Work Text:
It had been a complete disaster.
The fierce battle had left everyone injured, but Paxton had borne the brunt of it. With a head wound barely covered by gauze and Absol supporting him, Lumiose’s young hero had tumbled out of the portal right into the middle of the hotel lobby.
Amid cries of pain, blood staining the carpets, and the Poké Ball containing Meowstic clenched in his fist, the young hero of Lumiose had collapsed to the ground and remained there, gasping and sobbing.
Someone had screamed; at the front desk, someone had tried to restore calm among the guests, but silence had returned only when the Rust Syndicate had burst in among the panicking guests.
Korrina and Taunie had explained what had happened; they’d tried to recall how many blows Paxton had taken, but they’d lost count after the tenth—Philippe had clenched his teeth to keep from cursing, but Corbeau hadn’t held back and was cradling Paxton’s head in his lap, stroking his forehead—while the rest of the Rust Syndicate organized the transport together with the hotel staff.
“Who called you?” Taunie had asked, but Corbeau hadn’t been able to answer her, and neither had Philippe.
The two trainers had only been able to watch their friend disappear among the dark uniforms.
And even then, as dinner was quieter than usual despite the photo Corbeau had personally sent to Taunie—showing Paxton smiling, lying in bed and high as a kite from the anesthesia—there was always the sense that the city was asking more of Paxton than he could perhaps give.
All of them, whether they were Team MZ or the Rust Syndicate, could only stand by him and help him.
Hoping not to lose him.