And, for the first time in a long time, Pikachu sleeps easy. 

He doesn't dream. 

They are in the living room, and a movie is playing on the screen. Movies are on Sycamore's approved activities list, and Pikachu has every intention of keeping to said list until they get the all clear. 

Chespin is absolutely enraptured, creeping closer and closer to the screen with wider eyes until it blocks out the bottom of the screen with its bulbous head, eyes pressed to the glass. Luxray keeps reaching out to drag it back to their trainer’s side, only for the pokemon’s slow and steady progress to start up again. 

Bonnie is passed out on Clemont’s lap, Dedenne snoozing away on her chest. Noivern is up in the rafters alongside Talonflame and Hawlucha, with the latter occasionally breaking out into exclamations during the more impressive fight scenes. Serena keeps glancing upwards at them, a strangely amused smile pulling at her lips, while Pancham keeps frantically shushing them in a way that fails at being casual. Sycamore has claimed the only armchair, head resting against the back at an unnatural angle, an occasional snore escaping.

Alain is on the ground, sitting cross legged with Charizard wrapped around him in the world's largest and most orange scarf. Greninja has taken careful posts between them and Ash, looking for all appearances asleep. Pikachu knows better. 

Ash is warm under Pikachu, his hand steady and sure in his fur. The screen flickers from one moment to the next, splashes of colour as the animated characters take on a human with Rock-type powers. The monitor on Ash's bicep flashes all clear with a small, soft beep. Someone huffs a breath of a laugh at one of the quips that Pikachu doesn’t get. Other than that, it’s mostly dark and quiet.

Pikachu breathes.

Pikachu breathes, and he licks the curl of Ash's finger with a small hum. Ash blinks down at him, the colourful lights catching in his eyes and making them seem like magic. His brow furrows the tiniest bit, but Pikachu just nuzzles into his palm for a few more moments in a reassurance. It means, Be brave. It means, we'll be okay.

It means, I love you, I love you, I love you, but that is a given.  

The concern slips away. His better half leans down just enough to bump their heads together- Pikachu rising up to meet him- before letting him go. 

He slips off Ash’s lap. Despite his bright fur, he knows how to use the shadows to his advantage, and he makes his quiet way through the dark. 

The truth of it is this, that Pikachu is terrible at forgiving and forgetting. He's got cracks all the way through, hurts that linger and ache and leave traces in everything he does. There are things that Pikachu carries that he can never put down. 

But maybe this doesn't have to be one of them.

He thinks about Serena, her hands cradling all the things she could not do, helplessness muddling with uselessness and making her feel less than she is. He thinks of Bonnie, her eyes scared, the way Pikachu's hurts have made hurts for others in turn. He thinks about Clemont, so sure that he was a terrible person, and all the ways he is not.

He thinks about Alain. Alain, who's like Ash. Alain, who's like him. Alain, who is a person entirely of his own making, who still has time to make himself over. Alain, who was trying to do good, who knows the bitter taste of guilt and shame and knows it well.

Pikachu thinks about Ash, mostly. The way he always, always wants to help. The way he knows how to hold kindness in the breadth of his hands and how he gives it freely. The way he believes in second chances. The way he thinks that he learned that from Pikachu, of all the people and pokemon in his life.

Gentleness is a choice, and it is a gift. Always and always and always. Pikachu knows this all the way down to his bones. He knows it the way that he knows electricity, something embedded in the very heart of him. He knows it because Ash was the one who taught it to him, and it is not a lesson he will let go of lightly. 

Slowly, carefully, he curls up on the ground a few feet away from Alain. He tucks his tail underneath him and he waits to be noticed.

It’s easy to tell when it happens, the little start in Alain’s frame, the way Charizard growls a little, low and deep in his throat. Pikachu ignores the latter and turns to look at the former, just for a moment. He knows something about protective Pokémon, about where you have to make your appeals.

Alain’s eyes are wide and dark, a confused frown pulling at his lips. Pikachu rolls his eyes and crosses the inches between them to be that little bit closer. He settles in to look at the screen. Settles in for the wait.

It takes several minutes, but finally Alain moves. At a near glacial pace, he lifts a hand and places a couple of fingers on Pikachu’s back, pausing immediately after to double check and see if it's alright.

It is. It is. Pikachu’s going to make it alright. He's going to take this big wide world and treat it a little more kindly than it has ever decided to treat him. This is not easy for him, it it not natural, but Pikachu has long learned that some things are worth fighting for. 

His better half has taught him lots of things.

So he stays still.

Somewhere behind them, Ash releases a soft chuckle at something happening on screen. Somewhere, behind them, a whole room of people who have their back breathe completely out of sync, but together nonetheless. Somewhere, behind them, is an aftermath of an aftermath. This is them moving through it. 

Alain rests his palm on Pikachu’s back fully, fingers spread wide. His hand is warm, and impossibly gentle. 

The world does not end.

We're going to be okay, Pikachu thinks, and believes it.