His hands are shaking when he lowers the gun.

He watches with empty, hollow eyes as blood pools slow across the metal floor.

"Survive," he whispers, and squeezes his eyes shut.


There is a difference in the final nightmare she will witness.

That difference is Lugia. Fearsome and imposing, the shadowed legend shrouds Gavin with its mighty wings as they stand on a familiar island. This time, the stage appears empty, and no Rockets are congregated before it. It is only Gavin and his dark patron, the miasma that swirls around them both. Again, it almost feels like a dream.

Again, but for a moment, Gavin feels safe.

But Lulu Flint will recognize the sound, as Gavin does — the horrific rumbling of the absorber, the shriek of the laser as it fires. Only this time, when it strikes the Diving Pokemon, it does not emerge unharmed.

It collapses, and Gavin's left cradling its broad neck in his arms as the miasma, along with Lugia's power, fades.

"No," he breathes, voice pitching with his distress, "No, no, no, I can't go back to the way it was before — not like this, you can't—"

He has not cried since he was a child, since his father had beaten it out of him. Tears slide silent down his cheeks, warm and wet and real.

It's Walsh's voice he hears, then. 'No matter the cost.'


Lulu would hear a voice, too, meant for her alone.

'Enough.'


Gavin awakes with a shuddering gasp, drenched in sweat. He lurches forward in his chair, head swimming, choking and gasping for air as if he'd been drowning. His eyes are wide, wild, terrified, hands balled into tight fists. His breathing is rapid, disjointed, the onset of a panic attack gripping him in its claws.

It was not real. I am here.

"F-Fucking — thank — thank fuck."

He's trembling violently as miasma curls around him like a protective shroud. Red eyes burn from beyond the window, watching, an overwhelming PRESSURE settling.

After panic overwhelms, Gavin is quick to pull himself together. He feels as if he hasn't slept in days. His throat is dry, stomach hollow, but the thought of food sees nausea rise as bile in his throat.

His gaze, at first unfocused, sharpens to clarity at the sound of her voice.

"Don't you — always?"

He'd expected it.

He'd let her in, willingly, to the worst of his demons.

Arceus, but he's never felt so tired before.

Gavin scrubs at his face with a trembling hand and rubs beneath his eyes as if the motion might dispel some of the bone-deep exhaustion. It does nothing but displace his glasses, which he fixes with the same hand

"Saoirse, I haven't even figured out half the shit I can do yet. Didn't mean to upset you, just figured it worked different than it did, is all."

He's more vulnerable, like this, in the wake of his worst fears.

His skin crawls at the question, but he doesn't look away.

"Yeah. Worst fears, and all..."

Her shift is immediate, but Gavin does not find it jarring. They're like of mind.

"No, I feel like shit... but I asked for it."

There is no bitterness toward his sister, who'd simply indulged a morbidly curious mind. Though...

"Are you OK?"

Red eyes meet amber. A stirring in Gavin's thoughts, and the PRESSURE dissipates.

Lugia remains.

"Can Walsh do it, too? Are your abilities the same?"

He can't help his curiousity, but he's careful to keep the fear from his tone. Did Darkrai communicate to each what the other had witnessed? If Lulu had glimpsed his deepest fears, did Darkrai understand as well?

"Always wondered how joint avatarship works. You don't have to answer."

He's pried enough, he thinks.

In retrospect, the thought of Declan Walsh being able to invade his nightmares is more than a little alarming. He imagines he'd feel it more intensely if he wasn't too tired to think straight.

She can't usually see them.

It's the one reassurance he has, provided Darkrai shared that limitation.

"Nor do I," he says of hiding.

Not any more.