I do not own any creative rights to Pokémon. I do, however, own this story.

Here it is, finally! And only six months in the making. This has truly been a labor of love for me; I don't think I've ever before put so much work into a single piece. To be completely honest, this has actually been finished since around mid-March. Everything from then until now has been part of the editing and revising process. The original document (sans author's notes, which were added later) stood at about 4700 words, which was then pared down to about 4100. So there was definitely an extra effort made this time around to strip things down a bit.

On the subject of editing, I want to send a sincere thanks to Milotic for beta-reading this chapter. She's awesome, and if you haven't checked out any of her stuff then you definitely should. This story would not be where it is right now without her help.

Anyway, all things considered, I'm very proud of how this turned out. I hope you all enjoy the results as well, and as always, feel free to let me know what you think.

Choices

Part One

It was not often that he found himself wandering the streets in the middle of the night. So scarcely did it happen, in fact, that he actually felt a small hint of trepidation nagging at the back of his mind as he passed through the moonlit roadways of Pallet Town. He wasn't entirely sure what brought on the feeling; he knew the place well enough, so well that even the concrete scraping beneath his sneakered feet resounded through the night air with a certain familiarity. He silently raised his eyes to the shimmering full moon, and in the first thought that had crossed him in quite some time (it had somehow sneaked past the blockade that he had so determinedly employed), it occurred to the seventeen-year-old aspiring Pokémon Master that he had no idea what time it was. His gaze still fixed upon the night sky, Ash Ketchum gave a heavy sigh and lifelessly reached down, his fingers snaking their way into his jacket pocket where his pokédex resided.

Does it matter? he thought dully, the machine cradled loosely in his right hand, which hung limp at his side. It was too late. Too late to do anything, too late to say all the things he had meant to say, too late to make amends for the long list of the mistakes he had made along this stupid journey. It was just too late.

Still, he was curious, and leveled his stare as he deftly flicked open the device and brought its illuminated display up to meet his eyes. 2:18 AM, read the much-too-cheery miniature screen. Ash snorted derisively; he wasn't at all surprised. Dexter offered no form of retort, which in turn only seemed to irk the boy further, and with a decidedly venomous air he shoved the device back into his jacket pocket and returned his gaze to the sky.

The stars were mocking him; he was sure of it. They just sat up there, twinkling merrily like always, as though everything in the world were just as well and good as it had ever been. How could they be so happy? Ash frowned as their stare met his, defying him to let all of his troubles simply slip away into the serenity of the nocturnal air. His troubles were not ones to be shaken so easily. Not by something so simple. Nevertheless, he continued to stare into the heavens.

"I know where the stars are, Misty." Ash shuddered as her name entered his mind once more. The image of the girl's face invaded his consciousness, her cheeks tinted a faint but noticeable pink as her lips curled into a soft smile. And at that moment, the barrier broke. The dam that Ash had so stalwartly fortified cracked and burst.

He fell to the ground, felt his knees collide painfully with the unforgiving surface. He didn't care. His fist slammed into the pavement beside him as he let out a strangled sob. And for the longest time, he was still. Sitting there in the middle of the street, the boy almost hoped that a car would come speeding down the road to his rescue. Considering the time there would be no such luck, and so instead Ash pulled himself into a sitting position on the curb, bathed in a streetlight's warm, orange glow. As he wiped his tears away with a shaky hand, he couldn't help but stare hungrily into the night just one more time, hoping beyond all hope for the miracle he knew could never be.

"Come on, Ash, it's getting late," the redhead reprimanded, noting the ocher-tinted sky set ablaze by the setting sun. "You know your mother is going to get worried."

"That's right," Brock put in, nodding as he gathered up his supplies and hoisted his backpack. "Your mother even said she's making a special dinner for us tonight! You wouldn't want to miss that, would you?"

The would-be Pokémon Master sighed, knowing he was outvoted. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't give his two friends a run for their money. Putting on what he thought was his best pouting face, he turned dejectedly as he recalled Bulbasaur. "Aw, but I was just getting warmed up!"

If Misty was swayed by this display, she had an odd way of showing it. The girl marched right up to Ash and roughly grabbed his collar. "All right, listen, Ketchum! We've been out here for five hours! Use that brain of yours for once and think about how tired everyone is!"

Ash, surprisingly, cracked a lopsided smile. "All right, all right, lighten up you guys! We can head back now."

The statement had barely left his lips, however, when there was a sudden rustling in the bushes nearby, just off the dirt path on which they were standing. Before Misty could do so much as utter an objection, Ash had practically flown out of her grasp toward the offending sound, pokéball in hand.

"Right after I catch this pokémon, that is!"

To say that Brock was worried would have been an understatement. With all that had happened over the past couple of weeks, scared out of his mind would have been a much more accurate assessment. At first there had been grief, sadness so great that even Delia, usually warm and full of energy, had succumbed to its influence. Ash had stopped speaking almost entirely, preferring instead to shut himself in his room, which his mother had no will to object to. This left Brock standing alone, his world falling apart around him as he watched the people he cared about slowly deteriorate before his eyes. As he desperately treaded water in this unfamiliar, unpredictable ocean, he realized that he didn't know what to do. And it frightened him.

She really held us together, didn't she? It was terrifying how quickly things could change. Fate could turn against you in the blink of an eye, seemingly without reason. As the dirt road turned to pavement and Brock entered Pallet's business district, the breeder started to wonder if there was any easy way out of this predicament. A couple of potential remedies loomed tantalizingly in the form of the small town's somewhat limited but still welcoming night life. Places eager for Brock's money but not his troubles, offering a tempting escape from bitter reality. Like trying to use a potion on a broken arm.

He sighed slowly, wondering why exactly he had wandered out here, a serene night's breeze serving as his only companion. To be alone, perhaps? To revel in the solitude that only the darkness of night could provide?

No, he firmly told himself. You're already alone.

"Brock? …Is that you?"

The breeder jolted as though Pikachu had shocked him. His head swiveled rapidly upon his broad shoulders as he attempted to pinpoint the offending voice, but the only two things that met his squinting eyes were the bar that he'd wandered in front of and the appropriately dark alley that resided next to it. Neither seemed particularly inviting, so Brock decided—rather quickly—to shrug it off as a traumatic hallucination and take his leave.

"Wait… Brock…"

This time the voice was accompanied by a soft rustling. To his dismay, Brock noticed that the sound was coming from the alleyway. Nothing else for it, he turned and ventured slowly down the darkened passage. He had taken no more than three steps in when his eyes widened in sheer disbelief at the sight before him. "Ash?"

Ash Ketchum was a mess. As Brock's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see that the trainer lay haphazardly across a pile of garbage. There was a bloody cut above his left eye and a sizeable bruise on his opposite cheek, which was badly swollen. Numerous trash cans lie on their sides, strewn messily around the teenager. It looked as though he'd been thrown on top of them. And possibly against a wall, the breeder thought darkly.

"What the heck happened to you?" Brock finally inquired, finding his voice.

"Oh, some guy just overreacted."

Brock rolled his eyes. "Sure. About what?"

Ash's face twisted into a crooked grin, which Brock noticed was, ironically, the first smile he'd cracked since it had happened. "Something about me not being eighteen, I guess."

"You not being…? Wait a second… Ash, did you try to get into that bar?"

"I mean, it's not as though I'm that far off!" the trainer slurred, referring to Kanto's legal drinking age, completely unaware of his friend's interjection.

"Have you been drinking?" Brock said incredulously.

At this the younger boy's face darkened. "I wish," he said through a grimace, still not making any effort to extract himself from his bed of waste. "That bouncer's got a really mean hook," he commented, his tone colloquial once again as he punched through the air, demonstrating the move for his friend.

The older boy decided that he'd heard enough at that point. He quickly bent down and, before Ash could protest or even say anything for that matter, unceremoniously looped his arm under his friend's and hoisted him to his feet with a grunt. He had every intention of carrying Ash back to the house himself, but the younger trainer indicated that he was capable on his own, and the two slowly proceeded back into the illuminated street.

Brock sighed. "Just what the hell were you thinking, Ash?"

"What are you talking about?" Ash shot back, equally irritated.

"Don't act like you don't know. It isn't exactly normal behavior for you to be sneaking out of the house in the dead of night and trying to force your way into a nightclub," the breeder quipped. "Just what are you doing out here anyway?"

Ash glared down at the sidewalk as they progressed, folding his arms over his torso. "I didn't force anything. That guy started it. And I could ask you the same question."

"Don't make this about me," Brock countered intensely. "You aren't stupid, Ash, believe it or not. Despite what Mi—other people may have said in the past, I know you've at least got enough common sense in your skull to know when you're doing something completely brainless. So what's the story?"

Ash was silent for a long time, contemplating his answer. Brock was about to repeat the inquiry when he finally spoke. "I guess… I guess I just wanted to get away."

"Huh? 'Get away'?"

"You know what I'm talking about!" Ash suddenly shouted, startling his friend as he turned to face him. "Don't you dare act like you don't!" Tears ran unimpeded down the boy's face as his voice rose. "It was my fault, Brock! If I hadn't been such an idiot, then maybe… maybe she'd…"

"Ash," Brock sighed, shaking his head. "What happened was an accident. No one blames you. You know that."

"You ready, Pikachu?" Ash called, fingers drumming tensely against the cool, smooth surface of his empty pokéball. He felt his hand open as the instrument enlarged at the press of a button.

"Pika!" Pikachu nodded in the affirmative as it bounded off of the trainer's shoulder without a second's hesitation.

"Yeah, an accident that I caused—"

"And even so," the breeder plowed onward, "this isn't going to help. What do you hope to accomplish by going out and doing this to yourself?"

"I don't know," Ash admitted miserably after a brief pause. "I just wanted to find a way to get away from myself. To escape… even if it was only for a little bit." His voice had calmed. The tears had not.

"Well, you got beaten up and thrown in a back alley instead."

"Whatever. The end result was probably pretty similar. Cheaper, too."

Brock sighed. "Ash, this isn't the point. We're worried about you, you know."

The younger trainer was silent for a long time, and Brock, who had become accustomed to reading his friend with relative ease, found he suddenly had no idea what Ash was thinking. He hated the fact that he had fallen so far out of touch, hated the fact that everything he knew and loved had been shot to hell so fast and so easily.

"Please, Ash," he whispered, barely audible.

"Why are you here?" Ash countered suddenly.

"Huh?"

"You heard me," the teenager challenged. "We've already covered why I'm wasting away in the dead of night." His tone itself was enough to chill the air about ten degrees.

Brock fell silent, a little unsure of himself, the question hanging over him like a lead weight. As the two finally reached the Ketchum residence and passed silently through the white picket fence that lined the dirt road, he found that the return to familiar territory hadn't done much to help. After remembering that the back door was unlocked (Brock hadn't bothered to relock it after leaving), the two stole into the darkened house, the silence practically smothering them as they advanced cautiously into the living room. The place felt eerily alien to Brock, as though he were breaking and entering rather than returning home as he was accustomed.

As Ash turned to proceed upstairs, Brock finally found his voice. Extending a hand to rest upon his friend's shoulder, he sighed and said, "I guess… I guess I just wanted to get away too." He gave the slightest of smiles through the darkness.

If Ash returned the sentiment, then Brock certainly didn't feel as much. In fact, despite the lack of light, he could feel the younger trainer's stare boring into his own, imploring him—daring him, almost—to continue. And reflexively, Brock did so.

"So please, Ash… don't think that you're alone in all of this." His voice was desperate now. "Because you aren't… your mother and I are both going through the exact same thing. Please… stop shutting us out. We understand how you feel."

"No." Ash's reply was simple, prosaic even, but the force it carried would have been enough to send Brock reeling. "No. You don't."

He turned away and walked upstairs.

It wasn't exactly a clear shot, but then again, if it were, where would the fun have been? Ash grinned in anticipation as he called out his command. "Pikachu, Thundershock! Aim for that bush!"

The electric mouse complied, its cheeks sparking as it charged up for its offensive. "Pikaaaa…"

And then, in a moment that would define the three friends' futures from that instant onward, for better or worse, the little pokémon opened its eyes and let loose its formidable attack with a great cry. "CHUUU!"

It was a good shot. The target was struck; the rustling ceased.

Not even a year of rigorous study at Pokémon Tech could have prepared Ash for what happened next. With a great roar, the bush seemingly exploded outward in a shower of leaves, time traveling in slow motion as the foliage cascaded around the young trainer. The scene might have even been poetic were it not for the rhyhorn barreling toward him.

"Ash, look out!" Misty called worriedly. The trainer did not move. "Ash!"

Ash Ketchum stood rooted to the spot, seemingly paralyzed by the oncoming freight train. He thought he may have vaguely heard Misty calling his name, but she was millions of miles away. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered at this point. His mouth opened, and he thought he may have mumbled something, but he couldn't be sure. As the pokémon closed in on his position, time seemed to move even slower still. Resigned to his fate, he closed his eyes and awaited the inevitable.

The impact came, though it was much lighter than he had expected. It was then that he realized that he was falling sideways and not backwards. His eyes shot open, and all of a sudden, the world had resumed its normal pace. He looked around frantically, and was greeted with the sight of Misty Waterflower lying face down in the road, the rhyhorn standing over her. Horrified, he saw her stir, saw her struggle to crawl away. Brock was running flat-out toward her position, simultaneously calling Steelix. But it was too little, too late. Ash could only stare, only sob her name helplessly as the incensed pokémon reared up in one final retaliation.

Ash awoke with a cry, pitching forward in his bed as he was yanked mercifully out of his recurring nightmare. Sweating profusely, he gripped the sides of his lofted bed tightly, as though hanging on for dear life, waiting for the fatal wave that would finally capsize his pitiful lifeboat and drown him.

"Why did it have to be you?" he said aloud. The emotionless walls of his room didn't offer any comfort, and his inquiry went unnoticed in the darkness. The question maddened him, sometimes to the point where he almost expected her to come walking back in through the front door, revealing that the entire thing had been some sick concoction of his mind's whimsy.

It should have been me, he reasoned. It was my fault. I was the stupid one, not her. I've made so many mistakes, done so many idiotic things throughout this entire journey… and she's the one who had to pay for them.

A sharp, surprisingly cold wind sliced through the darkness, and Ash shivered suddenly. He then remembered that he had used the window to sneak out of his room, and had forgotten to close it after returning. Slowly, he slid out of his bed and clumsily descended the ladder at his side, not really caring when he slipped and scraped his ankle roughly on the wooden surface.

The carpet was cold against his bare feet as he made his way over to window. As he bent down to shut it, another gust blew in to meet his face, as though hoping to get one last word in before the window was closed. The air rubbed abrasively against Ash's features like the flat of an icy blade, and his eyes began to water as he finally shut and latched the thing, drawing the blinds shut for good measure.

Now completely immersed in the darkness, save for one minute sliver of moonlight which had stubbornly crept in through a crack in the blinds, Ash made his way back to his bed, dragging his feet. He reached the ladder leading up to his lofted bunk, and as the fingers of his right hand wrapped themselves around the smoothed wooden surface, he found that the fingers of his left had absently found their way to his nightstand. His hand met a small, angular object. His curiosity piqued, Ash brought the item to his face and frowned as he realized what it was.

He had only found use for it on a handful of occasions, and as a result the pocketknife still shone pristinely in the intermittent moonlight. Misty's gift to him from the year prior felt cool and heavy in his hands, and without really thinking about what he was doing, Ash deftly flicked the blade open, producing a small click and an enlarged glint of light.

In the darkness, a thought crossed his mind. It was not an ordinary thought. No, this thought was an intriguing thought, and simultaneously a terrible, horrid, unspeakable one. But an interesting thought no less. For a moment, Ash found himself considering it, contemplating its possibilities and consequences. Then, as quickly as this compelling darkness had come, it vanished, leaving only the moonlight. Disgusted, Ash flung the blade to the floor, hearing its satisfying thud against the carpet. Without further protest, his mind returned to its original focus.

As he climbed the ladder and finally lay back in the protection of his blankets, he noticed that he was suddenly exhausted. He squeezed his eyes shut, tossed and turned a few times, and finally forced himself off into a restless sleep, hoping for a dreamless respite.

But fate, as always, had the last word.

"Misty…" he choked, trying to find the right words. They didn't come.

"Hey," she said softly, reaching up to touch his cheek. "What's that look for?"

With her palm pressed gently against the side of his face, Ash realized that she was growing cold. That was enough to bring out a fresh wave of tears. "Why?" he said, his voice cracking. "Why did you do it, Misty?"

He blinked suddenly as Misty drew back the hand that had been resting upon his cheek and slapped him weakly across the face. The sound was imperceptibly soft, and yet the memories that came with it seemed to echo like a thunderclap. "You… you idiot. And to think, after all this time I'd hoped you would have known the answer to that." She gazed up at Ash, her stare unwavering.

Despite the tears, despite everything that had just transpired, Ash could feel the corners of his mouth pulling up into the tiniest of smiles. He stared back down at her as she lay on that increasingly lonely road, the sun now almost completely gone as the sky clung desperately to light.

Her aquamarine eyes were beginning to glaze over. "Ash," she whispered weakly. Ash had to put his face to hers, desperate to hear what she had to say. Their tears met, joining and merging into one, and he realized she was crying as well.

"Ash… it was all… because…"

And at long last, the light had to admit defeat as night silently fell.

The first thing he noticed was that the sun was shining. It certainly was bright enough. Groggily, Ash eased his eyes open. He grimaced slightly as the morning light burst in through his window, illuminating the room with its cheery glow. Something didn't seem right. Ash glanced over the side of his bed in time to see his alarm clock strike ten. He'd overslept.

Not wasting any more time, he hauled himself over the side and down the ladder. A warm breeze meandered in through the open window. (Hadn't he closed that?) It whispered its morning greeting, and was gone as soon as it had appeared. The pidgey were chirping as well, and to anyone else this would have been a promising start to a wonderful day. Ash thought for a moment. Come to think of it, he felt different from the night before, at ease. At peace with the world. Perhaps it was only the sunlight.

Choosing not to question the matter any further until later, Ash strode over to the door. Maybe it wasn't too late to get some breakfast. He had not gotten more than five feet, however, when a sharp, stabbing pain erupted in his left foot, jolting through him like a spark from Pikachu. Ash cried out, falling to the floor as he clutched his foot. Gingerly, he lifted his foot up to examine the bottom of it, but his eyes met nothing more than pale, smooth skin. The pain had already subsided, and so he shrugged it off as a freak incident and proceeded out the door and down the stairs to the waiting kitchen below.

Right on time apparently, Ash noted, seeing Brock seated at the table. Deciding to follow his friend's lead, Ash took a seat as well, receiving a friendly nod from the gym leader.

"Morning, Mom," Ash piped up as Delia entered the room carrying a stack of pancakes.

If Delia had heard her son's greeting, she certainly didn't acknowledge it. She said nothing at all; in fact, her eyes looked almost emotionless as she set the food in the center of the table and seated herself across from Brock.

"Mom?" Ash said quietly. "Mom? Are you okay?"

"She's been like that all morning," Brock put in, reaching for some pancakes. "Just let it go. I'm sure she's fine… probably just had a bad dream."

Ash shrugged as he helped himself after his friend was done. After liberally applying butter and syrup, he dug in with gusto, not noticing when the fourth and final chair scraped out from under the table, and the last occupant took their place.

And suddenly, Ash felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning his attention away from the bit of pancake still on his fork, the trainer turned to face Brock, who had retracted his offending hand, an apologetic look written across his features.

"What is it, Brock?" Ash said, puzzled.

"Well, you see…"

"Really, Ash? I've been trying to get your attention for at least a full minute now."

Ash almost choked on his mouthful of pancake. Slowly, he turned his head until he finally came face to face with her. "No," he uttered. "You're…"

"I'm what? Don't tell me all that food's already gone to your head," Misty Waterflower said, a wide grin adorning her face. "Now could you please pass the butter?"

A/N: Cliffhanger, I know. This story is a two-part tale, so you will see a resolution in the next chapter... hopefully it will satisfy you! Thanks for reading!