Soon Begins Bewitching

by Spruceton Spook

Ash and Co. set out to film their own version of "The Blair Witch Project." But when the disorganized satire starts to produce strange results, the kids are in for their most disturbing Halloween ever. "Stars Fell on Pallet Town" 'verse.

11. Wanna Cry, Wanna Croon

Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon or The Blair Witch Project. And I won't waste your time any longer here; after four months, you probably just want to get to reading. (Also, I can't think of any other clever witticism to add, as my brain is good and fried from writing this emotional installment.) Enjoy!

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SOON BEGINS BEWITCHING

by Spruceton Spook

Chapter 11

"Wanna Cry, Wanna Croon"

The household had come to a stand-still much earlier than usual. With everyone so utterly depleted both physically and emotionally, and a pending early-morning departure haunting the near future, no one fought to stay up any longer than necessary. Even Riley, notorious for nightly theatrics, hadn't fussed when his mother made the ad hoc move to put him to bed at an uncommon time. He must have soaked up the grief and strain permeating from the family in his own unique way, and though Delia hated that even her baby's innocence was not spared by this nightmare, she rejoiced in his cooperation.

With the four kids tucked away and her head ponderous with fatigue, Delia pined urgently for her bed. The last couple of days had been trying, but this day in particular had been the absolute worst. She wasn't looking forward to the morning and all the heartache it would undoubtedly bring, but she wasn't reluctant to call to an end the present day, either. All she needed to do now was touch base with her husband, who was still tarrying downstairs, and she could get the rest she critically needed to take on the new set of hardships soon to come.

Though she hadn't heard a sound from below for some time, she was still astonished to find Jay in the nearly pitch-black living room, perched on the ottoman in front of the patio door. His profile was faintly outlined by the muted glow of the streetlight in front of their home, reflecting in eyes keenly focused out a narrow slit in the drawn curtains and into the shadowy world beyond. He held the vigilant gaze of a sniper, or, in a less grave way, a dedicated peeping Tom. A bottle of beer dangled loosely from his hand. Immediately aware of what he was up to, Delia wrapped her robe tightly across her chest and ghosted over.

Jay was engrossed, but not enough to not sense her presence. Still, he awarded her no acknowledgment as she hovered behind him, dipping her head over his shoulder to briefly check out his vantage point.

"You thinking of coming to bed soon?" she asked as she righted herself, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Maybe," he replied, taking a slug of his beer. His concentration never drifted.

"Well, how long do you plan on sitting here in the dark?" she followed. It wasn't late, but she couldn't help feeling as though the day could not be properly closed until he came to bed with her. She desired his company, aside from the fact that her time awake was very limited at best.

Jay shrugged. "Dunno. I wish I could stay up all night, but I know that ain't happening."

"You really think they're going to come back?"

"Why wouldn't they? They're on a roll," he pointed out bitterly, taking another quick swig.

"And what, exactly, do you plan on doing if they do?" Her voice dragged warily, challengingly. Delia knew he was annoyed and angry, and when Jay got that way, shortsightedness too often and too easily resulted. The risk of that was especially high now, considering the unpleasant mood he'd exuded all evening and how helplessly beset they all were from the ongoing events.

"End it," he answered.

"How?"

"Give them a piece of my mind."

That was far too vague in Jay's vernacular, and a surge of anxiety gripped Delia's stomach. The last thing she needed was for her acutely aroused husband to catch their perpetrators red-handed and react unwisely. She hated how clearly that played out in her head.

"Jay..." she began with a heavy exhale, "...can you just…please promise me you'll control yourself if that happens?"

"I will."

"I don't want the cops here tonight."

"Don't worry."

"I don't need you getting arrested."

Jay huffed, flashing her an amused look. Delia didn't find her concern at all comical. "What exactly do you think I'm going to do?"

"I don't know, I just don't want you doing something stupid!" she fretted outright.

"I'm not going to do anything stupid," Jay assured evenly. When she didn't look convinced, he turned to her and sighed. "Listen. I can tell you right now that what we're probably dealing with is some punk little kid and his pals who think they're so damn smart and hilarious and're getting a great, big thrill out of all of this, and as much as I would love to string them up by their underwear from the tree, I won't do anything to harm them." He smirked, considering that. "Physically, that is."

While Delia was sure his brain hadn't stopped there at conceiving devilish, imaginative ways to teach the miscreant or miscreants a lesson, she believed him. Jay's bark was far more vicious than his bite, and he knew how to apply that capacity quite effectively. Still, a plausible worry remained: "Yeah, and what if it isn't some kid?"

Jay's face grew dark. "It doesn't matter. Whoever it is, if I catch them in the act, they're gonna meet me. And they'll regret that they did."

Delia's heart danced uncomfortably, and she leveled him a condemning look. "See, that's what I don't like, Jay. You scare me when you say things like that. I know how you get! I don't want you handling something that—that maybe you shouldn't be! It's not worth it!"

Jay balked visibly at that. "Not worth it?" he echoed thickly. "It certainly is worth it. I don't care who it is; I am not about to sit back and let some asshole screw around with us anymore—with my son. They're trespassing on my property and harassing my family, and I'm sorry if I refuse to just let that happen under my watch without me doing something about it."

Her breath caught in her lungs. Delia didn't know what to say or even how to cope with all the conflicting emotions overwhelming her from his fierce avowal. While part of her still wanted to plead for his vow to conduct himself in a sensible and reserved manner if the need arose, another part of her wanted to fling her arms around his neck and celebrate the man she married who so boldly and unapologetically aimed to defend his loved ones.

So she held her tongue, and Jay returned to his post, satisfied he made his point clear. After that speech, no way was he going to retire to bed anytime soon. Resigning to it, Delia settled gently on the ottoman behind him, then reached over to claim his bottle of beer. When he didn't put up resistance, she helped herself to a long sip.

"Mmm," she moaned indulgently as the ale hit the back of her throat. She handed the bottle back to Jay. "I've missed that."

"Yeah, I know. For a long time, I did, too." He gave the bottle a shake to ascertain how much remained. "There's more in the fridge, you know, if you want one."

Delia gasped in facetious shock. "You mean I'm worthy enough to have something from your prized stash?" she teased.

"Take advantage of my rare generosity while you can," Jay quipped.

Smiling, Delia was relieved that the tone had already lifted slightly between them. His proneness to letting his irritation get the better of him still troubled her, but she hadn't meant to upset him or diminish his pride in her attempt to express that.

"I'd love to, but don't feel good about drinking while I'm still breastfeeding."

"Ah, come on," egged Jay. "What's the harm? It can only make it better. Maybe the squeak would enjoy a little cocktail. Nice White Russian."

"Jay," Delia scolded playfully, giving her chuckling husband's shoulder a shove. "You're awful. Besides, I already have one kid with a taste for alcohol, I don't need another."

Jay was quiet for a moment before asking tentatively, "How is he, by the way? Did you ever get him to eat?"

Her diversion evaporated swiftly at the reminder of her stricken eldest. "No," she glumly answered. "He didn't want the soup."

An hour after Ash's outburst, Delia had been beside herself. But it wasn't so much his acrimonious words that plagued her, it was still his bouts of illness and lack of nourishment. Though she dreaded chancing herself to another ambush of blame, her motherly compulsion to care for him ultimately triumphed. She had ventured to his room to offer him a simple dinner, but Ash couldn't have been more unreceptive, uttering few words and not even granting her the courtesy of turning around in bed to meet her eye.

Grunting, Jay shook his head. "That's not good. Kid doesn't have anything in his stomach. Hasn't had anything in his stomach."

"I know," Delia concurred sullenly.

"He's in no shape to go anywhere tomorrow."

"I know."

"Not gonna be a fun morning." He downed the rest of the beer in one sloshing gulp.

Clasping her eyes shut, Delia rested her forehead on the back of his neck. "I know," she reprised once more, her voice floundering at the disparaging fact.

"At this point, though," she admitted furthermore, "I'm just praying he actually is here in the morning."

"He's not going anywhere tonight," said Jay with certainty Delia wished she could have.

"I don't know, Jay. He looked so serious when he said that."

Ash's threat of taking off in the middle of night was something that wouldn't stop tormenting Delia. It was a reasonable fear, given he'd already attempted a nighttime jaunt, and that was before the possibility of Team Rocket's involvement came into play. Scarily, Ash taking off after everyone was asleep was something Delia could envision just as effortlessly as Jay gleefully firing his paintball gun at a group of local hoodlums.

"Yeah, but he knows better," said Jay.

"He does?"

"He should."

The slight revision did not go unnoticed by Delia. So, Jay wasn't one-hundred percent confident, either.

Just like that, her husband's plan to keep watch over the house suddenly felt more comforting than it did nerve-wracking. She was still edgy with the thought of Jay squaring off against any pranksters, but if he was otherwise able to prevent Ash from fleeing, then perhaps she wasn't going to badger him to turn in with her just yet.

Delia wondered if she would be able sleep with all this worry consuming her, in spite of her crushing exhaustion.

Her silence must have been deafening, for Jay clasped a loving hand on her knee. "What's the matter?"

She shrugged; she wasn't really in the mood to discuss it, but she wasn't about to hide anything, either. "I don't know. I can't stop worrying. About everything."

"…Everything's going to be fine." Again, there was that cadence of calming surety, but Delia couldn't ignore the charged pause that preceded it, rendering it to nothing more than a mollifying remark.

"No it isn't, Jay," she scoffed. "You honestly think we're going to find Pikachu?"

"It's possible," he offered. "Anything is possible."

"Of course it is, but…" She trailed off, smoothing her hands across his broad shoulders. "Signs are not exactly pointing in our favor."

Jay jiggled the bottle again, as if to see if more beer had magically rematerialized. Delia hoped he didn't go for another—he didn't need to keep drinking on top of it all.

"Well…even if we don't find Pikachu…" he sighed, wavering prudently before continuing, "…everything will still be okay. It'll suck and be horrible for a while, but…it'll get better…in time. Awful shit happens, but…but life does go on. It goes on."

He craned his head around and their solemn eyes locked. "We know how that is," he reminded quietly.

Though harking back to a reality that Delia wished had not been her own, she couldn't argue the point he had just made. Her two miscarriages were a tragedy and always would be, but life had come together beautifully for her and Jay the last couple of years. Ash, too. There were moments during those despairing periods she was convinced she'd never feel happiness again, but destiny had other ideas. The day she brought Riley home, flanked by her true love, her precious firstborn, and the two older children she'd adopted into her heart, proved that the most joyous of endings could succeed the most harrowing of nightmares.

"We do," she agreed, "but Ash doesn't. His heart'll be broken, Jay. Broken in a way that…that I don't know if I could help mend. I…I don't know if I'll be able to handle it."

"You'll handle it," said Jay encouragingly. "You'll help him."

But Delia shook her head. "Who knows if he'll even forgive me," she wondered grievously.

"Ash is going to forgive you," Jay's voice lowered with deep resolve. "Don't you worry about that."

It was all so easy for him to say.

"Maybe he will. But I don't know if I'm going to be able to forgive myself…knowing I'm the reason his heart's broken."

Her miserable remark had Jay taking hold of her shoulder firmly and nailing her with a reproachful look. "Hey, hey. Listen to me: I don't want you thinking that for another second, you hear me? You did nothing wrong."

Eyes glassy with oncoming tears, Delia's long face culled his adamant assertion. "I don't know about that."

"You do to. None of this is your fault, Delia!"

"Then whose is it?" she blubbered.

"No one's, okay?" her husband refuted decisively. "We don't play blame games in this house. That helps nothing and accomplishes nothing. I don't want you hanging on to what Ash said. Nothing you did was done to intentionally cause any of this! I can't believe he—he—" Jay cut himself off and bit his lip, clearly getting worked up. Ash's verbal attack hadn't settled well with him, either, but for a reason far different from Delia's.

He took a heavy breath, seemingly to compose himself. "He wasn't right to say those things to you," he declared through his teeth. "I-it was out of line. I should've shut him up sooner…"

"Jay, Jay," Delia interjected, placing a steadying hand on his chest. "It's okay. He was…he was just letting off some steam. I'm not taking it to heart. All right? I'm not."

She hated lying to him, but at least she felt better about it when it was done for good reason. While she appreciated how inflexible he was about her guiltlessness, part of her couldn't dispel the role she undeniably played in the ordeal. Hearing Ash condemn her for the acts she did do only reiterated that in the tersest of ways. Still, she didn't see any need to feed Jay's already excessive ire. If he was going to rage at anyone, it may as well be the pranksters, not their already-suffering boy.

"All right," he conceded. He sounded somewhat dubious; nonetheless, he was calming down. "I mean it, though, I don't want you agonizing over this, Delia. Talk about things that aren't worth it!"

As he turned to gaze out the window again, Delia yielded a sad but touched smile. He meant that so heartily. It was uplifting to see he maintained a stable grasp on what truly mattered despite his own congealing exasperation. It did also make her feel genuinely better amid her issues with her accountability. Regardless of how much he may have covertly realized she was the direct reason Pikachu was missing, he would do everything in his power to exorcise her mental burden—and he was succeeding…to a degree.

Daubing away the small pools of tears out of the corners of her eyes, Delia simply expressed her gratitude by slipping her arms around Jay's waist. She could feel he was still overwrought, his diaphragm rising and falling restlessly, and she hugged him tighter, as if her hold would lasso his temper to the metaphorical ground.

Relax, honey, relax, the action spoke. It killed her, this unrelenting anguish her family was ensnared in. No matter how desperately she wanted to take comfort in her husband's words, the returned state of peace he spoke of seemed far away—impossibly, hopelessly far away.

What good would future peace do for her in the coming days? The notion would be nothing but an illusion for her if Ash were to leave—that night, the next morning, whenever. She didn't care how competent he was out on the road, or how safe he was under the guardianship of his friends and the protection of his remaining pokémon. The chilling reality was that her child was ill, in body and in mind, and the thought of him leaving her sight in that condition petrified her. Not since Ash left on his journey had she felt such a ball of dread sitting in the depths of her gut.

Perhaps Jay could foretell months ahead, but there did remain a very immediate, unresolved matter at hand.

"What are we going to do about tomorrow morning?"

"We'll deal with it when we come to it, dearest," Jay replied soothingly—a safe answer, but one she strained to embrace. "I know you're worried about how he's going to be, but let's just see. Maybe he'll be fine. Maybe the sleep will do him good."

"Maybe," she granted guardedly. "But I'm still nervous about him leaving. He's…he's not thinking straight. And what if he still won't eat? Jay, I can't let him leave without eating!"

"Shhhhh." Jay squeezed her hand. "Delia. He's not leaving unless he's okay." He dragged the "okay" out emphatically.

Delia managed to nod, knowing full well that Jay meant that, that he wasn't just trying to pacify her; the "okay" did encompass a whole range of understood factors. He wouldn't let Ash go unless the boy was the picture of vitality. A quick prayer of thanks blazed through her head, solaced in that Jay was there to uphold their efforts. God, what would she do if he wasn't, if this had happened...earlier? Save for begging, threatening, persuading—Delia realized there wasn't much else she could do to prevent Ash from leaving. Her authority would amount to nothing this time around; his blind resolve could force its way through any fight she'd put up. It made her hair stand on end, this realization of how ineffective she could be alone versus her son, but she hastily cast the thought away. It was pointless to rattle herself with an imaginary scenario. She had Jay, Jay was here, and Jay would ensure Ash would be steered correctly.

"Okay?" he sought her verbal consensus.

How could she not reward him with her trust? Her eyes brimming once again, overcome by the concurrent magnitude of her anxiety and relief, she gave him an affirming blink. "Okay."

Noticing her swelling emotion, Jay's brow furrowed with sympathy. Delicately, he reached out to trail the tips of his fingers through her hair and down the side of her face. She leaned in, relishing his healing touch. "My poor girl," he commiserated. "I hate to see you so upset. Take it easy, all right? I know, it's been one crummy ordeal. But I promise you everything'll be okay."

She nodded, eyelids pinched shut to suppress the tears.

"Why don't you head upstairs now? I'll be up in a minute, okay?"

Delia snapped to attention, thrown by the apparent change in plans. "Oh. B-but I thought you were going to…?"

Pursing his lips, Jay threw a sidelong glimpse out the curtains. "Yeahhh," he drawled, suddenly wishy-washy, "I…I want to, trust me. Trust me. But…you're right. We do have a project awaiting us in the morning. Think it's more important to be ready to rise with the kid."

Delia almost laughed incredulously when his decision left her feeling slightly frustrated. She couldn't believe herself; here, she had dreaded him staying up and getting mentally pumped for a confrontation, only for that to flip-flop with the prospect of him guaranteeing Ash didn't take flight. Completely understandable in her view, but still. She wasn't about to reiterate her lingering fear to him again and tempt his weariness. No. It was time to toughen up and do what her husband had entreated of her: stop agonizing, settle down, and see to everything one step at a time.

She had to do that for herself, too.

"Besides," he added, cupping her face with a warm hand and continuing to survey what Delia could only imagine were some pretty pitiful features, "why does some miserable Blair Witch copycat deserve my attention when it's you who really needs it?"

Delia's chest fluttered with affection.

He chuckled. "Not to mention lying in bed with you is starting to sound a bit more appealing than sitting in front of this God-forsaken window all night."

Unable to check her smile any longer, Delia reached up to place her hand over his, wordlessly conveying her reception of his change of heart. Their heads instinctively tilted inward, and with a tender but still considerate grin, Jay pressed a long kiss to her forehead.

"Don't worry, though," he rumbled, the last of Delia's dogged trepidations flailing against the unassailable, confident tenor of his voice. "I'll be sleeping with one eye and one ear open. You don't have to. Nothing's gonna happen without me knowing it."

For the first time in days, she couldn't recall feeling so irrefutably allayed. Or so profoundly blessed.

---

Jessie could have really detested the repulsive old house they'd had little choice to hole up in. She could have grumbled over the fallen branches hidden in the long grasses that tripped her up every time she made her way to the back door. Could have cursed and screeched over the out-of-control vegetation that tore at her hair and snagged on her bag. Could have dreaded the warped flooring and the risk she took with each step. And, most of all, she could have vociferously rasped each time the pungent stench of decay flooded her nose.

The house's odor, actually, was something she had not only become accustomed to, but grown to appreciate. For her, it had become the smell of success, of rightness, of…home. While hiding away in such a place out of need could certainly do a number on one's dignity, Jessie could not help but associate the place with her uninhibited happiness.

She was home, and she felt great.

Her legs were weary to the point of trembling, having navigated miles of side roads to and from the center of town and several lost circles therein, searching out an evasive pay phone. She finally found one, did what she needed to do, and promptly started her way back, no break, no rest. Time was on her side, but her eagerness was too intense to rein in. The high she had been on the last couple days had yet to die down, but then, for what reason should it?

Well, there was one thing gnawing away at that elation: that her partners failed to feel the same way. It was a shame they couldn't all share in the enjoyment of their dominance of the situation. Sure, they had let her command nearly every aspect of the endeavor, but their mutual delight would have been nice. Of course, the news she was about to relay to them would surely lift their cantankerous moods, but she still regretted she couldn't divulge the other fun accomplishment she'd made on the way home.

So, it would be her and Arbok's secret. Her faithful, slithery accomplice, who deserved nothing but lavish praise and plentiful treats for the role he'd just played. Minus any griping or objection, she might add. It was wonderful, for once, to get a hand in carrying out a piece of her fabulous mega-prank without getting a supplementary earful or critical look for it.

There was still the matter of executing the grand finale, but she wasn't worrying. She had gotten this far already without any major hiccups—or her partners up and ditching her. She could manage the one last virtuoso step.

Ascending the worn staircase probably more turbulently than the structure could afford to handle, Jessie barged into the bedroom much the same. She couldn't have suppressed her luminous beam if she tried. Her partners' heads wrenched up at her ostentatious entrance, but didn't fall in with her mirth. Their wide eyes bore into hers with demanding expectance, her hours-long outing no doubt leaving them on most excruciating of tenterhooks.

Pausing for a moment to catch her breath and savor the glory of her situation, Jessie proclaimed: "I've got good news and bad news."

James' lips flattened into a tense line. "I suppose I want to hear the bad news first." His dreadful tone only made Jessie's giddiness flare.

"Okay. I, um…" she started, purposely hesitating to incite suspense, "…lost my walkie-talkie."

James and Meowth were silent, their eyelids batting bewilderedly. Slowly but surely, however, their faces lifted, and Jessie did all she could to hold back a whoop of laughter as they realized just to what that alluded.

"And da good news…?" Meowth pressed, his voice elevated.

"The good news…is that headquarters is going to send a team to collect Pikachu!"

Her teammates erupted boisterously at the exuberant announcement.

"Finally!" Meowth exclaimed, more relieved than celebratory, paws soaring for the ceiling.

For the first time in days, James was gleaming. "That's fantastic!"

Jessie's head bobbed with gleeful agreement. Her heart was racing, not just from the gratification of their overjoyed reactions, but because the news was fantastic. Despite her broadcasted confidence that her plan would be successful, she'd been nervous about calling headquarters. She always was. Sometimes, the calls were made out of indisposed necessity, requests for materials, money. Other times, they were reports of failure and appeals for another chance. While she had something positive to relate this time around, those first opening seconds on the phone with her superiors had her quivering just as badly.

"When will they be here?" James inquired excitedly.

"Yeah!" Meowth chorused, springing over to the window to gaze out into the night, as if expecting to see their deliverers marching through the front yard. "How much longer do we gotta hang around in dis moldy joint?"

"Don't put your coat on just yet," Jessie replied. "They aren't going to be here for quite a few hours. They said we can expect agents to arrive sometime in the middle of the night—before dawn."

James' euphoria sobered as he took in the information, but he nodded. "Well, that's not too bad," he granted. "As long as they're coming…"

"They're coming," Jessie affirmed emphatically. "I made sure they knew how serious the situation was with Pikachu." On cue, the two glanced at the mouse, who looked as horrible as ever but otherwise stable. "They're just waiting to dispatch until the world dies down a little bit."

"How was it?" her partner narrowed his eyes apprehensively. "The call, that is?"

"Call was fine," Jessie testified.

"They weren't…upset?"

"I think they were ready to be as soon as I said who was calling," she grinned lightly. "But once they heard we had Pikachu, they were all business. I think they're more than happy to send some help."

And get this assignment over with, she added to herself. Her partners were no doubt thinking the same thing—no need to voice it.

"Well, no one'll be happier dan me when dey get here, dat's for sure!" Meowth declared fervently.

Jessie sighed. Here, she was thinking she would at last get some semblance of amiability from her partners. What a silly expectation. "We know, Meowth. You've made it quite clear you're done with this operation."

"It's not just the operation—it's dis house! I almost can't wait the coupla hours! I'm suffocating in here!"

Perhaps he was being overdramatic, but when reminded of the house's stuffiness, Jessie couldn't help but attest. The air was oppressive. It had been nice to get out of the dump for a while; the clean, brisk air and the vigorous pace of her passage had been more revitalizing than she realized at the time.

Considering that, Jessie observed Pikachu again, and her brow furrowed. Maybe this wasn't the best environment to facilitate the pokémon's waning health…

She quickly dismissed the concern. It was a nonfactor now; they weren't going to leave—they couldn't. The rat would have to deal a little while longer.

Actually, he would have to do more than deal. She needed him, and not just as their ticket to the acclaim they pursued. While James and Meowth undoubtedly viewed the added time they'd have to spend in the house as excruciating, Jessie couldn't help but feel under the gun. All she needed was a minute, maybe two, to perform her next move, but she couldn't do it with James and Meowth present…not if she wanted to preserve the last bit of their support she had.

And then, as if she hadn't experienced a lifetime of good fortune in the recent days, her secret plea was met. Meowth was suddenly stomping towards the door.

"I gotta get outta here for a few minutes!" he groused. "I need t'breathe!"

Jessie's stomach did a somersault. Her best chance was all but colliding with her. Acting instantly on the opportunity, she spun to James.

"Why don't you join him?"

James looked flummoxed at her abrupt suggestion, but to Jessie's relief, he seemed enticed. "Uh, sure. I could use some fresh air," he confessed. "You too?"

With a stiff smile, trying her best to screen the thrill electrifying her, Jessie shook her head. "I'll pass; I was just out there. Besides…" She moseyed over to Pikachu's crate. "I'd like to have a moment with Pikachu—alone, if that's okay."

Meowth gave her a face. "Ah…okay. But what for?"

As Jessie hovered above him, Pikachu roused. Even through the weak slits, Jessie could feel the animosity in his eyes zoning in on her.

"I just want to…relish this," she answered almost breathlessly. She took comfort in the fact that she wasn't completely lying. "These are our final hours with Pikachu. We've worked ourselves to death for years for this one defining moment. I almost feel like I should…appreciate Pikachu as long as I can. Have a moment to take it all in, consider where we are, how this—" Jessie gestured triumphantly to Pikachu, "—is going to change our lives for the better, tonight."

For an awkward moment, Jessie feared her teammates weren't buying it, that her appeal was way too corny, and therefore suspicious. And perhaps they did feel that, but nevertheless, they offered an indifferent shrug and took their leave without any further questioning. Evidently, escaping the unventilated house took a larger precedence over understanding her bizarre motives.

"Take your time!" she sang as she heard the dilapidated staircase protest under their trudge.

It wasn't until their footfalls tapered off entirely that she sprang to work. Pikachu jolted in his crate, startled, as she leapt over to the cabinet and scrambled to grab the other walkie-talkie. Her hands shook, fumbling with the device to the point of nearly dropping it, until she forced herself to settle down. James and Meowth were not going to be back in less than five minutes, she assured herself with a deep breath. After volunteering to watch over their captor, she wouldn't have been surprised if they loitered out there for an hour.

"All right, Pikachu: here's the deal," she got right to it, kneeling beside the crate, her face mere inches from his. As sick as he was, Pikachu's head raised and he regarded her cautiously.

"I know what we're doing isn't great," she owned up. "Isn't ethical. It's downright terrible, to be precise."

Crowding his personal space was obviously making the mouse nervous, wary of an unexpected move. Jessie had to give Pikachu credit for being this on-guard in his appalling state. To think the mouse had no more fight left in him would be painfully ignorant. Pikachu was going to find strength in his deepest reserves to resist his seizure till he was absolutely no longer able to; Jessie was more than mindful of this.

"But I want you to know something: James, Meowth, and me? We aren't bad people," she explained. "Well, okay—we aren't very bad people. You'll disagree, but you have to understand: we have a job, and we're not exactly in a position where we can pick and choose what we want to do. We had to do this—to survive. It…might have gotten a bit personal in the last couple years, I admit, but it was never supposed to be that way. We were never out to take you from the twerp just for the hell of it, just to create misery in both your lives. Not that I'm expecting you or him to believe that, but…that's the truth."

The mouse was listening, though Jessie highly doubted from comprehension. Which was a shame, because it all sounded so good. But even if he could understand her perfectly, who knew how much of this Pikachu would accept as fact. If the rat was as intelligent as he was made out to be, he would have easily detected just how much Jessie had been luxuriating in her latest dastardly actions.

But none of her clever spiel mattered in the long run, anyway. Gullible or not, Pikachu was bound to oblige to Jessie's forthcoming request. There was no way in the world he would resist such an opportunity.

"So I decided to come up with a way I can prove to you that I'm not the horrible monster you think I am," she continued. "And also to help me with my guilt."

The outrageousness of that statement almost had her cracking up. Thank goodness acting skills were just a fragment of her overall dexterity, and she was able to keep a straight face.

Jessie couldn't check her sweeping grin, though, when she tipped the device alluringly in Pikachu's face. "See this walkie-talkie?" she touted. "What if I told that with this walkie-talkie, you could talk to your dear, twerpy trainer—Ash?"

At the sound of his trainer's name, Pikachu visibly perked, his ears faintly cocking upward. Jessie did all she could to keep her smile from curving wickedly. She had the pokémon's attention.

"That's right," she went on. "I'll let you in on a little secret. The other walkie-talkie I told James and Meowth I lost? I didn't lose it. I dropped it off at the twerp's house." She chuckled. "Actually, Arbok did. I had him put it somewhere…hidden. But I promise you: the kid'll still be able to hear whatever comes out of it."

Obviously, she was banking on her promise being accurate. Jessie had done everything she could think of to ensure this plan went off as superbly as she'd conceived. She'd made sure the walkie-talkie was ready to receive transmission and that the volume was turned up to the max before handing it to Arbok. Jessie could have never pulled off what the snake then did undetected. Arbok had glided his way through the most concealed and lush areas of the twerp's yard and was able to successfully place the walkie-talkie deep in the bushes below Ash's bedroom window with nary a fallen leaf disturbed. The feat had Jessie bursting with pride. If for some reason this ploy didn't work, Arbok was definitely not to blame.

Up to now, however, everything was going according to plan. Jessie's entire body was taut with anticipation. Here went nothing.

"So…to show you that I do have a heart, I'm going to give you the chance to talk to him—say goodbye. You can call it a peace offering, if you will."

Pikachu was undoubtedly captivated. It was the most alert he'd been, which indicated to Jessie he truly knew what was being offered, that a means of communication with his beloved trainer was at hand.

"We can't let James and Meowth know about this, though," she warned, frowning. She meant it. "If they knew I was doing this, they'd throw a fit and try to stop it. They want to whisk you off as fast as possible to the boss…and I do, too, but…I still can't help but feel terrible about it all. So, for me to feel better, and for you to feel better, I'm going to let you go ahead and say a few last things to him."

Jessie held the walkie-talkie up to the bars of the crate, her finger poised over the "talk" button. "It's the least I can do, to show you how…sorry I am," she closed, flawlessly at that, feeling ever so pleased with the emotive, believable masterpiece she'd just imparted to the helpless mouse.

It was strictly up to Pikachu now. With just one utterance delivered into the device, the pokémon would unknowingly contribute to the very scheme that had been plaguing his trainer to the point of sickness and irrationality. Not to mention playing a starring role in the most brilliant and pitiless reenactment of the movie she could have ever envisaged. The irony of it all was so unbelievably great Jessie had to firmly keep herself from bouncing gleefully in place.

"Go on, Pikachu," she urged. "Talk loud and clear, now! He's not going to be able to answer you, but he'll hear you—he'll hear you say goodbye!" She held down the button, and the walkie-talkie beeped in response, ready to go.

The anticipation was almost too much to bear. Jessie was becoming fidgety as Pikachu regarded the walkie-talkie contemplatively. For a nerve-wracking moment, she feared he wasn't going to comply. Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered if the kid could hear it through the device.

Desperately, impatiently, she placed a palm over the microphone, muffling her final whispered appeal: "This is your last chance!"

Pikachu's dull eyes wavered. He looked distressed. What was the matter? Did he not want to talk to Ash? Did he suspect it was a trap of some sort? Jessie found herself all-out panicking now. Such a simple thing she needed, and she wasn't getting it. Was this how her ingenious project was going to anticlimactically end, all because the stupid rat didn't want to bid farewell to the boy he supposedly cherished?

Screw that—if she had to force the words out of the pokémon's mouth, she was going to…

All of a sudden, though, Pikachu uttered something…or tried to. Jessie froze—she'd scarcely heard it, but she was positive he'd definitely made an attempt. She leaned in attentively to verify. Sure enough, the mouse was striving to talk again, but all that were coming out were frail, hoarse squeaks.

Oh my God, yes! Come on, come on! Jessie cheered in her head, her body racing with tension. Talk!

"Pikaaa…" But Pikachu was laboring, his terribly idle vocal chords failing him when he—and Jessie—demanded them most. Jessie could see his resolve, though—could hear his speech strengthening, and she embraced it with fierce hope. It would only be a matter of minutes till her vision was realized! Her raging edginess was making it feel like eons, though.

"Pika…piiii…" Pikachu coughed and gasped and tossed his head restlessly, annoyed at his struggle.

Despite her optimism, though, Jessie's expectant smile started to fade. She couldn't help but become progressively concerned as she witnessed his painful exertion, foreboding thoughts gradually blanketing positive ones. Just what was wrong with the mouse? How stricken was he that he couldn't muster the energy to produce a single, easy exclamation?

Not only was her final devious effort in jeopardy of not transpiring, but worse…was there the off chance Pikachu might not even…make it to headquarters…?

Thankfully, that hasty, bone-chilling fret was extinguished before it had the chance to consume her. For just as it did three years ago on the occasion of their first meeting, and innumerable times thereafter, Pikachu's irrepressible ability managed to surprise Jessie in the most astonishing of ways.

The piercing, frantic call that finally exploded from his throat was the most glorious, yet haunting sound to ever echo in her ears.

---

"PIKAPI!"

Ash's head snapped up as he was wrenched abruptly from his restless slumber. Immediately, his heavy head tried to clear itself of its disorientation and his eyes, wide but glazed, scrambling to focus. The room was pitch black and his body felt like it had been literally trampled, but perhaps the most burdening of all was the dense, uncomforting stillness that surrounded him. What had he just heard?

"Pikachu…?" he croaked, his voice low and raspy. On shaky but resolute arms, Ash quickly lifted himself up. His breath raced to catch up to his suddenly pulsating heart. "Pikachu?!"

Silence. His attention directed at the bleak sky beyond his windowpane, Ash did all he could to keep still and alert, straining with all his might to hear again what had hauled him into consciousness. A moment passed, only succeeding in allowing the quietness to permeate and Ash's adrenaline to surge more violently.

What had he heard?!

Wasting not another second, Ash ripped the covers off and propelled himself out of bed. Not caring at all how much noise he was making this time around, he stumbled his way to the window. After nearly pinching his finger trying to desperately undo the lock, Ash raised the shutter and was greeted with a fresh, cold reminder of the October night.

Billows of his breath firing into the crisp air, Ash frantically looked about his yard drowned by shadows. The crescent moon was masked with clouds and the streetlight's gleam barely reached this corner of his property, making him struggle to catch sight of any sign of activity.

"Pikachu?!" he called out, not loudly but certainly not in a whisper, either. "Pikachu!"

Not a single movement or sound answered his hysterical calls, his yard remaining just as deadly dormant as he had found it. All this resulted in nothing but a swell of panicked confusion working its way through Ash's edgy limbs.

"Pikachu!"

"Hnnn? Ash?"

Ash's head whipped around, Brock's voice taking him by surprise in his concentrated fervor.

"Wuz'a matter?" he asked unintelligibly, his vocal chords laboring to work after hours of disuse.

"I heard Pikachu," Ash replied sharply, turning back toward the window.

Brock fought to raise his weary head. "Wha? Are you sure…?"

His knuckles whitening as he clutched the windowsill, Ash dazedly shook his head. "N-no. No, I'm not sure. But I could've sworn…"

It just didn't make sense. Outside, the world was at a leaden standstill. Even the crickets' song was decidedly weaker than it had been nights before, no doubt as a result of increased cold. Predictably, nothing seemed to be going on at this late time of night. But there was no doubt in Ash's mind that something had aroused him. He knew he was not sleeping soundly—even Brock shifting in bed had stirred him numerous times—so any little noise would have woken him. The more he thought of this, the more he was convinced that he had just been alerted by his pokémon's urgent cry.

And the fact that Pikachu was not responding told him one thing—something was not right.

"I know I heard him!" Ash contradicted himself.

The fierce assertion in his tone jerked Brock further out of his stupor, and he quickly sat up in bed as Ash flipped the light switch, dousing the room in blinding light.

"A-Ash!" he cried, shielding his assaulted eyes. "What are you—?!"

"I gotta check outside," Ash said turbulently. His own eyes screaming at him from the abuse, he jostled clumsily across his room to gather his sweatshirt and shoes.

"But you said you don't know—"

"I'm not taking that chance, Brock!" he all but bawled.

Ash had no time to discuss the situation with his friend. He felt every second that ticked by torturously, impelling him to almost want to throw himself out the window if only to get outside faster. His wild haste combining with his fatigue, he almost tripped over himself as he shoved his bare feet haphazardly into his sneakers. Not bothering to waste more time tying the laces, Ash then took off out of the room.

"Ash, wait!"

The darkness of the hallway would have intimidated and slowed anyone else, but Ash rushed through as if it were lit with high beams. Brock's shout simply became part of the milieu that he blocked from his perception, his concentration zeroed in on nothing but the glimmer of hope that Pikachu was right outside his home, summoning him, greatly in need of help. With each pounding step, Ash's drive to rescue his pokémon intensified.

But suddenly, the surroundings that he unwisely chose to ignore reached out to brutally repossess his attention.

Sliding rapidly and violently down the staircase on his rear end was not Ash's preferred method of getting to the first floor, but unfortunately, that's how fate decided it for him. It all happened way too fast—Ash found his momentum brusquely halted, one foot still going and the other not quite as willing, and in the next instant, he found himself sprawled at the base of the stairs and in a world of searing pain.

He was too stupefied to move, too hurt to reflect on what just transpired. Instinctively, he tried to maneuver and ease the pressure on his aching tailbone, but just the slight twist of his body proved to be even worse.

"ASH!"

The hall flooded with light. Brock's thunderous footsteps racing down the stairs caused the floor to quake and Ash to let out a shrill whimper at the added torment.

"Oh my God, are you all right?!" Brock asked worriedly, dropping to the floor beside his stricken friend.

Ash's face was constricted horribly. "No, I'm not, it hurts it hurts it hurts," he ground out through bared, clenched teeth. He tried to shift again but the pain stopped him harshly. "Ow, ow, ow, oww!"

"What is it, what hurts?!"

"M-my tailbone. I fell on my tailbone," he whined.

"Oh, man," Brock groaned, wincing in sympathy.

Not a second later, another barrage of stampeding shook the stairs, and Ash found the space above him crowded with the hovering, anxious forms of his parents.

"Oh my goodness, what happened?" Delia knelt before her son, her face overwhelmed with distress.

"He fell down the stairs. Hurt his tailbone," Brock filled in, jumping to his feet to allow room for the concerned mother to take over.

"Oh, no, Ash!" she gasped, giving him a rapid once-over, scanning for any other obvious injuries. "Are you okay?"

"No…it hurts so much," Ash moaned miserably, knocking his head back against the wall. Tears began to pool in the corners of his eyes, the pain growing stronger by the second. He couldn't remember a time when he was in such indescribable agony.

"How far did you fall from?" Jay questioned.

Ash tried to recall his plunge—he had gone down so quickly. "I dunno…a-almost from the top. I tripped—slid all the way down."

"Is that all you hurt—just your tailbone?" Delia was restless to verify.

"I dunno, I think so." His face skewed fiercely when another unforgiving twinge rocketed up his spine. "Owwww. Mom, Mom. It hurts so bad…"

Beside herself over his anguished cries, Delia nodded. "I know it does, I know it does. Come on," she said tenderly, offering her hand. "Let's get you up."

Ash didn't seem happy to comply, but took her hand. Jay jumped in right away to assist, as Delia was faltering under her aching son's burden. As he sympathetically helped his son totter to his feet, Ash yelping and cringing with each small effort, he looked down to check if the boy was walking properly. The sting of a bruised tailbone could certainly distract from other injuries until stress was applied, and with a crash as frighteningly loud as Ash's had been, Jay was not quick to deem Ash completely okay.

It was only then that he noticed the long laces of Ash's sneakers trailing across the floor. Well, that certainly answered one question…but opened the floodgate for another. Why was Ash wearing his sneakers?

"Ash, your shoelaces," he pointed out.

"Huh?" Ash, leaning on his mother for support, gave his dad a bewildered look before glancing down at his feet. All in that instant, the reason for his ill-fated rush came sweeping back into his consciousness. His face paled and his heart leapt to his throat.

"Oh—oh my God! Pikachu!" How could he have forgotten?!

He realized just how quickly enough. As soon as he tried to dart from his addled mother, his busted tailbone reminded him all too savagely. A near-scream unceremoniously burst from his mouth as his legs buckled from under him, the merciless pain flaring down even to the tips of his fingers and toes.

"Ash!" Delia quickly bolstered him, but Ash only used her brace to vainly try to boost himself off again. Her grip tightened on his arms instinctively, restraining him from fleeing all the more.

"But Pikachu—"

"What about Pikachu?" Jay asked edgily, his son's excruciation making his mind spin in chaos.

"I heard Pikachu outside! He's outside! Th-that's why I came down!" Ash explained feverishly. When he grudgingly realized that there was no way he could contend with the pain, the dire plea exploded from his lips. "Dad, he's outside! Please go get him!"

The certitude and demand in his voice caused Jay to do just that without a moment of hesitation, much to Ash's relief. As he watched his dad and Brock hurry out of the house, he allowed his mom to lead him carefully over to the couch. It was only then that he sensed another presence across the room, and turned to see a very quiet, unassuming Misty observing the disorder from the middle of the staircase. In all the calamity, he hadn't even realized she was there. And as he was hit with a sudden rush of embarrassment over his current circumstance, he found himself wishing she wasn't there at all. Quickly and awkwardly, he tore his gaze away from hers.

"Oh, Ash," his mom lightly scolded. In the sudden peace, Ash could hear exhaustion laced with Delia's concern. "What are you doing running around with your shoelaces untied? You're lucky you didn't break your neck."

Ash chose not to respond, her reproach making him feel slightly ashamed and foolish. He didn't need the extra reminder of his recklessness—the knife stabbing his tailbone relentlessly was doing a fine enough job already.

"Let me go get you some ice," Delia sighed. She looked a bit overwhelmed for a moment, lingering before heading for the kitchen, but Ash was too preoccupied to focus on her fatigue. Nor did he pay any mind to Misty as she inched her way down the stairs. His eyes glued to the closed front door, he waited attentively for either Jay or Brock to return with his precious companion.

Delia soon reappeared with a bag of frozen peas. "C'mere," she beckoned him over gently. "Sit down on this. It'll feel better."

Grinding his teeth, Ash shuffled his way gingerly to the couch and accepted the peas.

"How hard did you hit it?" Delia sat on the ottoman as she watched him delicately lower himself onto the frozen bag. "Do you think you broke it?"

"I don't know, Mom," Ash replied almost impatiently. He didn't know what Delia was talking about; pressing the unbearably frigid ice to the smarting bone did not make it feel at all better. As soon as he sank his backside onto it, he jolted from the shock of pain it triggered and shrieked in response.

"Oh, dear. Maybe I should check it—"

"No, thank you!" Ash hastily objected.

"Okay, okay!" Delia conceded, holding up her hands in surrender.

Blushing, Ash determinedly settled on the makeshift icepack, biting back his whimpers. Yeah, it hurt like hell, there was absolutely no denying that, but Ash could deal with it. He would heal…he hoped. Unfortunately, Delia's inquiry did stir some worry in the back of his mind—at the moment, his tailbone didn't feel broken. It felt pulverized. He was still a brush away from erupting into childish caterwauls over it, but for the sake of his pride and the critical issue at hand, he would muddle through. In and out, he drew deep and calming breaths as he tried to cope bravely with the unyielding torture.

Meanwhile, Misty was still being awfully unobtrusive…or indifferent—Ash couldn't really tell with his scrambled brain. Either way, her company was not doing much in the way of consoling him. Edging her way to the patio doors, she softly pushed the long curtains aside to peer out into the night. The action made him perk.

"Wh-what's happening out there?" he ventured. She startled, regardless of how innocent and anticipated his question should have been.

Tucking her loose, tangled hair behind her ears, Misty glanced back out. "Nothing. I don't see them. They must be in the backyard."

The fact that Jay and Brock had been outside for more than a few minutes was beginning to disturb Ash greatly. If Pikachu were out there, how had they not located him yet? Unwittingly, his faith was starting to fade, and fear and disappointment were prevailing. Which, he couldn't help but detect, seemed to be distressing his girlfriend all the same.

Misty seated herself at the end of the couch. She looked especially lethargic, much like his mother, and Ash was reminded once again that it was hours after they'd all turned in.

"Are you okay?" Misty asked apprehensively. For a moment, Ash could have sworn that he felt the pain of his tailbone abate somewhat with her comforting, sweet tone. Still, he found her presence uneasy, their earlier uncongenial talk still fresh on his mind.

"I don't—I guess so," he replied sloppily. "Doesn't matter. I just want them to find him."

"You really heard him out there?"

Biting his lip, Ash blinked long and hard. "I know I did."

"If he's out there, Dad will find him," mumbled Delia. Haggardly, she reached out to run a hand through his hair, but her fingers pausing midway within his knotted mop. Even the slightest of efforts to comfort him lacked any kind of energy.

Suddenly, the front door swung open. Jay and Brock hustled into the house, their shoulders hunched from taking on the cold in skimpy pajamas and bare feet. The first thing Ash looked for and noticed, naturally, was that Pikachu was not among them. Panic seized his heart.

"Where's Pikachu?"

Winded from his brisk excursion, Jay's face fell in regret. "Sorry, buddy…he—he wasn't out there."

Ash shook his head incredulously. "NO! No, that can't be right! He—AHH!" Once more, his hysteria caused him to neglect his condition, and an attempt at getting up was cruelly thwarted by his injury.

"Ash, don't move, don't move," Jay ordered. He had nervously expected this reaction, and was determined to stop it before Ash hurt himself any further. "Take it easy. I'm sorry. I…I don't know what to tell you. But he's not out there."

"Yes, he is! He has to be!" Ash barked back, gasping from the physical and emotional agony assaulting him. He jerked his head away from his mom's drifting hand as it went to console him again. "I heard him! I know I did!"

"I—I don't know what you heard, but he's not—"

"Yes, he is—you just didn't look hard enough!"

"Ash—" Jay's countering dispute was suddenly interrupted by the piercing, unhappy wails of his infant son a floor above. His eyes rolled heaven-ward, cursing the unwelcome addition to the mayhem.

"Oh, no," Delia groaned. Riley didn't usually awaken around this time, which meant he wasn't hungry—just disturbed. Listlessly, she attempted to haul herself up to attend to her protesting baby.

Brock wasn't blind to her sluggishness. Hurriedly, he put a hand out in restraint. "Ma, Ma! Don't worry—I got 'im, I got 'im. Stay there."

Before Delia even had a chance to graciously decline his offer, Brock was scaling the stairs two at a time. Quite frankly, she was more than relieved—she had enough troubled sons to deal with at the moment. Though she briefly wondered if Riley would have been easier to pacify…

For Jay, Riley's interference actually turned out to be a blessing in disguise. It gave him a break from Ash's onslaught to get his firm but considerate justification in.

"Ash, listen to me," he said as calmly as his growing frustration would allow. God, if he wasn't so damn tired. "I…I'm not sure what you heard. But, son, he's not out there. Brock and I checked all over the yard, we called out for him. If he was there, we would have found him. I'm sorry. I wish that wasn't the case, but it is. Okay? Just, please—you gotta calm down now."

Ash took this in with a smoldering level of indignation. Somewhere buried underneath that anger was the flagging remains of the belief that his grief-stricken prayers had finally been answered. His resilient denial and Jay's blunt reality-check promptly went to war within his hammering heart.

"I don't want to calm down," he grumbled surly. This elicited narrowed eyes from his father, who clearly did not like that his speech went unheeded. "I want to go out and look for Pikachu. Because I know he's out there. Maybe you couldn't find him, but I can."

The silence that followed that avowal seemed to be more awkward than the raucous clash that preceded it. Misty squirmed uncomfortably on the couch, hating the fact that she was (literally) in the middle of a swiftly-brewing, concentrated battle.

Ash…what are you doing? She knew her boyfriend better than anyone, and she knew her boyfriend's temperamental father well enough. And she knew that when the two of them disagreed, things could get ugly. The look on Ash's face, coupled with his blatantly confrontational statement, sent chills through her body.

Just as pigheaded as his son, Jay decided to step it up a bit. "You can barely move. You wanna go outside and look for Pikachu? Be my guest."

Ash's rigid stare never unlocked with his father's. It was all he could offer as he strived to come up with some sort of defensive retort to Jay's challenge. The truth in Jay's accusation delivered an almost fiercer sting than his wounded tailbone.

"Ash," Delia sighed, her tired eyes beseeching. "Honey…let's get you to bed now, okay? We…we'll talk about this more in the morning."

The staring contest between Ash and Jay continued.

"Can you make it up the stairs? Or do you want to stay here?" she pressed on. With each word, her voice dragged more and more. And yet, in spite of the worn plea in her tone, Ash remained obstinately silent. Resignedly, Delia looked to Misty.

"Misty, baby, do me a favor—do Ash a favor? Run upstairs and get his pillow, please?"

"Sure," Misty nodded, dashing off to comply with Delia's request.

Jay watched Misty jog up the stairs more rapidly than he would have expected. He didn't blame her—she wanted to get away from that uncomfortable scene as fast as possible. He wanted to escape, too—but for a different reason. It was too late to be as exasperated as he was becoming. Left with the remnants of an unpleasant scene before him, he knew it was up to him to clean it up at once—put a solid end to this crazy affair and get his family to bed.

And the person who definitely needed this more than anyone was his wife. One glimpse at her and there was no denying how disturbingly tired she looked. Delia had enough to deal with attending to Riley every night; even when he tended to the baby, Delia unavoidably woke up, too. The added worry of Ash's troubles and unpredictability was starting to unmistakably show in her swollen face and droopy eyes.

"Delia, go to bed."

Delia acknowledged Jay's command with only a concise nod. "I will in a minute."

"No," Jay said firmly. "You're exhausted. You need sleep. I'll take care of everything—even Riley. Please—go to bed."

Delia knew his stern tone was entirely out of worry for her, but that gave her no lesser reason to defy the request. Stealing one glance at his resolute frown through her glazed eyes, she heaved another sigh and placed a gentle hand on Ash's head.

"Ash…are you going to be okay, sweetheart?"

Finally, Ash rewarded her with an answer. "Yeah. Yeah, Mom, I will."

"Are you sure you're not hurt? Do I need to take you to the hospital?"

The idea of capping the evening with a lengthy emergency room visit sent a shudder through Ash—no, that definitely would add nothing positive to the situation. Wincing, he readjusted himself on the rapidly thawing bag of peas.

"I'm fine," he said, hoping he wasn't lying to her or himself.

"Okay. You call if you need me." With a tender, prolonged kiss to his hair, Delia rose and made her way to the stairs. "Goodnight."

"I'll be up in a minute, Del," Jay said, his eyes remained securely fixed on her until she disappeared to the second floor. His heart went out to his poor, worn-out wife. Delia was going to get a good-night's sleep—he'd make sure of it. Ending Riley's nightly protocols were impossible, but Ash's were going to end now.

Jay noted that Ash seemed to be acutely aware of the forthcoming discussion. Then again, he figured his son would be delirious if Jay's demeanor wasn't a dead give-away. For someone so seriously on the defensive moments ago, certain that Pikachu was indeed alive and well on the welcome mat of their home, the kid was now clearly disinclined to so much as make eye-contact with his father.

"Ash," he said, leaning on the arm of the couch. Though his tone demanded it, Ash still refused to grant him his attention. "Look at me."

Ash hated to do it but finally obeyed, bitterness flashing in his brown eyes. Jay was almost taken aback by the look; he could never get over how easily his son could secrete his feelings with one simple gaze. He was dealing with one unhappy boy, and he quickly tried to formulate a game plan to work with that accordingly.

"I'm sorry this is happening to you," he started, his voice low with equal parts austerity and compassion. "I know you're scared. And upset, and sad. I know. It sucks, and I feel horrible about it. I pray to God everyday that you get Pikachu back so you can stop going through this."

The genuineness of his father's words had a tiny effect in placating Ash's tender psyche, but he still found looking at Jay difficult. It was obvious there was going to be more to this lecture than a simple acceptance of his grief. He could sense the "but" coming on.

"But, Ash? This getting up in the middle of the night to search for Pikachu? And waking up the entire house? It needs to stop. Tonight."

Ash was equipped with his reason. "I only got up because I heard him outsi—"

"You didn't hear him," Jay cut him off. Pikachu had not been outside, and unless the pokémon had the intelligence and gal to pull off the most outrageous of pranks, Ash had been imagining it. "You were dreaming."

Annoyed at being interrupted and having the practical excuse of his semi-conscious imagination thrown at him, Ash arched his back defiantly. "I. Wasn't. Dreaming!"

"Dreaming it, imagining it—whatever," Jay replied tersely. "The fact is he isn't out there. And you need to accept that."

"No," Ash said unwaveringly.

Jay felt his temples begin to pulsate. "Fine. Then don't accept it, Ash. Don't. But I mean it—you aren't to get up any more at night to go looking for Pikachu. You understand me? After everyone goes to bed, you stay in bed. Pikachu being missing has disturbed this house enough; we don't need you waking everyone up just because you think you hear something, or because you're just impatient."

"All you have to do is ignore me," countered Ash, obviously nowhere near giving in to Jay's order. "What do you care, anyway?"

"I don't give a crap about me, son." Jay moved in closer on Ash and narrowed his eyes gravely. "But your mother is exhausted. She hasn't gotten decent sleep in months. And now, ever since you told her you might bail out of here in the middle of the night, she's been terrified of you leaving while she's asleep. I can see it's worrying her to the point where she'snot getting rest. And that has to stop. Got it? It's bad enough that she's up with Riley every night."

"Yeah, but I don't see you going to Riley and yelling at him to quit waking Mom up," his son retorted.

Jay's fingers dug into the fabric of the couch. "Watch where your smart mouth is going."

"You don't care that I can't sleep!" The cheek was barely gone, but was now sprinkled with a tinge of hurt.

"I do to care." Jay tried with all his might to keep his irritability in check. "I'm not trying to be a bad guy here. I told you, it kills me that this is happening to you. I'm sorry you can't sleep. But that does not give you permission to leave this house after lights are out. Do you understand that?"

"What difference does it make?!" Ash snarled, his own impatience mounting. "I'm leaving tomorrow morning, anyway!"

"It makes a huge difference! You are torturing your mother! You are not leaving here tonight!"

"But what if leaving tonight means the difference between me finding Pikachu or not?!"

Jay's nostrils flared at that. "You aren't going to find Pikachu!" he bellowed.

Ash's eyes widened, and right away Jay knew that was way too harsh and uncalled for in this disjointed moment. But dammit, he was fed up. It was obvious the kid was not going to yield without a fight. Determinedly, he leaned in on Ash, who responded to his father's looming presence by sinking deeper into the couch and cringing from the agonizing stress on his tailbone.

"Listen to me. I didn't mean it like that. Okay?" he apologized, yet bitingly. "I'm not giving up hope on finding Pikachu—I'm not. But Ash, it's starting to look more and more unlikely that he's just going to show up like he went for a long stroll around Pallet. And I think you know that."

Despite backtracking on his impetuous statement, Jay's philosophy didn't help Ash feel any less distraught and livid. Words flew to the boy's lips before they even seemed to derive in his head. "You don't know anything!" he sneered.

"I know one thing," disputed Jay firmly. "And that's that you will not leave this house before we get up tomorrow morning. If I even let you do that. Got it?"

Ash could feel his father's intolerance with each dense, hot breath hitting his clammy face. Though daunted by Jay's stringency, it was too much for him for Jay to ask—no, insist—that he restrict himself from anything he could do to find Pikachu. His dad clearly just did not understand.

"Sorry," he uttered. "I can't promise that."

It was one of those rare times Ash wasn't sure what the smarter thing to do was: tell the truth, or lie and hope everything panned out. And while it became clear to him immediately that telling the truth was, indeed, not the best way to go at the moment, a little part of him was mightily proud that he did.

Jay wasn't pleased with his honesty. In an instant, his nose was mere inches from Ash's, eyes blistering with incontestable authority. Ash mustered every ounce of nerve not to fold under his dad's dominance.

"You can promise that, and you will promise that," Jay said in a tone that was not to be tested. "Because I swear, Ash, I catch you trying to leave this house again tonight? You think your ass hurts now? I'll make sure you can't sit down till Christmas."

If looks could set fires, Jay would have ignited on the spot. With a face flushed red with fury and mortification, Ash managed to give his father the most vicious glare his young eyes could produce. It was hardly enough to put off Jay.

"Waiting for that promise, Ashton."

Ash could feel the burn of tears coming on. His lips quivered, resisting the urge to scream at his glowering father every negative thought rushing through his brain, but he knew he was beat, and did what he needed to do. It was never smart to discount Jay's threats as empty, especially in his delicate state of exasperation. He wasn't even confident his injury would exempt him.

"Promise."

Jay scowled a few seconds more for good measure, then lifted himself off the couch and out of Ash's personal space. A rush of cold air hit Ash, making him realize just how much body-heat his fuming father had been giving off. Not even a goodnight was offered by Jay as he stormed noisily up the stairs.

Who was making the racket now? Ash scoffed cynically to himself as his eyes trailed the one-man stampede.

And that's when every muscle in his body stiffened. Because then he spotted Misty, her arms burdened with his pillow and blanket, pausing shyly in the middle of the staircase to allow Jay to squeeze by her. Hastily, Ash looked down and away, humiliation turning over his stomach. Crap, he had forgotten all about her! Justifiably, but still. How long had she been standing there?!

It was all becoming too overwhelming. Pikachu was still missing, it was growing tougher to fight off tears, his tailbone pain showed no sign of fading (in fact, more of him was starting to ache from the fall), and now Misty had probably heard every word of his severe chewing-out. Ash clasped his eyes shut, longing for the entire scene to evaporate into oblivion.

That wasn't going to happen, though. He knew he was going to have to acknowledge her when he felt her approach. The best scenario would have been for her to simply deliver his bedding and make a prompt about-face.

But that wasn't going to happen, either. When he did find the gumption to look up, he was met with the very troubled face of his disheveled girlfriend. For a moment, they just stared at each other, each trying to gauge the other in their own unspoken way. It was enough time for Ash to be taken by surprise by his shifting feelings. As her tired, blue eyes penetrated his own, his innate desire for her comfort began working its way into his wounded pride.

It was kind of confounding, actually, the feelings that were suddenly hitting him with Misty's presence. Minutes ago, Delia was offering all sorts of comfort—half-asleep or not, there was no way she could have quelled her motherly need to tend to him. Yet he had declined her kindness, and part of him sensed it hadn't entirely to do with the rocky tension that existed between them most of the day.

The unexpected yearning for Misty's consolation…it was different. Perhaps it was a product of his insane whirl of his emotions, devastatingly capped by the setback his father had just dealt him. Or it may have been his belief that she, who always had his well-being in the forefront of her mind, couldn't possibly have witnessed what she did and not have sympathy for him. Whatever it was, his need for her understanding suddenly overrode any shame he had felt seconds ago.

Finally breaking the awkward connection, Misty placed the bedding between her and Ash and sat at the far opposite end of the couch.

"Ash." She took the initiative to speak first, but then paused for some time, her attention aimed across the room. The few seconds that ticked by felt like an eternity to Ash as he anxiously awaited her words. "You…you're scaring the hell out of me."

Well, she wasn't exactly setting the tone for moral support with that prologue.

Ash did his best to dismiss the plunging of his stomach. He could tell right away he didn't like the direction this conversation was going in; her morose language was all too prophetic. The most unassuming thing he could do was hang on dumbly as she continued, scarcely cracking a whisper.

"I'm so worried that—that you'll…that you're going to end up really hurt from all this."

"Misty…I won't," he managed quietly, compelled to defend himself. "I'll be more careful." He squirmed on the warm bag of peas, well aware his physical circumstance wasn't lending that declaration much support.

And she did wince, having little trust in his avowal. He couldn't blame her—he was injury-prone on his best days, after all. Even he was shocked at everything that had befallen him, as if his misery quota hadn't been filled to the brim since that ill-starred rainy morning.

"I—I don't mean just that," Misty replied, however. "I mean…I want to know that you won't get hurt—be hurt…" She swallowed uncomfortably and finally braved eye-contact. "…mentally."

He couldn't have felt more cornered with that loaded appeal. "I don't know what you mean," he blurted, panic prompting the brusque lie.

Misty's shoulders sagged, his attempt at feigning ignorance seeming not to fool her, nor dissuade her from abandoning the probe she'd initiated, much to Ash's increasing dismay.

"I need to know you're going to be okay…" she clarified, her voice teetering on the brink of a whimper, "no matter what happens."

No matter what happens. Ash felt another pang of denial strike him with that statement. He hated everything about the phrase: the open-endedness of it, the uncertainty, the negative part of it that he couldn't help but focus on.

Worse, he hated that Misty would even dare to imply an adverse outcome—right there, right then. Couldn't she see this was hardly the best time to broach the proscribed notion? Wasn't his turmoil glaringly obvious, just like his critical need for someone to assure him everything was going to be okay, not the alternative?

Didn't she realize he needed someone on his side?

He allowed his consternation to trigger his adamant answer: "I'll be okay, because everything is going to be okay."

Misty shook her head, his reaction noticeably paining her. But it did little to shake Ash's conscience; it was easier to make that idealistic statement than the promise she was really pursuing.

"Ash…" she begged, pressing her hand over her now pooling eyes, "please… When are you going to stop this?"

"Stop what?" he dodged, but he knew he couldn't ward her off that way for long. All these relentless demands she was laying into him, with her overt emotions and drained voice, were just fragments of a bigger question she was evading asking. Part of Ash yearned for her to get to the point. Another part of him yearned to bury his face in his hands, hide himself from her interrogation, from the situation, from the ache in his heart…from reality.

"This search," she boldly revealed at last, her voice bathed with despair. She clearly didn't want to say it as much as Ash didn't want to hear it. "When are you going to just…let it go?"

Let it go…

Just like that, the valiant determination that had been freshly razed by his father was finding traction again. Ash's heart rate accelerated, sending a boiling mix of anger, refutation, and disbelief surging through every vein in his body.

"I can't believe you," he uttered. "How can you ask me that?" Before she had a chance to respond, he added thickly: "How could you ask me to stop searching for Pikachu?"

She was beginning to cry in earnest now, tears escaping her eyes faster than she could wipe them away. "Because of what it's doing to you!" she bawled. "I can't stand seeing you like this anymore, Ash! You're going crazy!"

"What are you talking about?!" Ash cried, dazed on top of aghast. "I'm not going crazy! I'm trying to find Pikachu!"

"I know, but look what's happening to you!" she gestured to him hysterically. "You just keep getting sick—and hurt!"

"So what?!" barked Ash. He bullheadedly tipped toward her, placing ill-timed weight on his tailbone following her comment. "Who cares what happens to me—I have to find Pikachu!"

"I care about what happens to you!" Misty proclaimed fervently. "And so does your mom and dad! Don't you see that? I don't know why you keep fighting us!"

"I'm fighting you?" Ash scoffed. "No, you are fighting me! None of these fights would happen if everyone just left me alone and let me do what I needed to do to find Pikachu!"

"Left you alone?" Misty echoed, her eyes widening incredulously. "Ash, if we left you alone who knows what kind of condition you'd be in right now!"

"You're right!" he scowled. "Maybe I'd be happy. Because maybe I would've found Pikachu!"

Misty looked unsure of how to reply to that at first. "It's not that we don't want you to find Pikachu," she ultimately said. "We just don't want something bad to happen to you!"

"So you'd rather see me be miserable for the rest of my life," Ash weaved Misty's suggestion into a scathing accusation.

"No!" she denied, frustration surfacing in her voice. Evidently, she felt like she was not getting through to him, but Ash found he was understanding her quite well.

"Well, that's what I'll be if I don't find him!"

Their eyes locked briefly in passionate contention: his blazing with resentment; hers red, swollen, and urgent.

"I told you," Misty reminded somberly, "that's what scares me, too. That's why I want you to promise me that you'll be okay."

Promise. There it was again—that word, that demand, that his friends and family had the audacity to throw at him. Ash could only shake his head and look away.

"Please, Ash," his girlfriend continued to beg desperately, "please—you know I care about Pikachu—"

"No you don't!" Ash snapped, odious eyes back on her in an instant. "You don't care about him. You let me know that earlier—you're letting me know that now!"

"Oh my God, would you stop it?! I do to care about him!" Misty shrieked, insulted. "I'm heartbroken over this! We all are! Maybe if you calmed down for two seconds, you'd see that!"

"How can I calm down when Pikachu is missing? Or when my family wants to keep me from finding him?!"

Ash couldn't stop his voice from breaking with that allegation. Truthfully, there was nothing he physically wanted to do more than cry—his chest burned uncomfortably with the urge—but thankfully his resentment and perseverance were doing an effective job thwarting it. There was nothing less helpful to his cause than unavailing blubbering.

Misty, on the other hand, was having no issues submitting to her tears.

"See?" she said. "The fact that you think that that's what we're doing, that we want to keep you from finding Pikachu…" She shook her head bleakly. "That's what's killing me, Ash. That you'd actually feel that way—that you would let yourself believe that! This whole thing, it's destroying you—it's destroying the Ash that I know, and love. It's like I don't even know who you are when you say stuff like that!"

I can say the same for you, Ash felt like voicing, but somehow, he was able to keep the incendiary thought to himself.

"I do care about Pikachu," she pressed on, smearing the tears across her cheeks. "A lot. But I care about you more. Seeing you get hurt and go through this, and what it's doing to all of us…that's what's getting to me more than Pikachu being gone. That's what's breaking my heart! I want to find him, too, but…" She clasped her eyes shut and her speech collapsing into sobs. "But if it's not meant to be, then I don't know how much more of this I can take! I need to know you're going to be okay if Pikachu is really gone! I need to know that I'm not going to lose you along with him!"

Despite her profound grief supplementing that which was already shredding his own heart, her words still succeeded in making Ash bristle with disdain. He wasn't nearsighted to the fact that Misty was suffering just as deeply as he was, but it still didn't help him come to terms with what she was petitioning. Not only did she want him to forfeit to the possibility that they would never find Pikachu, but she was going a step beyond, far beyond, insisting on something he deemed utterly out of the question at that precise instant: his pledge to "be okay" in the wake of it.

Ash knew an unhappy ending was just as probable as a happy one. He knew. But he would be damned if he was going to concede to it right there, at her weeping behest, and declare that somehow, someway he was going to find acceptance and peace following such a catastrophic outcome, much less any time soon.

And she thought he was the crazy one?

If he were able-bodied enough to storm out and escape this awful conversation on his own power, he would have. Alas, his sore body gave him no choice but to respond in a way he saw regrettably despicable, even in the face of his ire.

"Go away, Misty."

Her head jerked up, watery eyes widening at his unforeseen order. "What…Ash—"

"I said, go away, Misty!" he ground out furiously. As much as it grieved him to send her away so coldly, he couldn't see any other way out of this nerve-wracking moment. Instinctively, he slapped his hands over his eyes, shielding himself quickly from the look on her face that made his abdomen lurch ashamedly. "Just go! I don't wanna talk about this anymore! I wanna be left alone!"

Ash didn't know what was going to happen if she refused. The pressure of her impossible demand combined with his unspeakable heartache had him on the verge of what felt like emotional detonation. He realized his command was a spineless one, but if Misty fought back, what came out of his mouth next could potentially be worse.

Please, Misty, just leave… I'm sorry…

Thankfully, she must have detected his impending volatility. A couple of precarious seconds following his curt dismissal, he felt the couch lift from Misty's departing weight. Relief flooded him, but he nonetheless kept his eyes veiled, obstructing the sight of her face until he heard her ascend the stairs, until he knew she was truly gone. He didn't need anything else haunting him from this afflictive late-night fiasco.

If only everything else could be cast away that easily.

---

Misty stood behind the closed door of her small bedroom, letting the darkness shroud her and her sobs overtake her. On the bed, Togepi peeped worriedly, but she was too gripped by her emotions to acknowledge his concern. She wept silently, unremittingly, singeing her throat raw and rattling her ribcage. She wished she could stop, but she couldn't—her spirit was too shattered to heed to her body's appeals to quit. Never before had she felt this inconsolable, this powerless, this rejected, this terrified. She wasn't losing Ash, as she'd earlier feared.

She had already lost him.

On the other side of the wall, Jay lay flat on his back in bed, eyes focused on the shadow-splattered ceiling. Beside him, his wife was laboring to fall asleep—she wasn't making a sound or stirring a muscle, but Jay knew she was still awake. He prayed for exhaustion to consume her, since nothing else would. He already resigned to the fact that sleep would not be a part of his night…not with all the ruminations occupying his mind. Not with the driving, inherent duty to protect and watch over his threatened home. Not with the fury aflame in him over the unjust hand his family had been dealt, and the nerve of the faceless pranksters in exploiting it.

Not with the hounding guilt of what a jerk he had been to his woebegone son.

It took a bit of time before Ash confronted the task of repositioning. Sliding the defrosted, useless bag of peas out from underneath him and dropping it to the floor, he carefully reached out for his pillow and blanket and tried to shift into the most comfortable alignment achievable. It was a miserable, futile attempt. Every slight move he made, no matter how much he favored his back end, sent flares of pain shooting through his body, and as he wiggled and writhed, his stifled tears finally began to descend from his eyes.

They were going to get their wish after all, he thought cynically. Fate was going to get its wish. He was too battered to move, and too crestfallen to summon the mental strength to overcome it. Grudgingly, he admitted defeat.

Whatever wrong he did to merit this trial, the forces in charge of his retribution were intent on imposing their devices in the most ruthless of ways: insults upon injuries, restraints added to existing obstacles, questions piled on enduring mysteries.

One question, though, stood out among the rest. One question, in his mind, deserved an answer.

When Ash finally broke down, smashing his face into his pillow to smother the violent sobs reverberating from his lungs, he sent out one last forlorn query to the only entity left to hear him.

God? What did I do to deserve all of this?

TO BE CONTINUED...

---

I know firsthand how nightmarish it is to have a broken tailbone—yes, broken, not bruised. I suffered one the summer between 8th and 9th grade after spectacularly failing to clear the ground on a backyard trapeze, and now, nearly sixteen years later, I still see stars if I'm sitting in the car for too long. It's the injury that generously keeps on giving! -_- Sorry, Ash: if this is indeed the extent of your damage, you have many a year of uncomfortable road-trips ahead of you, kid…

On that note, thank you for reading! I apologize again for the long wait; just because I love to write the feels doesn't mean they always come easy. I am proud and relieved to say I made my deadline, though. How could I not post on or around Halloween?

Comments and/or constructive criticism are, as always, deeply appreciated. :) Have a Happy Halloween!