IUHSOFIUHOIUSHFOIUH IT'S BEEN LIKE A MONTH MAYBE MORE I'M SORRY PLEASE DON'T KILL ME IT'S FOUR IN THE MORNING LOL.

To my reviewers: Thank you all for your tremendous support! I was planning on responding to all of you like I normally do, and I actually wrote those all out, but they got erased along with the first version of this chapter and forced me to start over, which is one of my many excuses for this being so dang late. It's currently *checks time* 4:18 AM, so I'm currently brain-dead, and it's all I can do to keep from melting on the spot.

But here's a chapter. FISHEFOEUFHISUFH. Don't kill me if it's not up to par. I had THE SINGLE WORST CASE OF WRITER'S BLOCK EVER.

Edit: Once it was a decent time in the morning and I had gotten some sleep, I came back and fixed a section that hadn't properly transferred from Google Drive to here. Specifically, the May-Norman fight part just sort of switched from sentence to sentence for no apparent reason. If anyone reading this finds another case of that, please tell me; I did re-read this, but I'm still rather tired and could easily have missed something.

Chapter Nine
Mood Whiplash

Frigid water splashed haphazardly across Steven's face, threatening to drip down across his shirt.

The soft, trickling rush of the faucet filled the small bathroom, the only other sound being the quiet electrical hum of the lights overhead. Twisting the sink's knob to ebb the flow, Steven leaned over the porcelain bowl wearily, placing his hands on either side and using his arms as braces. Slouching so that nearly all of his weight rested on the counter, he allowed his head to dangle limply from his neck. In the small pool of water that had gathered, even as it slowly drained away, he could just make out his reflection.

He stared in tense silence as the last bit of water slid down the drain.

Glancing back up at the mirror, he exhaled harshly through his nose as he took in his appearance. Wow. It had somehow escaped his notice before that he was a total mess. Hair in disarray; clothes rumpled and off-kilter; black bags under his eyes as if he was bruised—and he was bruised, he reminded himself. Purple and striking was the mark that marred his cheek, its darkness noticeable on his wan complexion. Even more blatant were the array of black and blue splotches on his arms and torso, luckily hidden under his clothing.

Exhaustion blurred his sight and he was tempted to collapse, giving in to his body's demand for rest. Instead, he reached up to run a hand through his hair, not caring that he was drenching the locks he touched. 'Focus, Steven.' he ordered internally. Determination carved a line across his forehead as he willed the pitching from his vision. 'You still have to find out who Phone Guy was working for. You still have to make this right.'

Drowning in self-pity was not an option, however alluring the idea was. He'd already had this conversation; he'd already took a scathing look at himself and deemed himself fine. Now was the time for action.

'Like the action that nearly got your Trainer's license revoked?'

The reminder was unwelcome. He had admitted that his blows against that man were more than a bit excessive, and, although sympathetic, Officer Jenny had reported his crime. May, of course, had advocated for him, declaring his actions to be self-defense despite clear evidence otherwise. It also helped that the blows that had landed him in the hospital in the first place were actually self-defense thanks to their tussle—apparently, it hadn't been his punches that had given Phone Guy his concussion, although they certainly didn't help; it'd been his mandatory tackles. In the end, after taking into consideration the circumstances and May's firm insistence that Steven was innocent, the Lillycove PD had decided not to seek further punishment, and he'd been let off with a reprimand and an order to pay Phone Guy's medical bills.

In other words, he'd committed an atrocity and gotten away with it. Again.

Steven once again looked up at the mirror, this time peering into it the same way he would peer into a crystal ball—as if expecting it to hold the answers. He met his own gaze and held himself there, staring intensely into his bruised eyes. Dull stinging accompanied most of his movements, and holding this position only made it worse, but he would do anything to take his mind off of the bruise. A bruise which he was not thinking about because he couldn't afford to mope now even though he had so many reasons to detest himself—

And, heaving in a deep breath, he informed himself harshly that he was over it.

Not because he was truly over it, of course, but because he had to be.

"Steven, are you just sulking in there?" came May's weak attempt at a tease from just outside the door. At any other time, her attempt at comedy would've been appreciated. But now was so not the time, and Steven found himself getting annoyed despite himself. He had no right to be angry. But here he was, being angry. That seemed to be a common theme recently.

Sighing, Steven called back out a simple "One minute." Truth be told, he hadn't even had to go to the bathroom; he'd just wanted to prolong the inevitable demise that that damn clean-freak hospital offered him. Foreboding, it had continued to loom in the distance, and he knew that he'd have to return there eventually after he was released from police custody. Still, that didn't mean he was looking forward to it. For now, he was content to linger at May's apartment, the walls of which were still under repairs from the Lissa incident.

It didn't help that phone guy was bound to wake up soon, or that it'd probably be up to Steven to get him talking thanks to the fact that May still refused to officially report him (and, therefore, Steven).

"Oh, come on, Steven," May chuckled slightly in response, unable to see the silverette's obvious growing frustration. "You've been in there for long enough, don't you think?" She received no response; Steven was too busy composing himself; 'You have no right so don't you even dare get mad at her.' "Steven? You still there?" 'In. Out. In. Out. Calm down. It's just May being May; there's no reason to get pissy—'

"Don't make me call Officer Jenny again!" the brunette Champion joked.

'Officer Jenny who should never have left; who should have left long ago, but only if she was escorting you away in handcuffs, but she left anyways without you, and you got away with it; you committed such a horrendous crime twice in a row and you get a scolding and a mild fee—'

"Damn it all, May, would you shut your goddamned mouth for once in your life!"

Silence.

Then "Oh Arceus, May, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it—" But the words were too late, even spurting from his mouth as they did, because he flung the door back and May was already composed and detached and impartial and all of the things that he should have been. And she was telling him that it was alright, that maybe they both just needed some time to cool down and maybe some hot chocolate, and she was so right and yet so wrong because it wasn't alright; it wasn't alright at all.

And, when she calmly led him to the kitchen, sat him at the table, and began to make some hot chocolate for them both, he pretended not to notice the tears silently falling when she thought that he couldn't see.

Steven's mind had a field day with that. 'Oh, great job, Champion,' it sneered while he was still scrambling for purchase on the slippery slope. 'Look what you've gone and done this time—'

May easily picked up on his dilemma; it wasn't like he was trying awfully hard to conceal it. 'No. No, he's gone through enough.' A familiar face flashed through her mind and her lips curved downwards ever-so-subtly. 'Both of them have.' Chancing another look in the ex-Champion's direction, she felt a titanium conviction solidify in her chest. He had been through more than enough already, but that pain apparently didn't plan on alleviating any time soon.

So she decided to take matters into her own hands.

Leaning close with a growing smile, she placed the mug before him; waited for his eyes to be on her. 'Think of something. Anything to make him smile. Or at least get those thoughts he's probably thinking out of his head.' At first, she had no idea what to say, but she didn't draw a blank for long. Her smile widened ever so slightly, catching his attention, as a thought occurred to her. 'Perfect.'

"Hey, Steven," she offered, her voice starting out quiet but growing progressively stronger with every word. "In that case, then that wasn't really a ...basalt on my character, now was it?"

In an instant, all of his thoughts of my fault my fault my fault were out the window.

"...what?"

"I guess..." Her smirk grew marginally until it was downright devious, catching him off-guard. "I just took your calmness for ...granite."

"..."

'Objective complete.' A triumphant beam replaced her smirk as she saw him stumble for words. Not really the reaction she'd been hoping for, but it was still a step in the right direction. Obviously, he had no idea how he was meant to respond to that, given the current situation.

Luckily, he never had to before the door burst open and in marched Norman, as if on cue, his expression steely and fierce as if he expected to be entering battle.

In an instant, May switched from exuberant to stone-cold (no pun intended this time). She knew. She'd been expecting this for a while—in fact, she was shocked it had taken him this long. Steven, on the other hand, wheeled around to face the Gym Leader, his expression quickly morphing from perplexed to shocked and back again. "Father," May offered coolly, her voice betraying none of the irritation she felt. "What brings you here?"

It was only a token question meant to buy time, and it seemed to do its purpose, because Norman paused, glowering. "You know why I'm here," he accused. "You know exactly why I'm here."

The instant he'd crossed the threshold, May was on the defensive and he was on the offensive, both immediately losing their composure. They began yelling words that came in such quick succession that Steven didn't hear any of them, but he got the feeling that they weren't arguing about May's terrible rock puns. Then Norman was seizing her by the shoulders, shaking her back and forth while vehemently shouting "You need to sleep!", and, the next thing Steven knew, he was dragging her out the door kicking and screaming with some help from his Vigoroth.

As they vanished, likely to Littleroot where her father could monitor her sleep, the door slammed behind them and Steven was left flabbergasted. Blinking rapidly, his eyes large and round, he opened and closed his mouth as he struggled to come up with words to accurately quantify his current confusion. "That just sort of happened," he finally managed, his voice uneasy. "I don't even know what it was; it just happened."

So, still unsure whether to be laughing or crying or both, Steven mounted his ready Skarmory and reluctantly made his way back to the hospital.

By the time he reached Slateport, he was still faltering emotionally, not sure how to deal with this mood whiplash. It seemed that May's puns had served their purpose, however; his mind was finally off of how terrible he was. How long had it been since he'd just let himself snicker at a terrible rock pun? Had it really only been just under a week since this whole charade began...?

Exhaling harshly through his nose, Steven strolled through the hallways in the general direction of Brendan's room, shaking his head slightly. May was gone for the moment; that much was strikingly clear. Knowing her, of course, she'd be back sooner than later, with or without her father's approval, but, until then, he had no one to back him up. A sudden worry began to swell in his chest, draining away what mirth he'd managed to retain on the flight over. Up until now, he'd refused to talk to Brendan, and May had begrudgingly allowed them to remain apart despite the fact that phone guy had been in custody for two days now. This would hardly be the best reintroduction; Brendan was likely still petrified of him. What was he going to do if the boy woke up?

By the time he reached the room, he was nearly squirming in place with just the idea. He couldn't let Brendan think for a minute that May would willingly leave his bedside for long; it'd only been out of loyalty to another close friend that she'd volunteered to pick Steven up from the Mauville Police Station and, in doing so, leave Brendan alone. But he could hardly just walk in; the boy would have a heart attack.

Who knew how long it'd take May to return? After all, she was tricky and clever, but so was her father. He would absolutely not put it past either of them to go to ludicrous extremes in the face of this issue. Norman would likely resort to duct taping her to the bed if necessary. And May would jump out the window and swim to Slateport with her hands taped behind her back if that meant a quicker meeting with Brendan. So she'd either not be back until her father deemed it okay or she'd be here any minute now.

That was when faint wailing could be heard from the room just ahead of him.

Freezing in place, Steven felt panic begin to bubble in his chest. 'Brendan!' Forgetting his vow of disassociation, he turned and barged into the hospital room without even considering the numerous consequences, eyes flashing in worry. What if the pain meds had worn off? What if—oh, Arceus—was he having another nightmare?

Apparently, he was being assaulted by nothing but his own mind, because there was no visible cause for concern in the room. There was just Brendan, still dwarfed among a sea of bedsheets, twisting and squirming desperately within a cocoon of blank fabric. His face was twisted into some indescribable shape: a mix of agony and despair that was enough to break Steven's heart all over again. "Nng... no..." he moaned weakly, obliterating some more of the ex-Champ's soul. 'See that? That's you haunting him, Steven. That's him being scared of you.'

But there was no time for that now. Utterly forgetting that he'd decided not to intervene with Brendan's affairs until he knew the boy was ready, Steven rushed to his bedside without a second thought, inwardly cursing that Norman had picked tonight to force May to get some sleep. He wasn't good at this! He couldn't do this! This was not his forte!

Steven didn't delude himself; his childhood was far from difficult or troubled. He'd always had a house, more than enough food, and a loving, if eccentric, father. He'd even had a butler and maid who cleaned and cooked interchangeably, eliminating any need for chores. But that big mansion where they lived just meant that he never had anyone there to comfort him when he was afraid, so he'd just learned to deal with it. What he hadn't learned was how to comfort others, and it remained something he was hopeless at to this day.

Now, looking helplessly down on Brendan as he tossed and turned restlessly, Steven felt that nagging stab of uselessness skewer him again. 'What do I do?' he panicked. 'What do I do?! Come on, Steven! There has to be something! Think!'

With too much to think about and no time to think about it, Steven placed his hands on Brendan's shoulders and shook lightly. "Brendan!" he called. "Wake up! Come on, it's just a dream!"

Brendan's eyes snapped open with a cry of "Steven, please!" Gasping for breath, he bolted upright, only to come face-to-face with a concerned silverette who'd totally forgotten who he was dreaming about in the first place.

A sinking feeling materialized in the pit of Steven's stomach. That quickly became a violent attack from at least seven different internal klaxons, each one blaring its siren at full volume. Only now he consider why he'd been planning on staying away in the first place. 'Shit shit shit what have I done?!' Panic clawed at his throat, gouging huge tears, and he froze on the spot. Unfortunately, that meant he didn't have the time to get out of there before Brendan had already gasped in fright, his eyes widening. "S-Steven?" he stammered, already starting to clamber backwards.

May's calm anger didn't suffice. The incidents where the world nearly ended were mere trifles. No, none of those could even compete.

Steven had never been more terrified in his life.

His mind raced madly—'What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?!'—and he found himself staggering back a few paces unintentionally. Whirling around with a cry of "I'm sorry!", he made a beeline for the door, seeing no other remedy to this chaos.

'Shit shit shit I've ruined it I've ruined it—'

But he didn't have time to reflect on just what he'd ruined. He wasn't at the door yet even though several moments had passed and that should've been enough to rocket him to the other side of the building. It took him a few moments more to feel the pull at his wrist; the iron hold clenched around it. It took him even longer to comprehend that it was Brendan's hold and those were Brendan's fingers clutching tightly to his sleeve.

"D-don't leave," he stammered, fear still running rampant in his every syllable. "Please?"

Steven stared blankly at the wall for a minute, unsure how to respond. 'Obviously, he's still scared of me. But I think he needs a friend right now, even if it's this friend.' Once again, he found himself staring down an ultimatum with no clear answer. 'If I don't stay, I'll betray his trust even more. If I stay, I might hinder his healing process rather than aid it.'

Finally, he swiveled around, his movements so stiff and mechanical that he was shocked his joints didn't creak like a robot's, and clunked himself into the chair usually reserved for May.

Brendan visibly relaxed, much to Steven's surprise, and reluctantly released the man's arm from his grip. "I'm sorry," he murmured underneath his breath, looking down at his fidgeting hands. "I... I just don't want to be alone right now and... I thought May would be here." He glanced back up to gauge Steven's reaction, ever-cautious. He knew that he was in no danger, but his subconscious kept screaming that this was bad and to get out of there now.

Steven, if anything, was far more wary than he; just in a different way. He scanned every word at least three times before saying it, constantly petrified that he'd say something wrong and set the boy off. Eventually, after much unneeded deliberation, he tenderly offered, "Norman dragged her off to force her to get some sleep."

For a split second, there was a smile on Brendan's face as he chuckled slightly. He could just imagine Norman pulling a struggling May out through the door, her flailing arms occasionally latching on to furniture and dragging it with her. Then it was gone as he realized exactly what that meant. If he'd been successful in detaining her, she'd be with him for the rest of the night at least. If not, she'd probably have already been back by now with Lissa's help.

He could handle just being next to Steven, but he couldn't withstand an entire night.

The two lapsed into an awkward silence, neither willing to be the first to speak up. Steven was waiting for Brendan to take initiative to assure he didn't talk about anything too soon. Brendan, on the other hand, had a million things to say but seemed to have forgotten how to compose a proper sentence, because every time he opened his mouth, the words he'd prepared stuck fast between his teeth.

'Just say something!' he commanded himself, brows furrowing. 'It's not that hard! One word in front of the other, Brendan!' All of his thoughts jumbled and tangled in his mind, becoming one incoherent mass of sounds. He had to express how he felt. He had to tell it like it was. He had to.

"Steven," he finally managed to choke out, immediately catching the man's attention, "I wa—"

I want to talk to you was what he'd meant to say, but he accidentally cut himself off. Once again, he was unable to force the syllables. Steven's eyebrows curved up in understanding and he offered a sad smile. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to, Brendan," he assured. "I mean—I'm here to listen if you want to talk, but..." A frown appeared on his face. "I'll understand if you don't have anything to say to me."

Brendan let out a shaky exhale. No. He had to do this now. He had to. Now if only he could make his mouth understand the importance of the situation, as it clearly didn't. It continued to stutter and crack as he scrambled for words that fell away from his reach. "I can't—Steven, I need to—I have—" He stopped, sighing in both frustration and a tired acceptance, and looked up to stare directly into the ex-Champ's steel blue eyes. "I—I don't know Steven—I just..."

He trailed off, his gaze gradually making its way back down to his feet.

I just don't know. I just need to talk. I just want to forgive you. I just can't seem to forgive you.

I just wanted you to stop.

Again, they were enveloped in silence, Steven waiting patiently for the brunette to either finish or decide not to. When no end to that statement seemed to be forthcoming, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves and tenderly reached out, barely laying his fingertips atop the younger boy's shoulder. "Brendan?"

As soon as he was acknowledged, he began, knowing that he had to start talking now or he'd never be able to get the words out.

"I don't know if you can forgive me... I don't know if you'll ever be able to forgive me... but I just want you to know—" He could feel his eyes redden. "—that I am so, so sorry for what I did, and I would never, ever harm you willingly, and that... and that you did nothing wrong. You didn't provoke me; you didn't do anything to make me dislike you. I don't dislike you. And... and I want you to know..." His voice was starting to crack, but no one dared pay that fact any mind. "...that I will do anything to make this right, even though there's no way I could ever really atone for it."

Swallowing thickly, he continued, fully aware that he was starting to ramble. "Anything at all. I'll—I'll give up my position and title—I'll release all my Pokemon—I'll—I'll shave my head and get a tattoo that says 'I'm sorry' on my face—" At this, Brendan couldn't help but smile a little, even if it was past tears. "—I'll dye my hair and change my name and swim to Unova and never come back! Whatever you want."

Brendan probably should have been touched by the gesture, but he could only muster up a faint sense of shock. "You would leave Hoenn?" he whispered incredulously, eyes large as Electrodes. This he wasn't expecting. Maybe an apology, maybe a plea for forgiveness, but never an offer to leave the region. That would mean starting all over from page 1. Getting a new house and a new job; leaving behind everything he knew and severing all of his bonds.

"Of course," was Steven's immediate answer. "I don't want you to be haunted by this, Brendan. You don't deserve this." Taking a deep breath, he looked up and locked eyes with the alleged Champ, making sure that he knew just how little he was kidding. "You deserve better." He then promptly redirected his gaze to his feet, unable to hold the other's stare for any longer.

Seeing how somber the mood had become—how somber Steven had become—Brendan quickly scrambled for something to say; anything to break the tension. Come on, come on, come on! He had to think of something! Um—rock puns! Yes, there were a billion rock puns he could think of, and they would break the mood and probably give everyone mood whiplash, but he didn't even care. He had to do this. For Steven. Arceus knew Steven had already done plenty for him.

"Hey, Steven," he called, catching the silverette's attention. "Want me to call you a plateau?"

Steven blinked. Well. This was an unexpected line of conversation. "A plateau?" he repeated tenderly, half-believing that he must have heard wrong.

Brendan took a deep breath, then offered a nervous smile, his fingers drumming together in a show of his anxiety. "It's the highest form of... flattery."

A single undignified snort made it out from Steven's mouth before he plastered his hand over it, muffling any further sounds. Wow. Wow. Was it really that widespread of a practice to cheer him up using terrible rock puns? "You know, you and May are a lot alike," he chuckled. "And I think there are some higher forms of flattery than calling someone a large landmass, Brendan."

Brendan seemed to contemplate this for a second. "Like... um..." He looked down bashfully, then reluctantly glanced back up. "...you rock?"

This time, Steven was able to stifle the chortle before it escaped, pressing the back of his hand firmly against his mouth to mask the huge grin that had taken over his face. "Wow. Wow. That has to have been the single worst rock pun I've ever heard in my life," he admitted. His smile only grew. "Nice going. It's so not-funny that it's actually hilarious. Any more for me?"

Looking up again, suddenly and inexplicably dead serious, Brendan remarked, "You're very gneiss."

That was it. Not even the lightning-fast hand of Steven Stone himself was able to contain it. He burst out into laughter, having been deprived of the common sensation for so long that even that pun could break him down. After a few moments, Brendan lost it as well, snorting before falling into hysterics just like the "silver-haired dreamboat". They didn't even notice when Steven placed a hand on the bed's railing for support, getting closer than he'd dared to before. They were too busy laughing and laughing and laughing at the worst collection of puns they'd ever composed in their collective lives.

Mood whiplash should have struck them hard, staggering them emotionally. And, in a way, it did. But Steven didn't care about any of that. He'd already gotten over it because he needed to. Now, he could feel those wounds—those belt lashes on his soul—start to heal and scab over, finally stopping their incessant deluge of crimson.

He was over it.

Not entirely really over it, of course. Most of it was still just that same "over it because I need to be"; the not-really-over-it kind of over it.

But he was getting there.

That would do for now.

I... am not a fan of this chapter, to be honest. But that's beside the point. It's currently *checks the time* 4:13 AM and I've already written and posted a little over 14,000 words today, including this. No time to edit. MUST SLEEP.

Next time on Ultimatum! May comes back and Phone Guy spills the beans, which I know I said was gonna happen in this chapter but it didn't fit 'cause it's already well over 4.5 K words! The true culprits are apprehended by Steven, May, and... Brendan?! What's the meaning behind these antics? Am I just rambling incessently because it's *checks time* 4:15 AM? Probably! Find out in... Chapter Ten!