Pickett really is present through almost the entirety of FBAWTFT... we just forget about him because he is usually hidden in Newt's coat.
Forgetting about Pickett during THIS scene caused me a fair amount of guilt, so... I wrote it.
Happy(ish) reading!
. . .
Pickett huddled deeper into Newt's pocket. It wasn't safe to be here- all creatures could sense when something was wrong, and besides this, Pickett could sense when something was wrong with Newt. Living so close to the human had taught Pickett what was normal for his wizard. And this wasn't normal.
Pickett didn't dare poke his head out, but he could tell Newt was running by the motion. The bowtruckle clutched tighter to the blue material lining Newt's pocket as the squeezing pressure of Apparition came over them again. Running. Apparating. Standing.
Falling.
Hurting! Pickett let out a squeak of alarm. The sensation of burning, stinging, dizziness, all at once…
Pickett shivered hard in pain. His fingers, his head, his whole body were becoming numb as the curses continued- hurting, hurting, hurting, hurting-
He cried for Newt, but no one heard. No hand reached in for him, and Pickett trembled as he tried to press closer to the wizard's body, listening.
A panicked heart beat against Pickett's whole body, too fast, trying too hard- the bowtruckle closed his eyes. This was wrong. Pickett listened for Newt's breathing and couldn't find it. Newt!
Pain struck them both, over and over and over and over until-
It stopped.
Pickett couldn't move, tormented and numbed from- whatever it had been.
He wasn't ready for the little breath he had to be suddenly choked away, for his aching body to be compressed into wherever Newt went when he Apparated.
Darkness crushed the tiny creature and smothered all thought.
. . .
The cloth had gotten a wet spot somehow. Pickett curled tighter against the pain.
A familiar hand lifted him out, the familiar voice a soft, shocked murmur of fear. "Oh, Pickett… Pickett, no."
Newt?
The voice continued, anxious. Pickett stirred a little. It hurt. "What happened to you, Pick? What hurt you?" Pickett didn't answer, and besides, he didn't know.
A finger traced gently over his thin green arm. Pickett flinched, feeling the wet seeping out again.
It was a tiny wound, almost a large paper cut by human standards, but it hurt Pickett, and the bowtruckle found the voice to whimper. He had a headache and his skin was still twinging painfully after the torture. His breath came in quiet panting.
Newt's hands were shaking a little. This wasn't right, Pickett thought. Newt didn't shake.
"It was Grindelwald, wasn't it." Even his voice was shaking. Pickett opened his eyes, now worried. "When he hurt me, you were-" He stopped. "Pickett, I'm so sorry."
His breathing was shaking. Pickett squeaked a concerned question, but Newt didn't hear him, his eyes focused seemingly on something far away, then were drawn again to Pickett's bleeding arm. Automatically, he took out his wand and got to work, continuing his thinking aloud. "And after that… I Apparated- and I remember hoping I wouldn't-" A sudden pause. His lips formed the word Splinch, but he didn't speak it. Pickett watched as Newt's thoughts fell into place.
The wizard drew his wand over Pickett's arm and whispered something. Pickett watched as the bleeding stopped, the wound closed, and felt most of the pain going away.
Newt held the bowtruckle to eye level. Pickett was relieved to hear his tone back to normal, not the frightened realizations that in turn frightened the creature. His hands were steady again as Pickett interlocked his fingers with his wizard's. "All right now, Pickett?"
The bowtruckle squeaked. Newt smiled. Pickett clambered carefully up Newt's sleeve and nestled, slightly wobbly, into his pocket. He let out a little sigh of contentment.
"I shouldn't have kept you with me." Pickett started at the words. He knew exactly what Newt was getting at. Slightly panicked, Pickett scrambled halfway out again and stared, pleading, at the wizard.
Newt shook his head, though a smile crossed his face. "Pickett, you know you have to go back."
No. You wouldn't.
"I nearly got you killed, Pickett." And now his expression was pained. "I've Apparated with you for so long, and nothing's gone wrong before; I've never even thought about it…"
Pickett chirped a protest. It won't happen again, I promise!
"...Of course, nothing of that Grindelwald sort has ever happened before- I've always been rubbish at dueling."
Pickett sat motionless, watching. Newt looked at him, and the bowtruckle couldn't quite read his expression.
At last, Newt sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You can stay for now, Pickett, but if things get dangerous again, you will remain in the case, do you understand?"
Pickett squeaked happily. I knew you'd let me. He burrowed deeper into the pocket, tired now, his fingers probably pricking Newt's skin, but neither of them cared.
The familiar finger stroked his leafy head. "Sleep well, Pickett."
. . . end . . .