Ghost

by Peaches of History

A scream rose in his throat but he swallowed it. Lysandre was not there. Had he ever been? Sycamore x Lysandre

The professor tipped forward, peering down into the hole caused by the explosion. Rubble lay freshly littered around the rim, and he could see a column of smoke rising from some Arceus-forsaken crevice on the opposite side. Lysandre's final act had torn open the heart of Geosenge, a sight that would probably attract visitors for weeks - if not for months, or years, really.

He cast his eyes up and towards the houses that had been knocked aside by the 'ultimate weapon'. They'd been ripped up at the supports, wood splinters remaining dug deep in the dirt. People were beginning to dot the edges of the massive crevice, surveying the damage, looking for survivors, pulling other people and pokemon out from under piles. A handsome, long haired boy on the edge of adulthood was reaching for the hand of a girl with short, dark hair, who grasped it tightly, pulling him close. A Mamoswine rubbed its tusk against her thigh lovingly.

Sycamore shifted his weight from one foot to the other, with a little smile on his face. It was something worth taking a picture of, the little couple and the giant beast clustered together, leg-to-shoulder-to-shoulder, backs to him, stood in the middle of a mess like a beacon. Lysandre had thought this world imperfect - and he was right, it was an imperfect thing. But, Sycamore thought to himself, it would have been a shame to destroy it. If only Lysandre could see what he saw now, he might not have chosen to bury himself.

If only hecould see Lysandre. The professor closed his eyes as the breeze of dusk swirled at his feet. And he almost could see him; Sycamore could feel the man beside him, like a ghost. Warmth - power - passion radiated off of the red head.

Sycamore turned his head, his gaze stuck in a black-coated shoulder. Then he looked up - oh, those eyesand the smoldering way he looked at him, but Sycamore knewwhat hid behind the gaze. The red head looked at him for several moments longer, and Sycamore suddenly desired to touch him. He extended his hand, reached, could feel the firm, muscular arm beneath his slender hand, watched as Lysandre turned his body towards him, started to bend his head, to open his mouth to speak, and then -

Sycamore opened his eyes and looked down into the rubble again, feeling a mixed pang of love and desperation. His breath caught. Lysandre was not beside him. And suddenly he could no longer stand to look at the possible grave of a man he had come to love so deeply. The professor walked along the rim quickly now, keeping his eyes on the Mamoswine and the girl and the boy, but the distress had set in and he found himself jogging, and then running, and then sprinting around the hole, his eyes turned to the hidden entrance to what was Lysandre's lab.

And then he was at the door, breathing hard, his legs leaden. The automatic doors were jammed, wouldn't open, and the distress increased. He moved in a flurry, releasing Charizard. The dragon pried the doors open, revealing a load of rubble that seemed to block everything and stretch on into eternity all at once. How the stone frame around the door had not collapsed, Sycamore did not know.

He ran one hand down his face, listening to his heart hammer in his temples. Lysandre was down there. There was no way he would have escaped.

"We have to go down," the professor found himself saying.

And then, before any protests arose from Charizard, Sycamore was climbing in, over destroyed metal and rocks and tiles and chunks of whatever else you could think of.

Charizard, very sure of his master's insanity, loyally followed the professor into the carnage.

Sycamore was insane. He himself was sure of it. He never made such rash decisions; he'd never climbed into an active disaster area before on some whim - but it's not a whim. He's here.Lysandre was suddenly behind him, breathing down his neck, hot and bloody and full of a beautiful kind of rage. Sycamore turned sharply, his foot catching on something, and he fell to his knees in front of the man.

The smoldering blue gaze, like blue fire, was all he could see in the half-light; it burned, it made him shake, it looked like blue smoke was sifting out of every crack now; then there was the hand, the big, muscular hand with the half torn glove, blood seeping out of it and dripping onto the wreckage and onto his pants and Sycamore reached for it, he reachedbut the smoke made his eyes water.

He coughed, closed his eyes.

Opened them again.

A scream rose in his throat but he swallowed it. Lysandre was not there. Had he ever been?

Charizard replaced him. The beast dug its great snout under the professor's arm, lifting him back onto his feet. Sycamore wiped his eyes, his hands shaking. His whole body was shaking. He felt the distress gripping him again, a tight hand around his throat. Charizard nuzzled him towards the entrance, but the professor was hellbent on finding Lysandre.

"He's here; I know he is. I - I saw him."

Charizard began to protest, his wings rising slightly, but Sycamore ended it with a raised hand and closed eyes.

"Please, Charizard. Please, won't you help me?"

The dragon lowered its wings, huffing at its master. The professor swore that the smoke drifting from the pokémon's nose was blue, but he passed it off as a hallucination, due to stress and the thick constriction of the actual smoke. He could smell fire burning somewhere beyond, and as his heart thudded in his temples with a dull ache, he rubbed his nose and forehead in an effort to gain clarity.

"All right. Okay. We need to go down." He spoke out loud to quell his growing anxiety. "But the elevator's probably been blasted to pieces. Do you see a way to go down?"

Charizard grudgingly got down on all fours, its wings lightly touching the rubble. Sycamore followed the pokémon with jerky, anxious movements, watching as Charizard hunted for any weak spots in the ground, any spots that might lead to the bottom. All the way to the bottom. What a long fall it would be...He found himself wondering if this rubble was just stacked atop more rubble, and if there really was no floor at all anymore. More frighteningly he wondered if beneath all that rubble lay the crushed and unidentifiable body of Lysandre.

His stomach lurched, and he wasn't sure if it was the thought or the acrid smoke that made his body tremble.

Charizard made a grunting noise, its tail flicking against a weak spot in the rubble. It began to dig, pulling apart the rocks, and Sycamore started forward to help, his body still trembling but now with a new found determination. There was a distance of ten yards between the pair, and as the professor crossed it, he became suddenly aware that something was wrong.

At first, he thought it was his body still trembling, but his feet began to falter and he realized that it was not him but the rubble giving way. How foolish could I be? It was only a matter of time before it all gave way. The smoke - the fires beneath -Instantly, he and Charizard locked gazes, and the pokémon leapt out for him, but not before everything gave way beneath him and he collapsed, falling backwards, eyes widening. Charizard gave one great swipe to try and catch him, but the claws only nicked his skin, little spatters of blood floating before his face.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion:

The initial fall, the sharp pain of the cut, the flecks of blood hanging in the air.

His body, hanging in the air.

Charizard's quick dive to try and catch him again.

Lysandre's voice in his ears fool fool fool you should leave me you're a fool sycamore you damn fool i always knew you were too soft too soft too softlike a rush of air.

And everything stopped, suspended in midair, unmoving -

until it came crashing down on them, literally.

Charizard was struck mid-dive by the falling metal, and with a surprised cry the pokemon descended in a free fall beside his trainer, desperately trying to regain stability. Everything began to rush by at the speed of light, bursts of pain blinding Sycamore as chunks of who-knows-what rained down on him, his heart beat climbing into his throat into his ears into his head until it felt like he could explode everything hurt and there was the terror, the blind terrorand again he heard Lysandre's voice in his ear, but this time it was soft and cool like the whisper between shady alley walls on a hot day.

You shouldn't have come... Too soft... I always knew you were too soft... So soft... Stay with me...

So gentle, lulling him into unconsciousness as the ground, sick with scorched tiles, rushed towards him.

ooo

Sycamore came to with several heavy blinks.

Something rotten had settled in his stomach, and he felt that he was dead because he could not lift his head - even if he had wanted to. He felt a slow trickle from the corner of his mouth - spit or blood? He was looking up at the ceiling, which had caved in most of the way, leaving hunks of metal and rock strewn around - and possibly on top of him, he couldn't feel enough to know if he was crushed or not. He lifted one hand with great effort to wipe at his mouth, finding that it was spit and not blood, but there was blood on his hands and when he set his hand back down it landed in a sticky pool.

The professor felt a rush of warmth beside him, and presuming that it was Charizard, he started to call out weakly.

"Char... Charizard..."

Sycamore forced his head to move, the aching becoming a thudding as he did so, causing his eyes to close at the strain.

"Open your eyes, Augustine."

Sycamore's eyes snapped open. Lysandre was lying beside him, unscathed and untouched.

"You're not real!" the professor cried, wanting to close his eyes, but unable to do so.

"Not real?" Lysandre sounded very real. "Can't you see me?"

"You survived the explosion...without a scratch! That's not possible!" Sycamore cried again, the pain in his body slowly awakening.

"Foolish Augustine. You could never see past the surface with me, could you?"

Sycamore staggered. Wasn't it true? Hadn't he misjudged Lysandre? All the times he had talked about his ideals, hinted at what he was planning to do, and not once had he questioned him. Not once had he made a move to stop him. To try and prevent him from destroying everything that every generation before him had worked for. To try and prevent him from destroying himself.

Then there was the smoldering blue gaze again, and Lysandre's strong, steady hand had found Sycamore's bruised cheek.

"You're a fool... But you are the reason behind all my choices. All the beauty in the world - and here you were, holding it all in your hand." Lysandre's voice was soft, a comforting a sound, like gravel crunching under your feet on the way down to the beach. Sycamore had gotten the shakes again. He was afraid to reach out and touch the man or close his eyes, because every other time he'd been a hallucination. "You want nothing but the best for everyone, even for me. Even after I failed you."

"You didn't-"

"And you came here, to find me and to bring me home to your bed? You think that it can be solved within a night, but-"

"Please don't leave, Lysandre."

"-you know that it's not possible. I've made too great a mistake. You would have perished with the rest of them, Augustine. Do you realize that? That I knew you would die."

"Yes just please-"

"And yet here you are, bruised and bleeding on the floor of my lab. I was so wrong, Augustine." Lysandre laughed bitterly. "So wrong to try to end it without you."

"Lysandre, please..." Sycamore felt weak. He suddenly felt that death might be coming, but he didn't know if it was for him, or for the man beside him.

"I will not recant my statement... This world should have been demolished. But I should have kept you with me."

"Wait please-" And Sycamore felt suddenly sure that it was not for him but for Lysandre. "Lysandre, just stay with me, please, help will come-"

"It won't come for me." Lysandre's smoldering gaze held the professor's. He touched the bruised cheek tenderly, sorrowfully. Tears crept in the corners of his eyes. "It's over, Augustine. But help will come for you. Or rather, you will go to it."

And then Sycamore began to scream, because Lysandre was standing up, and there were bruises and torn clothes and bloody wounds all over his body, and he looked pitiful and lonely and maybe he was already dead, but Sycamore didn't want to believe that.

"Lysandre please! Go back with me! Start over, I'll help you, I'll hide you - please, please please please Lysandre! Don't let me have come all this way just to see you die!"

And then he was scooped into Lysandre's strong arms. "Give up on this, Augustine. Don't come back." And the professor was clutched close to the man's wounded chest, and he could hear his heartbeat, and suddenly he started to cry. He was nearly thirty years old and he was crying like he was ten again, but there he was, in the arms of the man he loved, sobbing because this felt like the end and he felt like he was already holding onto a ghost. He cried harder because he felt Lysandre moving forward, and through burning eyes he saw Charizard lying there as if it had been waiting the entire time, just napping.

Sycamore sobbed bitterly, unashamed of his behavior now as he clung to Lysandre.

"Please, Augustine. Remember that I always cared very deeply for you. In the end, I think I might have saved you. For selfish reasons, most likely, but that's the flaw in the human condition, isn't it?"

"Yes, and you're a prime example of the damn human condition right now, Lysandre."

The red head burst out laughing. Sycamore's head spun at the sound, a heavy feeling like lead resting itself in his chest so that all he could do now was look up at him, eyes swimming. Everything had gotten fuzzier - because of the tears or the smoke, he didn't know, didn't care - and he tightened his grip on Lysandre. He thought vaguely, I should have prepared for this. I'm lucky I didn't find him dead. I'm lucky I'm not dead.

But all the rationale in the world right now meant nothing. Because rationale means giving up the ghost and letting Lysandre die down here.

Sycamore could imagine what life would be like next. On the outside it would be like it had been before - he would be the most renowned professor in Kalos, he would cater to children ready to go on their first journeys, he would study and battle and study and flirt with women and ask Diantha to dinner - but it wouldn't reallybe the same. There would be no midnight rendezvous with his favorite lover. Little love between the sheets now, he decided. He would go to all the same cafés still, but it'd be too reminiscent to be fun, and the mourning would be poetic, but it'll get old fast,he decided. The whole thing would probably get old pretty fast anyhow.

The professor looked up at Lysandre again, the weight in his chest so heavy he could hardly breathe, and everything he wanted to say was constricted in his throat. Hot tears pooled in his eyes and blurred everything as the pounding in his head sounded like a bass drum on repeat. Each hit made him cringe, and he closed his eyes consciously for the first time since he had opened them and found Lysandre lying next to him.

Then he could hear Lysandre's voice in his ear again, saying something, and he tried to open his eyes but couldn't. Panic started again, because he wanted to see him one more time - see him aliveone more time. But everything was so heavy and his entire body ached treacherously. He felt his weight shift, and there was a sudden rush of warmth, and he slipped on and off into unconsciousness, his mind graying on the edges. He felt hands on his face, wiping away blood and sweat and tears the way lovers do. Sycamore wanted to touch him one more time, too, but it was like all the wires connecting his hands to his brain had been cut. Nothing would move.

As the black wave of unconsciousness threatened to wash him away, one thought floated through his mind.

This time he'll disappear and I'll open my eyes and he won't be there.

And then something touched his lips, softly, and the wave crashed down on him, drowning him, leaving his mind screaming open your eyes open your eyes OPEN YOUR EYES!

ooo

Sycamore woke up for the second time in a bed in an unfamiliar room. It was dark around him, but the sheets were soft and gave him a few moments of comfort, so that he was able to fool himself into thinking nothing had changed. What an awful nightmare... But he lay still, afraid to move. The curtains were closed, and a crack of light was seeping through the bottom of the door on the far side of the room. Voices buzzed vaguely on the other side.

The professor lay there for several more minutes, his eyes shut tight, frightened that at any moment he would realize that it had not been a nightmare. It had been real. A piece of him began to deny all of it, whispering, But it was a nightmare! In fact, Lysandre is right outside the door. And shortly he'll walk into the room and tear the spread away, and he won't be dead. How could he be dead if he's standing right in front of you?

So he played the game. He waited.

Lysandre never came.

All at once Sycamore could no longer stand it. He opened his eyes and sat straight up, and a sharp, unholy pain stabbed him between the eyes. He doubled over the side of the bed and was sick, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He expected Lysandre to be there now, pushing back his hair, but the hand didn't come. He had to push his hair back with his own sick, shaking hand. One thought raced through his mind: I was right I opened my eyes and he disappeared.

He tried not to think about any of it again.

After he felt that he could sit up without being sick (and after silently thanking whoever put the trash can beside the bed), he slowly began to move. His goal was the door. There were people on the other side of the door, and surely they could tell him what had happened. Surely they could make sense of this whole ridiculous mess.

Sycamore clutched his forehead in his hand as he made his way towards the door. The cool hardwood under his feet had a calming effect.

When he finally reached the door, he didn't hesitate to open it. It gave easily, swinging open, and he stepped into the light, shielding his eyes because it was so bright. All the buzzing voices he had heard quickly died out, and he hoped he wasn't still in the middle of his nightmare.

"Please, somebody tell me that this is real."

"Oh, it's real all right, and you're realnaked."

It was a male voice. The professor looked up from the cover of his hands to see two men and the lovely Diantha sitting at the table. One of the men was looking away, and the one who had spoken was sneering at him. The Kalos region champion was blushing a little, her hand covering her mouth. She made eye contact with him and rose to get him something to cover up with.

Sycamore, feeling unashamed, stood there still shielding his eyes.

An awkward silence followed, and the sneering man's expression faded. "No witty comeback, Sycamore?"

The professor, who in any other situation might have stood tall and bore his manhood proudly and said "shut up, Dave" could not bring himself to do it now. He felt defeated, like he had hoped the sneering man would have been someone else, but the realization that it was not made him think that everything that had happened was real and not a nightmare at all. Not a nightmare at all.

"Stop it, Dave," Diantha said, returning with a fuzzy pink bathrobe. "I'm sorry Augustine. It's all the owners of the house have on hand at the moment."

"Thank you, Dia," Sycamore said, his voice hoarse. He looked startled at the way it sounded. He took the bathrobe with still shaking hands and pulled it on with great effort, tugging it closed loosely around his waist as he winced at the pain and the sight of his cut fingers.

Properly covered up now and adjusted to the light (at least mostly, anyway), he started the slow shuffle towards the open seat at the table. He was very aware of Diantha staring at him, her little brow creased with worry. He glanced at her, and if he hadn't been so concerned with his Lysandre nightmare he might have thought the worry on her face made her more beautiful.

Little love between the sheets now, he thought with finality.

Finally he sat at the table, and all three heads swiveled towards him. He felt like he could have been on trial, their big jury eyes boring down on him.

He thought he might go crazy if someone didn't speak soon. "Where are we?" was the only thing he could manage.

"The outskirts of Geosenge," Diantha answered.

Nobody prompted him to speak again, so he took his time. It was difficult to decide what he did and didn't want to know.

After a while, "How did I get here?"

Diantha answered again. "A couple found you and Charizard laying in the middle of the road leading to the old entrance to the Team Flare hideout."

It was Lysandre's lab, Sycamore thought. "How did I get there?"

The champion's eyebrows rose in a startled way. "We were hoping you could tell us that."

Sycamore groaned, his hands coming to his head as he leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. He felt Diantha's loving hand on his back, and he didn't need to look to know that her eyes rested on him with concern, and probably a little pain.

"What happened, Augustine?"

How could he tell her? Had she even known about his relationship with Lysandre? Sycamore turned to look through his hands at her pensively, searching her eyes. Their gazes held for several seconds, with neither speaking, and for a moment he thought he saw a flicker in her eyes, as if she did know, but then it was gone and she was rubbing circles in his back.

"I went down into the lab," he said flatly. "I think I... I must have passed out. I was looking for Lysandre."

The two men seemed surprised, but Diantha didn't. "Did you see him?"

"I..." Sycamore looked ruefully at the two men across the table. He wanted to be alone with Diantha now. His panic, his love, his desperation, his hazy hallucinations (were they really hallucinations?) rose in his throat like he was going to be sick, and he wanted to confess it all over the table to her. He felt very much like crying again. "I think I did."

One of the men butted in. "How could you have? He's got to be buried underneath tons of rubble. If you saw anything, you'd probably have seen chunks, really-"

Sycamore clutched his head, feeling his stomach turn over as Diantha turned sharply. He thought he heard her saying something like, 'can't you see Augustine has been through something terrible?' but his injured psyche could not really comprehend it and it didn't seem to matter. He began to doubt his own sanity.

Diantha spoke to him again. "You saw him?" Sycamore did not speak or look at her. So she tried again, hesitantly, "Did he...say anything?"

The professor suddenly looked up at her, his hands leaving his head. He looked like a man turned wild. His navy hair was a mess, stuck to his head and also sticking out at several angles around the bandage he had failed to realize was there. He was deathly white, like he had seen a ghost, and his lips were pale and pressed firmly together. In the bathrobe, in that moment, he looked like he belonged in an asylum.

But he knew what he wanted to ask. "Lysandre wasn't with me?" He was carrying me, he said 'you will go to it', and Charizard wasn't moving, Charizard got hit and was injured, so that means Lysandre would have had to bring us back to the surface? And he was dying, or going to die, so a trip up taking Charizard and me would have drained him, not even Lysandre could withstand that.But Lysandre had survived the explosion, hadn't he?

Diantha looked concerned. "No, he wasn't. Augustine-"

"But his body should have been next to mine!" Sycamore cut her off. One of his hands slammed down on the table, causing her to jump. "He brought me up!"

Her face contorted into one of fright. "How could he have? The surveyor - he said the rubble of the lab collapsed in on itself. Anybody down there at the time would have been killed. He said you were lucky to be alive."

"But I was down there! I saw him!" But Sycamore was beginning to doubt that any of it happened the way he thought.

"You'd be dead if you were down there, Augustine... All of the rubble, it blocked the entire lab. You would have been crushed. And you surely couldn't have come back up."

"But I did!" Sycamore leapt up, causing both of the men to stand up defensively. "I'm here!" He put his fist to his chest. "I'm alive! Aren't I? Tell me I'm alive!"

"You're alive-"

"So Lysandre should be alive!" he shouted. "He should have been with me, because he brought me back! The floor gave way beneath us, and Charizard was hit and couldn't fly right, and at the bottom of the lab I saw him! He spoke to me. He - he carried me! He saved my life, Diantha!" Doubt flickered in her eyes and he faltered, his voice breaking. "I'm telling the truth, Diantha... Please, believe me..." Sycamore ran his hands through his hair, a lump in his throat.

Diantha moved towards him, her voice soft as she tried to calm him. "You hit your head, Augustine, and you've been through a traumatizing experience."

Yeah, I watched Lysandre bury himself.

But he said: "I know what I saw." But do you?"He was there. Let's be logical, Dia. Let's say I'm right. Lysandre did bring me back up. That would mean he survived the explosion, but his body would have been very badly damaged and he...he would have been on the brink of death, surely." The words burned like hellfire. "Bringing both Charizard and me back up would have been the killing blow. No mortal man can withstand that."

"But his body wasn't there," Diantha rebutted gently. "And if you really fell through the floor, there was no way he could have brought you back up. The elevator was a bust."

Sycamore felt everything crumbling around him. Any grip on reality that he had was slipping, and he felt weak suddenly. The bass drum in his head was back, and it thudded full throttle in his temples. He closed his eyes and cringed, his knees buckling beneath him. The buckling seemed to happen suddenly, but hitting the floor didn't seem to happen for an eternity. Everything was slow and fuzzy.

Diantha was shouting, and the two men were rushing to catch him.

Sycamore could hear Lysandre's voice again. The gas. The lab exploded. Gas was released. The gas. The gas. The gas. Causes hallucinations...

It was Dave speaking. "The gas. The lab exploded. Gas was released. Isn't that what the surveyor said? The gas causes hallucinations. Even the people around the disaster area were having them. And we don't know how long he was down in that lab, do we Diantha? His brain could be fried for all we know. Of course he sawLysandre. He was hallucinating. He saw what he wanted to see."

But Sycamore had begun to scream and to cry. I did not see what I wanted to see! I love Lysandre! Why would I want to watch that damn blasted fool die?!

Diantha looked at Dave sorrowfully. "I know that, but Augustine doesn't. He was very close to Lysandre. This is going to be very hard for him. He won't understand right away. He's in denial...the first stage of dealing with loss..."

Sycamore felt sure, though. It hadto have been Lysandre. He wouldn't have survived otherwise.

It had to be Lysandre. It just...just had to be.