Guardian Angel
Frankenstein has lost all kind of time perception while trudging through the thigh-high thick layer of snow. All is white around, above, and below him. Like Thumbelina, he leaves behind a trail – not of bread crumbs, but of blood – and pushes forward, weak, the wind violently blowing against him, a cold whip on his exposed skin.
When he falls down, he knows hypothermia is already creeping on his body. He has less than half an hour to stand up again and start moving before cold shock strikes in. Frankenstein tries; his legs are too weak, and so falls face-down into the snow.
I'm already dead, he tells himself, weakly clawing at the icy ground, crawling. His mind flies to someone far, far away that is waiting for him to return – to whom he has promised to return. From the other side of the world, he begs for forgiveness. He will not come home.
And if it's not the cold, it will be whatever has been following him since after the fight that will kill him. Frankenstein's aura becomes more sensitive when he's weakened or wounded, and it picked up the presence of another living being almost immediately. He tries to reach out for one of his Pokéballs, but he can't feel his hands anymore. If only he could call for help… But since it might be his enemies or a wild Pokémon, it would be wiser not to catch their attention. It's either death or being captured and tortured. Frankenstein always knew it would end in one of these two ways, he never hoped for a happy ending.
It's close to him now. He can feel its scorching, unnatural warmth melting the snow. It must be a dream, some sort of hallucination induced by the shortage of oxygen; his tired mind can't come out with any plausible explanation other than this.
Something soft nuzzles his wet head and chin. It feels warmer than anything else he's ever touched - even warmer than the Alolan beaches, or the volcanic Seafoam Islands, or Firestones - and soft, soft as the most luxurious furs.
A quiet whine that sounded miles away farther becomes an insistent whimpering close to his ears. Opening his eyes takes forever, eyelashes already covered in tiny icicles; the first thing he sees is something extremely yellow, with glimmering red beads pointed in his direction.
A bark. A pink tongue lapping his face. The yellow Pokémon pawing at his body and barking wildly; then, biting his shirt with strong, sharp teeth that swiftly avoid his flesh, it starts pulling and dragging him in the snow.
Frankenstein doesn't oppose. If his fate is to be devoured by some wild Pokémon on the road to Snowpoint City, so be it. It's actually better than the other options on the table and at least it will be quick. But the way this particular Pokémon has handled him so far does not show hostility or hunger; it's like it's actively trying to save him, making sure he's alive. Could it be some ranger's rescue Pokémon?
He does not know how long the Pokémon drags him. His whole body is dripping, freezing, the fabric of his clothes hardened to the point of being painful. He's lost his bag long before fainting, long before making his way through the snow, long before… He should have gotten rid of his clothes. They're too wet to keep him warm - they're actually killing him faster – but he thought he could make it to the nearest village. Clearly, he miscalculated the distance.
A flash of red and yellow, a wave of intense heat, and Frankenstein realizes the Pokémon used Flamethrower against the snow and cleared the way. The Pokémon does that three more times during their trip, until Frankenstein sees a cave free from snow, probably the home of some local species, and relief passes through him like electricity.
The yellow Pokémon resumes his dragging until Frankenstein is safely inside the cave, where the ground isn't wet and the stone keeps the freezing wind away. The Pokémon paces relentlessly next to his limp body; he tries to reassure it that he's alive but no words come out of his mouth and his limbs refuse to move. It storms where Frankenstein can't follow with his eyes, returning with a big log in its mouth, placing it down close to him before using Ember. The fire crackles and it's such a relieving sound Frankenstein thinks he could fall asleep to this. He doesn't: sleeping in his condition means certain death, and he does not want to go away like this. Not now that there is the smallest chance of getting out of this most unpleasant situation.
His sight clears. Frankenstein sees nine long, plush tails and a canine body: a Ninetales, but just not any Ninetales. He smiles as his body erupts in violent shivers. Ninetales barks and he gets to see the elegant gold-trimmed black leather collar the Pokémon wears, the collar he made for her almost nine centuries ago as a gift.
Ninetales climbs atop him, resting every inch of her lustrous fur on his body, and yawns. The fire crackles near them, powerful and red and so incredibly hot.
He'll live.
Still don't know where this fits chronologically speaking, but I'll figure it out when I get to work on the big thing!