Disclaimer: I still don't own Pokémon or The Blair Witch Project. At this point, I don't even own my own muse. It apparently owns me, dictating when and where writing is agreeable with it, which is evidently not often.
I don't even know where to begin apologizing for the delay this time around. Suffice to say, the events of this chapter didn't exactly come gushing from my brain to my fingertips. Maybe I'm just getting too old to keep up with a certain spunky young man we all know and love.
Anyway, many thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed chapter 4! You guys truly make this project worth it for me. It's a labor of love, regularly afflicted by my chronic condition of Writer's Block when I actually am granted a break from my busy (pfft) lifestyle.
This chapter is for my very good friend Aiselne Phoenix Nocturnus as a belated birthday gift. Happy Birthday, my dear! ^^ Everyone be sure to check out her hilarious new fic It's Her Party, and I'm In Big Trouble Again! It's pure Pallet Town juiciness and Ash haplessness at their finest! 8D Highly recommended if you squeefully enjoy seeing our little boy suffer in sorts of ways possible.
That's why you're all here, isn't it? ;)
SOON BEGINS BEWITCHING
by Spruceton Spook
Chapter 5
"Once Upon a Midday Dreary"
The first thought that passed through Ash's head the next morning was how absolutely, tremendously glad he was to be in his bed. As the steady patter of raindrops against his window gently wrenched him from slumber, he took quick note of his situation, rolled over, and tried to fall back asleep.
It didn't happen—it was obviously much later in the morning than he thought, and though he felt he could remain swathed in his blankets all day, he was officially awake. The sound of the rain was placid and hypnotizing, but was periodically disrupted by a brisk gale jarring the screens adjacent to the panes. Ash maneuvered his head toward the window and blearily took in the sight of the gray, wet world beyond. It wasn't a lovely day by any means, fortifying his gratefulness in their campout being cut short. Waking up to toasty sheets instead of an unwelcoming tent leak he'd take any day.
It was then that he recalled why the campout had been aborted—and on what terms—and Ash unconsciously let out a long exhale. Just like that, the idea of staying huddled in his bed became all the more appealing. While images flashed across his mind's eye of their dark, turbulent tent and his soaked father laughing off his predicament and their brief fright, it was Misty's barefaced cast of anger and disappointment that radiated most in his memory. Ash clenched his eyes shut tighter, almost as if to dispel the vision and the sinking feeling in his gut that accompanied it.
He hadn't seen Misty since that moment; she'd retreated to her room and barricaded herself from the rest of the house before he and Brock arrived back home. At the time, Ash felt incredibly relieved. He'd had his fair share of demoralizing looks for one evening. But there was no questioning it was to be the first thing he'd have to address that morning. While he hadn't recognized the damage he was causing with his actions the previous night, he was well aware now that waiting any longer to face Misty would only result in digging his grave much deeper than it already was.
Mustering every scrap of energy he possessed, Ash sat himself up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was alone, he discovered, as he glanced down to find Brock's empty, unmade bed. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary—Brock almost always rose before him—but on this particular morning, Ash wished for once that Brock could have been there so he had someone to bounce this nervous energy off before facing his undoubtedly sore girlfriend. Not even Pikachu had waited around for him. What time was it, anyway?
Regardless of the hour, when his stomach growled Ash determined that it was breakfast time. How in the world he'd be able to eat before resolving his present conflict he didn't know.
I guess I'd better do this and get it over with, he told himself grudgingly, kicking off his sheets and descending from his bunk. It wasn't that he didn't want to make good with Misty…he just didn't want to go through the whole awkward rigmarole to achieve it. Knowing Misty too well, Ash realized he was going to have to reach into the deepest bowels of his humility to please her. It wasn't something to look forward to.
The door to his room had been left slightly ajar. Ash was puzzled as to how he slept so soundly through the morning with this being so, but as soon as he entered the hallway, he realized: the house was unusually silent. Normally there would be a steady chirping of babble down below in the kitchen, but all he could make out was the subtle drone of the shower (Brock?) and the quiet din of a game show on the living room TV. It was peaceful, but also somewhat disconcerting. Why, oh why was there nothing to sidetrack him from this adverse task at hand? It was always Ash's luck this was the way things turned out.
Or maybe not. As Ash padded by his parent's bedroom and noticed that their door, too, was open a crack, he impulsively gave in to the urge to have a peek inside. He'd done this all too often since Riley had entered the household. For a reason that had no need to be identified, the novelty of having a new member of the family had still not worn off, and he wasn't sure if or when it would. Seeing Riley fast asleep in his crib was just as exciting and just as wonderful as it had been six months prior, and on this especially dour morning, Ash knew that just a brief glimpse of his little brother would grant him the simple pick-me-up he needed.
But keeping with the apparent theme of the short day, Ash was met with quite an unfamiliar sight upon entering. It wasn't so much the fact that Riley was wide awake, engaged in an energetic effort to prop himself up from the stomach-down position his mother had placed him in, but rather the surprise of finding Delia herself sprawled on her bed, her face plastered deeply into her pillow and layers of blankets drawn messily to her shoulders. Though slightly taken aback by the scene, Ash slipped into the room and silently pushed the door to the frame, not closing it completely. It was very dusky within; the blinds were purposely closed and he was absorbed into the calm and warmth of the space, something his parents' room always emitted, even on the coldest and darkest days.
The last thing he wished to do was wake up his mother. She was normally up at this hour, futzing around and attending to the never-ending array of daily chores regardless of how wiped out she was, so the fact that she'd succumbed to her fatigue to the point of surrendering to her bed meant she had to be really tired. Sympathy tugged at Ash's heartstrings as he gazed momentarily at her prone form and then at the very alert, bouncy baby that was the main cause for her collapse. It was obvious Riley was in no mood for a nap, fully demonstrating the unfair irony of motherhood, and Ash felt the inherent duty to step in. The matter was even more imperative as the restive Riley noticed Ash and began to prattle, letting out all the noise Ash was avid to restrain.
His eyes widening in both panic and amusement, Ash put a finger to his grinning lips to bid the baby hush. Of course, Riley didn't understand the gesture and only got more excited, squealing about as loudly as possible and slamming the bell-riddled toy clutched in his fist against his mattress all in one go. Ash did everything he could not to chuckle, though he was sure his mom would rouse from the innocent ruckus. Sure enough, as soon as he reached into the crib to retrieve the baby, his mother's gravelly voice rung out from across the room.
"Who's there?"
"Me, Mom," Ash answered softly, rocking Riley in his arms. The little boy instantly quieted.
"Oh." From Ash's vantage point, what was a mound of blankets haggardly repositioned. When one of Delia's arms surfaced from beneath, he noted that she'd gone back to bed with her robe still on, too tired to even take it off. His compassion deepened.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yeah," she uttered after a moment. "I was just trying to rest for a minute."
"You can," Ash said. "I'm gonna take Riley downstairs, okay? I don't think he wants to sleep right now."
Delia huffed, then spoke through a yawn. "Of course he doesn't. After keeping me up half the morning I hoped he'd at least let me lay down for a little bit."
"I'm sorry," Ash frowned. Hearing how beat she was in her dragging voice, all he wanted was to have her sleep all day. As much as he loved Riley, he couldn't fight how unhappy he often was at how much his mother's life had changed. Never before had he seen her so stressed and enfeebled, and it regularly left him discomfited and feeling powerless to alleviate it. Except this time around there was something he could do. If only for a short while, he was going to look after Riley—and himself—and allow her to recharge her batteries. The choice was fortified even more as he caught her suddenly struggling to rise.
"No, Mom. I told you—sleep."
"No. Riley's up. And you want breakfast," was Delia's rebuttal.
Ash groaned, aggravated by her motherly stubbornness. "Brock can make me breakfast—I can make my breakfast. Please go back to sleep, Ma. You sound awful."
"Oh, well, thank you, dear," Delia laughed sardonically. Ash flushed, but he was pleased to see that she'd lay back down, abandoning her attempt to get up. He had a feeling that even if he hadn't demanded it, she wouldn't have had the strength to succeed. It made Ash extra confident about his decision to relieve her of her needy baby—and her not-so-equally needy teenager.
"Sleep. I'll watch Riley, don't worry," he assured her again. He made his way nimbly to the door with the baby in tow.
"Okay. Thank you," his mom replied, this time sincerely. Her eyes were already shut and her head resettled into the cavernous indentation she'd hollowed into her pillow. Ash effortlessly smiled, satisfied he'd convinced her. Even an hour more of rest would do her wonders, and he was determined to make it happen. After all she did for him and his two friends in addition to her already greater burden, it was the least he could do in return.
"Good night," he joked. He heard her mumble the valediction in return as he gently closed the door. Pausing outside the room, he wrapped his free arm around Riley's back. He was glad he'd decided to venture into the bedroom. Not only did he just do his mom a huge favor, but it had brightened his spirits, as well.
Ash dipped his head back and gazed at Riley. The infant returned the look with round, doe-like eyes, and Ash's heart clutched happily. Smiling, he leaned in to give Riley's forehead a kiss.
"Let's go see what everyone's doing, Ri-Ri."
As he'd formed a smart habit of, Ash made his way circumspectly down the staircase, his eyes alertly cast down as he watched his feet take each step one by one. He didn't hold on to the banister, opting instead to keep both arms embraced securely around Riley. It was incredible how much weight the baby was putting on; it seemed like every time he picked him up, he felt a pound heavier. He had always been a little apprehensive about taking the stairs with Riley, and now that the baby far surpassed the usual weight he was used to shouldering in Pikachu, Ash knew he had to be extra heedful.
Reaching the landing, he finally stole a look to see who was parked in front of the television. His stomach tightened when he saw the messy strands of red hair sticking up over the cushions. It was then that he realized how much he'd been secretly hoping the couch potato was Brock. Which was so silly—how long did he really expect to put this encounter on hold? If anything, he knew he should be relieved that here was Misty, available and all by her lonesome, without Brock or his parents there to play audience to his embarrassing act of contrition.
It was all setting up perfectly in his favor, and yet Ash was cursing his luck rather than appreciating it. Being able to recognize that was the first signal, warning him that he needed to get his act together, and fast. Brock was often quick in the shower. Now that he was up and about, Pikachu was bound to come to him sooner than later. The window of alone-time with Misty would shut before long.
Foregoing greeting her good morning (which was probably rude on top of everything else, but he wasn't prepared to face her that second), he disappeared into the kitchen and unconsciously deposited Riley into his highchair. Whether thankful he was liberated from his crib or anticipating the prospect of apple sauce, the baby was euphoric, slapping his hands on his food tray. Ash smiled, almost jealously.
"At least one of us is happy today," he mumbled.
Then he grimaced. Seeing the baby looking at him expectantly, he realized there was no time to give Riley brunch—and certainly no time to clean up any mess that may result. Suddenly, accepting the antsy baby into his temporary custody wasn't working out too well for him. Cursing inwardly, Ash hastily hooked his hands under Riley's arms and lifted him out of the chair. He didn't need to add guilt for quashing the baby's anticipation of food to his tally of other worries. Riley had to go somewhere else. Where, though? Quickly scanning the vicinity, Ash's eyes lit up the second he spotted the doorway baby bouncer situated between the kitchen and dining area.
"Hey! Here you go, Riley," he whispered spiritedly. He slid his legs delicately through the harness, and Riley, knowing exactly where he was going, began to bounce before his bottom was even settled. Ash practically had to scoot away to give Riley room as the baby exploded with energy, springing on his little socked feet as if it were his purpose in life. It was adorable and Ash's heart fluttered with fondness. He regretted that he couldn't stand there to watch, but there were matters to attend to.
"All right. Knock yourself out!" Please. For Mama's sake.
At the rate he was going, the baby would be exhausted in a matter of minutes. And even if he were to conk out before Ash was done talking to Misty, the bouncer was safe and sturdy enough for Riley to nod off in. It was perfect. What a wonderful invention.
"Be good. I'll be right back," Ash told Riley, hopes remaining high that his ceasefire with Misty wouldn't be an extremely drawn-out affair. Lovingly brushing the tips of his fingers over Riley's wispy, black tresses, Ash left the baby to his own devices and ventured out of the kitchen.
The dismal weather was definitely not making the living room any more welcoming. Even with the curtains drawn, the room was shadowy, but unlike his mother's bedroom, there was a distinctly unfriendly bite to the air. Having not put on any slippers or socks, the linoleum of the kitchen floor had frozen Ash's toes, and the rug was doing nothing to ease that chill away. Misty certainly had the right idea: she was swaddled to her chin in a big crocheted throw, looking ever much like a multicolored metapod. On any other occasion, Ash would have scrambled onto the couch and mischievously snatched the blanket right off her for himself, only to, of course, share it with her immediately after, but today didn't exactly present the proper conditions for that type of folly. Ash wanted it, though; he felt the agonizing urge to play around and be carefree with her ache in his heart. Studying her lounging on the couch, her attention directed toward the TV and not at him, even though his presence was evident, pained him to a crushingly troubled degree. And all because he'd idiotically let his enthusiasm over a crappy home movie override his commitment to keep her happy. What the hell had been wrong with him last night?
Whatever it was, Ash was determined to correct it. How he was going to do this, though, was the issue. Managing a disgruntled Misty was a thorny situation. If there was one thing he could always rely on, it was that she was a cornucopia of varied reactions. You never quite knew what you were going to get when faced with the daunting task of dealing with her unpredictable nature. This engagement could result in an ardent kiss on the lips, a painful wallop in the jaw, or any of the other colorful possibilities in-between. If anything, Ash could never say his introduction to romance was a lackluster one.
But time was ticking by, denying him the luxury of considering his approach from various angles and outcomes. Ash had to make a decision on how to initiate, otherwise something (Riley, Riley—can't forget about him…) was sure to intervene and force Ash to spend the rest of this rainy, deplorable day indoors with a problem that would no doubt snowball into something much harder to mend. Should he be wary or casual? Which would Misty react better to? God, he didn't have the time to think this through!
As it forever seemed to be, Ash's decision-making had to come by way of impulsiveness. Throwing caution to the wind, he swallowed the huge lump in this throat, balled his fists, and jumped right into the fray.
Literally, that is. Without another second of ponderous hesitation, Ash skipped to the couch in two huge strides, vaulted himself spryly over the armrest, and plopped onto the other end of the couch so heavily that the metal springs dug through the cushions into his ankles. Roosting hastily, he forced a slapdash smile and looked keenly in Misty's direction. If at all she had been bothered by his exaggerated entrance, she didn't show it; her eyes never left the television—in fact, her face barely twitched.
Ash did everything he could to preserve the smile. Oh, crap, he thought. Even if he'd gotten a scoff or a dirty look at his gambol, it would have definitely been more encouraging than no reaction at all.
If there was one thing Ash hated more than anything, it was the silent treatment. And being so, he continued immediately.
"Hi," he blurted.
Ash honestly didn't know what he'd expected in return, but it certainly wasn't the instant reply of "hello" that he did get. He knew his eyes had widened at the unexpected response but rapidly blinked away the surprise.
"Uhh, what're you watching?"
"Nothing." It wasn't a lie or a brush-off. She was scrolling aimlessly through the channels with a remote that was half-covered by her pajama top, looking as if it were an extension of her arm. Images of talk-shows and sitcom reruns flashed transiently across the screen, which Ash was barely paying attention to. Her face, exuding of boredom, was a more interesting study. Yet again, how perfect this situation was granting itself for Ash's atonement was unbelievable. No way would he be able to get through to her if she were immersed in a program. It was almost as if she had been sitting here just to idly pass the time awaiting his arrival.
However, this unnerved Ash. He didn't know what to say next. He had to be the one to speak, though; she was showing no sign of keeping the offhand dialogue rolling. He glanced momentarily at the patio doors, sidetracked by the trails of rain creeping down the glass, and deliberated. There was so many ways he could start this, butter up and ease into the dreaded bottom line. Reasons and excuses for his behavior cultivated in his brain. His heart wavered between admitted foolishness and obdurate self-defense.
But…how is it that I really feel? Ash found himself asking.
Misty finally settled noncommittally on a cooking show and Ash settled on his next line.
"I'm sorry." His breath caught in his throat. Dammit. Dammit! Immediately, he regretted the simplicity of his apology. Was it really smart and safe to pass over a sugar-coated prologue? Did he really sound extra pathetic and desperate for skipping right to the chase? Worst of all, was he now obliged to follow it up with something…?
Not too long after he uttered the words he wanted to retract rather badly, Misty rolled her head on the cushion to face him. Ash braced himself as their eyes locked, but to his surprise, her expression showed nothing but…acceptance. Even more shocking, her teeth glimmered behind the hint of a half-smile.
"It's okay."
She said it so quietly, so effortlessly, so…reassuringly that Ash just gaped at her. The mix of pertinent embellishments that was dancing on his tongue was swallowed back as he tried to figure out how to approach this new development he was broadsided with.
Misty was okay with it? She was okay with it? Since when? Certainly not last night! He was evidently faltering too long because Misty followed up with a sigh and a tiny, one-shouldered shrug.
"I'm sorry, too."
Incredulity bowling him over, his eyes rounded like dinner plates at her second astonishing utterance. "Huh?" he blurted out. "You are? F-for what?"
Biting her lip a bit guiltily, Misty replied, "For ruining your night last night."
"But…but…" Ash sputtered, totally and completely baffled by this unforeseen turn of events. If given the time, he might have made preparations for dozens of scenarios relating to this conversation, but he still would've been caught off guard because this would not have been among them. "You didn't ruin my night, Misty."
It was all he could really say to that. Because it was true…wasn't it? Wasn't he the one who had screwed everything up? Wasn't he the one who had made all the stupid decisions and remarks and disregarded her feelings and their safety and couldn't focus his mind sensibly? Wasn't she the one who suffered most because of all his dimwitted actions?
"Yes, I did," she persisted. Exhaling deeply, she shifted her whole body around to face him but still remained nestled beneath the throw. "I was totally out of line last night. All I did was act stupid and childish. Made a scene. Overreacted. I was afraid of something that wasn't even real, Ash."
Ash looked bemused. "Uh, ursaring are real. We didn't know—"
"That's not what I mean; I'm not talking about the ursaring," Misty groaned, rolling her eyes lightly. "I mean…the—the scary stuff. The witches. The stuff that's really not real, the stuff that really kept me up all night in the tent, even before I heard the noises. What made me complain about everything that happened. To you, to Brock, to your dad…"
Ash's brow furrowed. Okay, so he knew she had still been uneasy when he made the spur-of-the-moment decision to camp out. But again, shouldn't that have also been added to his list of insensitive gaffes? Shouldn't he have waited a night or two with the awareness of her apprehension? This was all starting to get too confounding. He honestly didn't understand how or why this conversation had turned completely around. What was he missing here?
"Misty, it's okay…"
"No, it's not," she interjected forcefully. "It was ridiculous." She shook her head and looked down, feeling quite foolish for her absurd fears and actions. He noticed her recoil and draw herself in beneath the makeshift shield of her blanket. "And I let that get to me and it ruined whatever fun we could have had last night."
As thrown off as he was, Ash slumped at her self-denigration. He hated to hear her speak this way. She was demanding his censure for her reactions to something he had ignorantly instigated. He was supposed to be the one apologizing, feeling sorry for himself, condemning his actions and reasoning—not her! It just wasn't right!
"Misty, stop," he managed. "I don't know what you're talkin' about. We were all scared—we all thought there was something out there! That wasn't just you!"
"I know. But my fear was over something stupid. Before we thought it was the ursaring, all I kept thinking about was that movie, and that stupid witch, and that's what I was afraid of. After your dad showed up and we found out we were okay I should have just gotten over it. But I didn't. Instead I just made a damn scene and ended the whole night on a sour note!" Breathless, she ducked her head miserably. "I was such a bitch."
It was that comment that ultimately broke Ash. "No you weren't!" he averred fervently. "That was the last thing you were." And ever are. "You don't have to be sorry for what happened last night. I do. If anyone ended the night on a sour note, it was me. I should have never, ever suggested we film our movie after all that happened! That was me being stupid."
She paused, refusing to meet his solemn gaze, instead throwing a brief, diverted glimpse at the TV. It felt good that he was able to get that word in, to finally spill what had been eating at him all morning, and now that she was silent and apparently considering his words, he felt fulfilled that he'd spun this out-of-the-blue apology volley around the other way, the correct way.
After a dense spell of stillness, Misty turned back to him and—as if all her other mood swings hadn't been so unforeseen—gave him a crooked grin. "Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Pokémon Master," she stated rather calmly, "I'll be sorry for whatever I want to be sorry about." Her grin grew subtly. "But thank you for acknowledging you were being stupid last night. 'Cause you were."
Ahhhh, there was his Misty. Ash huffed lightly but couldn't contain the grin that swept to his own lips. Of course she was still going to get her digs in—it was only a matter of time. He should have known.
Ever so affably, he conceded, "Yeah, I guess I was."
"Well, I forgive you."
"Yeah? You do…?" Ash's tone held a bit of hopeful hesitation.
"Sure." There was such an easygoing air about her, one that just seemed too conveniently offsetting for the temperament she'd been giving off moments ago. It was then that Ash figured that perhaps Misty was just as relieved. It kind of made sense now. She must have been nervous about this meeting, too, only she'd needed to tackle the challenge of delivering an apology in the face of receiving an obligatory one from him. Her tactic had probably been just as ad lib as his.
Except she'd known exactly what she'd been doing when she used that passing unresponsiveness of hers moments ago to draw the apology out of him first. Clever, Misty, very clever. Ash smirked to himself. He really could never get over this girl and how easily she knew how to play him.
"Wow, Misty," he marveled, contented despite his awe of her craftiness. He let out a shaky giggle. "Th-thanks. You know, I…thought you were going to be really mad at me."
"Oh, I was," she exclaimed matter-of-factly, her voice rising with unexpected fierceness. Ash's neck instantly sank into his shoulders as his face flushed an abashed, rosy pink. "Trust me, Ash, I was mad at you. Last night? Every time I saw that camera in your hands or you said something about that freaking movie, my blood just boiled. Seriously, if your dad wasn't there, I probably would've punched your lights out."
Ash snorted humorously. "Oh sure, but when my dad offered for you to do that to him, you wouldn't do it!"
Misty coughed a laugh. "Yeah, like I was really going to punch your dad. C'mon, Ash."
"He was serious, you know."
"Even so, I still wasn't going to do it!"
"Okay, but you're more than willing to beat me to a pulp when you see fit?"
Grinning brazenly, Misty nodded. "Of course."
"…You still want to punch me now?"
"I always have a reason for wanting to punch you," she teased, her nose wrinkling playfully. "But yeah, sticking that camera right up in my face even after I was so clearly terrified and wanted no part of anything to do with the Blair Witch? Yeah, I still kinda want to punch you over that."
Even though it was in jest, Ash still rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, about that…"
"Look, it's okay," Misty assured him quickly. "You were getting into it because of your dad. I know. You wanted to do it because he was making a big deal out of it. You wanted to make him happy."
"Well, that was only part of it," Ash acknowledged. "I was enjoying planning it out and filming it, too. It was something fun to do."
"Oh, yes, tons of fun," Misty grunted sarcastically.
"But see, that's just it," Ash's smile faded a bit. "I—I knew how much you hated it when we were filming it. And you're right—I kept going, even with all the complainin' you did. I—I didn't know when to stop. And wanting to keep it up after Dad scared us—that was the worst."
"It was," she agreed overtly, and though her affirmation of his ignorance stung, Ash was glad she was being so open-faced with him. It made him feel so close to her, and that sensation alone overrode any indignity.
"I guess…I thought you'd warm up to it eventually."
"Ash." She shot him a firm yet nontoxic glare. "I will never warm up to the thought of being hunted down by a witch while being out on our journey. Ever."
Noted, but Ash however took advantage of her buoyant manner. "If it makes you feel any better, I was planning on having you survive."
"Oh, were you?" she chuckled, pleasantly surprised and doubtful all at once. "Even though the real movie left no survivors?"
"Well, you know what Brock said," shrugged Ash. "No reason we had to copy it exact. Besides." His grin grew impishly and he gave her shoulder a nudge. "The witch wouldn't have stood a chance against you."
Giving him a suspicious side-long glance, Misty decided to give his jousting a pass this time around. "I…think I'm gonna take that as a compliment, for both our sakes."
Ash smiled knowingly, but the jollity of the last exchange sobered off shortly thereafter. "In any case…" he said, taking an audible breath, "you're not gonna have to worry about the movie anymore, Misty." Here it was—the crux of the moment that he equally bemoaned and was eager to deliver. Considering everything that taken place, it was a decision he knew was unavoidable. "I think we should probably scrap the whole thing."
To his surprise, Misty's expression actually looked startled and sad, perhaps even a bit culpable. "Aww, Ash…no. A-are you sure? I didn't mean for you to give it up completely! I mean, I still don't wanna be in it, but that doesn't mean you or Brock can't—"
"Misty, no," Ash interrupted her. He knew she was feeling bad simply for his sake, which was sweet, but he knew deep down in her mind she was probably doing triumphant cartwheels and flinging confetti at the thought of the project's potential demise. "It's okay—really. It wasn't going that well, anyway," he admitted. "I don't think we're cut out to be actors. I'd rather stick to pokémon training for the time being. Something I know how to actually do."
"Oh. But…your dad's gonna be disappointed…"
"He'll get over it," Ash replied nonchalantly. "He just wanted to give us something to do to pass the time. I don't think he cared about it that much."
"You sure about that?" she narrowed her eyes. "Looked like he was having more fun with it than you were."
"Yeah, you're right," he laughed, recalling the underhanded mischief his father had gleefully partaken in to "enhance" their project. "Since he doesn't have an excuse to scare the living daylights out of us anymore, maybe he won't get over it as easy as I thought."
"You think ending the project is really going to stop him?" Misty mumbled doubtfully.
"Uh, maybe not," Ash cringed through a grin. He was most likely going to have to watch his back until they departed after Halloween. Especially if and when Jay found out the movie was kaput, who knew what he sort of iniquitous ideas he'd devise to make up for his letdown?
"Well, all I know is I won't have any trouble getting over this!" Misty said brightly. Letting the throw fall from where it had hung precariously off her shoulders, she slung her arms into the air with contained delight. "I'm definitely going to enjoy being free of that stupid video camera today!"
And I'm going to enjoy seeing you enjoy it, Ash thought fondly, recalling the past days of Misty's perpetual grumpy scowl. It looked as though the sun was going to come out after all—maybe not in the unpromising, blackened sky, but in Misty's disposition, and Ash realized that was all he really needed.
"So since I had two days of you dictating our activities, do I get to choose what we do today?"
"Uh, sure," Ash replied. "But…what are we gonna do? Look at it outside."
Misty tapped her chin. "Oh, I dunno. Watch a movie I like, maybe?"
Ash rolled his eyes. "Ugh, sure. Only if you promise not to want to remake whatever it is into our own movie. Because, you know, I'm allowed to do that, you aren't."
"Ha! Could you honestly imagine if I made you act out one of my favorite movies?"
Pondering it for a moment and then realizing exactly the types of movies Misty was drawn to, Ash flashed a look of amusement and horror. "Yeah, I could, and my mother would never let me see you again."
Seeing her go red and throw back her head in laughter was complete and utter bliss for Ash. Suddenly, everything became obsolete—the events from the night before, the frightful weather pounding the house, the nauseas feeling he'd battled since getting up, the minor downer that their botched little film was going to wind up on the cutting room floor. All that mattered now was that Misty was happy, all was forgiven, and most importantly, he could go back to doing just this—having a splendid, jovial time with his girlfriend, free of any drama and awkwardness and ill feelings.
Ash's stomach growled loudly in protest. Oh yes, and now he could attend to his hunger, as well.
"Ewww, gross," Misty scowled.
"I'm a little hungry," Ash blushed.
"Well, please eat something before your stomach winds up eating itself," she said, commencing to flip through the channels again. Ash was grateful; the images of the bacon cheese frittatas sizzling on the grill had been a tad torturous. Just a tad.
"You ate?"
"Of course. My appetite can't wait for you to rise from the dead."
Ash chuckled and stood, stretching his arms toward the ceiling. Sweeping his eyes around the room, he noted with amazement that they were still alone. After all the legitimate worries that he was working with a limited timeframe, he would have certainly expected someone to interrupt their conversation by this point. Brock had still not emerged from the bathroom down the hall (geez, was he meeting a girl today or something?), Riley hadn't said boo—
Riley. Ash hurriedly dipped into the dining room to check to see what the baby was up to. To his relief, Riley was fine—he had tired himself out like Ash had anticipated he would, and was now lazing contentedly in the swing, struggling to keep his eyelids open. Ash beamed rather smugly. Guess he was the one who had the magic touch with Riley this morning.
Carefully lifting the baby from the swing and praying he wouldn't start crying (he didn't), Ash then realized he still hadn't seen Pikachu, either. Another quick scan of the vicinities revealed the mouse to be nowhere in sight. It wasn't completely out of the ordinary, especially for a miserable day like today. Part of Ash still longed to be in bed; he was sure that was where Pikachu had to be, nestled away somewhere snug and warm and secluded. Still, it was a little odd that, considering how late it was, Ash still hadn't been greeted by him. Seemed hardly a morning passed without a close-call trip-up incident somewhere in the house by this time.
"Have you seen Pikachu?" Ash asked Misty as he strolled back into the living room.
Misty shook her head but never turned from the TV. "Uh-uh. I thought he was upstairs being a lazy-ass like you."
"Very funny," he slouched. "No, he wasn't."
"I dunno then. Is he in your mom's room? She's sleeping, right?"
"Yeah, but I was just in there. I would seen him if he was." Ash continued to peer inquisitively into all areas of the ground floor, but there were no round, bright eyes peeping back at him.
"Where's Togepi?"
"Upstairs in my room sleeping."
Ash started for the stairs, but finding himself burdened by the weight of the snoozing baby and knowing that carting the little boy all over the house would only rile him up again, he u-turned and handed Riley unannounced to Misty over her shoulder.
"Ash," Misty tsked, but received Riley nonetheless.
"Just a second; I want to see if Pikachu's with Togepi."
Sans Riley, Ash was able to take to the stairs more briskly. He was eager to find Pikachu, only out of curiosity as to where the pokémon was hiding. He wanted to make sure he was okay, fed—simply take comfort in knowing where he was so he could go about his day. Considering he was in nearly every room of the house that morning except for Misty's, that had to be where Pikachu was. Unless for some reason he'd been hanging out with Brock in the bathroom…
Okay, that was just too weird to possibly be the case.
Reminding himself of his sleeping mother, he crept stealthily across the hall to Misty's room. Her door was slightly ajar, and Ash nudged it open to poke his head into the dark room.
"Pikachu?" he whispered.
"Prrri?" From the center of a heap of blankets and sheets Togepi's spiky head abruptly surfaced, startled by Ash's intrusion, gentle as it was. The little pokémon looked blearily at Ash, and Ash instantly felt bad for interrupting his nap. But what troubled him even more was that Pikachu was not there. Togepi had been taking his mid-morning siesta alone.
"Sorry, Togepi," he winced, hoping the pokémon wouldn't start babbling in complaint. There were too many fussy babies in this house. "Go back to sleep."
How many times was he going to tell people and pokémon that today? At this point, Ash was the one who wanted to retreat back to his bed. He couldn't even begin to entertain the thought of taking a nap, though, until he found Pikachu. This was getting a little peculiar now. Where in the world was he?
Slithering out of Misty's room and returning the door to its previous position, Ash decided to check his room once more. Though his search was fresh, he already felt like he was going in circles. Again, no Pikachu. Ash frowned, bewildered but not entirely surprised. If Pikachu had stolen into the room after Ash had gotten up, he would have at least said hello to Ash in the interim. Pikachu was a pretty incisive pokémon, but even he wouldn't have caught on that Ash desired alone time with Misty unless Ash bid him away for the moment.
"Ugh, Pikachu. Where the hell are you?" he muttered under his breath.
Realizing it was pointless to try his mom's room again, as there was no way Pikachu could have gotten in there with the door closed and her virtually comatose, he wasted no time in making his way back downstairs.
"He's not upstairs," he announced.
"Who's not upstairs? Me?" Ash was met by Brock at the base of the stairs, who flashed him a whimsical smile. "Of course I'm not, I'm right here."
"I'm talking about Pikachu," Ash retorted, too hassled for his friend's humor. He skimmed past Brock determinedly, only to spin around to face him right after. "Have you seen him?"
"Uh, negative," Brock shook his head. "Thought he was upstairs with you."
"Yeah, that's what everyone thinks, but everyone's wrong," Ash snapped. Brock's eyes widened at the testiness in his younger friend's tone.
"Ash, calm down," Misty said, twisting her head over her shoulder. She was delicately cradling a dozing Riley in her arms. "You know he's somewhere around here."
"Doesn't look that way at the moment, Misty," Ash grumbled. "Pikachu!" he finally called out, though still respectably keeping his voice rather subdued. "Pikachu, where are you?"
"Maybe he's outside," Misty broached.
Ash's eyes nearly bugged out of his head at her suggestion. "Outside? In that?" He gestured disbelievingly toward the rain-beaten patio doors.
"I don't know, maybe..." Misty shrunk away slightly at the outburst. "If he's not in here…"
"Aww, man!" Ash exclaimed, marching to the door purposefully. With the rain, he hadn't even considered the notion of Pikachu being outside. Just the thought of poor Pikachu being left out in that made his stomach lurch. Pikachu hated rain, oftentimes practically clambering down his shirt when they travelled in inclement weather. It was weird that Pikachu wasn't calling out or clawing at the door, but then again, Ash had been a bit preoccupied that morning. It wouldn't surprise him if he hadn't heard Pikachu, but it also wouldn't erase any guilt he'd feel if that were the case.
While not exactly expecting a lovely scene, Ash had not anticipated a blast to the face of fierce, arctic air upon opening the door. It appeared that a wicked cold front had piggybacked the tempest. Ash nearly staggered back, floored at how cold it had gotten. For just a few days shy of Halloween, it was extremely unfitting for the season. It was nowhere near this uncomfortable the night before in the tent. Goosebumps erupted all over his body through his thin pajamas.
Alas, though, there was no impatient, aggrieved Pikachu itching at the door. Ash quickly tried to scan the periphery of his front yard, but the conditions were not making it an agreeable task. The steady, freezing drizzle whipped at his face and the giant ice block of a front stoop chilled the bottoms of his bare feet when he attempted to step out. On impulse, he leapt back into the house.
"Pikachu?" he shouted, holding on to both sides of the door frame and leaning out into the harsh world. "Pikachu, are you out here? Come inside, buddy!"
No chirps. No yellow blur shooting through his legs. No reprimanding shock of embittered disapproval for being so callously forgotten. Nothing—no Pikachu. Just the rain, the murky mist, and the glossy pumpkins sitting serenely on the stoop.
Ash's heart began to pump faster. This was not good, not good at all.
"Ash, close the door! You're getting Riley cold!"
Upon Misty's grouse, Ash shut the door, then promptly proceeded to the backdoor in the kitchen. Even though Pikachu should have easily heard him calling from any corner of the yard and come scampering around the side of the house, Ash wasn't about to simply rely on that logic. There were plenty of places in the back where Pikachu could be seeking haven from the rain—perhaps he was just waiting restlessly for Ash to open the door closer to his temporary shelter.
But this was not the case, either. With his head sticking out the door, water beading on every strand of his unkempt hair, Ash's calls continued to go unheeded. Frustrated, he finally defied the unpleasantness of venturing outside and stepped out onto his back stoop for a better view of the land surrounding his house.
"PIKACHU!" he cried out at the top of his lungs, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Pikachu, are you out here?"
His voice echoed faintly off the distant mountains, but yielding no response, it was nothing but a hollow taunt. Eyes darting all over and puffs of steam blasting fiercely from his mouth into the raw air, Ash felt himself beginning to panic. Pikachu wasn't responding to him in the house. Pikachu wasn't responding to him outside the house. Where the hell was Pikachu?
"He's not out here?" Brock appeared behind him.
"No," Ash answered shortly, almost knocking his friend over as he hastened back into the house.
"How about the basement—did you check there?" Brock trailed him.
Ash's heart skipped excitedly, but his hopefulness was brief when he found the door to the basement slightly open. No way would Pikachu have not been able to hear him if he were down there, nor did he speculate he was flat-out ignoring him. But he wasn't going to leave any assumption as just that. He flipped the light on and descended the stairs. The basement was warmer than it was outside, but it was still dark, dank, and uninviting, and predictably, Pikachu was not present.
"Ash, he's got to be in Mom's room," Misty insisted when he stamped back upstairs. "You looked everywhere else!"
Ash was already thinking the same thing before she said it. It didn't make sense, but it was his last prospect. While it pained him to disturb his mother's rest, he knew he was inevitably going to go up there and check. She'd just have to catch up on sleep later; she'd understand.
Still, he approached her room gingerly and opened the doorknob much the same, thinking that maybe he could sneak a peek inside the room without awakening her. Normally, he would have tagged this effort as utterly futile, as Delia never slept through anything that entailed her child creeping around (tried, failed too many times). But she was just exhausted enough this morning for him to have a chance of pulling this off. Besides, his noble intentions were on his side this time—he wanted her to remain asleep for her own good, not his.
Nevertheless, he barely had one foot hovering over the threshold before Delia's hoarse voice sliced through the quiet.
"Ash?"
Cringing, Ash impulsively ducked behind the door, removing himself from the calm isolation of her space, but then remembering why he was there, revealing himself again. "Yeah."
"What is it?" God, did she sound debilitated, only serving to accentuate Ash's regret over entering the room. "You have Riley?"
"No, Mama, he's downstairs with Misty."
"What's the matter?" She turned over in bed, and to Ash, it looked like quite the laborious effort. She must have heard the reserve in his voice, the lack of complacency, the tip-off that something wasn't right.
"Nothing. Well—no. I mean—is Pikachu in here?"
He knew the answer to that question even before it slipped through his lips. Whenever Pikachu slept in his parents' room, he was always at the end of the bed. There was nothing there now except a crumpled-up quilt.
"No."
"Have you seen him today?"
She paused to think, kneading her fingers across her swollen eyes. "Umm... Yeah."
Ash immediately perked. "You have? When?"
"This morning." She glanced up at him through one squinted eye. "I let him out."
"Out?" Ash repeated, his stomach dropping as his optimism was brusquely curtailed with one declaration. "Y-you mean outside? When did you let him outside?"
"Early," Delia frowned. "Very early…I was up with Riley…"
"Did you let him back in?"
"…No, I don't think so…no…"
Ash's heart began to race faster. "Was Dad still here? Did he let him back in, you think?"
"No, it was after he left." She was starting to pick up on his distress, giving him a troubled but befuddled look as she lifted herself up on her elbows. "Why, Pikachu's not in the house?"
"No," Ash nearly whimpered. "I've looked all over and called outside, but he isn't answering!"
"Maybe Misty or Brock let him in."
"No! No, they haven't seen him, either. Mom, are you sure you didn't let him back in?"
"Ash, I…" she groaned, swiping at her face again. "Honey, I—I don't remember. I was so tired…"
Don't remember. That was the last thing Ash wanted to hear. He was dealing with enough uncertainty as it was. The questions that should have viable answers he needed, desperately. She was tired, sure, but how could she not remember? It was such a simple process! Open door, let Pikachu out; open door, let Pikachu in. Did it really require that much cognition? For Ash, it was becoming more and more obvious that she didn't know simply because it hadn't happened. The final synopsis of this incident was shaping dismally in his head.
Mom let Pikachu out, but never let him in. Dad was at work, gone. Misty and Brock hadn't let him in. He definitely hadn't. The alarming truth of the matter was, Pikachu was still outside, had been for hours, and he wasn't coming in.
His breathing rapidly increased, burning painfully in his lungs. He couldn't wait this out any longer. It was just too out of character for Pikachu. "I gotta go out and look for Pikachu," he declared shakily. "Something's happened to him."
Hearing the heightened strain in his tone, Delia pushed the covers aside and drew her legs out of bed. "Ash, wait—are you sure he's not just—"
"No!" Ash shook his head forcefully, backing out of the room. "No—he'd come in by now! He wouldn't want to be outside in this! Something's wrong, I just know it! I gotta get out there!"
With that, he bolted out of the room, turning his back on his mother and her calls for him to wait. He didn't have time to argue or explain why he needed to get out there. If Pikachu wasn't in the yard, then he was somewhere else…wandered off, sought refuge, took cover. And if he hadn't…well, Ash wasn't about to consider any possibilities other than that. Not yet. Hopefully not ever.
"Not up there, either?" Brock assumed as Ash came barreling noisily down the stairs. One look at his friend's expression answered that question rather firmly.
"I have to go out and look for him," Ash said, yanking the closet door open and hysterically tearing through the jumble of coats and jackets stuffed within.
"Uh, aren't you going to get dressed first?" Brock asked.
Ash ignored him, gritting his teeth in frustration as his trembling hands couldn't seem to locate his raincoat. After going back and forth through the varied collection of outwear a couple times unsuccessfully, his fingers finally graced along the familiar feel of smooth, waterproof material. Without another second of indecision, he ripped the raincoat from its hanger and swung it around his frame in one motion, not paying much attention to the fact that his arms slipped way too easily through the large sleeves and his hands barely came out the other end.
"Ash." Delia suddenly appeared at the top of the staircase as Ash slammed the closet door shut. She looked worse as he'd ever seen her, slumped and frail yet still exhibiting that ever-distinctive look of misgiving when she knew he was acting impetuous. "Where are you going?"
"Out," he answered succinctly.
"It's terrible out there."
"I don't care."
"Please just wait," she implored weakly.
Waiting was absolutely the last thing Ash wanted to do. Pikachu had waited long enough as it was. Trying his best to brush off her concern, Ash looked around him for his sneakers, but they were nowhere to be found. All that was lying by the door were his slippers. Ash offhandedly recalled that he'd worn his sneakers to his room after coming back from the called-off campout, which he wasn't supposed to do but damned if he'd cared. Now he was cursing the choice, because there was no way in hell he was going to go up the stairs and past his mother to retrieve them. Worn out or not, she had a way of latching onto his arm with a grip the Jaws of Life couldn't remove. If she didn't want him going out into this weather, then it wasn't happening.
A ferocious gust of wind pummeled the house, the groans of the rafters reverberating in return. The room went silent at the ominous sound, and daringly, Ash stole a glimpse at his mother's face. The look of utter anguish and plea she was giving him at the moment warred with his otherwise undaunted resolve. He didn't want to go out into this monsoon, either, but there was just no way he could tolerate sitting around and waiting for Pikachu to brave it all and make a break for the front door.
Misty and Brock were staring at him expectantly, acquiescing to the silent confrontation occurring between mother and son and wisely keeping their mouths shut. Ash knew they'd support him, though. He'd done far worse then run out into a rainstorm when it came to Pikachu. This was nothing. It would be nothing. What harm was a little drenching gonna do? Once he found Pikachu and got the poor guy out from his hiding place and into his warm arms, they'd laugh this all off and go about deciding on some sort of monotonous activity to get them through this cold and dreary day.
Just having that promising scenario pass through his mind made Ash's limbs itch with anticipation and drive. How they could expect him to do anything other than what he was about to do now boggled his mind.
His eyes set on Delia inflexibly. "I'll be back," he said.
Delia started down the stairs. "Ash, please—"
Her sudden advance only led Ash's rashness to switch into overdrive. His eyes settling crucially on his slippers, he sprung into action, having no other choice but to drive his feet into them and wrench the front door open in one go. Ash sprang out into the yard, his mother and friends' fraught calls mingling with the loud splatter of his feet's impact against the soggy ground. A second later, their voices were more emphatically surpassed by his shouts for Pikachu.
Shouts that, again, were answered only by the rain and wind.
Professor Samuel Oak had seen a lot of interesting things in his busy and illustrious life.
He'd also met his fair share of unique people. In his line of work, he had the pleasure of dealing first-hand with dozens of children every year, all embodying diverse shades of personality and levels of enthusiasm. Some warmed his old heart and bolstered his love for what he did; others made him want to pack it all up and retire to the Seafoam Islands without looking back.
Ash Ketchum was in a league of his own.
The morning the passionate little boy showed up at his doorstep, frantic, terrified, and so not ready to depart for his journey, desperately seeking affirmation that he wasn't too late and his entire dream hadn't been annulled by his own idiocy, Professor Oak thought he'd seen it all. Indeed, many children arrived to collect their first pokémon in clothes he didn't deem completely appropriate (the girls especially), but pajamas? That was definitely a first.
He hadn't seen anything as peculiar since…until this very morning.
Hastened to the front door by nonstop door-bell rings and impatient pounding that had interrupted his morning coffee, he was afraid of what he was going to encounter. All he could automatically think was bad news. Someone that desperate to get his attention could only be bearing such. But what was it? Was one of his grandchildren hurt? Did one of the pokémon escape from the fields? Was his house on fire?
He barely had the door open halfway when he was suddenly bombarded with: "Have you seen Pikachu?"
"Wh-what? Ash?"
The young man had come a long way in three years; he had to give him that. But there were bound to be things that would never change. In times of stress (which he could tell this was right away, as evidenced by his pallid, rain-slicked face), Ash just didn't know how to dress himself properly.
In brief, he was a disheveled mess. While he had at least thought to grab a raincoat on this wretched day, it was obviously not his: the garment was tremendous, swallowing his shoulders whole and falling practically at his knees. Professor Oak could only assume it was Jay's. The hood itself was so large it had fallen away—if Ash had even attempted to put it on to begin with—and now, for a kid who was rarely seen hatless, his hair was dripping wet and plastered flat against his face. Samuel nearly shivered out of sympathy the second he saw him. And this was before he even noticed the pajama pants and…slippers?
What on earth was with this child?
"Is Pikachu here?" Ash demanded again.
"I—I don't know," Samuel sputtered quickly, flummoxed. "I don't think so, no… Why, what happened?"
"He's missing," Ash whimpered, and the grave look of fret and despair on his face stole the professor's attention away from his attire and got his heart racing. "I can't find him. He went outside and now he isn't coming in, he won't answer when I call him. I'm getting so worried. I don't know why he won't come inside, this isn't like him and he—"
"H-hey now, calm down," Samuel interrupted quickly, using the most soothing tone he could manage in the sudden hysteria Ash's appearance had generated. Despite his obvious concern over this revelation, it was getting Ash out of the pouring rain that was his most pressing action of interest. This was not a day to brave the outside world, that was for certain. He stepped aside to offer the entryway. "He's somewhere, we'll find him. Wh-why don't you come in out of the rain, you're soaking wet—"
"Do you think he might have come here?" Ash rambled on, swiping his wet bangs away from his eyes. "He's nowhere around my house, I went 'round the whole way and checked and—and when he wasn't there I thought that maybe he'd be here…"
"Ash, Ash…I don't know if he's here. I haven't been outside. But he may have, and if he did I'm sure we'll find him."
"He has to be! I need to find him! It's so cold out here and it's raining so bad—"
"Yes it is, which is why I wish you'd—"
"Why would Pikachu want to be out in this? Professor Oak, this isn't like him! I'm so afraid something's happened to him!"
He was wheezing, nearly hyperventilating, and Samuel's heart clutched. He hated to see Ash so worked-up, so distraught, and on top of it all, at the mercy of these dreadful elements. His own fingers were already chilled from just standing in the doorway; he could only imagine how cold Ash was. Try as he might to center his mind on Ash's dilemma and provide him the guidance he was seeking, the parent in him—as well the sizeable part of him that had grown so terribly attached to this plucky young boy—could not bear to see Ash being so cruelly hammered by these conditions one moment longer. He needed to get him inside so he could calm down for a second, clear his scrambled brain, consider what to do next in order to find Pikachu, and most of all, get a towel on that kid's head and something warm and dry wrapped around those feet.
But why did he just know that that was going to be a challenge? Perhaps because he knew this boy just as well as he knew his own grandson in some regards? Getting through to Ash when the kid was levelheaded was often tough enough; how was he going to steer Ash's mind away from his most precious companion for a minute in order to get him to focus on his own welfare? For once, Professor Oak wished Ash wasn't so damn selfless when it came to his pokémon. Because if ever selflessness epitomized recklessness, Ash was the adulated poster boy.
He braced himself, preparing to find his authoritative tongue.
"ASSSH!"
Oh. Then again, maybe he wouldn't be alone in that battle.
Ash spun on his heels as his mother's surprise holler resonated from the base of Samuel's long, snaking front path. Neither had seen nor heard her car pull up, but now through the foggy haze they both watched as Delia jogged toward the house as fast as her feet could carry her, taking the steps of the walk rather agilely and with a particular resolve that Professor Oak could easily identify right away.
"Oh, no," Ash groaned dramatically.
Oh, yes, this was turning into quite the interesting morning indeed.
It didn't take but a second for Samuel to put all these chaotic pieces together. In the mayhem of the moment, he hadn't even had time to consider how in the world Delia had let Ash leave the house in that bizarrely unsuitable wardrobe. Well, there was the answer to that question: she hadn't.
No way in the world, given Ash's appearance and mental state, could this have normally gone past Delia unnoticed. He could only wonder what took her so long—it had to have at least taken Ash a good seven or eight minutes to get to his house at a full run. In hindsight, he should have expected Delia to show up any minute. What he didn't expect, though, was Ash suddenly taking off without another word, leaving an allegorical cloud of dust and a stunned Professor Oak in his wake.
"H-hey, wait a minute now!" Samuel called out, rushing out onto the stoop and getting blinded by the angled, heavy drizzle. "Ash, where are you going?"
Again, hindsight—if Ash managed to get out from under Delia's watch once, he was bound to achieve it a second time. As he had seen throughout Ash's youth, the boy was slipperier than a soaped-up arbok.
"ASH!" Delia's voice joined in once more, carrying far more shrilly and urgently than his did. She was literally staggering as she cantered up the hill, making the greatest effort to catch up to her elusive son which just wasn't enough. When she finally knew it was impossible, she faltered clumsily to a stop, shoulders slouched in fatigue, and used the only resource she had left—her voice. "Ash, come back here this instant! ASSSH!"
But unsurprisingly, her son paid absolutely no heed, sprinting on—astonishingly swift, considering his deplorable footwear—toward the east pasture. Samuel could only sigh. There was definitely going to be no stopping him—if there was ever a man on a mission, it was Ash, and Professor Oak knew any pleas for him to return, regardless of how loud or demanding or from whom they originated, would be futile.
Delia seemed to realize that rather quickly herself. When Ash had decisively put a good distance between them, her shouts tapered off in defeat. Thank goodness she wasn't making an attempt to follow him—one Ketchum madly roaming his mucky pastures was enough. Besides, if Ash wasn't equipped to handle the impromptu expedition, his mother certainly wasn't, either.
She was dressed a little more appropriately, there was no denying that, but like her son, she was still donning pajamas, and her hood hadn't been fixed tightly enough. Wisps of her long auburn hair spilled from the loose confines and had been rendered dark from being wet. At least she had rain boots on, though. It was all but mere mental security for Samuel. Much like Ash, he imagined she was presently insensitive to all physical discomfort. Having somewhat of a good idea of what was probably going on in her head when she saw Ash flee the house in his condition, she deserved a pass—in fact, she probably deserved a medal for getting as well-dressed as she did under the force of a pressing time limit. It could only take seconds for an irrational Ash to find himself in trouble, and no one knew that more than her.
Ceding to the fact that Ash was out of sight, Delia finally turned to acknowledge the professor. They exchanged a short look of jaded understanding before she plodded over to him. He was relieved—he didn't want her out in the rain any more than he did Ash. It wasn't just about her clothing, either. In her carriage alone, Samuel could see what he was dealing with, and he felt a jagged pang of sympathy for her. Never before had he seen her so lacking her usual pep and youthful sparkle, and he was positive the weather and the situation weren't the only contributing factors to this dearth.
"He told you what happened?" she assumed. He could barely hear her haggard voice over the rain.
"Yes, yes, he did. Please," he begged now, bidding her in with curls of his fingers, "get out of the rain. Come inside."
Delia tilted backward and threw one more hassled glance out toward the field. Ash was clearly gone, so she accepted his offer. Samuel relaxed, although what did it say that a natural worrywart like Delia (whose beloved son was running all over Pallet Town helter-skelter in appalling conditions and a likewise apparel) was more persuadable in this situation than the boy himself?
Question was: would he ever understand this eccentric Ketchum family? Since he couldn't yet figure them out collectively over the better part of twenty years, the answer to that was probably not.
But he cared for them just the same, and this sentiment rang particularly true when, up close, he was able to see just how worn-out this poor young woman actually was. She was much paler than Ash and had impressive dark circles lining her glassy eyes. Samuel was aghast. Good heavens, what had Ash done to her this morning? If and when he got Ash back to his house, he'd first make sure he was warm and dry; then, he'd get about wringing his neck.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
She sighed long and hard and reached up to remove the stray, wet hair from her cheeks. "I guess so. It's been a stressful morning."
"How long has Pikachu been missing?"
Delia bit her lip and gave him a helplessly dismayed look. "I'm not even sure. A few hours, I suppose? I let him out this morning, but I…I don't even know what time it was."
Professor Oak looked surprised and optimistic at the same time. "You saw him this morning!"
Delia nodded. "Yes. But…but I really can't tell you what time it was. It was after Jay left, I know that. Riley…he just didn't sleep at all this morning; he was so fussy and wanted ten different things at once. At some point, I was downstairs and Pikachu asked to be let out, so I did, and…and that's the last I saw him."
Samuel frowned. "You never let him back in?"
"Riley was screaming his head off. I barely had time to let Pikachu out as it was," Delia replied, her tone so heavy with remorse that Samuel felt sorry for posing the question the way he did. He didn't want to make her upset, he just wanted to gather the facts. He reached out and grasped her wrist comfortingly.
"It's okay, Delia," he reassured her, wanting to erase every last smidgen of that undeserved guilt.
She looked down and nodded, but it was unconvincing. "I…I guess I frankly forgot all about him after I went back upstairs to Riley. I was dead to the world, so after I fed Riley, I just fell right back asleep. Oh, I can't believe I could forget him like that! It's such an awful day outside; he probably didn't want to be out for more than a minute! How could I do that to poor Pikachu?"
"Shhh." Samuel put a finger to his lips to hush her, but again, Delia only looked helpless and distressed that she apparently felt she was the cause of this whole fiasco. That was pure nonsense, Samuel thought. While it was indeed she who let Pikachu out, undoubtedly to see to nature's call, he presumed, there was absolutely no need for her to take such blame upon herself. Pikachu, after all, was not exactly an unpredictable pokémon. He was certainly domesticated, not one to stray. He was hale and hearty, able to endure this weather if forced (unintentionally) to remain in it for quite a while. Delia had to know this. So even if, God-forbid, something had befallen the mouse, it was by no means something she was to be held accountable for.
He wondered fleetingly if Ash had made her feel that way.
"Delia, none of this is your fault," he pledged seriously. She was still gazing down but he knew she was listening. "You did what you had to do; Pikachu had to go out. It's perfectly understandable how you forgot to let him back in. You had other things to attend to at the moment."
"I know. But what do you think happened?" she whispered, finally bringing her eyes up to meet his. "Where do you think Pikachu is?"
Samuel's face fell. "I don't know," he admitted. "I'm sure he's around here somewhere." He threw a glance toward the field, wondering how far Ash had travelled, if he actually found his pokémon, what kind of alarming shape he was in now. "But first thing's first, we have to go retrieve Ash."
Delia became even more ashen at the reminder of what Ash was up to. "Yes! He can't be out there dressed as he is! He's going to get sick!" She looked as though she was about to bolt out the door but he held her wrist once again.
"Don't worry, we'll get him to come in before that happens." Ash is strong and resilient, too, he thought. "Leave that up to me."
Delia reached out and brushed his arm contritely. "I'm so sorry about all this. Barging in on you like this and—"
Holding up a hand to arrest her repentant gibberish, Samuel said, "There's no need to apologize. I want to help. I care about Pikachu, too."
"I know. And I appreciate that," she nodded. Then with a heavy groan, she bowed her head to massage her temple. "I don't need this."
"You're very tired, aren't you?" he stated the obvious, but with a sincere timbre of compassion.
"I have a six-month-old baby," she shrugged resignedly. "I have about a hundred ways to describe how tired I am."
"What is it now, I'm afraid to ask?"
"Inhuman," she blinked sadly, and Professor Oak cringed. Many years ago, he'd been there himself—he knew exactly what she meant. She was right: she didn't need this. She was the last person who needed this. And that's why he was prepared to help her—and Ash—in any way he could.
"Well, that does it, then. First we need to find your son. Then we need to find Pikachu."
She looked indebted and pleased. "Maybe we'll be lucky and find both at once."
"Mmm, hopefully."
"And when we do, I'm going to have an extremely long talk with Ash about the importance of putting on shoes before leaving the house in the middle of a Nor'easter."
"He is quite dedicated to his pokémon, that boy."
"He's quite dedicated to helping me reach the limit of my patience."
Samuel smiled faintly. "He certainly doesn't go about doing things conventionally. Running all the way to my house in the pouring rain in slippers… Heh, your son never ceases to amaze me."
Delia shook her head. "You have no idea how many times I hear that, for all sorts of reasons."
Professor Oak couldn't help the small chuckle that rumbled in his throat. To his delight, it drew a flicker of a smile on Delia's lips. He was glad she could experience that brief second of humor in the midst of all her anxiety. If only he could get through to Ash as successfully, perhaps they'd have a different situation on their hands. One that would result in, of course, the location of Pikachu, but more importantly, the restoration of these dear people's sanity.
"All right," he said, "let's go out and get that boy. Step 'A'…"
Whirling toward the staircase, he bellowed out a reverberating "TRACEY!" before turning to Delia, who was taken aback by his shout. "Step 'B': let's get you some coffee."
Her brown eyes widened in pining. "…With a shot of whiskey?"
It was Samuel's turn to be shell-shocked.
Yes, today was certainly not the day he was going to figure out these Ketchums.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Where is Pikachu? :( I'm sure most of you already have your speculations.
Once again, I truly apologize for the outrageous four-month wait for this chapter. I really didn't want it to get this long. :( I'm happy to report, however, that chapter 6 is nearly completed (honest!) and will certainly be posted quicker! I won't be able to work on it in the coming week, as I will be playing pony paparazzi to a talented clan of 3-year-old colts and fillies in Kentucky, but you certainly won't be watching the leaves change color when it's posted. :P
Thank you so much for reading! Comments are wonderful, like air and water.
And have a Happy Kentucky Derby! ;D