Disclaimers: I am not Satoshi Tajiri. I do not own Pokemon.
AN:/ STOP. If you have just happened upon this fanfic, I recommend reading this story's prequels: The Blind Alley, Mystery of Me, and Here I Am first. With those stories under your belt, the events of this story will be more clear.
Chapter One: Lost
I've been having dreams
Splashin' in a summer stream
Trip and I fall in
I wanted it to happen
-SHAED, ZAYN
She pushed through her scales again, arms aching as she swept the heavily rosined bow over the strings. Her violin sang in its high pitch; she could only just restrain. Like a cracked voice, it sang with a tethering sound — balanced somewhere in the sweet spot of decent music.
Once she had finished the scale, she waited. Her father stood a few feet away, giving the ornate mirror on the wall far more attention than he ever spared his daughter. While twisting on an expensive pair of cuff links that glinted like animal eyes in the low light, he grunted into the pause.
"Again."
The young girl sagged. Someone had closed up all the windows to keep in the hot, too-close air. The back of her summer dress was sticking to her skin. It already had far too many ruffles that scuffed and itched at her. She had been standing at her lone music stand for over an hour now, music sheets untouched as she perfected what was already perfect.
If only she had picked the cello. Maybe her father would have let her have a chair.
"Again, Andromeda," said her father, his voice catching the edge of unpleasantness.
The violin started up again, scratching its way upward and then back down. Perspiration beaded her face as she tried to concentrate on the hollow sound of the strings vibrating underneath her chin.
She thought she might have felt a headache coming on. Her scalp was still throbbing from earlier when her mother had brushed her hair into a tight bun. Mother had as much tenderness as Father, yanking Andromeda around like an unloved and rumpled doll. The dress was Mother's idea. Heaven forbid a ten-year-old pick out her own clothing.
"Again."
The chin rest was digging into her neck. The metal bars bit sharp, but her father would never let her complain. Professionals didn't use violin pads, so her father would say.
"Again."
Andromeda would pretend to be somewhere, anywhere else. Her favorite mental vacation was in the mountains, where her family occasionally went skiing. She'd close her eyes and pretend to feel the brisk air and frost burning at her fingertips. She'd wash out her scritching violin with the howl of the imagined mountain wind. Places like that swallowed-up sound. She wouldn't have to hear the bleating from her mother, reprimanding her for ripped pantyhose or messy bedhead. She wouldn't have to hear her father's unceasing guttural,
"Again."
A new sound interrupted them. A sharp rap to the nearby parlor door ripped both father and daughter from their simultaneous dissociations. One of their butlers (Andromeda never bothered to remember names) opened the door. He stood ahead of two strangers, one tall and one small, that remained in anonymous shadows.
"Sir. A Ms and Master Giovanni to see you, sir."
Her father said nothing. He allowed the turn of his body to ascertain his assent. The nameless butler nodded and stepped aside to allow the strangers entry. In marched a petite woman with a fierce scowl and crimped hair. She dressed as severely as Andromeda's own mother in shades of gray. She donned a pantsuit so tight that Andromeda wondered if it might strangle the woman.
The memory of Team Rocket's Camorrista burned a brand in her mind. In the years to come, Andromeda could recall every detail. How middle age had peppered gray from her pantsuit into the woman's dark hair. The way her eyes scanned over every object in the room in measured and exacting stares. And then how the woman appraised her. Ms. Giovanni looked at the small wisp of a girl from top to bottom and saw her. She really saw Andromeda.
In a way that seemed rare, precious, and meant for her, she smiled. "She's lovely. She'll do."
Andromeda took in a short, involuntary gasp. She didn't know this woman at all. But the quick and easy acceptance caused a warmth to spread inside Andromeda. In her life, she had never been enough. Not pretty enough, skilled enough, smart enough. But in moments of meeting this woman, she had passed a test. Andromeda had passed a test without even having to try.
"Does she have a pokemon partner?"
Andromeda flinched. She could feel her father's pinching disapproval without even having to face it. She was well-practiced at feeling it.
"No. It ran away."
"It wasn't my fault! Nidoran wouldn't listen to me!" Normally, Andromeda wouldn't think of talking back. But something about Ms. Giovanni's presence made her brave. And defensive. She didn't want her father bad-mouthing her in front of this woman. Not when she had somehow already met her approval.
"And whose fault was that?" Her father snapped back. "You are too weak, too soft. Of course, it wouldn't listen."
Andromeda knew she wasn't. The injustice of it was burning at her cheeks and ears. She smacked Nidoran when it disobeyed, right on the bottom. That's where Father liked to hit her, so Andromeda knew it hurt. It yelped and cried. It cowered when she approached. She took away its food until it learned not to. She wanted the pokemon to fear her, but it couldn't look like it. A skittish pokemon wouldn't scare others. It needed to both frighten and be frightened. It feared her plenty. She was strong. She was hard. She was just like Father.
She just forgot to close her bedroom window that night.
"If you would just give me another chance!"
"So you could lose another one? Do you think pokemon grow on trees? No. No, Andromeda. You aren't meant to have pokemon. Leave that to your betters."
"That's alright," said Ms. Giovanni. "A Comare has other weapons she can use."
So she said, but Andromeda could tell she was disappointed. Andromeda ducked her head in shame. And that's when Andromeda first noticed the second pair of polished shoes. She followed the trouser legs up a tailored suit and to the face of the Rocket boss' only son. The sight stole her breath away.
Not because the boy was handsome. Perhaps he had been the first time these events had played out for her. No, she was startled because he didn't have a face. No matter how hard or long she stared, the fog of her memory wouldn't clear.
The noise of her memory carried on without her. It buzzed by like twin freight trains whistling on her either side. Andromeda was left staring down the faceless apparition of her faceless fiancee. The skin where his mouth was meant to be puckered and twitched as he spoke. Andromeda remembered they had been kind words. She had had no complaints about the arrangement, surprise as it was to her ten-year-old self. There had been a lot of hope wrapped up in the promise. Hope of change and escape from an unloved existence.
And yet now, it had been stolen from her. Andromeda stared and stared, but she couldn't change his face. It was fixed in anonymity, taunting her. She ripped at her ears; the sounds becoming downright unbearable. The harder she tried to stare, the louder the sound. It was like an alarm, trying to ward her off from digging deeper. She screamed into it, feeling the bloody tears ripping at the corners of her vision.
"Give him back! Give him back!" She shrieked, latching onto Giovanni's young featureless face.
The paper of her memory rippled like water. But it refused to yield to her.
She dug her nails in, trying to pry free the mask from his face. The boy did nothing to fight her. But the mask didn't give. Instead, the boy bled. He bled so hard and fast that her hands were sticky with it. And yet, she still could make nothing out. No sweep of a chin or swoop of a nose bridge.
"Give him back!" She screamed into his face.
"Andromeda."
The sound jarred her, shaking her free from the dream, but not from the madness.
"Andromeda, can you hear me?"
She was in the snow. Andromeda could feel the numb bite of it through her wet gloves. When she opened her eyes to an empty gray sky, she thought herself in her mental daydream. Had she fallen while skiing? Her head pounded like she had.
"Andromeda, ma'am? Are you alright?"
Someone cut into her view of the sky. She jumped at first, thinking it might have been the faceless phantom back to torture her, but as her vision focused, she recognized him. Clark had a split lip and a puffy eye that was starting to purple. The young man had seen better days, but his face was intact. And that was all Andromeda cared about at the moment.
"Are you alright?" He asked again.
He didn't look concerned, per se. Not for her sake. And Andromeda wouldn't have expected it. But there was anxiety etched in his brows. Probably worried about his future career prospects. Rather than being disgusted, Andromeda found herself pleased. She was glad to see that her own temporary unconsciousness had unearthed no power-hungry ambitions in him. Clark still wanted to serve, not lead. That was good.
She sat up too quickly. It made the snowy backdrop around her swim. Andromeda squeezed her eyes shut and because they expected it of her, she groaned, "I'm fine."
"What happened?"
She could feel the contents of her stomach high in her throat. She gave an acidic burp before quickly covering her lips. The nausea was almost overwhelming. It came alongside the flash of memory, pieces of it burned and ruined by… something. Try as she might, Andromeda could not recall what she had forgotten. But the emptiness had seared a hole in the center of her mind.
But there was something. Something she hadn't forgotten. The thing that had done this to her.
Although the motion brought more bile to her lips, she looked up. The skies remained as gray and empty as they had when she had first woken.
"Mewtwo."
"What? Did it attack you?"
"Yes," Andromeda sneered, wiping her lips. "It fucked with my mind."
Clark helped her dutifully to her feet. Andromeda swayed there drunkenly. She gripped Clark's shoulder, using him as an anchor to steady herself. Her hair was hopelessly mussed. Blond tresses had fallen into her face, and she didn't bother tucking them back into place. Let her stay the mess outside that she felt inside. There was a scream ripping her up. She could feel it burning up her esophagus, only just contained. But she refused to let it out. Afraid that once she had, whatever was still keeping her together would come undone.
"I'm going to murder that fucking pokemon." At Clark's startled expression, Andromeda allowed a smile to steal across her blood-red lips. "Slowly."
I'm going to drain him of his mind-fucking powers and then rip his brain out of his skull. I'll make sure he dies so slowly."
"And… the Ketchum boy?"
"The who?"
"The…" Clark frowned. But he must have seen something dangerous in her eyes. Something that didn't care to be reminded. "Nevermind. He doesn't matter."
Secretly, Clark disagreed with his own assessment. But he knew better than to have an opinion.
Wave made up everything in the tapestry of life. As a hatchling, Riolu would marvel for hours at how it all stitched together. It was different back then, a different life, a different time. Things felt simpler as if the stitches were wider and easier to spot. But perhaps there had been simply fewer humans back then.
The former Riolu had reckoned in its current stage of life, he had seen all there was to see in wave. He wasn't just old for a pokemon, Lucario was verifiably ancient. Older than the humans in their absurdly tall habitable abodes. Older than most trees in the forested glen he was secreted away amongst. It was rare that something in nature predated him.
He was a seasoned veteran in a dying art. Even modern-day pokemon of his species would rarely find a gift for wave and if they did, their grasp would be rudimentary at best. Even rarer was the gift born in humans. Lucario only knew of two. The first had died centuries before. The second continued to be full of surprises.
It was this very odd human's wave energy that had arrested Lucario's senses of late. Lucario didn't make a habit of checking up on the teenager, but a couple times throughout the year, during the change of seasons, memories of his human friend would prompt a quick visit. Though he'd never admit it, Lucario was a worrier. He knew Ash Ketchum was a Chosen One and could be called upon to do more life-endangering assignments at the drop of a hat. If he didn't check up on Ash at least a few times a year, Lucario's anxieties ate him up inside.
But it wasn't a habit. Just an occasional whim.
So, when the time had come around again, Lucario returned to some old haunts, hoping to catch a whiff of the human. Sometimes, he was easy enough to find. Lucario would follow some old traces to fresh ones and catch up with the phantoms of his presence. It was rarely anything unexpected. The boy was taller, but his grasp over wave had stagnated over the years. He was often training or challenging different leagues; his pokemon team seldom shifting in its players. He blazed bright with an aura, infrequently used. But these were all good signs. It meant the boy had achieved some of the normalcy he had so craved.
But this time was different. Different in a bad way.
Lucario had sought the familiar traces, and those were mundane enough. He followed the tracks through Viridian City, seeing much of what he expected to find. Tall and bleached white human habitation with far too many windows. The occasional tree bricked or fenced in place. Paved roadways that snaked like dark frozen rivers throughout the village. And then, of course, Ash and his pokemon. The phantom traces of the young man's anxious energy while he sized up the local pokemon gym. Ash played the part of an ordinary pokemon trainer well.
Then the auras all shifted with an alarming tilt. The phantoms that Lucario had chased had heightened traces of aura. Ash's wave burned brighter, frighteningly so. There was only one reason someone deterred from wave would call upon it so fiercely. Like a knight clutching at a sword he couldn't unsheathe. Ash had been in terrible danger.
The trail continued to tell a dreadful story. In much of it, Ash had been unconscious — his wave signature barely perceptible, save to the pokemon who was already looking for it. He followed the traces, rarely taking a moment to rest. He couldn't afford to. Ash couldn't afford it. Whoever or whatever had captured him had caused him enough alarm to send off flares. This wasn't the average Team Rocket skirmish. This was a life or death encounter. And Lucario feared he might have already been too late.
By the time Lucario had realized Ash's fate in Viridian City's pokemon gym, a week had already passed. All players in the encounter had long since vacated the area. Lucario had considered approaching the wave signatures of humans that had tried to prevent Ash's kidnapping. But he didn't trust that they wouldn't want introductions and explanations. Humans were infuriating in that way. There was no time for such things, and Ash couldn't wait for it.
So Lucario left them to their plans while he formulated his own. He dashed across the country, over fields, forests, and mountains, trying to catch up to the airborne craft that had snatched Ash up. The human craft set a grueling pace. But Lucario wasn't one to shy away from a challenge. Several days into the chase, Lucario found the place where Ash had been secreted. They were deep in the Mt. Silver mountain range, hidden within a small fortress of uniformly dressed humans. Their wave signatures were tiny, petty and mean; an unfortunate collection of unpleasant shades of wickedness. A common thread amongst them seemed to be a general disdain for pokemon, not unexpected in an evil conglomerate of this scale.
If Lucario could decipher the odd clusters of symbols plastered over every whitewashed uniform and frosted metal wall, he might have known who these humans were. Or at least what they called themselves. A great deal of information could be gained from such things. Sir Aaron had once tried to teach Lucario how to read. But like many things from the past, it didn't stick. And Lucario didn't need to be well versed in his letters to notice how these had different shapes from those in the past. Even if he had been a savant of the human tongue, he might have still been at a loss when trying to read modern fonts.
So Lucario worked with what he knew. These humans were organized, well-funded and smart. They had a grudge against the Chosen One, or just Ash himself, both scenarios making them his enemy, too. Their auras warned of danger, a minor one but still sharp. He was confident in his abilities as a wave user, but not cocky. If surrounded, Lucario doubted he could take on all the humans by himself. If he were to tackle this fortress and save Ash, it would have to be with stealth.
Before Lucario had settled on his point of entry, things changed again. This time in a way that Lucario had never encountered before. It shook the very foundation of his understanding of wave and how it existed in the world.
The wave within Ash came undone. In the matter of seconds, it unraveled. It happened so fast, Lucario might have thought Ash had passed away. But Lucario had felt death before. This wasn't death. It was a life being rewritten. Ash was disassembled and then stitched back together as something entirely new.
All plans of rescue had to be halted. Lucario had no choice, as he did not know what he was dealing with any longer. Was he still trying to rescue Ash or someone new?
Lucario spent the next several days cradled in the shelter of nearby pines, watching and waiting. Though he looked as grim a sentry as ever, it couldn't be farther from how he felt. The cold from the mountain could not more effectively freeze him to his spot. His heart was high in his throat. He could feel the prickling scrape of anxiety on his flesh, pushing up his hackles. And it wouldn't go away. He felt for his friend, grieved for him. But simultaneously, Lucario could make no sense of what he was dealing with here.
Any time he felt out for Ash's energy, whatever was left of the young man felt alien. It wasn't long before Lucario began to question his remaining presence there. Just what was he waiting for? The longer he stayed, the more Lucario felt like he wasn't there to rescue anything. He was guarding a grenade, waiting for it to explode. For surely something of this nature couldn't continue to exist as it was for long?
The new wave signature shone like a clutter of diamonds, glinting and winking at Lucario. There was still something like Ash within them. But without meeting the boy, Lucario had no means to determine how much of him remained.
He couldn't and wouldn't admit it, but Lucario was frightened. Frightened in a way he hadn't been for centuries.
But the fear couldn't keep him from trying. There was a chance that something was still enough of Ash left within that twisted tangle of energy to merit a rescue attempt. So, pushing his valid concerns aside for the time being, Lucario re-tackled the problem that was this villain facility.
There was only so much stealth that Lucario could accomplish without help. He wasn't invisible, nor had any supernatural ability to appear so. He could only dodge and weave his way in so far before hitting a wall of technology. Digi-locks were insurmountable obstacles for a time traveler of his ilk. Security cameras would catch him in corners that the human eye might overlook. And motion detector alarms were beyond Lucario's understanding.
Several weeks had gone by and Lucario had nothing to show save for a sizable amount of failed rescue attempts. Sensing Ash's aura inside did nothing to help Lucario with the layout of the building's facilities. He had to form a blueprint mentally after several scouting expeditions inside. He knew they had spotted him a few times. For a while, they had ignored his presence as nothing more than a wild pokemon accidentally getting itself lost inside. As if he were nothing more alarming than the occasionally rogue pidgey or zubat. When he continued to get spotted at different time intervals, their suspicions mounted. It didn't seem to be an accident any longer, but an infiltration with intelligent design. However, they still failed to suspect Lucario himself. Their low opinion of pokemon was keeping Lucario out of more immediate danger. He had gone from a wayward wild pokemon to a infiltrating trainer's pokemon. It would have to take considerable more damage to convince them that the breaking and entering pokemon were entirely to blame. And Lucario hoped to be long gone before they got that idea. So long as they thought a trainer existed outside these walls, waiting to recall him, Lucario was worth keeping alive and watched.
But they would not open the doors to their inner sanctum. It had felt that only a few irritating walls had separated Ash from him. But since the unraveling of his aura, it seemed they had moved the boy. He was deep inside now, hidden behind thick walls of future tech that Lucario was finding quite impossible to bypass.
Then the unexpected happened again. Just when Lucario had slipped several floors down through an unguarded elevator shaft, the pokemon had felt it. It ripped through the air like an explosion, nearly tossing Lucario back up the shaft. A powerful shock wave had buffeted through the facility, shaking the walls. Lucario got caught up in the emotion of it — a powerful surge of stinging anger that brought tears to the pokemon's eyes. There was something else in it; an identity.
Ash.
Lucario felt the energy, breathed it in and then let it wash over him. Although alarming, the minor explosion confirmed that Ash still existed inside the new tangle of energies that had supplanted him. It renewed Lucario's enthusiasm for rescue, but did nothing to ease it.
Because with the explosion came an increase in villainous agents. It was all Lucario could do to keep from being sandwiched in the halls between patrols. Their nerves were fried, shooting at everything that moved. It no longer mattered if Lucario was wild or some trainer's. He had become a threat. After his initial retreat following the explosion, Lucario could not make any ground. They banished him.
It forced Lucario to reevaluate his strategy. Before he could make much headway, the pieces of the game moved on without his input. Ash was extracted and placed on another aircraft, forcing Lucario to chase.
It would be a month before Lucario could even come close to catching up to the traces of Ash's aura, or whatever was left of it. It hadn't helped that the wave signature had changed so completely. Lucario might have once described Ash's aura in the very human concepts of color as gold. The new aura had flickering traces of both a fiery pink and icy blue; each battling for dominance. The shades of it were shifting and altering, which made it near impossible to track.
Which led him to where he found himself today, scaling a mountain. Amongst the evergreens that covered the skirt of the largest peak, Lucario had set up a post. He could feel traces of Ash's transformed aura all around the mountain range, but struggled to pinpoint a definite heading. The traces were days old, which could be lifetimes apart when chasing a Chosen One. So Lucario was forced to sit on his laurels and wait. And luckily, he hadn't had to wait for long.
Halfway through the twilight, the second one since he had arrived, Lucario had spied the villains from before. Lucario had been napping within the boughs of a large pine when he spotted them making their way below. The pair of humans donned the same uniforms as the thugs who had kidnapped Ash. After spending so many weeks hiding in their shadows, Lucario couldn't mistake them.
They weren't the chatty sort, spending most of their time peering through the dark trees with flashlights. Lucario shadowed them for a while. But when it became apparent that they wouldn't be spilling any secrets to the quiet forest trees, Lucario was forced to take action.
Dropping into a snowdrift to muffle the sound, Lucario came up behind one of the unlucky fellows. Even with one arm disarming and subduing the human was child's play. He made a dance of it, face planting the agent before the second one even knew what was happening. Lucario lunged at the last player, causing the man to scream. He threw his flashlight at Lucario's head and the pokemon ducked.
"STAY AWAY!" the human shrieked, stumbling backward and falling hard on his rump.
The remaining agent was younger than his fellow by at least a decade and several gray hairs. And although Lucario was no expert in human life cycles, he suspected the agent to be around the same age as Ash. Feathery yellow hair peeked out beneath the man's snow hood, framing large eyes that were wide, youthful, and frightened. Frightened? Good. Lucario could work with frightened.
Lucario let the wave catch alight in his paws. The glow reflected in the boy's eyes. The human stifled a gasp and scrambled backward and away from the pokemon.
"What are you searching for?"
The human started, boxing his ears for good measure. His reaction to telepathy was pretty typical, nothing that Lucario hadn't seen before. Normally, he would give humans a chance to recover, reevaluate, and readjust their world view. But with this boy, Lucario had no intention of going slow. Fear was best when it was pushed forward and fast. He didn't want to give the boy a chance to lower his heart rate.
"I said… what are you humans searching for?"
"Mewtwo!" The human sputtered, still clutching at his ears. "We're looking for a pokemon called Mewtwo!"
Lucario frowned. He had never heard of such a pokemon. Had Ash recently gained a rare pokemon partner that had lured in the more ravenous collectors? Or was it possible that it was some new type of pokemon that Ash was mixed up with?
Mew, Lucario knew only too well. There had been one of its kind hidden within the boughs of the mammoth Tree of Beginnings. He surrendered an arm to save it and all their lives from the tree itself. But Mewtwo? Did legendary Mews find some way to replicate themselves into a second version? Were Mewtwos evolutions of the first?
Lucario gave his head a shake to clear the questing thoughts. They were circling themselves uselessly the longer he pondered. Just another thing he didn't understand.
He could always interrogate this human for the pokemon's identity. But that would show his hand. These villains seemed to think all pokemon conspired together against them. Let them continue to think that.
"And Ash Ketchum? What did you do to him?"
The young man's eyes widened. And then, perhaps realizing how revealing his own body language had been, the agent turned his head. Lucario had lobbed the question, expecting to go wide. He hadn't expected such a clear and honest answer. Not only did this boy recognize Ash's name, but he reacted in such a way that suggested familiarity. Intimate familiarity. This agent had not only encountered Ash, but he must have spent some time in the young man's company.
"What did you do?" Lucario snarled, showing teeth.
"He's dead. They said he was dead."
The words were meant to wound and certainly had the power. But the way the young man delivered them, dull and listless — Lucario knew them to be false. They were a shield to keep Lucario from the truth.
Lucario grabbed the agent by the scruff of his collar, twisted him around, and forced him down to his knees, whimpering. The man knelt in the snowmelt and mud, head bowed like a prisoner before the headman's block. Lucario applied pressure to the back of the man's neck, forcing the man to bow deeper.
"Tell the truth."
"I did. He's de-dead." He whimpered.
The man's voice cracked on the last word, squeaking his way through the solemn statement. Even so, he issued the news with robotic compliance. It wasn't true. The young man didn't believe it was true. But he had been told to believe it was true.
Lucario changed tactics. Keeping the commanding pressure in place, Lucario knelt to look the human in the face. His face was a brilliant shade of pink and there was an unmistakable sheen to his eyes. The young man did his very best not to let his eyes even twitch in Lucario's direction.
The nice thing about telepathy was that it had none of the constraints bound to spoken communication. Volume and noise were unnecessary and human. Lucario could direct his thoughts in any way that he felt. So long as someone was within his sight line, Lucario could address him.
So, shoveling up his words and stuffing them in close to his captive's head, Lucario whispered, "You don't believe that. I know you don't."
The young man shivered. Lucario didn't need to say, I'm a mind reader, for the young man to infer. And why wouldn't he? What knowledge did this lackey have of telepathy? Did he comprehend all its nuances? Or did he assume as most that one psychic ability spoke of them all? If Lucario had the facial muscles to smile, he would have.
"Okay," the man mumbled. "I heard… something… that he might still be alive."
"Where is he?"
The man's eyes flickered back the way he had come, up the mountain slopes. Ah ha. So the genuine answer comes out. They weren't just looking for Mewtwo on the mountain. He was in the right place, after all.
Lucario tossed the man back down into the snow. His mind was too full of the next stage that he underestimated the threat that the junior agent still posed. Lucario would curse his inattentiveness in the days that followed. For in the moments that Lucario lost his senses, Lewis had regained his own.
Unlatching a pair of innocent-looking bracers from his belt, Lewis kept his hands low and close to the ground. He treated Lucario much as he would any pokemon, like a loaded pistol. Blood still rushing in his ears, Lewis took a few deep breaths to steady his voice.
"You want to find Ash too."
It wasn't a question. Lucario realized too late the danger behind the statement. The young man struck with a swiftness that Lucario didn't usually credit humans with. He swung his body around hard and fast and in the spin, latched an electronic bracer to Lucario's only wrist. The bracer let out a melodic beep just as Lewis slapped a matching one to his own wrist. Before Lucario could process what had just happened, an electronic current surged to life between the two bracers, yanking them together as if on magnets.
Lucario found his only arm fastened to that of the junior agent.
The boy grinned at Lucario, "Got you."
Lucario wished he still had his other arm… so he could punch this kid in the face.
He could feel his fingers first, fluttering uselessly and attached to equally useless arms. They felt less like arms and more like wings shorn of their feathers. The world spun by too quickly to make any sense. It swirled in a sickening mass of colors and streaking lights as Ash tumbled head over foot through the universe.
Pockets of sense would only make periodic appearances — words and phrases that might have once made sense all strung together. But now, they were soggy and lost in a soup of nonsense.
He's trying to kill me.
Remember yourself!
Pikachu! If you don't let go of him… Misty. Misty said yes. Let Pikachu go! No running. He's not the only one getting hurt. We'll see this through together.
You've made your point. Very scary.
I don't want to fight you.
Shot…
Ashton. Alive and well? How wonderful.
Afraid to find out which of us is greater? I've been shot.
Stay safe.
Mist.
Ash somehow landed upright, though he didn't quite know how. His head felt like it had been split open. His legs, though supporting his weight, felt as immovable as stone. He was left perched outside a set of impossibly large doors on an unfriendly rocky shoreline. Ash craned his head to see the top of the doors. The effort made the pounding in his head louder.
Mewtwo's fortress.
Ash didn't know how he remembered. He couldn't even remember forgetting it in the first place. But the answer found itself a home in the question Ash had yet to ask.
"It's time."
Ash blinked and turned to face himself. It wasn't the first time they had met. Their meetings had been more frequent in the last few months. This was the part of himself that had broken off some years ago, staring him down with some disappointment.
"Time? Time for what?"
The younger version let out an exasperated sigh. He pushed his hair back, knocking the brim of his trademark red and white league hat. He stared up at Ash, both younger and older than Ash, simultaneously. This part of himself, chipped away from the whole, had become immortal but frozen. Ash couldn't even begin to know him.
"Time for you to become me."
Ash stumbled back, his head aching anew. He pressed his heel of his hand over his eye, hoping to hold the pain in. It felt like it was leaking out of his eyes, like shards of glass. He stared down at the littler him through his good eye.
"What if I don't want to?"
"You don't get a choice anymore," explained the younger impatiently. "If you want to get out of here, you have to move forward. If you want to move forward, you'll have to be me. You didn't exist at this time, but I did. Only those who were there can see this part."
The words had weight and sense, but Ash didn't want them to. He was scared. He was scared of all of this, of himself, of Mewtwo, of these memories. And most of all, Ash was scared to die. Because Ash knew what laid at the end of this road. Mewtwo, himself, had confessed it. In that giant pokemon stadium barren of an audience, Mewtwo had murdered him — accidentally, as if that mattered any.
The fear was snaking up his fingers, tingling and numb. He trembled and then folded his arms tight across his chest to hold himself still. If he squeezed, if he squeezed everything in; his arms, his chest, his eyes. If he folded himself in, he could keep the fear from touching.
"No," said Ash quietly at first. He shook his head and put strength back into his voice as he repeated, "No. No. No, absolutely not."
"I told you, you don't have a choice."
Younger Ash reached for him, but Ash pulled away. He hugged his chest tighter. His head was swimming, but he refused to take that breath in.
"Ash, seriously," snapped little Ash. "Stop being a baby. I told you. There's no-"
"THERE'S ALWAYS A CHOICE!"
The air was dead. Nothing moved in this place, not even words. His shout hung limp in the air before falling down at their feet. And in the silence that followed, Ash increased the distance between him and the person he was supposed to be.
The younger version pulled back his hand.
"Not this time, Ash," He said, almost sympathetically.
Ash was going uncomfortably numb. He fell hard to one knee, somehow finding it difficult to support himself any longer. Whether weighted down by emotion or something else, Ash felt heavy. The other version was closing the space between them, and Ash no longer had the strength to stop him.
Ash hung his head. The mirror of himself was before him now, within arm's reach. The boy could easily take him. And yet, he didn't. When Ash raised his head, he saw the offered hand first.
He shouldn't have been surprised. After all, this other him was still him. He would force no one into something they didn't want. Even though they were separated by experience and decades, they were still the same boy who dreamed big dreams.
"It's not so bad," the other Ash whispered.
"I'm scared."
"I know."
"Will it hurt?"
The other Ash looked taken aback by the question. But, despite being troubled by the thought, he answered honestly,
"It happened so fast, I don't think I felt a thing."
Ash swallowed the whimper in his throat. It wasn't exactly comforting. But probably the best thing he could hope for when facing his own mortality. He reached out, but this time, his younger self pulled back.
"Mean it this time. Take it all on. Make it fit. If you don't want it back, it won't come back."
"But I don't have a choice."
The younger Ash smiled sadly and shook his head. Ash took a deep, steadying breath and purposefully reached out his hand.
"Let's go."
The younger's smile split across his face. It would be years before maturity had tempered caution into him. Ten-year-old Ash had always been the sort to fly by the seat of his pants. The exact opposite of the young man trembling at his side. The man had seen too much to be ignorant of the costs. He had been hurt so much that this last hurt had seemed insurmountable, but then again… what was one more?
"Don't let go."
Ash took Ash's hand in his own. As soon as they touched, Ash felt the familiar pressure building in his head. He screamed and buckled beneath the weight. A thousand forgotten thoughts were burrowing into his brain. This part hurt. It hurt because he was meant to survive it.
Despite the pain, Ash held tight to himself. Ash waited through the waves of agony until he was left gripping nothing but air. He knelt, gasping in place, a foot shorter in clothes at least a decade out of date. He pulled at his jacket and secured his hat back into place, nervously stepping back into the role of his younger self.
He was still eighteen… maybe. Ash had heard adults often forgetting their own ages when their years had piled on. He never thought that the reverse could have ever happened. Forgetting his age because he had lost a few.
What mattered, despite feeling weak, sick, and dizzy from a blinding migraine, Ash still felt like himself. Younger and in new skin, but still himself. He climbed back to his feet, surprised to find himself flanked by his old compatriots.
"Alright there, Ash?" Brock asked.
Misty flashed him a look of annoyance. "Don't tell me you're getting second thoughts?"
Pikachu climbed up onto Ash's shoulder and piped out a wordless string of nonsense in his own tongue. And Ash didn't catch a word of it. He stared at the pokemon, dumbfounded.
"What?"
"What do you mean, what?" Misty snapped back, misinterpreting his response as being meant for her. She was shaking out her windbreaker and trying to squeeze the seawater from her hair. And Ash couldn't help but stare. She was so young. Still pretty, but not the pretty that he knew she'd eventually be. The kind of pretty that stole his breath away and made his skin burn. This pretty was still a bit too young to do that just yet.
Brock startled Ash by slapping him on the shoulder. "Don't be nervous, Ash. Remember, the world's premiere Pokemon master asked for you by name! You're meant to be here."
"Meant to be…" Ash repeated dully.
"Yeah, they chose you, didn't they?" Misty said, rolling her eyes.
"I was chosen."
"Pika! Pikachu pikapi!"
Ash frowned, took another deep breath to help pull his bravery up from somewhere down deep, and turned back to the doors. They creaked open, due to the presence of a young woman in strange maroon-colored robes. Her identity came quickly to his tender mind. The woman who had met them at the docks… yes, she was going to lead them to the pokemon master.
The pokemon master — no, to Mewtwo. Ash squinted as his memories battled for supremacy in his head. Yes, he was pretty sure he was right. Like knowing the ending to a book he hadn't read for several years — he knew this was something that he couldn't know yet, but somehow did.
"Let's go meet him," Ash said solemnly.
Brock and Misty both gave their friend an odd look. It wasn't like him to be so grave at the prospect of anything involving pokemon.
"Who said anything about a him?" Misty huffed, cutting the tension. "The pokemon master could be a woman…"
To Be Continued…
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Stay tuned for the next chapter which should be released this February.