To the Grave


Grimsley always prided himself on reading people, sussing them out… but there was someone he failed. After all, sometimes, the coin never lands at all.


Timeline: ~3.5 months prior to Black (the flashback), shortly after the final chapter (not epilogue) of Black 2 (outside of the flashback)

Setting: Unova

Notes: Content warnings: mental illness, implied alcohol abuse

Characters: Grimsley, Church, Vincent (Vince)

Prerequisite Reading: Black, Black 2


It had been such a normal day for him in Castelia. He had managed to skip out on the Pokémon League for the evening and he had plans, which included burning through the several thousands of dollars in his pocket, indulging himself until he likely had forgotten he had done that at all, and annoying a certain Bug-type friend of his as he did. Burgh worked so hard on his art and at his gym; getting him away from either was like pulling teeth, but whenever he managed to, he found Burgh to be an endless source of eccentric entertainment. What a duo they were; the rejected aristocrat-turned-Elite Four, and the esoteric Bug-type painter.

Yet, as Grimsley strolled down the streets of Castelia, his hair lacking the usual style and his clothes less flashy for the sake of privacy, he was given pause by the sight of a man propped with his back against a building's brick exterior. Of course, it wasn't odd to see people seated around Castelia in odd places. As the largest city in Unova, it more than had its fair share of problems, including beggars and the like, but this man didn't strike him as such. Not only did he have a Ferrothorn at his side, a rare pokémon for someone in such poor straits to have, but he wore nice clothes, a dressy shirt and matte black pants, that might have been crisp and clean if not for the puddle of filthy water the man was seated in. A gutter was draining next to him, adding to it, but the man seemed dazedly unaware, his head in his hands (though his face was obscured by a mop of messy, tan hair). He rocked slightly, occasionally supported by the vines of his Ferrothorn to keep from falling over completely.

At first, Grimsley thought to merely pass by, assuming whoever the man was, he was likely in the throes of a bad high and he wanted no parts of it. Yet, before he even crossed the man's path, he noticed the Ferrothorn occasionally waving a long tendril to try and get the attention of passersby, most of whom tugged their clothes tighter and sped up guiltily to get away from the discomforting sight. Grimsley groaned and ran fingers through his lengthy black hair. Don't do it, Grim. Don't do it. Don't do it.

He paused in front of the man and then bent down to his knees, snapping fingers in front of his face. Damn it, Grim, he thought annoyedly to himself. Look what you're getting yourself into now… The man failed to react at all to Grimsley's snapping, though the Ferrothorn perked up and eagerly shook its trainer with its vines. Shaking his head in disappointment, Grimsley batted away the man's hands and pressed his forefinger to the other's chin, forcing him to look up so he could get a look at their face. His heart plummeted when he did, the tangy scent of alcohol plain to smell on the other's breath, recognizing those spacey, amber eyes beneath a large, round set of glasses as a very familiar challenger of the Elite Four. Grimsley immediately withdrew his hand, blinking fervently. "Vince?" he asked incredulously.

"Huh?" was all he received in response. Vince struggled to hold his head up to overlook Grimsley, seeming as confused as ever, as if he had never seen the Dark-type user he had battled so many times over so many years before in his life. Realizing that between the effects of the alcohol and his own attempt at keeping a low-profile that Vince wouldn't recognize him, Grimsley heaved a weary sigh.

"It's Elite Four Grimsley," Grimsley explained in little more than a deadpanned whisper. Vince's face briefly lit up knowingly, and he jolted as if he had started to stand, but had immediately decided it was too much effort. Attempting to grab his hands to help haul him up, Grimsley pressed, "You're Vince Whitacre, right? What're you doing out here half-passed out in the street?"

Admittedly, Grimsley was more disturbed by the sight than he likely had any right to be. He wasn't unused to inebriated friends, nor was he a stranger to the bliss drunken ignorance could bring, but Vince had never struck him as… the type. His jovial attitude and tame humor, suitable for all audiences, certainly had made this view of him a shock. Then again… he supposed he had only really ever known the man through the heat of battle. Though he was used to that being an effective way for him to quickly read new people, he had learned time and time again it wasn't always the proper way depending on the individual.

"Yeah, 'm Vince," the other answered slowly, as if solving a complicated equation rather than answering the simple question Grimsley had presented to him. To Grimsley's latter inquiry, he just shook his head in poorly controlled movements. "I don't… don' know…."

It was then that Grimsley just pulled the other to his feet. Having overestimated how much effort would be required for that (Vince was surprisingly light, all things considered), Vince was pulled awkwardly close, into something of an unintended embrace. Frowning, Grimsley tried to hook an arm beneath one of Vince's so that he could still assist the other in walking but wouldn't be quite hugging him. The entire time, Vince just let Grimsley do what he wished, occasionally grunting or coughing, but never disputing what was happening. Grimsley swore his Ferrothorn looked relieved once they started walking, headed towards a hotel. Sure, he technically could have grabbed a room in the Pokémon Center hostel, which was far closer, but he knew from experience that recovering from such a wretched night by the bottle was made much easier by nicer accommodations. At some point, he convinced Vince to recall the Ferrothorn so they could focus on him.

He wasn't all that sure why he had decided to stop and help Vince that day. There were plenty of other times he had skipped past people begging on Castelia's streets, other people that looked like they had all but overdosed, even past a couple skirmishes in its alleyways. He usually notified the police if he was truly concerned, of course, but he almost never got personally involved. Yet… seeing such a normally exuberant challenger so lost and uncharacteristically broken on the street had moved him. At the hotel, he easily convinced the staff to turn a blind eye to Vince's state (normally, that stately hotel would have balked at the idea of letting someone so clearly intoxicating stay within its rooms) with a few extra dollars, and to a room with two twin beds they went.

For a few hours, Vince simply sprawled across his own bed, wordlessly fighting off his drunken state, but as Grimsley killed time by petting his Liepard and watching the TV, he realized that Vince wasn't falling asleep. He found that odd, knowing that most that drunk would have long since passed out. Finally, curiosity trumping his certainty that Vince needed peace and quiet, he asked, "Why don't you try and go to sleep?"

"Can't," came a curt, quiet response.

"Why not?" Grimsley didn't care for beating around the bush.

There was a long pause, as if Vince were piecing together his answer again. "Ghetsis's planning hits'on people," he slurred at last, still not turning to face Grimsley. "Harmonias…"

Blinking dumbly, Grimsley couldn't help the twinge of obvious amusement in his voice. "The… guy who leads Team Plasma? The pokémon activist? He's planning what now? Hits?" He wanted to laugh. It wasn't funny that that was what was keeping Vince up; rather, it was the hilarity of imagining that frail old man, a pokémon rights activist, ordering murders like shoes from a catalogue. "My, my, what exactly did you drink tonight, Vincey? I might need to try it sometime."

Vince shifted on the bed, attempting a few times to sit up before he succeeded. "Knew it," he huffed afterward.

"Knew what?" Grimsley honestly really was curious to know what Vince had gotten into that evening right about then…

"Nothing," Vince yawned, then went like he was going to stand. Recognizing that would likely end terribly, Grimsley hopped up and darted over to gently press the other on the shoulder back down.

"What'd you need?" Grimsley asked pointedly at Vince's dead-eyed stare.

The other waved away his hand, and then stood up before Grimsley could shove him again. Abruptly, Vince snatched Grimsley by his shirt, then went in for a kiss. Shocked (and, admittedly, amused more than anything), Grimsley gripped Vince by his wrists tightly and shuffled the other a few steps back. "Whoa, whoa," he laughed fitfully, "I bat for both teams, but uh… you're married, and you're very drunk, and…" He trailed off, trying so hard to fight off the snickers to spare Vince's sensitive feelings in that moment, but it was just so funny! "I know I'm just that attractive," Grimsley teased, "but you should get some sleep."

However, Vince didn't seem so entertained. He stubbornly and shakily stepped forward again, this time merely wrapping his arms around Grimsley in a hug, leaning his head down on the Elite Four member's chest rather than going in for a kiss. Although Grimsley still held a firm grip on Vince's wrists, he had allowed them to be drawn to his sides in Vince's attempt at an embrace. "Felt nice earl'er," Vince mumbled in the awkward silence that followed.

"Oh, you mean when…" You mean when I helped you up off the ground earlier… Sighing, Grimsley pushed on Vince again, a little more firmly pushing him back into his bed. "Look, seriously, I'm flattered," he chuckled, "but I can promise you, you'll regret something like this."

Vince mutinously huffed and withdrew his hands at last, flopping on the bed over the comforter. "Nope," he deliriously muttered, crossing his arms over his chest as he closed his eyes.

Grimsley raised a brow, a smirk still playing at his lips. "Nope what?"

"Won' regret an'thing," he answered matter-of-factly, slightly smirking as well.

Grimsley felt a small rush of relief at that look on his face. It seemed more natural. Still, he snorted in amusement and strode back to his own bed. "You're right, you won't, 'cause it's not happening. Now, get your ass to sleep and I can talk to Burgh tomorrow and see about getting you a couple days off or something to go home—"

"No!" Vince fiercely cut him off, scrambling to sit up. He succeeded only to collapse to the floor in his tangled feet, drawing a pillow with him in his fervor. Even so, he repeated himself from the floor on the other side of his bed, "No! Don' want… don' wanna go h-home…"

Having already leapt to assist, Grimsley groaned as he helped Vince up yet again, knowing already he'd likely have to fend the others zealous affections off all over again. Still, he had to admit… It had been quite alarming for Vince to react with such desperation to the idea of going home to his family… Not that Grimsley was a stranger to avoiding his family, but that was beside the point.

As he helped him into his bed once more, Grimsley chanced sitting down next to him, just in case. Wincing, Vince rubbed his forehead, likely feeling the sharp bite of a headache setting in.

"Uh, I know it's none of my business…" And I have no idea why I care so much. This was supposed to be my night of fun… ughhhh. "But, why don't you wanna go home? I know you train under Burgh, and he tells me you train there a lot, way more than some of his other trainers…" Huh. Why didn't I piece that together before? He trains there a lot more because he doesn't want to go home. Of course… I'm supposed to be good at reading people. "But why don't you wanna go home for a while?"

Rolling over onto his side and tucking his knees close to his chest, Vince spat in a jarringly angry hiss, "Hate it there."

More and more concerned by the second, Grimsley gnawed his lower lip and then almost ashamedly pressed a palm to Vince's left shoulder, comfortingly rolling the fingers to almost massage him. "And… why's that?"

"Amber," Vince answered bluntly.

"Your wife?" Grimsley didn't know Vince's home life that well, but he did know that Vince was married and had a single son, so by process of elimination, he reached such a conclusion. Mouth drying a little in dread, he rubbed the back of his head with his free hand anxiously. Cracking a grin before he even made his stupid joke, trying to break the tension, he snarked, "Well, I've heard women can be a bit of a handful sometimes, but is she so bad she's turning you gay?"

Vince wasn't quite so amused. He silently stared at the wall ahead of them just long enough for it to be uncomfortable, but not so long that Grimsley changed the subject. In the end, he mumbled, "Jus'… lonely…"

I am nowhere near drunk enough to deal with this, Grimsley thought almost despairingly. Gathering his thoughts, he came up with something to say in an attempt to lighten the mood. "I'm not exactly the best source for marriage advice considering I've never held a relationship for more than six months and definitely never married," Grimsley joked, "but something tells me this isn't the way to go about it."

More silence from Vince, and the other yawned widely after a bit. Hoping that meant he'd fall asleep soon, Grimsley decided to just sit there until he did, sympathetically rubbing his shoulder. When Vince dozed off at long last, Grimsley, moving painfully slowly so as not to risk waking him again, covered him with the blanket, removed his glasses so that he wouldn't break or bend them, and then retreated to his own bed, killing all sources of light and noise in the room. He didn't even care that he was still wide awake or bored; keeping Vince asleep was the priority right then.

Sprawling on his back in his own bed, Grimsley looked over at his Liepard. Purring, she kneaded the covers next to him, taking up significantly more space on the bed than he did. "Almost couldn't get him off me," Grimsley laughed to her as quietly as he could manage. "Either I'm irresistible, or Amber's a nightmare." In truth, he was quite certain it had just been the alcohol talking.

But Grimsley had never discovered what Vince had been drinking that night and he had never taken anything Vince had said all that seriously. Close to three years later, he still found himself thinking back to that night, often as he stared down the bottom of a wine glass or, in many cases when he wasn't working, just a straight liquor bottle. Following his 'resignation' from the Pokémon League (more like a firing, really; Iris had framed it with pretty words, but the choice was his to resign or wait to be fired), he now had just a few days before he would properly move out, and start the rehab process—which he knew nothing about, he thought bitterly (although it wasn't as if nobody were available to help or as if he was lacking in the resources to find out what he needed to know; he was just stubborn).

Tapping of shoes on his hardwood floors made him glance up from his drink, blinking blearily at Church as he entered the living room. Immediately upon spotting him and the bottle at his hand, the redhead's expression soured, hardening into something much more distant and accusatory. "Damn it, Grimsley," Church hissed, "you were supposed to pack some today… I know I said I'd help tomorrow, but that doesn't mean leave everything to me tomorrow."

"Sure, it does," Grimsley retorted right away. It wasn't a thought-out response. It was a knee-jerk, annoying remark, intended to simply satisfy the other party and make them leave him alone. In moments like right then, when he was mulling over that fateful evening in Castelia, he didn't have the energy to spend on thinking up something decent to say. Vaguely, in the back of his groggy mind, he felt a little bad about that; Church had been nothing but patient, and he knew he was burning his bridges with his former apprentice by being so callous. Though kind and patient, Church was no stranger to standing up for himself.

Still… he was just too lost in his thoughts. Although Unova had been saved from Team Plasma's reign in the end, so much had been damaged, so much had been lost, and so many had been hurt in the long, tumultuous process. Vince's eventual suicide, the terrorist attack on the Pokémon League, the terrorist attack on Opelucid City—had Grimsley simply taken Vince more seriously that evening, had he simply bothered to tell someone in the League or the police Vince's fear over Ghetsis ordering hits on the Harmonias, however eccentric it sounded, then perhaps… Perhaps so much death and destruction could have been averted. Sure, the attack on the Pokémon League had been devastating, but he had managed to pick himself up off the ground for a time, long enough to convince himself they would handle Neo Plasma better.

Yet, as time drew on, and the effects of that became more known (including the loss of most of Victory Road, requiring brand new excavation to replace), and after the attack on Opelucid, which had incurred a devastating number of deaths, and finally, after Hil, Vince's son, had risen up to outrank even the Champion of Unova themselves? All of that had slowly broken Grimsley down over time, losing himself more and more in bottles, and every single bad night, all he could think about was that time in Castelia.

He wished he would have just kept walking and ignored Vince, or he wished he would have done something with the knowledge the other had imparted on him. Perhaps he even wished he might have given Vince some of the attention he had been so desperate for that evening. Maybe it would have helped or at least given him some joy or pleasure in the final weeks of his life. He felt like he, along with so many others, had failed Vince—and in a roundabout way, had failed Hil, his remarkable son that had grown so spectacularly.

"Once you're out of here," Church's biting tone wrenched him from his thoughts, "if you don't get some help, we're done." His green eyes were narrowed furiously. "I mean it. I'm not doing this again, watching someone tear themselves apart over and over. You're getting help or I'm through with you. Are we clear?"

Huffing, Grimsley put his forehead in his palm. "What are you—"

"Are we clear?" Church cut him off impatiently.

"I fuck around and don't get help, you cut me off, got it," Grimsley muttered solemnly. He supposed he'd have to look into getting help, then. Church was about the only real friend he had left. Even so, the story regarding Vince and the hotel in Castelia was a secret he was willing to take to the grave, no matter how toxic it might have felt to do so, no matter how unpleasant it was to remember on a sober mind. After a short pause, in which shame washed over him in tides, Grimsley guiltily whispered, "I'm sorry, Church…"

Reluctantly, Church murmured, "I'm sorry, too, that I can't… can't deal with this. I just… I just hope you get the help you need…"

There was a small flutter of hope at that, and Grimsley managed to pull his head up and smile slightly at Church. "I'll do my best… You gonna take good care of the League for me?"

Smirking nervously, Church thumbed a Premier Ball on his belt. "I do have Victini," he snickered, "I should hope I'll give anyone a good fight."

"I know you will," Grimsley yawned. Shaking the bottle in his hand, he pursed his lips disappointedly, setting it down on the table in front of him. "I know you will…"


I have an announcement, but I have honestly typed it out so many times, I'd rather just link directly to the announcement post on Tumblr. Even if you don't have Tumblr, you should still be able to view this post. If you're on FFN Mobile, you can just copy and delete the spaces, but if you're on the desktop website you'll have to manually retype the link.

Anyway, here: tinyurlDOTcomSLASHpkmnretoldancmt

TL;DR: Real life is really, really bad and I may be getting saddled with a surprise 10,000+ dollar charge from my college which has apparently taken advantage of me during the coronavirus pandemic. I'm fighting to get the charges dropped but I can't guarantee it thanks to their rigged appeal system (college is George Mason University btw, all colleges suck and are designed to bleed you dry, but this one has been literal hell on Earth imo). That link talks about a P*treon (seriously, you censor that FFN? wow ok), which I want to use as a sort of "tip jar" for fanfiction as well as fanart, with pledges starting at 5 dollars. Higher tiers offer commissions. There's also a link to a if you want to just tip or can't afford 5 dollars (I'm not making fun of anyone, I've been in a position where even 5 dollars was too much). I also do not expect everyone to rush to pay me or anything. I just am desperate and that is why I'm at this point. As soon as I get a few pledges, or after August 24th, all my works will be posted to my P*treon 2 weeks prior to being posted to FFN, AO3, or Tumblr. So, while I might go inactive for 2 weeks once I start that, after that two weeks is up, you'll see me start to post regularly again.

I'm really sorry. I am just kind of at my wits end, but I am hoping that between this, me getting a job, and getting my health back on track, things might finally start looking up. And again, I understand everyone has it bad right now, I'm just... a little desperate at this point. I'll be posting a similar addendum to this to my next Ultra Sun chapter, since I know not that many people read these in comparison to that one.

EDIT: fixed continuity error - Grimsley didn't have Absinthe the Liepard yet at this point, so it's a different Liepard