A/N: It's been a long year for many, but I hope you have a Merry Christmas or at least the chance to recharge a little before the end of the year. This fic was inspired by the premise from dnofsunshine's fic "Intangible". I'm incredibly thankful to her for getting a chance to use the idea! I forged this a little bit more into the TakeruxAngemon -direction because of course I did.^^

Trigger-warnings for depression, guilt, and a suicide attempt (nothing too graphic but the intent is there).

It was a strange feeling to wake up to; Patamon felt disoriented which didn't happen that often.

However, more than just confusion, his brain registered Takeru's unsteady breathing.

Crying, in other words.

His human partner sat in front of his desk and pressed his nose with the back of his hand to calm himself down.

"Takeru?"

Patamon flew onto the desk but Takeru didn't react.

"Takeru, what is it?" Patamon asked again with no luck.

It was only when he tried to touch the human with his paw, he noticed that his movement went straight through Takeru's arm.

Oh.

Becoming cognizant for an unknown period of time became a norm for the small Digimon after that. He would wake up at an unknown moment, at an unpredictable place for a random period of time. The only constant, was Takeru.

He had gathered, and later on recalled, that his calculated risk in a battle had materialized. He had died in the Human World. And now, he was dead.

Not the 'die in the Digital World and be born again' -type of death, but dead. He was yet to understand what that would entail.

One thing was certain, his partner missed him — terribly.

Most of the time Takeru was breaking down or close to it. Then, there were the times when Takeru was amidst their friends, at college, doing chores. Yet, Patamon could always see how his partner's mind wasn't in his actions. Takeru would gaze into nothingness only to break the sadness by issuing some passing joke, or giving a social laugh. Likewise, Patamon could see that their friends, nor Yamato, nor Natsuko, believed Takeru's act but they let it pass in courtesy to the young man.

Everyone tried to cheer up the boy, give him time, but the actions fell short as no-one could fix what was wrong. And no-one really knew just how deep Takeru's loss was.

And thus, Patamon could only watch with eyes downcast as Takeru was mentally alone. The small Digimon wished nothing more than to be there for the young man but he always fell through.

And little by little, Takeru's jokes became scarcer and the social contacts fewer. Takeru started to skip lectures, sit out his basketball practices, and leave D-terminal messages unanswered.

The late spring had changed into the hottest months of the late summer. Patamon was present more often. From the minutes of his first appearances, he could now spend an hour watching TV next to Takeru or lie down in an unfelt act of comfort when his partner woke up from a nightmare.

But Takeru's condition only deteriorated.

The human had started to lose weight, his previously very sound sleeping habits were all over the place. There were times when Takeru couldn't sleep, there were times of constant nightmares, and the times when he wouldn't get out of bed at all, no matter how many times Natsuko came to knock on his door.

Sometimes, Takeru would raise his feet on the back of the sofa and lie upside-down with his head tilted backward. Despite the uncomfortable position and the strain it put on his neck, Takeru could stay there for a long time staring numbly at the ceiling.

At those times, Patamon felt like his own heart was squeezed to bits. He had played the last battle so many times in his head. He had never been one for the what-if -scenario but now there was no escape from it.

Takeru had spoken to him a few times, asked out loud if he was okay now, asked what he should do with his life. But it always ended up in apologies. Takeru was asking him to come back, repeating again and again how he was sorry, how he should have done something more. In the incoherent pleas between tears and hyperventilation, Takeru was asking forgiveness over messing his life now. How hard it was for him to be alone; how hard everything was these days. In return, Patamon begged to be heard. He would try to climb into the human's lap and press his head against Takeru's chest to bring comfort like he had dozens of times before. But no matter how loud he yelled, or how hard he pressed, he couldn't alleviate his partner's pain.

The chance to stay behind wasn't a gift from Heaven like he had first thought. Patamon could do nothing but witness his partner crumble from the loss of him.

That day was a particularly bad case.

Takeru had broken down completely in the late afternoon.

Takeru had been hitting the sofa and screamed into a pillow. A method the human had learned to avoid disturbing the neighbors. There had been pleas, threats, and incoherent rambling.

After half an hour and screaming his voice hoarse, Takeru lied sprawled on the floor with tear tracks on his face.

Patamon had watched the situation from the side in anguish, but now, the human seemed to have calmed down. However, instead of the habitual slow gaining of bearings and the efforts to get back up, Takeru's gaze fixated. -Abruptly.- Patamon craned his neck to see what the human had spotted. However, he didn't see anything that fit his partner's expression; he had to look at Takeru again to check the correct direction.

There.

The back end of the long knife gleamed over the edge of the kitchen countertop.

Patamon had always considered himself fast but he felt the slowest thing in the world compared to the newly found determination Takeru used to push himself up.

He could only watch as his partner stared at the knife, walking closer to it with soft inaudible steps.

"Takeru!"

Patamon had rarely been so thoroughly scared, and never had he thought to be scared of Takeru hurting himself.

There was a slight sway in Takeru's posture that didn't fit into the mechanical movements of his hands and head. Takeru broke his staring only to take a glance at the empty apartment.

Alone. Always left behind.

By now, Patamon had flown to the countertop trying to create a connection with the boy in front of him, "Takeru!"

But Takeru didn't hear him this time either. The boy drew his hands into white-knuckled fists.

Patamon had never seen his partner like this. And as Takeru began to roll up the left sleeve of his shirt, he tried to shout and scream that he was here. He was right here.

Before he fully understood the change, he was Angemon, still invisible, still immaterial, but he didn't have the time to care. Angemon captured Takeru into his arms and latched onto the young man to keep this from moving.

Takeru stopped and the knife dropped from his hand.

"Takeru, don't. Takeru, don't do it," Angemon prayed onto the human's back and squeezed harder to get a better hold of Takeru.

It took a moment for Angemon to realize amidst his terror that Takeru had indeed stopped, and that he was holding onto the young man. It was a ghost of a feeling but still there.

Takeru was shaking more visibly now and Angemon buried his face into the back of the blond's neck to calm himself down — to calm them both down.

Takeru searched for Angemon's arm but his fingers went straight through. Something broke in that moment and when Takeru quickly turned around to see what he prayed to see, his eyes found nothing. Angemon tried to touch the human again but his hand wasn't there anymore. "Takeru..."

Takeru just stood there. The shock finally caught up with the boy and tears started to run down his face. Takeru took a blind glance at the knife but instead of grasping it again, he collapsed to sit on the floor with his back against the kitchen cabinets. Still shaking, Angemon took a step closer and tried to brush the boy's hair. But, as he'd already expected, the motion left less of a mark than a gust of wind.

After the incident, Takeru went on autopilot for four days. All his chores and daily life had been irritating things before but now he couldn't even notice them. On the outside, he was numb. On the inside, his mind was a seesaw: had he gone crazy and was ready to give up, or had he felt Angemon. Was it a hand from death or was he supposed to be the hand of life?

On the fifth day, Takeru's mind generated an answer. He couldn't give up yet. He didn't want to go on anymore either, but what would it hurt to try: find if he had forgotten something, or if he could dig up a clue they had missed.

Three and a half weeks passed with that momentum. Patamon followed Takeru everywhere more closely than ever. Sometimes it was difficult to track the time as the fits of unconsciousness still got the small Digimon. However, Takeru had started to turn calendar pages again which gave a rough understanding of the passage of time. On most days, Patamon just made his way next to his partner. Sometimes, he talked about trivial stuff, how much he wanted to see the boy, what they could do after this, wishing Takeru to be well. Maybe something would get through and keep Takeru alive. But Takeru didn't react to any of that, didn't see, hear or feel him.

Now, Takeru was sitting on the sofa, looking at his laptop for something Digital World related Patamon wasn't sure he understood. Takeru didn't speak that much by himself if you didn't count the occasional swear words at the world and at himself. But there had been less reverent breakdowns, so that had to be a good sign, right? Patamon rested on his old spot at the back of the sofa, taking a peek from time to time over Takeru's shoulder to see if there was anything interesting. The small Digimon turned his head to look at the clock. It was closer to 8 p.m. by now and Takeru hadn't eaten since three. Takeru had been a little bit more conscientious with his eating since the interrupted suicide attempt but now the human was too focused again. "Takeru, you should eat something," Patamon whispered despite knowing that Takeru probably wouldn't hear him. As he'd expected, Takeru didn't move a muscle and continued to stare at the screen with his fingers idly on the keyboard. Patamon sighed and rested his head between Takeru's shoulder blades.

There was the split second when he felt Takeru tense under the contact.

Consequently, he tensed too.

Neither of them dared to move a muscle, fearful that a single breath would take the other away. They stayed there like statues for good ten seconds — far longer than it would have taken to confirm that the contact wasn't just a delusion.

Takeru raised his trembling hand to reach the spot where Patamon should have been but his hand found just air. However, this time he wasn't willing to put the sensation under shock and survival instinct. He. had. felt. it. Takeru turned around and his eyes searched roughly the right spot, "Patamon?"

Patamon tried to place his paw on Takeru's hand but neither of them felt it. "Takeru..." Takeru couldn't find him, and Patamon found himself looking at the human who looked straight through him. Takeru tried again to reach out blindly but there was nothing. Patamon felt his anxiety build up as he knew how taxing this was to his partner. He felt awful as well. How long would this go on? How long were they both punished for his mistake? He just wanted to be with his partner; what was so wrong with that that the world had to take it away from them? He wanted to grasp the front of Takeru's shirt and cry his own tears and hear the words of comfort that Takeru would know to give.

Against Patamon's growing despair, Takeru wasn't breaking down. As the young man slowly got up and stared at the back of the sofa, there wasn't certainty on his face, but no crestfallen despair either. He had felt Patamon. He would be willing to testify that in court, in a mental hospital, and bet all his money on it.

He wouldn't tell that to anyone yet though.

And he didn't know what momentarily feeling Patamon meant.

The progress was swifter after that. Patamon could watch with his heart a tad bit lighter as Takeru had begun to eat more, exercise more, sleep more soundly. Takeru was still running in circles with his search but he had hope again. And, maybe for that reason, there were more and more moments when the two of them got a connection.

There was a night when Takeru had been nodding off in front of his laptop. Patamon had managed to evolve to Angemon and guide the human to bed without a proper contact on either end. In the morning, Takeru woke up like the old times, feeling Angemon against his back and arms curled around his chest. At first, he fought to keep himself in the dreamworld and prevent the crashing realization from hitting him. However, the moment stretched on and the crash never came. More than that, he could feel how Angemon, once again, leaned his face against the crook of his neck. It wasn't much but they would take what they could. This time, though, Takeru moved his hand reverently and his fingers found the angel Digimon's hand over his chest.

He could feel his partner.

They entwined their fingers together. Takeru didn't let his mind wander, didn't focus too intently on finding something he wanted to find, and just let his heart follow what it already knew.

After staying in the position for some time, Takeru moved to turn around and face Angemon. Understanding the intent, Angemon gave him slightly more space to do the maneuver but kept the contact. However, even while facing each other, Takeru still couldn't see his partner. The tactile connection oscillated but they stayed calm. Takeru's eyes searched without a rush and even though his eyes didn't focus exactly on Angemon, for the first time, Angemon was certain that Takeru knew he was there. Eventually, Takeru's eyes slipped closed from long-prayed relief and Angemon moved to lean his chin against the crown of Takeru's head. But the moment was fleeting and the contact lost, yet again.

Neither of them moved from the spot for a long time after.

After the morning, there were small instances here and there. Patamon might climb onto Takeru's lap and Takeru would spontaneously start to scratch the Digimon's fur. This might go on for a few minutes before either of them realized that it shouldn't have been possible. At those moments, they both turned to look at where they knew the other to be and smiled for the moment of peace. For Patamon, it was good to see how the good mood stayed with the human till the following day. Takeru had begun to talk a lot more too. The young man was explaining things, trivial stuff, just talking to Patamon like he had before. Their conversations, while deaf to each other, were surprisingly coherent. Takeru knew what Patamon would respond. And they knew when to keep a collective silence to mull over new information. There were even times when Patamon had been startled if the other had heard what he had said when Takeru had spontaneously commented something to an empty room.

Takeru was yet to tell anyone, though. He didn't know if they would believe him.

Slowly, Takeru started to test the waters without giving anything away. He talked with Koushirou, asked Tailmon about Wizardmon, and so on. Yet, there was nothing new, no leads, nothing noticeable on his D-3 or D-terminal, no egg in the Village of Beginnings - he had expected that (he had even felt Patamon traveling on the top of his head during the visit).

Everyone was pleased over his progress. He looked better, had become more sociable. Everyone was still scared to bring the topic up with him and he almost preferred it that way. There were times when he had spent the day before talking to Patamon, and sometimes woke up next to Angemon. He doubted if he could go with the pity and compassion people would offer him for his delusions or start the battle on how he heard and felt things that weren't logically there. In fact, he had started to hear Patamon at times, the words were on the edge of his awareness when he woke up or was about to fall asleep. Later, he always knew that he hadn't actually heard Patamon but his brain had registered the words anyway.

He wasn't sure when he would reach the point when he'd forget that others didn't see or hear Patamon; the invisibility factor had become natural. Takeru had asked Patamon if this was lonely, how this was faring up. But even if he gave room for an answer that never came, his instincts told him that this was enough for now — just him, asking those questions, created a sense of comfort. So, he asked, and talked, and asked again.

It was Christmas Eve and Takeru had isolated himself to his room. As a child Christmas had always represented another holiday his family opted not to spend together. Today, many of his friends were out with a date he didn't have nor fancy. Moreover, he had figured out that with his improvement, people wouldn't get too worried if he spent one night stuck inside his room.

It was well after sundown when Takeru was lying on his bed and reading. (He had fallen apocalyptically behind from anything college-related.) He could feel Patamon sleeping on his chest. It was one of the only upsides in this: Patamon didn't weigh his lungs down which made the position possible. Takeru let his left hand idly massage the base of Patamon's wings. His fingers followed the wings to the tips in the way Patamon had always liked. By momentary instinct, Takeru turned to look — and saw. It was only a blink and you'll miss it look but he saw Patamon, orange fur and all, living and breathing on his chest.

Takeru's breath stopped.

"Patamon? Wake up. Patamon?"

He lost the feeling again. "Patamon!" He needed to calm down. He needed to breathe. He needed to stop panicking because despair did nothing. He set the book down in a purposefully careful motion. Takeru had no idea whether Patamon had heard him or woken up, but he knew, he needed to calm down.

The minutes crawled by before Takeru could get the cold sweat to disappear and stop his hand from trembling. And he could feel Patamon on his chest again, a light feeling but there. Takeru's fingers searched for a minute before finding the small Digimon's scalp again, "I saw you," he uttered with his voice trembling, "I saw you for a second." Takeru almost hoped for an answer but none came, instead, he could feel Patamon press his face against his chest and smile. He hugged Patamon's form with both arms.

They could get through this.

They would get through this.

It was sometimes harder after a bad day but as long as they both kept trying, they managed to build a connection eventually. Little by little, Takeru caught up with his studies, reading on the sofa by evenings while Angemon watched TV and held him close. He started to see parts of Patamon more often; Angemon's face, wings, and the full picture were the hardest but they both learned to cope. Takeru had never been that tuned into the sound of Angemon's breathing or Patamon's tiny movements to correct his posture on the top of his head. And his dreams had become more peaceful. There was the clean smell that had the slightest trace of old parchment, brass, and moist air. The scent stuck to him during the day when Angemon hugged him from behind as he waited for the subway and it invaded his senses at night.

The hope was there. He was yet to tell anyone as the season turned into spring. However, they had talked about whether he could bring it up. He had been doing so much better, and the others might believe him. And then there was the other type of hope: the creases Patamon left on his hat after traveling on the top of his head, the hunger and thirst the Digimon had found again and which forced Takeru to wake up at 5 a.m. to pour a bowl of cereal.

And like Angemon murmured soothingly into Takeru's ear from time to time before this fell asleep, it was all there, they just needed to give it time.