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Duck, weave, dodge. Silver’s shoes slide against cracked concrete as his body was pushed and pulled by force. Rough hands circled around his jacket collar, dirty fingernails dig into cloth before throwing him across the alleyway. He collides roughly against brick, and lets out a gasp of pain.
An animalistic fight, missing the core component of most fights in this world. Skin against skin, teeth bared and eyes narrowed. There was no Pokémon, only two humans dancing in a wholly awful way.
Silver was not a fighter, not anymore at least, but when push came to shove, he held his hands up and fought with his life. He was not as strong as he wished though. He wanted to be strong, strong enough to protect his loved ones like they had once protected him. But the world was big and his enemies stronger.
He had a few guesses who they were, behind the cocky grin and bloody nose. An ex-Team Rocket member, judging by the lack of a uniform yet puffed chest. No Poke Balls on his belt, suggesting he didn’t own any or that he was forced to hand in his team upon leaving—
Silver let out a long, sharp exhale as a boot dug into his stomach and rough fingers tangled into his hair.
“You’re what the boss risked his life for?” The greasy voice whispered in his ear. Silver’s nose instinctively wrinkled, and he had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t snarl and spew curses from the depth of his soul.
"I'm glad you're so weak. Team Rocket didn't need a little princess playing dress-up calling the shots."
The man shoved his head against the wet, rocky pavement, shifting on heavy feet. Silver, biting his cheek so he didn’t cry out, wrapped his hands around one of his opponents ankles and pulled as hard as he could. The man tripped and fell onto his back, letting Silver scamper up and throw a heavy kick into his side.
He could've—should've—run off, but the man was quick and his grip was strong, so it didn’t take much to trip Silver face-first into the ground. His palms, now scraped and bloody, roared with pain, and he couldn’t help but tear up.
“Pathetic.” The older man spat, a glob of spit landing inches from his face. He stalked off, fading footsteps crunching against the concrete. Silver laid there for as long as he could hear the footsteps, and as soon as he could, he hauled himself up as far as he could and limped out of view in the alleyway.
There was a lot of blood, but Silver was confident it wasn't worrying enough to do anything about it.
He’d spat out a tooth earlier, but he had more dignity than to crawl around on the dirty floor to find it. His nose was probably broken too, but that could be fixed with little work. He was fine.
He was fine. So, why did he feel like crying?
Silver dragged himself up, wheezing with every slight movement. A quick (but painful) shake of each limb promised him that none of their bones were broken, so he began the painful process of walking.
Weavile’s Poke Ball rattled, but he cupped a hand around it. He didn’t want her getting hurt, Silver didn’t think he could forgive himself. The ball shook again and he tightened his grip, but a burst of light illuminated the dark street he was on.
It only took a second for his Pokémon to take in the scene, and another second for her to turn on her heel with pinned back ears.
“ ‘m fine.” He croaked out, wincing at his dull voice. Weavile shot him a look of disbelief, but shuffled closer to the boy.
“ ‘mmprh?” She trilled, reaching her claws towards the PokéGear resting on his belt. Silver knew what that tone meant, and shook his head.
“I said I’m fine.” Silver couldn’t believe he was arguing with his Weavile.
The feline Pokémon grumbled, a mix between a growl and a trill, before tapping on the device. She wanted him to call Gold to come and pick him up. Silver sighed through gritted teeth, though his breath squeezed into a wheeze near the end. He felt like he was suffocating, but Silver tried not to show it.
“He’s probably asleep.” A lie, Silver knew the boy loved to stay up until the Spearow’s sung. Weavile knew that too, because she narrowed her eyes and took the PokéGear in her mouth.
“Hey!” He hissed, reaching forward to grab it back. His ribs flared with pain, and he curled in on himself to try to ease the pain.
Realistically, Gold’s house was the closest—and safest—place he had. A five-minute walk if he walked his usual pace, but he knew the length would more than double in his state. If he made it to another hideout, he’d be in no state to fight if a wild Pokémon or cocky trainer came looking for a battle. Crystal would help, but she’d take him straight to the police to report the assault. Blue was too far away, realistically he probably wouldn’t even survive the trip.
Gold’s helped him before. His house was the closest thing he’d had to a house. He trusted him.
When he arrived at the doorstep of Gold’s house, bruised and bleeding and broken, Gold pulled him in without a word.
“You look awful.” Gold noted dryly, arm wrapping around Silver’s shoulder as he half-dragged him further into the house. This wasn’t the first time Silver had knocked on his door with blood dripping from his nose, and though the previous times had earned a (rightfully) panicked reaction, Gold had gotten used to the routine. That didn't make the pitying glances stop though.
Silver exhaled deeply, eyes closing with resignation. He did look awful. With a bleeding, crooked nose that was still dripping blood, a torn jacket and a quickly-blackening ring around an eye, Silver was almost unrecognisable.
He doesn’t say anything, because his throat was still tight and sore. Gold didn’t seem to mind, or he was too busy ordering his Pokémon around to fetch supplies for the battered boy. Either way, Silver appreciated it. Gold’s Typhlosion shuffled closer and he carefully lowered the boy onto the soft, carpeted ground where the large fire-type had curled itself into a ball. Silver practically melted against the warm fur, letting out an involuntary sigh of relief.
“Stay there.” Gold held out a hand, like telling a dog to wait. Silver meekly cracked open an eye, brows furrowing into a pout at his tone. It’s not like he could move, even if he wanted to. Typhlosion carefully wrapped a paw around his chest, and Silver’s eye fluttered closed.
It was hard to explain the relationship between him and Gold. There was the connection that could’ve only been forged by years and years of chasing after each other. There were inside jokes, playful banter and frustrated arguments. Fleeting hugs, gentle kisses and cuddling when it was cold. Despite the fact that neither of them officially asked the other out, they were dating in every way except a labelled relationship.
Silver loved Gold, like the sun loved the moon, like the birds loved the wind. He needed Gold, he needed his light to guide his own path. And Gold needed him to steer him back on track when his mind wandered, like plants needed water and a stern chop to the back of its head.
There was love in everything they shared. Even in the nudge Gold had given his thigh, waking the redhead up from what must’ve been a 10-second nap. He looked so unbothered, but Silver could see worry crease his skin gently. He extended a fist and held it up to Silver.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Gold said as he lowered himself to the ground too. Silver frowned, squinting at the blurry shape of a fist in his vision. Was this a trick?
“None.” He croaked out, voice raspy. Gold nodded, lowered his hand and set to unzipping the first-aid kit. If it didn’t hurt to move a single muscle on his face, he’d crack a smile at the question. He’s never seen someone hold up no fingers before. It wasn’t even that funny.
“Who were you fighting?” He said as he tipped a bottle onto a cotton pad. Silver moved to sit up a little more, but Typhlosion’s paw was heavy and his body ached far too much. Gold leaned closer, braced one arm against the large Pokémon’s body and reached forward with his other hand.
Silver didn't answer the question, because he didn't want Gold storming out in the middle of the night to fight for him. One battered boy was already enough. Gold must've expected his silence, though. As he didn't prompt Silver for a reminder.
A searing pain stabbed his face, tracing the length of the lip that had been split by his opponent. “This’ll hurt.” Gold added belatedly, as he dabbed at the cut. “You might need stitches.” He added under his breath, gaze never averting from his injury.
“No.” Silver managed, choking out a horrified hiss. He wasn’t going to a hospital. Not now, not ever. He trusted Gold far, far more than the chemically clean hallways. “I can’t.”
Gold pulled back, brows furrowing. “Dude, your nose is totally busted.”
Silver swallowed thickly as he shook his head. The world tumbled around him at the movements. “Please.” He crowed. His eyes began to water as his nose stung further, a telltale sign that the tears were coming, and he was powerless to stop them.
Gold looked conflicted. The state Silver was in right now… Fragile, like a glass statue teetering on the edge. He’d worked hard to gain Silver's trust, and this felt like an important moment in proving that he was worthy of that trust.
“Okay.” He breathed out, cupping the redhead’s face with a shaky hand. “You're safe.”
Silver leaned into the touch, throat tightening as he tried to swallow back tears.
He was safe. He was safe, and no one could take that away.
Gold gave him a crooked smile, but the moment was cut short when the raven-haired boy looked away to grab a clean cotton pad. “But, if anything gets worse, I'm taking you to the town doctor in the morning.” He hummed under his breath. Silver swallowed thickly, knowing that Gold meant it. He’d been dragged to the doctor once before, when a cut didn’t heal right and looked rather gnarly. The doctor was nice, but that still didn’t ease the anxiety completely.
“I wish I was there to give him a piece of my mind.” Gold growled, cleaning a scrape on his cheek. “Then he’d be the one with a fucked up face.”
Silver winced , and Gold pulled back slightly with a guilty smile. “Sorry. I mean a super handsome and totally not bloody mess of a face.” He swiped the cotton pad across his forehead, then pressed a kiss onto the now-clean skin.
“Thanks.” Silver mumbled, a smile playing at his lips.
Gold continued to clean in silence, his pile of bloody cloth and cotton growing by the minute. When he’d finished cleaning his face, he moved to his hands, then to his neck. Each time, his fingers danced gently across his skin. Though the actions hurt, the pain was dulled by the fact that it was Gold doing them.
Silver was rarely vulnerable, especially around Gold, but tonight was an exception. He started to cry, silently but still visibly. Gold dropped the damp cloth he held and cupped the boys face in his hands, thumbs working to brush the tears away.
“I’m not that bad at this, c’mon.” He joked, and Silver chuckled.
“Sorry.” Silver choked out, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Hey.” Gold said so softly that it made Silver want to bawl. He’s never spoken to him this gently. Not even Blue had. It reminded him of when he was young, before the Masked Man had taken him. His father wiped away his tears with a handkerchief, scolding him gently for getting his face dirty.
“Don’t apologise. You just got your shit rocked pretty badly, I'd be surprised if you didn't cry.”
Silver didn’t respond, but he leaned his body into Gold’s warmth and let the boy wrap his arms around him softly. He was never the one to initiate physical affection, it was always Blue that swung him around in her arms through giggles, or Gold that slung his arm around his shoulder in lieu of a greeting. But right now, he needed someone to hold him.
After a minute or so, Gold carefully pulled away from the hug. He gave the other a meek smile, blush staining his cheeks strongly.
“Sorry,” He mumbled, gesturing to Silver’s blood-stained clothes. “but your clothes are all gross.”
Silver looked down, eyes widening slightly at the revelation that his clothes were indeed bloody, and not just a few splashes. There was a rather prominent damp patch on one of his sleeves.
“Here. Let's get you cleaned up.” Gold took Silver’s hands in his own and stood up. Silver followed, pausing every few seconds to catch his breath and breathe through the pain. The raven-haired boy offered his side for the boy to lean on, but Silver shook his head.
He lead him to his bathroom, where he laid all of his medical supplies onto the sink and gestured for Silver to take his top off. He made a point to turn away, giving Silver some dignity as he peeled his jacket, then his turtleneck shirt. Silver’s Weavile followed them dutifully, taking position on the edge of the bathtub behind Silver like a gargoyle.
When Gold looked back, Silver had crossed his arms over his chest and refused to meet his eye, red in the face. He left his binder on, to which Gold shot him a reminding look that the boy returned with an equally loudly-silent expression.
Gold turned his attention to the large, oozing and torn-up wound on Silver’s arm, and quickly-but-carefully began to wipe it down. Gold didn’t even know punches could do injuries like that, but he supposed that he learnt something new every day.
When he’d cleaned the area the best he could, he cut a length of fabric and wrapped it tightly around the injury. Gold then lightly kissed the fabric, and Silver couldn’t help but laugh.
“It’ll make it heal better.” Gold grinned. “My mum taught me that.”
The redhead mouthed a word that looked suspiciously like ‘idiot’, and shook his head. Gold stuck his tongue out and began to wipe the blood from Silver’s back, torso and his other arm. Silver’s face was still beat red, but he made no attempt to stop him or even take the cloth from Gold. Part of him enjoyed being doted on, a part that recently began to overwhelm his shame and need to be alone.
Gold pulled back when he was satisfied with his work, and pulled a hair tie from the top drawer of his cabinet. Silver had a sneaking suspicion Gold had bought an entire pack of ties in the somewhat recent past, because he seemed to always have a spare one when he needed one.
“I’ll go get you clean clothes, then make you us hot chocolate.” He didn’t pose it as a question, because he knew if he did, Silver would insist he didn’t need some.
After Gold blindly threw a large hoodie, track pants and one of his old pyjama shirts, Silver began the painful process of getting undressed. As he lifted his binder over his head—slower than he’d ever done before because the slightest movement sent a wave of pain through his body—, Silver found himself tearing up again.
Which was really annoying, because it made him feel weak. Crying as Gold tended to his wounds was one thing, but crying after? He shoved his head through the loose pyjama shirt and stared at his swollen face in the mirror.
He never let words prick beneath his skin, because he'd heard so many as a child that he'd become used to brushing them off. But he couldn't stop thinking about what his assailant had said.
"a princess playing dress-up."
Was that all he was?
He must've been staring at himself for longer than he realised, because a knock at the door drew him from his daze. He mumbled out a distant "come in", and watched through fifty layers of himself as Gold walked in.
"You alright?" He asked, for what felt like the millionth time that night. Silver tilted his head, but his eyes never budged from where they were looking.
When the redhead spoke, it sounded like he was thousands of miles away. "He called me a weak princess playing dress-up."
Gold's brows furrowed quickly, and he took measured strides to cross the room and reach Silver quickly. "It was a Team Rocket grunt, wasn't it?"
He nodded, eyes watering.
"You're really gonna listen to someone like him?" Gold hummed as he rested his head on one of Silver's shoulders and wrapped his arms around his waist from behind.
Silver didn't reply, because he didn't trust his voice not to crack and dissolve at the pitiful admission that yes, he was. Gold seemed to understand all the same.
"Well, he can go shove a stick up his ass, because you're my strong, stunning prince."
Silver ducked his head, swatting Gold's hands sheepishly. "Gold."
Gold merely laughed as he began to pepoer kisses along his cheek, shoulder, neck, and anything else in range, though his reign of terror didn't last long before he pulled back. "The hot chocolate's getting cold, c'mon."
Silver, still red in the face and weak in the legs, bunched his dirty clothes into a ball and emerged from the bathroom. The room was warm and the air scented like chocolate. Silver dropped his haul in the laundry basket as he passed that room, and drifted to the living room, his Weavile following close on his heels.
She let out a mew, the kind she used when she wanted to be picked up. So the redhead scooped her up in his arms, shuddering slightly at her cold temperature.
Silver soon buried his face into her soft fur, smiling as she began to purr like a giant vehicle.
“ ‘m okay.” He muttered into her fur, hugging her close to his chest even as his body ached. The coolness felt nice against his aches, like his own permanent ice pack. He remembered that a bit ago, he read online that feline Pokemon tended to purr to soothe pain, and swallowed the lump that formed in his throat.
“But when I try and pick her up, she scratches me to pieces.” Gold mumbled, holding two steaming mugs in his hands. He gently set them down on the coffee table, sat down on the couch and patted the space next to him.
Silver sank into the chair quickly, quickly pressing himself against Gold’s side like it was where he belonged. Gold wrapped his arm around his shoulders and drained half of his drink in one breath. Silver was too tired to even comment on it.
Ten minutes later and Gold had finished both drinks (with permission, because Silver could only manage a few sips before his stomach churned ominously). Silver was slipping between sleep and consciousness at a rapid rate, which Gold took as a sign to drag him up to his bedroom. He’d already prepared himself for a night on the couch, so when he reached for his pillow and was stopped by fingers curling around his wrist, he paused.
“Can you—“ Silver hummed, shuffling closer to the edge of the bed. He patted the other side of the bed and looked at Gold, who looked back at him with raised brows. Silver blushed and ducked his head, hoping his delirious state would burn this memory from his brain.
“Are you sure?” Gold asked, though he seated himself onto the bed. “I’m a messy sleeper, and you’ve got like a thousand injuries.”
Silver nodded. Gold shrugged and scooted under the blankets, making himself as comfortable as one could. Silver watched, amused as the boy fluffed up his pancake-flat pillow like it was made of feathers. By the time he’d finished, Silver’s eyes were fluttering closed and the warm embrace of comfort had swaddled him.
“Thank you.” He muttered, nestling closer to Gold’s splayed out form. Though he couldn’t see it, Gold was looking at him with an expression you could only describe as love. Pure, unfiltered adoration for the boy. Like he was a ray of sunshine in an otherwise dark world.
“Anything for you,” He grinned, leaning forward and planting a kiss onto his forehead as gently as he could. “Just try to win next time.”