Honestly, I got the idea for this after finding this picture on Pixiv: www . pixiv member _ illust . php ? mode = medium&illust _ id = 29217212 (remove spaces) and reading a mass of angsty fanfiction. It prompted me to write this little oneshot here.
Summary
"Do you know what happens to Ghost Pokemon after they die?"
Morty shouldn't be here.
He didn't want to be here.
He wanted to get far, far away from this place as fast as possible and never look back. He could not stand watching as the hideous, acrid corpse of an unidentifiable creature waste away before him. He could not stand the sound of her child sobbing, weeping over her dead body. Morty did not need to know how the corpse looked like in life to know what it was. This was a Gengar he was looking at, and it was disappearing before his eyes.
It was horrifying. The meat had gone so dry and tough while the skin stretched tightly over rotting, bloated flesh. As her body (dare he even call it that?) decomposed, it turned sickly purple, then charcoal black. It dissolved bit by bit into the air before fading altogether. The smell was worse, still. The sickeningly sweet, musty stench was so thick that he held his breath for fear it would suffocate him.
So this was the smell of death.
There was no mortal injury, no lethal sickness that caused the Gengar's demise. She had lived a long life (afterlife) for her species, and that was that. For the brief time he knew her, her body had grown old. She was ill, she struggled everyday of her life, trying to keep going strong while her insides decayed from within. It was the inevitable fate of every Ghost Pokemon—no, every living being.
Time would not wait. Time was unforgiving. Time would keep the world spinning. Life would move on, and the world would never stop for them to take a breath. Even as a child, he could understand. The Gengar was dying and all he could do was watch.
He felt like vomiting.
His mind screamed at him to leave the decaying Gengar and sobbing Gastly alone. There was nothing he could do for her. He could not stop death. He should just leave this behind as a faint memory before it came back to haunt him that night. He should have listened to it. He wanted to listen to it. But instead, he found himself doing the exact opposite. He took a shaky step towards the child whose mother had just died.
"It'll be all right," he heard himself say, sounding unsure.
"Everything's going to be okay," he uttered, even though he didn't believe it himself.
He reached his small hands and tried to brush off the tears of that would not stop falling. His body trembled, his mind pulsed, and his heart ached.
"You're going to be okay," he said, and his voice cracked. For a moment, he thought that he, too, had begun to cry. But when he lifted a hand to feel his cheek, he was surprised to find it completely dry. Then again, what was the point? He had barely known the Gengar.
He was eight then.
Fifteen years had passed since.
"Gengar."
The Ghost Pokemon paused and looked up from the tray he was carrying, and cocked his head in question at his trainer. His eyes were bright and sharp, and his composure stood tall. But Morty was never negligent. He noticed how Gengar's hand shook as he struggled to keep the tray in balance.
"You look tired. Let me help you with that."
Normally, Gengar would have stubbornly refused, as if Morty's concern was an insult to his ego, which was why Morty was a little shocked when his friend actually complied. If he had to be honest with himself, Gengar looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Ghost Pokemon didn't have the same telltale signs as humans, but Morty had spent enough time with them to evaluate their condition.
"Go get some rest or something," he said as he placed the trays on the table. "I'll do the rest."
When Gengar silently did as he was told again and sat on the mat, something inside him made him feel scared. Gengar hadn't been playing tricks for a while now. While Morty found it reassuring initially, the thought was now gnawing at him. The days had stretched to weeks, and, he glanced at the calendar, now a month. But he brushed away the thought. He was probably over imagining things and he needed none of that now. He distracted himself by chopping some carrots.
"It'll be done in just a minute, Gengar," said Morty. "Go up and tell the others that dinner's ready for me, will you? You guys must be hungry."
If Gengar heard him, he certainly didn't show it. Morty didn't hear a sign of approval or the sound of disappearing footsteps. Or maybe it was the noise from the stove and the bubbling that drowned everything out.
"Gengar, did you hear me? I said to go up and tell the rest of them to come down." The gnawing feeling came back to bite him. He chopped the carrots with more vigor and tossed them into the pot.
"Gengar, don't toy with me," said Morty. "If I find out that you're messing around I will—"
The ladle fell from his hands and clattered to the floor, spilling thick stew everywhere.
Gengar was lying on the floor.
He was not moving.
"Are you sure about this?"
Morty didn't look up from the book in his hands. The old woman sitting across him scowled. While she had no problem with books, the one Morty seemed terribly engrossed in had to have more than a thousand pages. In her opinion, no story that long, no matter how well written, was worth any interest. And it was terribly rude of him not to respond to her question. She clucked her tongue, hoping it would at least get his attention.
"Ah, a plot twist."
Morty turned a page of his book and continued reading. The old woman narrowed her eyes in annoyance. Arrogant brat…
"Please don't have the impudence to ignore me, boy. I have neither the patience nor the time."
This time Morty did respond, but his eyes never left the pages. "What's the hesitation, Agatha?" he said. "You don't seem as glad as I thought you'd be. I'll be the first to specialize in Ghost types since no other Gym Leader has done it yet."
"You really don't know anything, do you?" said Agatha. "It's not that they haven't done it, it's that they won't."
Morty finally set aside his book. He eyes flickered to the elderly woman.
"Explain."
"How long do you plan on being a Gym Leader?" said Agatha.
"Is this important?"
"Just answer the question, boy."
Morty shrugged. "As long as I can, I suppose. Why are you asking me this?"
"Because it's not as easy as you think it is."
"Being a Gym Leader isn't easy in the first place."
Agatha closed her eyes for a moment, and opened them again. She lifted the cup to her lips, drank a sip of tea, before setting back on the table. She gazed outside and watched as a man rushed past the shop, before disappearing behind a crowd of people.
"Twenty years," she said quietly. "Twenty years is a long life for a Ghost Pokemon."
When Morty said nothing, she raised a brow questioningly at him. "But you already know this, don't you?"
Morty kept his expression carefully guarded, but Agatha took one look at him and closed her eyes, as if she could see right through him. As if she understood. Below the table, he gripped his pants tightly.
"What is your point?" he said.
"You know that, and you still want to carry on with this?" said Agatha.
Morty set his jaw and looked away. His mind had gone back to the day the female Gengar perished before him. He remembered how she had shook and convulsed violently in her final moments, how she gave a last jerk before falling still and she moved no more, how her flesh rotted as her body dissolved into the sky and faded into nothingness. He remembered the nauseating sight, the musty, sickening smell and Gastly's heartbroken cries.
"Do you think you can bear it?"
He didn't move a single muscle, and Agatha wondered if she'd said too much. Apparently, she saw that she had when Morty sat up straight, his eyes narrowing.
"I don't see why I can't when you have." His voice was like dry ice. So cold it burned.
Agatha breathed in, and out. In, then out. "… Fair enough," she said, leaning back on her chair. "I won't warn you twice then."
Morty picked up his book and began reading it again. The silence was suffocating. The few tense seconds felt like hours. Agatha was about to stand up, excuse herself, and leave this kid on his own before the pressure became too much. But a small voice from behind the pages made her pause.
"Do you know why?"
Agatha frowned. "Why what?"
"Why Ghost Pokemon live such brief lives," said Morty as he shrugged. His tone was light, as if discussing a weather report. His eyes, though, suggested anything but. "I could never understand."
"Well that's because," Agatha paused, considering her words very carefully, before opening her mouth again. "Ghosts are already dead; they were living to begin with. The body of a Ghost Pokemon is just a corpse. Their strong spiritual energy is what keeps them, in essence, alive. But one day, even that will run out."
Ghost Pokemon weren't living every day. They were dying every day.
Morty understood, and he closed his eyes. But he immediately opened them again as Gengar's decomposing form flashed through his mind once more.
"Damn it," he let out a chuckle, but his voice held no mirth. "This all doesn't seem fair."
But life is not fair. And so is death.
"Well, if it's any consolation," said Agatha as she took another sip of tea. "Your Gengar hasn't lived half his life yet. There's still plenty of time for you two, if you ask me."
Morty nodded silently. Agatha was right.
He needn't worry. Not yet.
Morty had seen many things in his life.
Death was no exception.
He had trained with Ghost Pokemon and it made him closer in touch with the other side. He had worked in ways that people could not fathom and now he could see what others could not. He had seen others die countless of times before his eyes—the Gengar decomposing on the floor that day had been a clear example.
He was no stranger to death.
It had taught him many things. It had made him wise. He could recognize death from the loss of light in a person's eyes. He could recognize death from the withered bones, the hollow coughs that never seemed to get better, and the minds that would rot away until there was nothing but memories of the past, before that, too, vanished altogether. He could recognize death when he saw it from a distance, watching, as its victims closed their eyes, breathed their last breaths, and submitted themselves into an eternal slumber.
Death made him afraid.
Because there was no telling how much time was left.
It was the most agonizing week of his life.
Each time Morty stepped into the room, he was forced to watch Gengar waste away. Gengar, who loved playing pranks, who laughed at every given opportunity, who lived his life to the fullest, was now lying on the bed every day, too weak to even raise his head. His voice was now thin and raspy. Even the lively mirth in his eyes had faded. It was so easy for Morty to think of him as a different Gengar—like the one who had died all those years ago.
But that had been his mother.
This Gengar here was his best friend.
And he was old now. He was old while Morty remained young. Morty's chest felt heavy as he made drew a chair and sat beside the bed. Twenty years was a long time to Gengar, but not to Morty.
Never to Morty.
He reached out and held his old friend's hand. It was cold, like touching ice, even though Gengar was covered by layers and layers of blankets.
"Hey, Gengar," he said. "It's me."
Gengar blearily opened his eyes. He blinked three times to adjust his failing vision, and squinted. He recognized that it was Morty, not through sight but touch, and broke into a toothy grin. Morty swallowed a thick lump in his throat.
"How are you doing, friend?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
Gengar squeezed his hand lightly, as if reassuring him. 'I'm fine,' he said with his raspy voice. 'I'm all right.'
But you're not.
Morty bowed his head and trembled, startling Gengar. For one wild moment, he thought that his trainer was actually crying—something he had never witnessed. But when he reached up he felt no tears; Morty's cheeks were dry, just as always.
'How's everyone?' said Gengar. 'How's everyone else doing?'
"They're doing great," said Morty. His voice shook slightly. "Gastly and Haunter can cook really well now. And Drifblim… he's managed to learn Fly at last. Isn't that great? That means we can go visit other cities, other regions now. I heard that the Unova region has plenty of new Ghost Pokemon, we should go there one day."
Gengar chuckled. His voice sounded like sandpaper. 'That's great to hear. You can finally battle the world tournaments with a proper full team now.'
Morty nodded, biting his lip. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to tell Gengar, but he was cursed into silence at the critical moment. He opened his mouth, and closed it. Opened, then closed.
"… You'll see them," said Morty as soon as he found his voice. "We'll make new friends, train them and power up our team, then we can finally go participate in the world tournaments just like how we've always wanted. Isn't that great?"
'Yes. Yes, it is.'
Gengar nodded, and gave a genuine smile that made Morty's heart ache terribly. Don't cry, damn it. Don't cry don't cry don't cry-
Gengar gave his hand another small squeeze.
'Morty.'
"What is it, Gengar?" Morty asked, his voice tight.
After a long pause, Gengar opened his eyes and looked at his trainer, his friend. 'Thank you. For everything.'
Morty swallowed. There was no need to ask what for. He already understood. "Don't mention it," he said. It hurt to talk.
Gengar could barely keep his eyes open. He was tired. So, very tired.
"Why don't you go get some rest, Gengar?" he said. He patted Gengar affectionately on the head, as he had done so for the past twenty years. "Don't worry, I won't go anywhere."
'You'll wake me up in the morning?' said Gengar, leaning in to Morty's touch.
"I promise, I will," said Morty, gripping Gengar's hand.
Gengar closed his eyes as the moon rose, bathing both him and Morty in blue light.
'Good night, Morty,' said Gengar. 'I'll be right here.'
Morty knew the promise was broken the moment it was uttered. He watched as Gengar fall into a deep sleep, watched his chest rise and fall as he took in his final breaths. He felt the grip on his hand slacken.
Then he could smell it again. The acrid, musty stench.
"… I'll be here, too." he said, his voice cracking.
But Gengar was not.
"Hey, it's been a while."
Morty's eyes snapped open, and he looked up. When saw the person standing behind him, he smiled for the first time in three days.
"It has," he said. "Thank you for coming."
Eusine strode wordlessly over to where his friend was, and sat down beside him. In front of them stood a grave stone; he read the words that were carved deeply into the stone, and knew that even if he hadn't seen Morty, he would have come to the right place. The headstone was under the biggest tree in the Bellchime Trail. Gengar couldn't have asked for anything better.
"How are you feeling?" Eusine asked, though it was an unnecessary question. The shadows under his eyes were ghostly; it seemed as though Morty hadn't slept for weeks. He had lost a tremendous amount of weight, Eusine could tell, even though Morty used his scarf to cover most of his face.
"… I'll be better," said Morty quietly, looking back to the grave. He absentmindedly brushed a few dead leaves away from the marble stone. "Healing always begins after the worst is over. That's what they all say. And the worst—"he swallowed. "has just passed."
Eusine wasn't sure who Morty was trying to reassure anymore. He should comfort his friend, but he didn't know how. No matter how many times he said it was going to be all right, the fact doesn't change that Morty lost his Pokemon, his partner, to age. There was something about death that always left everyone tongue-tied. People could find all the sweet words to say, but they were still just words.
Words wouldn't bring the dead back.
"Do you know something?" Morty spoke again, a light smile grazing his lips. "It's something I just learned a few days ago," the day Gengar left. "And I think I'm finally beginning to understand."
Eusine said nothing. He kept very still, and very silent.
"Ghost Pokemon don't have a real body. They're spectres. They're spirits. They're already dead. So death doesn't work normally for them. When they—" another swallow. "When Ghost Pokemon die, they decompose and turn to ashes. And then they vanish altogether without a trace."
His voice wavered. He reached down and touched the gravestone. Gengar. Gengar was his partner, his best friend. It hurt to see that his life and death date were so close. It hurt to know that he was gone and wasn't coming back.
Eusine put his hand on Morty's shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "I've never seen you like this before, you know?" he said quietly. "You're always so quiet and stoic… Gengar would be glad. He'd be glad that you loved him this much. He'd be so, so thankful."
Thank you. For everything.
Morty's heart hurt.
"Does he know it though?" he whispered, he laughed, as he covered his eyes with a hand.
"For God's sake—For God's sake, I was never able to tell him. Even when he was lying there, dying, I couldn't say it to him. What if he doesn't know?"
"There are some things that make sense even when you don't come right out to say it," said Eusine. He paused, his eyes flickered towards the gravestone, and in that moment, he understood. "Maybe you didn't have to tell him. Perhaps he already knew."
"Maybe…" said Morty. "Maybe you're right."
"Of course I'm right," said Eusine, as he draped an arm over Morty's shoulders. "It's about what you don't need to hear, not about what you do."
Morty shook slightly, and he wondered if he was laughing or sobbing. Probably both. He exhaled softly, and closed his eyes in prayer.
"Thank you, Gengar," he whispered to the grave. "For everything."
And then, as if answering, the wind breezed.
Scarlet leaves danced in the air.
It was late at night, way past their bedtime, when Haunter went into Morty's room. Morty heard a soft voice. He stirred, and opened his eyes blearily. When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw a faint silhouette he could recognize. "What is it, Haunter?" he murmured. "Are you thirsty? Do you want me to get you water?"
Instead of answering, Haunter threw himself straight into Morty's stomach, earning a pained gasp from the blonde. Morty was about to chide him until he felt the Pokemon quaking. Haunter was trembling violently, his eyes were huge and scared and he wouldn't stop whimpering. Morty looked at his friend in concern.
"Haunter, what happened?" he said.
'… I had a nightmare,' the Pokemon whispered softly. Morty's eyes widened, then he smiled lightly in spite of himself. "So Ghost Pokemon can have bad dreams too, huh? It looks like we're not so different, after all."
Haunter buried himself deep into the blankets and squeezed his eyes shut, as if the shadows in the room scared him. He wouldn't stop shivering. Morty stroked him gently, and said, "So what was your dream about?"
Haunter's voice was so small, had there been a gust of wind, Morty wouldn't have heard it. 'I saw my mother die again…'
Morty's eyes softened. "Is that so…" Haunter jerked his head in a nod.
'She was there, in front of me. I could see her, she was in so much pain and she wanted it all to stop, but I couldn't do anything to help. I didn't want her to go but I could only stand there and watch her—'
Haunter's voice hitched, and he couldn't continue. He reached a hand out, and Morty returned the squeeze.
'Am I—' he swallowed. 'Am I going to end up like her? Will I die one day just like she did?' his lips trembled as he spoke, and the tears were threatening to fall.
'I'm scared, Morty,' he said. 'I don't know what to do. I don't think I can bear it if I disappeared like she did. I don't want that to happen—I don't know what to do anymore.'
"Haunter," Morty said quietly. "You have to listen to me."
Haunter didn't raise his head to meet Morty's gaze, but he kept silent; Morty took that as a sign to continue.
"Fearing death is normal. Because one day, be it Pokemon or human, everyone will eventually die."
Haunter gripped his shirt tightly. '…Even you?'
"Even me." said Morty. Then he smiled. "But even so, we are alive now and that's all that matters. One day, we will die for sure, but that does not mean that we have to spend the rest of our lives fearing the inevitable, don't you think?"
Haunter sniffed, but he nodded his head. "
Good boy," said Morty. He sighed. "We only live once, and that's what makes life so precious. You shouldn't think about how you will die, because everybody dies in the end. Instead, think about how you will live."
Haunter nodded again. He kept silent and still for a while, pondering about something that only he seemed to know. Then he buried himself under Morty's blankets.
'Can I sleep here tonight?' he asked tentatively.
Morty laughed. "Of course you can. I wouldn't mind in the least."
Haunter was silent for another long moment. When he spoke again, it seemed as though Morty had already fallen back asleep.
'Morty.'
"Hmm?" Morty said, poking open an eye. He had to stifle a yawn.
'You are the best friend I ever had,' Haunter said earnestly. 'I've never said it to you before, but it's true. You're the nicest person ever. Whenever I mess around the house or draw on the walls or just be plain annoying, you never get angry at me for long. You've made my life so interesting and I—I'm really happy that I met you. I hope you knew this before.' He swallowed hard, and willed the tears not to fall.
'And even if I die one day, I won't be sad, because—' he paused to dry his eyes again. 'Because I managed to meet you, Eusine, and everyone else I've ever met in my life—I'd rather be like this than live for eternity and never knowing you guys. I'm happy. I really am.'
Morty blinked once, twice. Then he smiled and ruffled his friend's head. "That makes the two of us, buddy."
They stayed like that for a while, until they fell asleep together.
Thanks for reading! I hope you've enjoyed(?) it! :'DD
PS: I don't really know if Gengar is actually able to 'speak' to Morty. But if Morty was able to 'do things that others can't', then I thought it'd be cool if he could communicate with ghosts/ghost Pokemon as an extension of his powers?