Chapter Four: Tell Me
"I want you to tell me, maybe
Where I need to go
I want you to help me, tell me
What I need to know"
-"Tell Me" from Another Light by Red Vox
The forest engulfed him. Trees, grass, everything towered over him as he dashed away, too terrified of the flame-tailed lizard chasing him even to breathe. Gasping, he struggled to keep his distance from the predator, flames and fear bearing down on him. Just as he passed the last tree before a clearing, a root ripped his paw out from under him, sending him tumbling into the ground. He screamed, shooting out every shock he could manage, horrified tears streaming from his eyes while a hand jerked him up.
He was done for. He knew it. The predator caught him. He'd be dead within a moment. But when he peaked his eyes open, he saw the charmander scurrying away below him. He looked up to see the human holding him: it was Peter. A bed replaced the forest floor and he hopped up onto his paws. His breath remained frantic while he scanned the area for the charmander, or any other predator, struggling to remember where he was.
One paw rubbed some residual sleep out of his eyes, which helped jog his memory. Chris's room. He'd fallen asleep in Chris's room, and all the rest had been a dream. He pawed at the blanket beneath him, trying to steady his breath. Just a dream. No predator, no forest, nothing to fear. He was alone in the room. His breath hitched. Alone in this big, open space. He didn't like it.
He jumped off the bed and ran over to sidle along the wall. Perking his ears, he faintly heard voices from the other room. Chris, Alex, Peter—he sighed in relief, the distant worry they'd abandoned him sufficiently destroyed. He scurried over to and through the door, anxious to end the solitude, voices getting clearer as he approached the living room.
"…crazy out there, Chris. Everything's gone, changed, or got demolished in the shift." Vince stopped in his tracks. "And then the people, so many people just vanished, and I'm sure some died in the carnage," Alex continued.
Vince gulped, trying to swallow the guilt clawing at his throat. He pressed further into the wall, trying to shrink away as best he could by curling up into a ball. What had he caused? Who had he killed? And for what? To mess around with some stupid rock? His thoughts slipped away, helpless as they spiraled down, deep into self-evisceration. What had he done? How could he have known?
"Vince?" Chris's voice jerked him out of it, and he hopped up, staring with panicked, teary eyes. "You all right? What's wrong?"
Vince pawed at the carpet, noting its artificial, rough texture while he tried to think up a convincing lie. He couldn't tell Chris the truth, of course. "I, uh, nobody—I was alone, and got… scared." A few embarrassed sparks bounced down his cheeks. He hated admitting that wasn't a complete lie. Glancing up, he froze at Chris's confused bemusement. A realization shivered down his spine.
"Well, uh, don't worry. You're not alone anymore," Chris said, sure to make it audible to the other two in the living room. Too quick for Vince to protest, Chris lifted him by the scarf on his neck, whispering, "We'll talk later," with a chuckle before cradling him. He'd normally vocalize his hatred of being carried like this, but his tongue felt too tied for now. Chris sat in an armchair, letting Vince slide down into his lap.
Rather than face the others, he picked at his paws. "H-hey guys." A few sparks bounced down, luckily not strong enough to make it through Chris's shorts. "What's going on?"
Chris rubbed Vince's head to calm his nerves. "It's good that you woke up, actually, we wanted to talk about something." His ears perked up and his head tilted, waiting for an answer. "It's…uh, about your," Chris trailed off, struggling to find the right words.
Luckily, Peter managed for him. "How are we going to tell Mom?"
Vince flinched, eyes wide at the idea, and he violently shook his head. "No!" he shouted, surprising everyone. He couldn't tell his mom, couldn't! Wouldn't!
"Did he just say no?" Peter asked. Chris nodded. "Vince, we have to tell her." Vince shook his head again, looking down while he cradled his right arm. Peter came over and knelt in front of him, lightly petting his head. "What's wrong? Why wouldn't we tell her?"
He loathed being pet but couldn't ignore the immense tranquility it brought. Still, he forced himself to shake Peter's hand away. The room waited in silence for his answer, only furthering his hesitation. The memory of his mother's voice bit his ears. "She, she doesn't," her voice screaming, "big yellow rat," echoed endlessly, "like me, like this."
After Chris translated, Peter's bewilderment softened. "Hey, come on, you know that's not true. She loves you."
Vince twisted his mouth, eyes glancing along the floor. "B-but she, she said…" he rubbed away the tears on the edge of his eyes. Shaking them away didn't get rid of the tightness holding his throat shut. He opened his mouth only for nothing to come out.
"She said… something that bothered him?" Chris looked up to Peter. "His thoughts are really jumbled, I can't make 'em out."
Briefly furrowing his brow, regretful realization gleamed across Peter's eyes. It took him a moment to gather a response. "It's not that she doesn't love you, she didn't know it was you. She was just scared." Vince visibly deflated. Scared? His own mother scared of him? He unconsciously scooted over to lean into Chris's shirt, not resisting when Chris started to pet him. Peter grabbed his paw, holding it between his thumb and index finger. "She loves you."
As much as Vince doubted the claim—her terrified screech still echoed in his head—Peter spoke with a resolve that set aside worries. With a deep breath in, and a long one out, he nodded his head. The air's oppressive weight lifted; he could finally breathe easy.
Then, the footing beneath his paws shifted, and right as he started to worry about falling, Chris grabbed him. "Ready?" Chris asked, dropping Vince on his shoulder and glancing at the others.
"What? No!" Peter stood up as well. "We never figured out how to tell her."
Chris just shrugged, rolling his eyes. "There's only so many ways to say, 'Your son's become a fictional mouse.' We'll figure it out when we get there." Vince held on tight while his ride headed to the door, jostled by the sudden stop in front of Alex, who remained seated.
Alex pulled at his fingers. "We haven't seen mom or dad." He took a breath and looked up. "You gotta go help Vince'n Peter, I get that, but I'm gonna stay here and wait for them." Chris knelt down to hug Alex, jostling Vince so much he decided he'd rather walk. He started carefully making his way down Chris's back to the floor, trying his best to avoid a tumble.
Since Chris was slumped over, Vince figured he could just walk down. He couldn't. The shirt shifted beneath him, sending him hurtling to the ground. He grasped desperately at the cloth to stop the fall, but, in his panic, failed to respect just how thin the fabric was. His claws pierced right through, scraping into the skin as he skidded to a stop. "Hey!" Chris shouted, "Watch the claws!" Embarrassment sparked off Vince's cheeks and into Chris's back, eliciting another pained groan. "Off."
Vince scurried down, apologetically turning his forepaws over each other once he hit solid ground. "Sorry," he mumbled, more sparks bouncing down his cheeks.
Chris broke his embrace with Alex and started heading to the door. "It's fine. Come on, let's go." Vince hurried after Chris, forced to run on all fours to keep up while he considered how he could apologize harder since Chris still seemed so upset. Unfortunately, they made it to the door before he could and transitioning from the carpet's unnatural warmth to the cement's piercing cold demolished his ability to think any further.
Not just cold, freezing, and while the texture might have seemed a touch rough to a human foot, each uneven pock and pebble poked agonizingly into his little paws. Each new step stabbed further into his pads, wearing away his stamina until he started looking for some relief. He immediately headed towards the grass, hurrying as much as the agonizing asphalt would let him, gasping in relief the moment his paws met the grass.
The relief didn't last. His paws didn't hurt anymore, but the chilling air covered him. His fur could only do so much, feeling more like a light shirt when he really needed a coat. He shivered, standing up so he could try and rub some warmth back into his arms. Was it this cold earlier?
He trudged along behind Chris and Peter. A shrill shout, "Peter!" from their house's front porch shot panic through Vince's veins, forgetting the cold for him. He dropped to all fours. His mom ran towards Peter until she saw Vince and changed course.
Pavement blocked his flank. He had to dash around her to get away. He heard her feet pounding after him and her desperate cries for him to wait. Too horrified to listen to what she said, he just ran, trying to find an escape. Some quickly approaching pavement blocked his path, so he dashed behind the yard's only tree.
This didn't help anything, as she showed up in front of him clutching a piece of paper. He dashed to the opposite side of the tree. She followed. They continued circling the tree until Chris and Peter intervened, Chris grabbing Vince and Peter grabbing his mother, both shouting, "Stop!"
Vince retreated into Chris's hold, shivering from a mix of cold and terror. Peter tried to get her to calm down, but she kept on her near incoherent rambling at Vince. "Mom!" he screamed, finally getting through to her. She took a deep breath, then slowly knelt in front of Vince. He flinched further into Chris until she carefully put the paper down in front of him.
He instantly recognized the scribbled symbols of varying legibility. "Did you do this?" she asked, desperation cracking her voice. Nodding, he hesitantly pushed out of Chris's embrace. Once his paws hit the grass, she pointed down at the bottom where he wrote his name. "This, did you mean to write 'Vince'?" He nodded. She leaned in, stopping once he cowered away. "W-what did you mean? Do you know something about him?"
His paws kneaded the ground. All at once, he remembered his anxieties of telling her. He tried his best to swallow them. Cautiously, he stepped to the paper, pointed to his name, then back at himself. She looked confused, so he repeated the process. "Y-you wrote it, is that what you're trying to say?" He bit his lip. Maybe she just couldn't accept it. He shook his head, repeating the gesture a while longer.
Her eyes creased, growing more desperate. "What is it?" She grabbed her hands. "Please, tell me!" He kept trying, now employing both paws to point at himself and his name at the same time. Finally, her eyes went wide. "Y-you're—" she looked up to Peter, "—That's…." He nodded, and she looked back at Vince.
He gulped, shame pulling his eyes to the ground. She must have been scared. Horrified. Disgusted, she couldn't believe her son had become this pus-colored rat, wouldn't—she hated him—she grabbed and yanked him into an embrace. After the initial shock, tears streaked down her cheek and into his fur. "Vince." She squeezed him tighter. "You're here."
She still loved him. Relieved tears flowed from his eyes, and he finally managed to squeeze her back. She loved him. He wept. Her warm hands warded off the winter's freeze. He forgot the cold completely. She rubbed his fur, patting his back, squeezing when the tears grew into sobs, careful around his bandages. Then, he felt her chuckle. "I always said you played those games too much." She held him back just enough for them to look at each other. "Now look at you!"
He had to laugh. They both did for a while. Maybe too long, but neither cared; it was funny. Even Chris and Peter couldn't help but join in. All that time spent playing Pokémon, it almost made sense he'd become one, it some absurd way that just made no sense.
Vince squirmed his way back to the ground, giggling all the way. He felt good. Happy. Excited. Bouncy. Napping, running around, laughing, it all filled him with so much energy, he just couldn't sit still. Didn't wanna. He wanted to play! Now that he knew his life wasn't at immediate risk, running away from someone sounded like great fun. He beamed up at Chris to shout, "Chris! Ask them if they wanna play!"
Only after seeing Chris's bewilderment did he have second thoughts. His grin grew sheepish while he waited for a response. "Y-you want to… play?" He nodded, scratching a nonexistent itch behind his ear. It occurred to him that his request was a bit less than mature. But he couldn't help it; all this vigor had to go somewhere. He needed to run, jump, shock, whether alone or with others.
"What did you wanna play?" his mom chuckled.
Yeah, it was childish, and yeah, he'd get embarrassed about it later, but for at least this very brief moment, he didn't care in the slightest. He threw his arms up, shouted, "Catch me!" and dashed away. By some miracle—call it mother's intuition—she didn't need a translation and immediately scrambled up to run after him. Maybe it was strange, but they didn't care.
Keeping out of her grasp proved a bit more difficult than he'd thought, her significantly longer legs a truly worthy advantage. But she couldn't bend down and run near as fast, so he could always just evade her grasp. A few times, when he felt particularly mischievous, he even risked a little taunt her way, be it a quickly stuck out tongue or a riskier dash between her legs.
But she wasn't quite so young nor so spry as him, and exhaustion hit her first. He noticed she'd stopped a moment to catch her breath, so he turned and stood up to blow razzberries her way, mockingly waving his arms. He stood tall in his victory, proud. So elated, he failed to notice a pair of hands wrapping around his torso from behind until it was too late.
"No fair!" he whined, grinning from one pink patch to the other. Chris turned him around, holding him so they could face each other. Vince was glad to see an amused smile instead of the expected scorn. He wouldn't have to feel ashamed quite yet.
He started squirming against the grip to start another pursuit, but Chris kept hold. "Mind if we talk?" Chris spoke low; even Vince's massive ears struggled to hear him.
Said ears drooped a bit. He'd hoped to play for a bit longer. "Talk? About what?"
Seeing Chris's eyes shift with concern pulled Vince's smile away. "The whole, 'you caused this' business."
All remaining joy fell from his face. He felt like he really had been caught. "Can we do that somewhere," his brow furrowed while he searched for a word, "More alone?"
Chris nodded and said, "Sure," right as Vince's mom walked up.
"What's going on?" she panted.
Chris dropped Vince on his shoulder and headed towards the house. "He's cold, wanted to hang out in his room for a bit." She didn't voice any concerns if she had any, though he didn't really give her a chance to. Vince needed a death grip to stay on Chris's shoulder while he ran up the steps. Even when Chris's gait smoothed as they went through the door, Vince couldn't wait to get back to the ground. He already started down when they made it to his bedroom door.
Chris helped him down the rest of the way and sat in front of him, hand lingering a moment to offer a comforting touch. "What's wrong?"
Vince rubbed his paws against each other. He didn't know how to admit this. Didn't really want to. But Chris already knew, so he couldn't keep the secret. His throat tightened when he tried to speak, but he pushed through anyway. "I caused this."
He waited for the judgmental glare, the reprimanding, maybe even a public humiliation and execution for his unforgivable sin. None came. After a moment of silence, Chris burst out laughing. "You've got to be kidding," he sighed between chuckles. "A worldwide catastrophe somehow your fault. Of course. That's just like you."
Vince teetered somewhere between embarrassment and rage. "It's true!" He pouted. Admittedly, it did seem ridiculous, but so did this whole situation. He'd need some evidence. He glanced around the room to find the orb. Once he spotted it, he dropped to all fours and cautiously headed over. He'd really rather not share a hemisphere with it but forced himself over to it.
He felt that same aura of energy as he approached. It made his skin crawl. Even though he could tell it was just electricity, it felt disgusting. Like a bowl of putrid water. He tried to shake it off, stood up and turned to face Chris.
Chris, right behind him, stared at the orb. Didn't even glance at Vince. He squinted, eyebrow half-cocked, and knelt down. "You feel that?" he asked, gaze still fixated on the orb. Before Vince had a chance to respond, Chris started reaching out to touch it.
"No, stop!" Vince screamed, leaping at the outstretched arm. Just as Vince grabbed hold, Chris's hand contacted the orb. Chris froze. His eyes went blank. Vince hung from his arm for a moment, letting go when he saw Chris's vacant expression. He swallowed his terror and ran over to the orb to try and tug it away. Even though Chris didn't seem to grip it at all, Vince couldn't get it out of his hand.
No matter how much Vince pushed and pulled, the orb wouldn't budge an inch. Still, he tugged, pushed, pulled, yanked, even tried shocking it in desperation until it finally broke free, tumbling him back as it bopped his nose. It might have been unnaturally light, but his little nose was sensitive. He clutched his paws over it and sat up. The orb was really starting to get on his nerves.
Chris grabbed his head, fell off his knees and barely managed to stay sitting up. "What the hell was that?" He rubbed at his temples, clenched his eyes shut.
Vince ran up to him, quick to forget his own sore nose. "Are you okay?" No response. He pawed at Chris's leg. "Hey! Are you all right?"
At the second attempt, Chris squinted one eye open. "Oh good, your thoughts are quieter now," his eye clenched shut once again, "and yet, somehow twice as painful." His right-hand stopped rubbing his temple to rest on Vince's head.
The moment it touched, Vince felt the fingers extend into his brain. Like tentacles, they squirmed around in his head, bringing memories back into his consciousness, making him relive each one all at once. He retched. It was disgusting. He tossed himself backwards, even throwing a shock somewhere in the direction of Chris.
After a tumble, he looked up to watch Chris's expression shift between confused, entranced and shocked. It finally stabilized on guilty horror when his wide eyes locked with Vince's. "I-I'm so sorry! I didn't—I don't know how, what that was I—" he clutched his head and cinched his eyes shut once again. A groan forced its way out and he started to teeter, barely managing to stay upright.
As much as Vince wanted to shout at Chris for putting him through that, he was far too disoriented. "What was that?" He shook his head. Sorting between now and memories took several more shakes. It all just blended into one for a moment; he stared down at his paws and waited for his mind to sort itself.
Chris wobbled a bit more, but eventually stabilized his balance. "It just… it just happened. Like when I touched the orb, stuff just rushed into my head, but this time it was your memories instead of just… whatever it was before."
The orb. Of course. Vince decided he hated that white ball of bad luck. Now that the present had reasserted itself, he could look up at Chris. "You saw my memories?" The idea made him feel a whole other kind of violated.
Chris finally unclenched his eyes, slowly relaxing. "I, yeah, but I couldn't make out most of it. Just random snapshots of today." A hand rubbing the tension out of his temples fell back to sheepishly scratch at his neck. "Seriously, sorry, I didn't know."
Vince clenched his teeth and nodded. Great. The apology came before he even had a chance to get angry about it. He swallowed his anger and tried to move the conversation forward. He had his own guilt to worry about. "Today? Does that mean you saw… me, uh," he scratched at his scarf, glancing at the carpet. Chris could hear his thoughts anyway; he didn't need to finish saying them.
Silence. It told Vince all he needed. Chris knew. He knew what Vince had done. He'd probably tell everyone else. The rest of the world would know soon. Vince had to wonder, when would they decide to execute him? No, that'd be too humane, they'd probably torture him for at least eternity. It only made sense.
Chris burst out laughing. Of all the responses Vince expected, this was not one of them. Was it maniacal laughter, maybe? "Vince, you're—please!" Chris tried to stifle himself. "This isn't your fault."
Vince's ears and tail fell. "B-but you saw!" He looked down at his paws turning over each other. "I, the orb, and me and, and, you know."
"What I saw," Chris leaned forward over him, "was you messing around with a rock you found in the forest that just so happened to have Earth shattering magic inside." He let out another laugh, not bothering to stifle it this time. "You had no idea."
Vince wasn't convinced, but it relieved him a bit that Chris believed him innocent. "Thanks." He sat back, picking at his bandages. They used to be white, but running around in the yard, around the house, falling off various furniture, and all the rest of the day's events had smirched, smeared, dirtied and smudged every inch of them. He sighed. What a long day. Had it really been just one?
"What's it like?" Chris asked, snapping Vince out of his thoughts. Vince tilted his head, hoping for more of an explanation. "Being a pichu. How's it feel?"
Vince pawed at his chin, pensive expression quickly turning sour. "I hate it." He looked down at his paws. "Everything's so big, scary, and I can't talk to anyone else, and I don't want to anyway because they're all so scary and I think they want to eat me, and—" he shook his head, crossing his arms. "I'm always scared."
Chris nodded along, thinly hiding a growing smirk behind empathetic worry. "So, nothing's really changed, then?" After Vince's befuddled look, Chris shrugged. "Sounds like all the same stuff you used to tell me about."
It seemed ridiculous. So ridiculous that Vince couldn't help a chuckle. Still, he had to worry just a bit more. "D-do you think we can fix it?" He looked up with wide, hopeful eyes.
The question didn't seem to phase Chris at all; he just shrugged. "Well, now that we know that orb caused it, I think we at least have a chance." He leaned back, resting on his hands. "In fact, I think I've got an idea."
"Really?!" Vince leapt up, eyes at least doubling in size. Before he could get too excited, though, that growing emptiness in his belly made its voice heard with a scandalous grumble. As if on cue, he heard a knock on the doorframe. He dashed over to meet the source. "Mom!"
She bent down to hold him, rub his cheeks, his head-fur, pet him. "Hey! It's getting late, so I'm gonna make supper. Any requests?"
Vince didn't hesitate to throw his arms up and shout, "Apples!"
"I've been going it alone
A broken heart is just the
Start of what it is that could go wrong."
Ampaw forced himself forward, step by step, desperation ablaze. He needed to keep going, needed to push on, but he was exhausted. The sweet, fruity scent of berries assaulted his nostrils after an involuntary sniff. Dead ahead, too. Despite his exhaustion, he broke into a sprint for them. Within moments, he saw the red-berried bush, its tangy sweet scent enveloping him. The scent overwhelmed him; he couldn't smell anything else.
The very instant he could, he started yanking the berries off the branches pawfuls at a time. So sweet. So juicy. Delicious. He ate, ate, and ate some more. Even when he'd filled his stomach, he kept eating. Sweet, tangy, juicy, so good. Finally, he slowed down, eventually stopping to lay down, holding one last berry in his hand. He examined its red, seed covered, rubbery skin. It had a green sprout on a thicker end and tapered as it went to the other.
He did not recognize it at all. It almost looked like a rawst berry, but it wasn't the right size or color, and tasted sweet and tangy instead of bitter. Whatever it was, he loved it. He popped the last one into his mouth and let his paws rest on his (now a touch bloated) belly. Content, his eyes drooped just a little. The deep orange sky signified it had gotten quite late. He sighed. What a long day. Had it really been just one?
He wouldn't sleep on the ground, that'd be dangerous, but he could rest here for a little before finding a tree to climb up and rest in. For just a moment, he let his eyelids meet. Not sleeping, just resting with his eyes closed.
A bolt of fire blasted out of the berry bush and straight into his side. While the flame burned his side and flung him across the grass, another flurry burst into him, singeing his flesh. He clamored, trying to recover his footing as he rolled along the ground, barely managing to jump away from the pouncing predator.
Before the dog could attack again, Ampaw launched a blast of electricity right between the dog's eyes. It flinched and froze, lowering its head to bare its teeth and growl. It had black fur and gray horns, odd protrusions on its neck, ankles, and along its back made of the same material.
Ampaw had never fought a pokémon like this. He had no idea what to expect. At least his burnt skin told him the type: fire. They both stood still, sizing each other up. Ampaw thought of escape just long enough to decide it wasn't practical; those berries and the day's exhaustion weighing him down, he couldn't trust his speed. Of course, it would slow his fighting, too.
He kept his eyes trained on the dog's, trying to gauge its ability. The dog did the same. Its gaze held the same analytical air for a moment before darkening, cutting into Ampaw's focus. That quick disruption was all the dog needed to leap forward, swiping one paw to Ampaw's right while its jaw glowed black. Ampaw flinched away from the feint, realizing his mistake when fangs clenched around his stomach.
"Ka—" he cried from the pain, quickly following with a blast of electricity and a, "Chu!" The shock forced open the dog's jaws; Ampaw spun around to slam his tail into the dog's face. The dog staggered back, tossing out a harmless sputter of fire. Fresh wounds still burning, Ampaw forced his breath steady.
When the dog lunged forward, he jumped back, pulling in as much electric charge as he could. The dog lunged at him again, again, and again, but he just kept dodging back to build his charge. He didn't want to take another attack or deal with staying up any later; he needed to finish this. He channeled the electricity into his paw just as the dog lunged, and he sprung forward this time to go under, slamming his fist and blasting electricity into the dog's chest; a crack from the sternum, a boom from the blast, and several pops of residual static.
Ampaw dashed out from under her, turning back to check if she'd follow. She didn't. She stood, frozen. A few more spasms as the shocks coursed through her and she finally crumpled to the ground.
A breath of relief whistled out of Ampaw. Still, he kept one eye on the dog to be safe. After a few more jitters, he took some tentative steps north before breaking into a short sprint. He couldn't run for long—too winded—so he stopped once he knew the dog wasn't following.
He shifted back to his hind paws to check his wounds. The bite mark had just barely stopped bleeding, but the burn continued to smolder all along his side. It hurt enough to keep him from noticing the end of the treeline until he passed it.
The forest gave way to a field; the field, to a fence that blocked the rest of his view. He reached for the nearest tree to climb but cringed the moment his paws met bark. It seemed he'd overdone that last attack. When he looked his paw over, he realized the opening fire had scorched it a bit as well. Still, he needed to get up the tree for more than just the view; he needed to sleep.
He clawed his way up the tree. His paw seared with pain every time it touched the bark, but he forced himself up and collapsed into the first branch that held his weight. Relief only lasted until the bite mark met the bark. In a flash, he reoriented himself to sit back on the branch. Such a short climb, yet he was already gasping. It all hurt. It all hurt so much. Then he saw the towering sea of stone and steel.
It was massive. Endless. Tears wet his eyes, and he crumpled up into cold, restless sleep.
