~Prologue~
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Dear Ness,
I hope that this letter reaches the right address.
Good luck with N64!
Sincerely,
Lucas
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Dear Ness,
Tracy keeps asking me if you have a girlfriend. She says that she's determined to find you "the right one." I think that's her way of saying that she misses you.
You have a cool sister.
Sincerely,
Lucas
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Dear Ness,
Stop worrying about what everyone else says. You dropped seventh grade for N64. There's nothing shameful about prioritizing your life for SMASH. I think it takes true guts to go ahead and do what you want to do. You're good at brawling. You can easily use the extra time to practice.
I got a part-time job at the local library. All I do is sort out books, but the librarian lets me read for as long I want. There's a nice corner by the window where you can spot sparrow eggs in the tree outside. I'll show you next time you come to town.
Sincerely,
Lucas
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Dear Ness,
Mr. Minch is back. He keeps raising the interest rates on his loan, and there's nothing we can do, because my dad signed the contract. Mr. Minch says it's because of the "fine print." I don't understand what he means. Maybe your father might know. He's a corporate investment banker at Fourside, right?
I think that Mr. Minch is a stout and portly fellow. I like to imagine that he is. He sounds exactly like the corrupt business men in my books. But I don't know what Mr. Minch really looks like, because Dad refuses to take me along to his consultant meetings. Dad says it's for adults only. I wish I could go. It can't be as complicated as Dad makes it seem.
Dad thinks that Mr. Minch looks familiar. I wonder why.
Sincerely,
Lucas
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Dear Ness,
Boney died. He was hit by a car last night. I couldn't save him, so Dad had to put him down.
Dad was busy working, so I buried Boney out back in the sunflower field on the outskirts of town. It was a quiet funeral. Dad said that Boney lived a long life for a dog, but I think he wants me to man up and stop crying.
I wish you were here. Boney loved you. You were always good with animals.
Ness, when are you coming home?
Sincerely,
Lucas
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Dear Ness,
Today my dad returned early from his consultant meeting. He burst into the apartment and started shouting really loudly for me. I thought I was in big trouble, but when I ran out to see him, dad hugged me then started crying. I'm scared. Dad never cries. I think Mr. Minch hurt my dad.
Dad wanted me to quit my job at the library. He said that it was too dangerous for me to work late at night.
I refused.
The next morning I apologized, but dad's ignoring me again. He's acting like nothing happened. Maybe nothing really did happen. Maybe I dreamed everything up. I feel stupid for writing this.
Ness, do you get weird dreams too?
Sincerely,
Lucas
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Dear Ness,
I'm getting second thoughts about applying for Brawl. I left the how many times have you saved the world question blank, and my personal statement doesn't fit with the mission statement. These people are looking for fighters. The last time I ran half a mile was P.E. in fifth grade, and I can name at least five celebrity psychics who are applying for the same pool. This application season is looking much more competitive than ever. I know that you're trying to encourage me, and I appreciate it, but in all honesty, my chances of even scoring an interview invite are slim.
Onto your roommate problem. Popo sounds like an... interesting person. I'm probably not the best person to ask for advice, since I only live with my dad, but it sounds like Popo gets a kick out of annoying you. Don't rise to the bait.
Sincerely,
Lucas
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Dear Ness,
Sure, we can room together. You might regret it though. I'm a messy person, and I stay up late at night.
My Brawl invitation finally arrived in the mail. I'm packing as we speak. I've never ridden the SkyTrain before, but Master Hand sent me a map circling the major stops.
I can't wait to see you again.
Sincerely,
Lucas
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Dear Lucas,
You remind me a lot of Samus. Remember Samus? She's got blonde hair. She's super tall and scary, but she's really smart like you. I like talking to her. A lot of the guys in the mansion like talking to her too, but I think it's because she's attractive. They try to show off and do stupid things to grab her attention.
Popo's a moron. He keeps flirting with Samus. I told him to stop, but he only laughed and asked me if I was gay. Nana got mad and hit him over the head for that remark.
He's wrong! I'm not gay! I do think Samus is pretty. I just don't want to bother her!
Sometimes I think that I'm the only sane man here.
I miss you. Samus is pretty, but she's not you. I can't believe that she reminded me of you. She's nothing like you e̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ ̶I̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶l̶o̶o̶k̶ ̶p̶r̶e̶t̶t̶y̶ ̶t̶o̶o̶.
Sincerely,
Ness
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~Chapter 17~
I Nearly Blow Up the SkyTrain Sky-high
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I'm awake.
Of course I'm awake. I'm up reading through a couple of the pen pal letters Lucas sent me forever ago, and pining over each one like a romantic sap.
Lucas writes like a typewriter. His handwriting's light and narrow, his w's pointed. He crosses his t's in a neat line and dots his i's right over the stem. With the way his letters look mass-produced from a Word document, his handwriting is a fucking masterpiece on its own.
I lower the letters into my lap. I've forgotten how much more open Lucas had been to me as a kid. He's always been hush-hush about himself, but puberty has turned him into a lovable, socially-awkward beanstalk the same way it's turned me into a moody mess.
But goddamn. Lucas's letters feel so sincere and heartfelt that it makes my chest constrict, because I can actually see his bared emotions on paper. Whenever I read his letters, there's a weird, twisty feeling that grows in my gut, and it's the same, twisty feeling I got in third grade when my mom brought us to McDonalds and Lucas's face lit up from the first bite of his cheeseburger. This was after the fifteen minutes Lucas tried to order water, and we had to talk him out of it because water was free and wasn't an actual food on the menu.
I don't think his dad's ever taken him out to eat. His dad doesn't strike me as an expressive person.
Still, the man wears a look on his face that speaks of hardship.
I shift in my seat. Lucas gets uncomfortable talking about his financial situation, but I know that he's in huge debt. Some asshole named Mr. Minch (By this point, I'm convinced that anyone with the surname Minch is questionably evil) loaned Lucas's dad a large sum of money, and then cranked up the interest sky-high. Basically, it fucked Lucas's whole family over.
As a kid, I was pretty oblivious to Lucas's destitute state, but there are signs that only now I realize I've overlooked. Little, but obvious signs. Lucas lives in the dangerous side of town. His dad walks to work. They don't have a car. I remember the way my mom would insist on bringing him more clothes every winter, the extra love she tried to shower on him whenever Lucas was over at our place. I rub the back of my head. Lucas seemed embarrassed to show me his apartment when we accidentally ended up crashing there, but it honestly looks alright. Just a tad cold and cramped in the inside.
His life's getting better. Lucas is a Smasher, so he doesn't have to depend on welfare and food stamps anymore. Master Hand pretty much pays for most of our expenses - transportation to and from home, insurance, et cetera - and while Earthbound isn't a hot pick, the payroll for SMASHING is high. The only costs we ever worry about are apartment rent and utility bills. Heck, Master Hand even covers food - unlimited meal plan swipes.
It's a sweet deal.
From the wages Lucas should be earning and considering how he rarely treats himself out, I'm surprised that he's still in debt. He's either close to paying his debt off, or his debt is really that bad. But I don't pry, because that would be an insanely dickish move on my part, and while I'm many things, I do try not to be dick, least of all to Lucas. I've grown up taking a lot things for granted, like not working to support my family at ten-years-old.
After fifth grade, Lucas dropped out of school to make money at the local library. For minimum wage, but still, it's a good deal considering that the "legal" age to earn money in Onett is around thirteen. Seriously, it's a much better change from his previous job. I still want to knock some sense into his past self for his stupidity. What was he thinking, working for a street gang to sell joints?
It unnerves me how little Lucas cares about his own welfare. It isn't that he's damn suicidal, but he views his own happiness as secondary to everything else. He grew up believing that he doesn't deserve happiness.
Maybe it's because he's so used to growing up without it. This makes me wonder if Lucas is secretly afraid of happiness, because he's afraid of losing it. Like being happy is almost too good to be true. Remembering how I'd used to complain and ramble about random things to him as a kid, I flush. My letters are probably childish and superficial in comparison.
But of all the letters I've written to Lucas as a pen pal, there's one that I didn't send. At the time of the letter, I was in Melee, penning to Lucas after a practice match.
I stare at the crumpled letter in my hands.
...I think you look pretty too.
I remember doing a double take at the thought, but the longer my younger self had sat down and stewed over it, the more strongly I'd agreed. Because I did think that Lucas was pretty. Girls were gross and had cooties, so I thought Lucas looked much prettier than anyone else in our grade. Even Paula. Lucas had pretty eyes. And a pretty face. And a pretty... awkward smile. Whenever he tried to smile, it didn't seem to fit right on his face, like Lucas didn't have much practice smiling, but somehow, his smile made my face grow warm and my nerves do an Irish jig. But reality quickly clonked me on the back of the head, because who even said that to their best guy friend? I'd bolted half-way out of my seat to toss it into the trashcan, but whatever otherworldly force compelled me to write those words also persuaded me otherwise. I ended up keeping the letter. It lay stuffed inside my shoebox of relics and old letters in my closet at home, and as it sat, collecting dust, I happened to stumble upon it again.
I grip the embarrassing letter tighter in my hands. Lucas had supposedly "crushed" on me during Brawl. Supposedly. If I'd sent this letter... if I'd confessed to him earlier...
The what-ifs are killing me.
"Lucas is not from your time. You two are not meant to be."
Right. Either way, Master Hand would've gone save room for Jesus on my ass.
I let the letter flutter onto the floor, and flop face-first into my pillow. It's sometime past midnight, sometime between Bullshit O' clock and boi you gotta sleep time, but fuck me, all I can think about are Lucas's stupid fingers.
I raise my own hands to my face. My fingers look stunted, small and insecure like a child's.
Lucas has pretty pianist hands. His fingers are graceful and delicate. His knuckles carefully protrude out in pronounced curves. I like his fingers. I like his knuckles. I like how cool his calloused palms feel after a morning run, I like the hidden sturdiness in his hands. His hands look fragile, but hold a surprising inner strength for his frame. It's like he's gotten a growth spurt for his hands along with his height, because now, his hands are slightly larger than mine.
Back at the arcade his face had been so, so close to mine. I'd felt his warm breath hitting my cheek. And his hands-
I inhale deeply. I'm sensitive. I like to think that I'm a tough person who doesn't give two shits about people, but toss me a crying person, and I'll cave. Like, fuck, if I upset someone, I'd feel so bad that the guilt would gnaw at me for days on end until I apologized or did something about it. Which - considering my shamefully blunt reputation - happens more than I want to admit.
Lucas is careful. Lucas is matter-of-fact. Lucas likes to say the truth, and only the truth. Failing that, he simply says nothing at all. He only speaks when he's satisfied with reviewing each sentence in his head, so every time Lucas says something, I know that he means it, means every word and every thought. I don't have to tiptoe around him like I do around other people. I can freely speak my mind, and I feel comfortable with it, because while Lucas is smart, it's the kind of smart that doesn't make other people feel stupid. There are times when I overstep it and accidentally hit a sensitive spot, but it doesn't happen often because one, I'm not a jerk, two, I don't do it on purpose, and three, I try not to make the same mistake twice.
I think it's why we get along so well. Both of us are straightforward to each other. The only difference is that I spout out everything on my mind, and Lucas keeps it in.
Lucas's empathy link tickles my chest.
I rub my forehead, and try not to wonder what Lucas is feeling. As grudgingly as my own over-protectiveness admits, Lucas can take care of himself. I'll be there for him if he needs me, and only if he needs me. Lucas doesn't take kindly to pity. Or money. Or charity. Or anything unnecessary, really. Lucas is uncomfortable with receiving things without returning the favor, but he's totally fine with giving things away. He appreciates the little things in life.
This, I respect.
But there's a shameful part of me that likes it whenever Lucas falters and falls back on me for support: the rare moments Lucas allows himself to be vulnerable around me. It gives me an excuse to reach for his hand. Hold him tighter.
Like the touching. Lucas hates being touched, and I know for sure that he only gets the least bit physical whenever I start it. Like whenever I tickle his sides and force him to laugh. Or whenever we're roughhousing against the floor like a pair of dorks. Or whenever I'm feeling upset. He'll get all quiet and shuffle over to let me hug him. It's his way of offering comfort. Like Lucas is trying to say, Sorry, Ness, I suck at words but I really do feel for you.
My heart flutters at the thought.
With a frustrated groan, I stuff my face into my pillow. I'm glad that we snuck out to the Arcade in the dead of night, because I'd noticed the way Lucas was plain, flat-out staring at me. Like he was seeing me for the first time.
Or maybe he was seeing through me.
Shit, am I that obvious? I know that my emotions show up on my face, but I didn't think I was that obvious! Oh damn it fuck he's onto me. I hide under my blanket fortress like the measly layers can save me from Lucas's sharp perception.
I have to act normal. I can't risk Lucas realizing that my feelings for him weren't an accident, not to mention how horribly embarrassing it'd be if Lucas figured out that I'm still not over him. In all honesty, Lucas is patient - he wouldn't mind, and I know that he wouldn't so long as I don't stupidly pull another move on him- but Jesus, I had to save some pride.
I nervously tug on my hair. It's funny, because I like attention. Or rather, attention doesn't bother me. I used to care about other people's opinions too much for my own good, but I like to think that I've mostly grown out of that phase. Mostly. So it stands that I don't mind people staring and people talking and people watching, because they blend into the background.
But attention from Lucas is different.
Lucas has always been different.
So I try not to think about how his spine juts out in a smooth curve. I try not to think about the way his bony shoulderblades peek out of his back like lasting relics of angel wings. I try not to think back to the arcade - over how my touch returned and infused the calm into his panic-stricken eyes - and I try not to think over the way his shoulders relax from a tense line-
I collapse onto my back, and the mattress squeaks in protest. I'm determined. It's an integral part of my character. Like in Brawl, the battle's not over until it's over. No matter how the hard the quest seems, I do it.
But now, I have to learn how to give up.
And I don't know how.
Jamming the lights off, I pull my pillow over my head and brace myself for a long night.
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~oO0Oo~
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Six-thirty in the morning comes all too soon, and before I know it, I'm standing on the front porch with a bag bulging with necessities and well-meaning farewells. Tracy's dressed in her highschool school uniform, her blonde hair tucked in twin pigtails and pink bows, and Mom's ready for work with her car keys in hand.
Mom pats my bag. "Do you have your SkyTrain ticket?"
"Yeah!"
"Laptop?"
"Got it right here."
"Oh, and your extra underwear-"
"Mo-om!"
Mom wraps me in a hug. "All right, sweetie. No more teasing."
Much to my eternal embarrassment, Tracy bursts out into uncontrollable giggles beside her. "Yeah, mom. He's a big boy now."
"Nerd," I grumble.
"Plebian," Tracy says.
"Enough of that, you two," Mom says, reaching for my face. "Now, Nessie-" Tracy snickers at the term of endearment, so I elbow her. "-don't elbow your sister. This year, we've booked two SkyTrain tickets to Smash City after the Winter Championships."
This catches me by surpise. "Why? I thought I was coming home."
"Since you always travel home for the holidays, I thought it'd be nice for us to spend New Years elsewhere for a change. I hear that the fireworks in Smash City are a sight worth seeing. We even booked a condo close by," Mom says warmly. "You're always so tired after the Championships... You'll be pooped! And-" My mom looks horrified. "-Did you comb your hair this morning?!"
I sheepishly rub the back of my neck. "I forgot."
"Ah, it's so messy! No wonder the paparazzi can't pin down your crush. How do you expect to attract girls if you look like you've rolled out of bed? I bet even the boys run away from you!"
"Mo-om," I moan.
"Be quiet. Ai, ai." Easily ignoring me, Mom busily fusses over my hair. "Look at this!" she says appalled, picking up one of my stray bangs. "Boys these days, think this looks hip and cool. You look like a hobo!" She pats my hair over my forehead, smoothing it out, then gives me an approving look. "There, now you look handsome."
"As close to handsome as he'll ever get," Tracy snarks.
Oh, shut up is what I want to grumble to her, but with mom here, it's a no-go.
So I resist the urge and grudgingly turn to my sister. "Hey," I say, and she looks up. "Good luck with finals."
Tracy gives into a small smile. "Good luck with the Championships."
"Take care of mom while I'm gone."
"You know I will." Tracy eyes me with a strange expression on her face. Suddenly she breaks out, "It kind of sucks that you have to miss Christmas every year."
I give a helpless grimace. "I don't mean to. The Championships start on the 20th, closing ceremony's on Christmas Eve, and then everyone has to attend the Christmas dinner with the head sponsors-"
"Yeah, I know, I know. It's just-" She bites down on her lip. "Weird. Not having you home."
Little sisters are fucking strange. One minute, they're pretending that they hate your guts, then the next thing you know, they're spouting out something so gooey and sentimental that you can't help but melt into a helpless puddle of awww because they're little siblings. Seriously, how do they do that? It's not fair at all.
Still, the plaintive tone in her words is touching. This is the closest I'll probably get to an "I love you" from my little sister. Maybe. For once, for her, I try the cheesy route.
"I love you too," I say.
Tracy scrunches up her nose. "Don't be gross."
...Why did I expect anything different?
Mom steps forward. "We'll be coming over this time, so we can all spend Christmas morning together as a family. And remember to be nice to Lucas," she adds sternly, but her eyes soften. "Tell him that he's welcome to watch the New Years fireworks with us."
"I will."
My mom kisses my forehead with a smile. "I know you will. Good luck on the Championships. Make us proud."
With a last hug, I step off the porch and teleport away.
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~oO0Oo~
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I climb the stairs two at a time. I'm not looking where I'm going, and it's about to bite me in the ass because I accidentally bump straight into someone walking down the stairs. The newspaper smacks out of his hands and rolls onto the floor to reveal the headlines, NESS AMIIBOS SOLD OUT IN RECORD TIME. Apologetically, I scramble down to pick it up.
"Sorry-" I manage to get out before my voice dies on me completely.
The person I've bumped into has huge, thick-set shoulders like a lumberjack. His bearded face looks oddly familiar, and just as I reach that friendly conclusion, his silhouette towers over me. A very large silhouette in the shape of a big, burly man. Terrified, my eyes trail up the broad shoulders to the familiar cowboy hat tipped over his face.
It's Chuck Norris. And he's frowning.
Under Daddy Bear's bushy scrutiny, I suddenly become very aware of how short I am.
It doesn't help that Chuck Norris is also giving me the scumbag look, as if he's saying, I know you want a piece of my son, stupid boy. Both humbled and intimidated by his manly vibes, I bravely stand ground and resist the urge to run away screaming like a pansy. At least I know now where Lucas gets his cold, sub-zero degree temper.
"Thanks for letting me stay over last Friday," I say as politely as I can, hoping that I can at least win over a few brownie points.
Chuck Norris remains unfazed. "What's your name?" he says suddenly.
"Ness. Sir," I add respectfully, feeling that an honorific is appropriate for the situation. I don't want to ruin this one shot at gaining a better reputation with Lucas's dad - and I really, really want him to have a good impression of me - but seeing as he's kinda witnessed me trying to kidnap his son, it's probably a lost cause.
Chuck Norris grunts.
This confuses the fuck out of me. Is it an approving grunt? An unhappy grunt? An I-want-to-pulverize-your-guts grunt? I'm busy having a major melt-down that I almost miss his next words.
"I heard you've been looking out for my son."
That came straight out-of-the-blue. It's the definition of unexpected at best.
Sheepishly, I scratch the back of my neck. "Oh, uh... Lucas looks after himself. I just do stuff... on the side..."
The man doesn't blink. My hands sweat profusely. God, I'm so afraid that this bear of a man is going to go all macho on me and toss my flailing form to the sharks. It's like meeting the in-laws for the first time... except that Lucas and I aren't even dating. In rising trepidation, I wait for Lucas's dad to resume conversation, but he doesn't.
How does Lucas even live like this? No wonder Lucas understands Red so well. Red is like the teenage version of Lucas's dad. Red, the teenage dad. God, that sounds so wrong.
"My son talks about you."
I jolt up. The way Chuck Norris speaks between silences like it's nothing unnerves me. My house is never quiet. It's always loud, with me bickering with my little sister, my hot-headed mom telling both of us off, and my dog barking constantly. Things especially got hectic during meal time. I think of Lucas and his father sitting together for dinner. If they even do. Either way, I can't imagine much talk going around. Hell, I can't even imagine this man hugging his son. Small wonder Lucas is emotionally-stunted. If given the chance, Lucas can stare people down like it's nothing, but try to hug him and he will nope the heck out of there.
I laugh nervously. "I hope it's all in good spirit," I joke, but Lucas's dad doesn't respond. His brown eyes pierce through me, and their sharp scrutiny is startlingly similar to his son's. An uncomfortable silence spreads between us.
This man is quite the stoic.
Also, Lucas talks about me? Since when?
"You seem like a good kid." Chuck Norris carefully extends his right hand. "The name's Flint."
Taken aback by his sudden praise, I grab his hand and stammer, "I-I'll try not to be a bad influence on your son, Mr. Flint."
The first thing that occurs to me is that Flint's hand feels nothing like Lucas's. If Lucas's grip is careful and hesitant, Flint's is huge, heavy, and dangerous. In fact, Flint's fist swallows up my own fingers whole, crushing them like a muscular clamp of death, and something about the knowing look in his eyes screams challenge. I've had plenty of practice greeting people though, so when I return the favor with a decently firm handshake, I hope that my grip, while not as devastatingly brutal, does not disappoint.
Flint surveys me, then releases my hand. "Good luck on the Championships, Ness," is all he says.
Flustering unexpectedly, I awkwardly push past him with a meek goodbye. In that brief instance, I catch Flint returning to his plight down the stairs, his head buried in his newspaper, a hint of a smile twitching on the corner of his lips.
When Lucas answers the door to his apartment, I almost cry with relief. He's so fucking tall, but thank the gods he's a skinny toothpick. My relief is so immense that I want to hug him in the spot - but I don't. Instead, I give Lucas a weak word of thanks and hobble inside his apartment, my knees shaking like we've been hit by a magnitude eight earthquake.
Lucas's eyes roam over my disheveled state. His forehead creases with a slight frown. "What happened to you."
I raise a trembling hand to salute the lord. "Give me a fucking minute. I'm officially traumatized by your dad."
Realization laces his tone. "He passed you on the way down."
"Yeah."
"What did he say to you?" Lucas says sharply, and I'm surprised by the sudden concern in his tone.
I lift my head. "Nothing."
"Doesn't look like nothing to me."
"Really, nothing happened," I moan. "He's like the definition of intimidating. I've never been more afraid of Chuck Norris in my entire life."
Of course, Lucas breaks into an amused smirk. "Chuck Norris?"
"Maybe? Hey, the resemblance is right there-" Embarrassed, I pull the brim of my cap over my head. "Are you packed? We'd better get going."
Lucas nods in assent, but the stupid smirk doesn't leave his face. Ass. He locks the apartment, double checking the bolt, then slings on his duffel bag. He's looking the other way when I grab his hand, and when Lucas flinches, his fingers suddenly tensing up for a second before relaxing, I can't help but feel relieved that his hand feels nothing like his father's.
We skid into the atrium of the SkyTrain station. The overhead speaker turns on with an electronic chime, and a cool woman's voice echoes on repeat over the marble platforms and the chatter of a thousand different languages.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention please. SkyTrain One-two-one-five on Platform Five to... Dream Land... will be departing in ten minutes. Thank you, and have a safe flight."
People bustle past us with briefcases and luggage bags in tow. Ducking out of their way, I flock over to the large-scale map proudly glowing with the company logo - SkyTrain: Our Service is Out of This World! - and squint at the flight board up ahead. "Lucas, what's our platform number?"
Lucas checks the ticket on his phone. "Platform Two. SkyTrain to Smash City."
I glance at his ticket and brighten up. "Hey, you got seat C42. I'm in seat 43!"
"Makes sense. Master Hand bought the tickets this time round."
"He should've paid for your trip to Onett."
"My L.O.A. was last minute, so the trains to Onett were all full. I was lucky to squeeze into a flight with a Last-Minute Pass."
I back-track. "You were standing the entire flight to Onett? The trip would've taken hours," I say in disbelief.
"It's okay. Master Hand promised to reimburse me for the ticket, so I didn't mind."
"Still, Last-Minute Passes suck. I don't know you managed to stand for that long." We stroll over to Platform Two, passing a flashy display of a Victoria's Secret and the glowing lights of a Duty Free. I glance at my watch. "We've got an hour to kill. Wanna explore?"
Lucas's eyes rest on a shelve of books advertised across the forum. No doubt he wants to browse a book. Classic nerd.
But all jesting aside, I don't say that to his face, because Lucas is oddly self-conscious when it comes to hobbies like reading, or studying, or anything academic. I don't see why he should be. His mental endurance is envious really, because I have zero patience for reading at all. Just the mere thought of forcing myself to sit still and read for HOURS makes me shudder on end.
I nudge Lucas in the side. "Let's check out the bookstore."
Lucas swallows. His eyes quickly flicker away. "We'll spend too long there-"
"Man, for some reason, I really wanna check out that bookstore," I declare, and drag him over by the shirt.
"Ness," Lucas tries, trying to extricate his shirt from my fist. "It'll be boring-"
"They have Marvel comics," I point out, and that shuts him up real quick. It's true. I love DC and Marvel, and Lucas knows it. My closet back home is stacked to the roof with regaling tales of Batman and Superman. We constantly argue over who's the best hero - I'm forever a Superman fan, and Lucas will die for... Dick. Dick Grayson, obviously. I've cracked so many jokes about Nightwing's alter ego that Lucas just rolls his eyes and elbows me in the side.
Lucas hesitates, so I speak up, "Seriously, Luke. Take as much time as you want. We're literally stuck here for sixty minutes."
All this finally convinces him. Lucas returns my grin with a sheepish smile. "Okay."
Aw fuck, he's too cute.
With a loud cough, I quickly pull the brim of my cap to hide my burning face. While I'm in the middle of my crush-not-crush freak-out, Lucas's attention has rested on another store rounding the corner. It's bustling to the brim with people, mostly teenage girls, but his eyes lighten up at the sight. "Hey, there's a clearance sale on books over there."
"Where?" I say dumbly, whirling around. Instantly, I'm assaulted by the most horrifying words known to mankind:
Gift Store.
...
OH MY GOD.
NOT THE SAME FUCKING GIFT STORE!
"Nooo, not there-" Desperate to save his innocence, I try to tug Lucas away, but he doesn't budge an inch.
Lucas furrows his brow. "Why-"
I fist his shirt as if his very life was at stake. "Please, Lucas," I beg. "You'll thank me later."
Oh no, he's getting curious. Lucas spares a longing glance at the books, but like hell I'm letting him get any closer, because I know exactly what those "books" on sale really are, and it's obvious, judging from the colorful covers that flash revoltingly in display. We might've been at a different station today, but oh shit oh fuck why - I recognize that store owner.
"You don't have to come if you don't want to read," Lucas reassures me, prying his shirt out of my hands-
I blurt out the first thing on my mind. "F-F-Fire!"
Lucas throws me a weird look.
"The... The owner hates me, because I almost burned his store down. Accidentally! I can't let him see you - He might think I sent you to finish off the job!"
For a nerve-racking second, I'm terrified that he's gonna brush off my stupid excuse.
Then Lucas's frown deepens. "Why... did you try to burn down the gift store."
They were selling Nesscas pornos, I wanna scream, but the words get all choked up in my throat. God- I don't know why I'm getting weirded out over a bunch of stupid fics that never bothered me before. Crushes suck. Period. "He was selling... stuff." Scrambling at anything to distract him, I point back at the bookstore. "Hey, doesn't this place look more awesome than that crappy gift store?"
"I guess it does."
"Exactly! I bet the bookstore has cooler books." I give him a push in the back - FAR FAR AWAY from the godawful gift store. "And - are those rabid shippers? Yeah, let's get the hell out of their way."
As if he's read my mind, Lucas doesn't look wholly convinced. But when he doesn't point it out, only shrugging his shoulders and stumbling into the Best-Seller aisle of the bookstore, I wanna shed tears of relief. Bless him, he's still a pushover. When Lucas picks up a book - Perks of Being a Wallflower - and sits down in an armchair to read, I pretend to browse books by the open door. Lucas likes to read, and while I hate reading, I'm not going to ruin this happy moment for him.
The Sunflower Child must be protected at all costs.
So I end up keeping a close eye on the rabid shippers by the gift store.
It's ten minutes before our flight when I - reluctantly - duck back inside for Lucas. He looks so comfortable, quietly sitting in the corner with his book that I feel bad for interrupting him, but Lucas closes his book before I can speak up.
"Time to leave," he says.
"Yeah."
I wait until Lucas replaces the book, then we set out together for Platform Two. Unlike my last ride to Onett, this SkyTrain must be packed, because the train attendant's still checking tickets at the gate. Holy fuck, they're even doing a security check. They've definitely upgraded their policy, and while it's about time they got their act together, I wanna kick myself for not reading this up.
"Welcome to the SkyTrain. Please stand behind the yellow line."
A train pulls into Platform Two. Great. Now our ride's here. There's a five-minute intermission between stops, but it'll suck massively if we miss the train.
I exchange a worried glance with Lucas.
Despite the time crunch, we pass through successfully (Lucas snorts behind his hand when I forget to take off my belt and set off metal detector) and duck into the SkyTrain. It's my turn to laugh when Lucas bumps his head against the low-hanging ceiling near the entrance of the carriage, and rubbing his head, he cracks me a sheepish smile at his own misfortune.
Thankfully, we find our seats without incident.
It's clear that the SkyTrain's got their act together. There are now blinds installed over the windows, so we don't have to close our eyes whenever the train dives into an interdimensional portal, and the interior of the cabin glows with a warm light.
The luggage carrier, unfortunately, is still too high for me.
"I got it," Lucas says when I start struggling with my stupid height. Grateful that I no longer have to hop around like an idiot, I toss him my bag, and Lucas catches it before sliding it overhead in one fluid motion. He fumbles with the latch though, and I don't blame him because the compartment is stuffed to the brim.
I've just slid my ass into the window seat when the speakers turn on.
"Good morning. This is the SkyTrain Six-One-Two departing to... Smash City. Our next destination... Outset Island."
With a puff of smoke and a loud whistle, the train pulls away from the station.
.
.
.
~oO0Oo~
.
.
.
We start off the time with card games. It's a good idea until a particularly intense round of Slap Jack leaves both of our hands smarting and red. I stop when Lucas murmurs that the other travelers probably want to sleep, and agreeing, I tilt the brim of my cap over my face for a nap.
I'm shaken out of my short-term doze from the cool voice of the speakers.
"Please close the blinds. Now approaching... Smash City."
The blinds pulsate with a dull flash.
"Lucas," I mutter, poking him in the neck. "Wake up."
He blinks groggily. "Are we here?"
"I think so."
"Prepare for landing. Please hold onto the nearest-"
There's a horrible crackle of static, and the announcements fizzle into ominous silence. Everyone around us mutters around in confusion. Talk about eerie.
"What's going on," Lucas says, now wary and wide-awake.
"I dunno." I crack open the blinds. Did we pass the interdimensional portal - yep, we did. Blue sky outside. My eyes would've been nicely blinded otherwise. "I think we've stopped."
Sure enough, the train's hovering in place.
Lucas looks over my shoulder. "Maybe the announcements are slow-" The overhead speakers come alive. "-oh good."
But the rasp that kills my ears sounds nothing like the cool woman's chime. "Well. Ladies and gentlemen, are you having fun on your ride? I am. Smash City would be thrilled to have you back. But what's this? The power seems to be running low. And- did I mention a surprise in the cockpit? Haha. Of course. I must thank you for volunteering to be-" A wheeze as if trying not to laugh."-the first guinea pigs for the finest smart bomb in existence. All made possible by me. You're welcome."
Lucas stiffens up in his seat. "Is that-"
I suddenly sit up. "Porky."
The alarm of the passengers rises in volume.
"Yes, you may hold your applause until the grand finale... when this delightful train explodes in ten minutes. Fun, isn't it? What a huge honor." Another breathless chuckle. "I'd like to make a special shout out. To my friends in C42 and C43... Ness and Lucas? Let's play." As people turn to stare at us, the speakers rattle with a wheeze. "...Don't be sissies. I just want to see if you can save these poor people on time. Maybe if you're fast enough, you'll help their families recover the bodies. Clock's ticking- Bomb Voyage! Spankety, spankety, spankety!"
"There are people on board, you bastard!" I scream, but Pokey's voice has already fizzled out.
The lights flicker out. With a slow groan, the train begins to tilt starboard into a cloud.
Then the power dies completely.
We're falling.
People start to scream. Lurching into my foldable table, I curse and leap into the aisle. "Nobody move!" I yell. Thankfully, as I calm people down, Lucas is already two steps ahead.
"We have to reach the cockpit," He says, stumbling as the floor lurches to the side.
An old lady topples out of her seat, but the train is tilting so that she body-slams me. "Lucas, you go on ahead," I groan, helping the old lady up into another seat. "I'll call for backup."
Lucas nods and whips around. I hear the compartment doors zing open, and I know that he's on his way to the front of the train.
As soon as the old lady reassures me that she's okay, that she's all right and can walk on her own oh thank you young whippersnapper, I'm shooting through the aisle, shouting at people to stay in their seats and cover their damn heads. Occasionally, someone pitches into me, but I'm fast enough to catch them before they flatten me into a blueberry pancake.
Tearing through compartment after compartment, I fumble for my phone and call headquarters. I don't fucking care, someone should be manning the Control Room. At the second ring, whoever's in the Mansion picks up, and I rattle off, "Hello, hi? This is Ness-"
"wRONG nUMbEr! tHIs IS pApA jOHN'S pIZzA! wHaT wOUlD yOU liKe tO oRDeR?"
Oh my god, we're screwed.
I try to explain anyway. "Crazy, Porky rigged a nuke on the SkyTrain and-"
"wHO tHE WHAta? wHOOpSIE DaiSY, i drOPPeD tHe PhONE!"
Fuck my life. "Mr. Hand!" I scream into the receiver. "Send help, SOS!"
"dEATh aND dESTRucTION?! oOOh, wHer- hEYY!" There's the sound of a yelp as the phone is snatched away, and someone else's voice filters in. "Sorry. This is Samus, reading in."
"Samus! This is Ness, I'm with Lucas, and we're about to die!"
"I'll be there in five." The phone clicks dead.
Fucking finally.
When I wedge myself between a couple and squeeze out of the 1st class compartment, something hits me in the shin. Swearing, I hop on my free foot before ruefully glancing at the perpetrator. It's an arm. A robotic arm that's been ripped out of an android.
In fact, the entire aisle's littered with feebly-flickering androids as if someone - a.k.a. Lucas - has demolished his way through a mass-produced army of toy robots. The wind-up toys are identical to each other in every way, from the blaring red siren right down to the chipped blond hair painted on their heads.
Porky Bots.
"Lucas!" I frantically twist the knob on the automatic captain's cockpit, but it's locked shut. The train's done a nosedive. I can hear confused yells of bodies thudding against the compartment doors. "Lucas? Are in you in there?! FUCK!" Out of desperation, I slam myself against the cockpit. The door yields, bursting open. There's a crackling sound of ozone snapping and popping like popcorn, and I snap my head up because I smell smoke.
Something's burning.
Lucas.
Electricity courses through his skin in a horrifying lightshow, and I stumble over screaming his name.
"Stop screaming, I'm okay," Lucas says, albeit a little hoarsely. Sparks of his magic ferociously tear across the windshield, and when I glance in his direction, I notice that Lucas's eyes are flaring up so bright blue that I can't see his pupils. On a closer look, I realize that Lucas is trying to start up the machine with PK Thunder, and that he's not being horribly electrocuted to death.
I exhale in relief.
Lucas gives a violent shudder. There's a sudden jerk in my navel as the train slows its descent, and the power flickers back on with a hum of machinery. Outside, I can see the city spread wide beneath us in a sea of buildings.
"Ness," he rasps. "I've got the train. Dismantle the bomb."
I tear my eyes away from the window to the explosive at Lucas's feet. It's a bomb all right: a big fat bomb in all its big fat glory. How the hell it got past TSA, I have no idea.
I'm making my way across to Lucas when the broken-down door to the cockpit blasts apart. I cough, shielding my eyes from the debris when a hard fist collides into my stomach.
I collapse onto my knees. "Urk! I'm gonna feel that in the morning-"
Whirring and clicking, the Porky Bots emerge from the smoking entrance. I hear the screams of the people on board, and spot more bots drop down from the overhead luggage carriers. Great. More stupid bots.
Opening their arms in a mocking embrace, each one waddles over to me and chirps in a tinny mechanical voice, "LeT's bE fRieNdS, NeSS."
I spare a quick glance at the ticking bomb.
Four minutes.
Yeah, that's plenty of time.
I crack my knuckles. The yo-yo whizzes out of my hands. Hot adrenaline tints my vision red. I slash my way through the crowd of Porky-bots, weaving through into the battle fray like it's raining nuts and bolts. One robot with a shattered siren put-puts around in a broken merry-go-around circle before tripping over itself. The fallen bot unsteadily drags itself towards Lucas, ready to sink its sharp fingers into his ankles, but I step on its head and crush it for good measure. When I lower my fist and step back, my shoes are slippery and slimy from black machine oil. I wipe my hands on my sleeves. Great, now my shirt is soaked with the icky stuff.
The train lurches again. Lucas is slipping.
"One minute," he says weakly. Sweat drips from his face.
"Don't worry, I got it." I crouch over by the bomb and hug it. "PK Magne-"
A fist punches through the glass window. The arm retracts itself, and when we look up, Samus Aran lands perfectly inside the cockpit, feet-first. "Looks like you boys got it all taken care of," she says, raising her eyebrows at me.
I jolt up. "How-"
Her hot-air balloon ride floats in. "Kirby!" Kirby chirps.
Pikachu shakes himself out of Samus's hair. "(We tracked your phone, dumbass.)" He observes Lucas shaking by the console. "(Boy, he doesn't look too good.)"
Pikachu has had a bad history with Pokemon trainers. He distrusts humans. As far as I know, everyone except for Red and Samus are on his blacklist. Normally, I'd be a little more patient with his attitude, but seeing as Lucas looks like he's about to keel over, I don't have time for Pikachu's bogus.
"Are you gonna help us out or what?" I snap.
"(Ugh. Don't get your knickers in a twist.)" Pikachu hops down and scurries over to the dashboard. "(Hey, kid, scoot over.)" He charges up the machine, and as Lucas slumps over in relief, Samus takes control of the cockpit to steer us down.
She flicks on the intercom. "Standby, this is your acting-Captain Samus speaking. We've neutralized all threats. The train will arrive on time. Please fasten your seatbelts and prepare for landing."
Pouting, Kirby waddles over to me and reaches for the bomb. "Kir-by!"
I lift the bomb up. "Yeah, buddy. It's all yours."
Satisfied by my response, Kirby opens his mouth wide. With a zoomph, the bomb is sucked straight into his mouth, and Kirby swallows it whole. I'd say the gesture almost looks cute, except I've been in that mouth before, and trust me, it's not cute.
My legs turn to jelly. I stand up and wobble across the cockpit. Breathing heavily, Lucas slumps against the wall. His eyes are no longer glowing with magic, which makes me a little sad because they make him look super badass, but he's still plenty badass without the glowy eyes.
I crouch next to him. "Hey."
"Never again," is all he says.
I clap a hand on his shoulder with a big fat grin. "We were never in danger of dying," I offer.
"The people on-board were." Lucas breathes out, and his eyes flutter shut. A few strands of sweaty hair stick to his forehead. "Remind me, why does Porky want to kill us?"
"Because he hates my guts, and therefore, hates you by association."
"He hasn't attacked us since Subspace."
"Beats me. Well, now that you bring it up..." I frown and scratch the back of my neck. "Pokey used to my next door neighbor."
Lucas's eyes flicker to my face. It's his cue for go on.
I scuff my wet shoe against the tiles. They make a nasty squeaking sound. "Back as a kid, Porky kept insisting that we were friends. We were... but after a point, I didn't feel like we were friends. He kinda scared me to be honest," I admit. "Whenever we hung out, he wanted to do shitty things just to make other people feel bad. Like throwing rocks at cars. Porky was a bratty attention hog, especially when he kept popping up to interfere with my quest, but-" I swallow down the lump in my throat. "Turns out, he just wanted attention because his parents were abusive. His dad was a racist, homophobic lump of lard who used to beat him, and his mom was a bonefied class A bitch, and I didn't find out until-"
"It's not your fault," Lucas mutters.
"I chickened out, I could've helped him-"
Lucas's eyes shift away from my face. "Ness, you can try as hard as you want... but in the end, some people are beyond help."
While there's a hard truth that rings in Lucas's words, it hurts to admit it.
"I think you can help anyone if you try," I say stubbornly.
"And we've achieved world peace," he shoots back. "You tried, Ness. It's more than anyone else can say. So stop thinking that Porky is your fault."
Sometimes, I wonder if Lucas is secretly a tired 80-year-old man in a child's body. He knows things that we shouldn't know at our age. He says things that make you think twice. He turns up Imagine Dragons in his headphones whenever he's somber and listens to Bohemian Rhapsody like it's about to go out of style.
But then I think about how he forgets to tie his shoelaces in the morning or how he flusters like a tomato whenever he bumps his head against a doorframe, and I snort. Yeah, I take that back. He's still an awkward dork.
Yet, somehow, Lucas has done the unthinkable. The thought of Pokey doesn't completely quench my guilt, but Lucas's words have lightened the load on my chest. Grinning back in spite of myself, I ruffle his sweaty hair. Lucas's arms bump against my side, and when I look at him, I realize that he's trembling from exertion. I wonder how many Porky Bots he's fought to reach the cockpit. A fair amount, it seems, from the looks of it. Add firing up a train to that list, and Lucas is seriously badass. He's really pulled through this time.
Wordlessly, I reach for his hands.
Lucas gets the gist. A pale blue light washes over his palms before a PK magnet hovers at the tips of his fingers, flickering and and dying like a candle. As I graze the back of his hands, some blue sparks escape from his fingers and happily dance across my own skin.
"PK Fire," I say, and watch, mesmerized, as my PSI shimmers and sinks into the magical fluff of humming energy. As the glow of his PK Magnet dies into a wisp, I see that Lucas's skin has returned to its pale, sour color.
"You too," he says softly, and when he heals my bruises, I want to cry of relief.
After a sufficient amount of time, I let my PK Magnet fade and watch the purple light wink out of sight. Expecting Lucas to do the same, I wait for him to let go, but he's still staring at my hands, and - oh. I forgot that they're all slick and gross and slimy.
My grin widens, and I slap an oil-dripping hand onto his forehead. "It."
This results in a messy scuffle of tag that ends with Lucas's hair looking more black than yellow and webs of slippery film stuck underneath my fingernails.
Samus's Behave yourselves breaks into the silence.
"We're alive," I point out, still grinning stupidly.
"Touche," Samus says.
"Actually-" Lucas starts, standing up.
Samus glare shoots him back down. "Lucas, sit down. I'm driving."
"But-"
"Sit down."
Lucas obeys. He's still a sissy at heart, bless him.
I cheerfully clap him in the back. "You're such a pushover."
Lucas heaves a low groan before drawing his legs up. I snort, trying my best to keep in the giggles, but they still manage to escape between my fingers. An embarrassed flush crawls up the back of Lucas's neck, and he ducks his head to hide his red face in the safety of his knees.
"Stop laughing at me," his muffled voice escapes.
I grin wider. "You are a total pushover-"
"Samus is driving."
Suddenly I picture a grown-up Tracy, and am so very glad that I do not have an older sister.
Lucas is still wilting over in his little corner, so I prod him with a finger. "Lucas, stop sulking." When Lucas draws his knees up tighter, I poke him in the ribs. This time, he recoils and uncurls slightly. Ticklish? Most definitely.
"You need to stand up for yourself," I say solemnly. "Now repeat after me: Samus is a fun-sucking vampire."
"Well, this fun-sucking vampire isn't going to rain on your parade, because Master Hand's here," Samus says, snapping the train into gear. "Now go sit in the corner with Lucas. We're about to land."
I sulk and join the Corner Crew. Lucas pats me in the back. His voice pokes into my head. You asked for it.
I know, I say gloomily.
Samus steers us into the subway tunnel. It's a smooth touch-down. To my delight, Samus even lets me finish off the announcements, and a happy, fuzzy feeling fills up my chest when I can hear the people on board cheer over the intercom. I can't imagine how scared they must've been. What had happened between me and Porky was a private matter, and these passengers had been unfairly dragged into it.
But what frightens me more is the trust these citizens invest in us. They believe that we can save them until the very last minute.
And I'm afraid of letting them down.
Something gently brushes against my hand. Lucas stares fixedly at the floor, and when he awkwardly fumbles for my hand a second time, loosely interlacing our fingers together, his reassurance returns my confidence. The noise level spikes up as the crowd outside surrounds the SkyTrain. I can hear their muffled voices through the walls, and I know that Lucas can too, because he's hunching his shoulders together, shrinking behind me as if trying to make himself smaller.
Then the doors to the cockpit slide open. Pikachu scampers past us. Lucas shuffles even closer to me that our arms are practically pressed together, blocking our barely-linked hands from view. Taking a deep breath, I follow Samus and Kirby out of the cockpit.
The first thing to greet us is the sound of a hundred claps. Whistling and hooting and cheering. Plastering on a winning smile, I try to keep brave, nodding at every praise and compliment thrown my way.
I have to stay strong. No matter how scared I feel.
Amidst the cover of mindless chaos, Lucas quietly slips one of my gross, oily hands into his jacket pocket. He doesn't let go, and I'm glad when he doesn't. Lucas keeps me grounded. Lucas keeps me sane.
I squeeze his hand back.
Wading through the crowd of well-wishers and autographs, a horde of bodyguards protectively escort us towards a sleek black limo in the parking lot. One of the bodyguards hands us our bags - which I've totally forgotten from the train - and another taps the limo with the back of his knuckles.
The window peels down.
"Welcome back to Smash City," Master Hand says.
Author's Note:
I like writing about families, and believe that they play an essential role in shaping the psychology of the main characters.
The next two chapter titles have already been chosen:
Chapter 18: To Make You Happy
Chapter 19: Great Minds Sync Alike
(EDIT 6/22/20: Great Minds Sync Alike scrapped - I posted an excerpt later at the end of chp 39. Life works in mysterious ways)
*L.O.A. = Leave of Absence
*In America, the job of a librarian requires heavy use of interpersonal skills, but at Lucas's age of hire (~10), I like to imagine that the librarian didn't want to go too hard on him. Hence sorting out books and letting him read.
*In the Mother series, that main protagonists (i.e. Ninten, Ness, Lucas) are able to speak with animals, implying that they all know some form of telepathy. However, for the sake of simplicity (and creative flair), I've tweaked this concept. TLDR; Ness and Lucas can understand Pokespeak, it's a psychic thing, don't worry about it.
*[EDIT 3/8/21]: This chapter was published before Ultimate was released.
Winter Championships are coming up. There's 58 characters on this roster unless my math is off (also counting Zelda and Sheik as one person, Samus and Zero-suit as one, two Corrins, two Robins, one of the villagers (chosen of many), one of the koopalings (chosen of many), etc).
*Boney is Lucas's pet dog and party member in Mother 3.
*Porky Bots are enemies fought in Mother 3.