#and for anyone unfamiliar with the source material. the dude who accidentally took up the majority of this fic is NOT an f/o

[frankmillerturnonyourlocation]

“You’re scared of that, aren’t you?” with whoever speaks to u (kittyandco)

AAAAAA thank you Kitty!!!!!! (I sent you one for Anakin but didn’t sign it, I hope tumblr didn’t eat it and that it’s a fun prompt!!!!) I picked Lucy for this one because i was in a Pokémon mood though you might not KNOW it because she doesn’t show up until almost three fourths of the way through the entire fic,,,

But again, tysm @kittyandco!!! ♡♡♡

~~~ The warehouse is cold. The ice shackles that have you pinned to the wall might be contributing to that, though.

“How’s this working out for you, cadet?” you hiss through chattering teeth, trying to ignore the burning of your wrists. “Baby’s first kidnapping? You know, I’ve done gym challenges tougher than this.” You sniff. “Do I get like, refreshments? To keep my blood sugar up?”

Your captor— the Ranger— is only half listening. “Lovely posturing,” he says, tapping away on a tablet. “You don’t seem frightened at all.”

You glance to the side, gritting your teeth at the sight of your frozen Pokémon. Wait it out, you tell yourself, wait for them to thaw. If it’s even warm enough in here for that to happen. “I didn’t know the Ranger Union was into kidnapping irrelevant Trainers these days.” You can’t feel your hands. “Not enough oil spills and poachers anymore? You’ve gotta go after harmless trespassers?”

The Ranger sighs dramatically, running a hand through his blue hair. He seems to be dyeing his roots a different shade, you notice. “You poor, poor, uninformed noob, hell-bent on distracting me from my work.” He shook his head before placing his chin in his hand. “Do you really still think I serve the Rangers?”

You had your suspicions, but the fear doesn’t feel any less like ice in your gut. “Damn,” you laugh, though it’s more of a wheeze. “Are they just handing Stylers out to anyone these days? You know, I had a friend who failed the Ranger School’s entrance exam three times, even though she was just enrolling to be a M—“

“Yes, yes, I’m sure she did,” your captor replies, once again focused on his tablet. “Yet I, myself, as I’m sure you could guess, had no trouble disguising myself and slipping amongst the next generation of those who were once my foes.” Something on the screen catches his attention, the blue light illuminating the pinch of his eyebrows. “And waiting for the perfect assignment? Simple. Child’s play, really,” he said, as though that last part was a joke. “Just far enough from the Almia region, from my past mistakes—“

He smiles ruefully. “Ah, but the best-laid schemes, hmm? You—“ Suddenly— or maybe it seems sudden only to you, in your shivering, sleepy stupor— he launches himself forward, gripping your red face with cold fingers, “—and your little reporter girlfriend,” he continued, the face that was so calm just moments ago twisting into a snarl, “stumbled head-first into my embryonic plans, haven’t you?”

Your whole body seizes, your arms wrenching against the ice shackles. His hand squeezes tighter, for just a moment, and then he releases, leaning back placidly. “And I can’t have that happen just yet,” he finishes. “Not before I’ve even started.”

You feel something dripping down your arm. Water from melting ice shackles? Just blood? Hopefully the former. Probably the latter. “Who even are you?”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “A good question. It’s not a name I’ve been called in years, but...” He steeples his fingers. “My name is Ice. Pleasure to meet you.”

When you don’t react, he purses his lips. “What?” He asks, delivering the joke straight. “Did you want a handshake?” His eyes flick above your head to where your wrists are still encased in ice. “Or maybe you’d like to be reacquainted with my friend, Froslass?”

Even as cold as it is, you can feel your heartbeat quicken as the Froslass drifts into sight at its Ranger’s request, its eyes hauntingly intelligent. With it, it brings a cold front of pure menace, frost actually crystallizing on the ground below it.

Your eyes dart back to your own frozen Pokémon despite yourself. “Isn’t there some kind of rule about Rangers removing Pokémon from their original environments?” you ask half-heartedly, wondering if this was a case of nominative determinism or if Ice chose his name to fit his aesthetic.

He held a finger up to his mouth. “Oops. Don’t tell my base leader.”

Trying to clench your hands just to see if you still could, you press your head back against the wall and focus on watching your breath as it billows in front of you. “So what now? You’ve caught your meddling Trainer. What’s your plan for me now?” You try for cocky. “Kill me?”

“Yeah, that’s about it.” He nods, smiling as though laughing at you for expecting anything different. “Scare the Stevens kid into silence because people would miss her if she were dead, kill you because nobody blinks when a Trainer skips town in the middle of the night, and...” He rubs his chin. “Probably request reassignment. Maybe lay low in Fiore for a while.”

“Terrible plan,” you shiver, “for a number of reasons.” You wince as you swallow. “She’s not even here anymore. She’s gone.”

Ice’s eyes light up. He bites his lip. “You can’t possibly know that for sure,” he baits, his voice low. “What would you be willing to bet on that?”

But you’ve bluffed enough times in your life to know what it looks like. “She’s gone,” you say, summoning the last dregs of your chest voice as you feel the air grow colder still.

“Hmm.” He taps his chin. “You’re scared of that, aren’t you?”

“What?” You make a face. “Is this the— the psychoanalysis portion of the hostage situation? I have abandonment issues now?”

“No, no, don’t misunderstand. Not that she’d leave you—“ he leans in closer still. “That she’d love you enough to stay, despite the consequences. That’s what frightens you most, isn’t it? That she’ll be back?”

Your teeth chatter. You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut.

“I’m sorry to tell you, Trainer, but I know how this plays out. Your love will come looking for you, and she will promise anything for your safety, and her love for you will lead her to harm, just as you fear.” He waves his hand. “But I, having learned from the mistakes of my past colleagues, will lead her to believe that she has achieved her goal without ever providing, while going to the appropriate extent to ensure that I achieve her silence. You will die, she will suffer, and I,” he sighs, “will purchase a boat ticket.”

Even with your knees pulled into your chest, the cold has seeped into your every square inch, saturating your body. You can’t think. You shake your head, trying to shake something free.

He smiles. “Baby’s first hostage, hm? Darling, you think this is the first time I’ve held a hostage? Between the two of us—“ he pats your cheek. “There’s only one noob in this room, and I’m looking at them.”

You hang your head, wheezing with bitter laughter. “Holy shit, I cannot handle the tonal whiplash of you using the word noob immediately after threatening to kill me.”

“Hang on.” You can tell by his voice that he’s trying to play a joke straight again. “Is there something wrong with the term? Is it outdated? Am I pronouncing it wrong?”

You can’t tell if you’re laughing still or just shivering really badly. “Arceus, just kill me and get it over with already.”

“So soon?” Froslass floats over. “If you insist, we can at least workshop a couple methods.”

You don’t say anything. It doesn’t feel necessary at this point.

“As a veteran Trainer, you have more than a passing knowledge of a myriad of Pokémon abilities and moves, yeah?” His hand on his Styler, Ice gestures Froslass over. “Tell me, then, what does the move Sheer Cold do?”

“Usually?” you ask, your voice hoarse but giddy. “Misses its target.”

Ice regards you and your exhausted but shit-eating grin for a while. “I once considered myself a pacifist,” he tells you. “I don’t lie to myself like that anymore.”

He lets that sink in for a moment, and you half expect him to hit you. Instead, he unsheathes his Styler and turns away from you entirely. “Froslass,” he says, walking away from you as the ghost draws closer, “take care of it.”

Any last words you might have come up with would have been drowned out by the minor explosion of cement and insulation. You flinch away from the destroyed portion of the wall, debris raining around you. With your hands still suspended above your head, you’ve got nothing left to do but pray. And cough. You cough a lot.

“Psyduck!” a voice shouts. “There!”

Through squinting, dust-filled eyes, you see the air shimmer and bend, warping reality in a beam towards Ice. He flies backwards, slamming hard into a shelf of boxes. When he crumples to the ground, he doesn’t get up.

Froslass, its icy hand just inches away from the soft of your neck, blinks, equally shocked about this turn of events. After a brief moment, it raises a hand in farewell and flees into the night, paying your rescuers no mind.

Your rescuers. “Lucy,” you croak, blinking through tears and dust.

“Emerson,” she breathes, rushing to your side. “I’m so sorry we took so long, I— oh, Em, baby, your wrists—“

“I—“ You cough, the combination of the dust and to cold proving too much for your lungs. “Ice Heals, in my bag. Please.”

“Of course.” Awkwardly, she fumbles with the zipper on the backpack that you’re still wearing, crushed between your back and the wall. You try to make it easier for her. “We’re gonna get you to the hospital, we’re gonna— your Pokémon, do you think—“

“Do them next,” you say. “If I don’t have enough Ice Heals, I have Full Heals. Or—“ You cough again, trying to tuck your face into your chest out of politeness. “Full Restores, or something. I’ve got something.”

When she sprays the ice shackles on your wrists, you can feel the tingling before you regain the sensation of actually having hands. Then, it starts to hurt. You feel dizzy.

“Easy, easy,” Lucy steadies you. “Don’t try to stand up yet.”

But you do try to wobble onto your feet and, failing that, try to crawl to your Blaziken where it stands, frozen in the middle of an attack. In doing so, you catch a glimpse of the damage done to your wrists. Yikes. You fall to your elbows, hard.

“Em, please.” Lucy sounds close to tears as she gingerly helps you upright. “Please, just hold on. It’s gonna be okay.” Psyduck, still very anxious about the whole situation, waddles over, searching for comfort.

You and me both, buddy, you think, leaning to rest your head in the crook of Lucy’s shoulder. When she wraps her arms around you, you can feel an hour’s worth of lost warmth returning to your body in seconds. Overwhelmed, you sob against her neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve got you,” she whispers, kissing your hair and rubbing your back as Psyduck leans its head against the two of you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”