Content Warning: There's some gore in this one. There's also a bit of body horror (especially if you're tokophobic), depictions of trauma flashbacks (including some very self-blaming thoughts), and a scene in which the demon-Gastly further violates James's bodily autonomy.
Also, seedbane is not a real plant; I made it up for the story (though if it did exist, I could see it being quite a handy plant to have).
-O-o-O-o-O-
They reached the cabin without further interruption.
"Looks cozy," Misty said, eying the barely two-roomed structure. Neither party was particularly excited to live in the same cramped quarters, however temporary it may have been. But at least the place had running water and a tiny bathroom tucked into an alcove off to the side. There wasn't any electricity, though, so they'd have to rely on a tin can fire on the dirt floor for cooking and lighting.
"It may not be much, but at least it's shelter," Meowth said, dusting off the floor mats.
Brock stepped forward to speak, but Jessie and James seemed to have disappeared. "Where'd the others go?"
Meowth nodded in the direction of the bathroom. "They went to go freshen up. They always do that after we've spent a few days in a tent."
"Okay." Brock relaxed a little, but kept his guard up. Ash and Misty were still setting up their sleeping areas, so he turned back to Meowth. "Do you know anything about this Gastly?"
Meowth shook the dust out of a blanket with startling vehemence. "I know when I find a way to beat him, I'll give him a one-way return ticket to hell."
Brock was so unnerved by the iciness of Meowth's answer that he didn't immediately inquire further.
In the bathroom, Jessie and James were changing from their Team Rocket uniforms to more comfortable civilian clothes.
James slid a baggy white t-shirt over his head then promptly had to rush to the toilet. Jessie noticed and went to hold his hair back. "You're spewing more toxic waste than Weezing," she said.
James wiped his mouth and leaned against the wall. "Is this part of a normal pregnancy or part of the corruption?"
Jessie stood up and put on a black t-shirt. "It depends on the person, but it can be normal," she said. "Some are lucky, but some are, well…." She trailed off when she turned back around and saw the complete despondency on James's face.
James drew his legs up against his chest. "What am I going to do? If it turns out that the fetus has been corrupted, I don't know if I can fix it. But even if that isn't the case, I don't know the first thing about parenting." He put his head down on his knees. "But here I am, assuming I'll survive. With my luck, I'll probably die in childbirth." He dragged his gaze up towards Jessie. "Could that happen?"
Jessie knelt down to comfort him. "Yes, unfortunately, some people do die in childbirth. However, judging from your resilience through our constant blasting off, I'd say it's highly unlikely. Also, Meowth kittens are a lot smaller than human babies. I doubt you'll show much, let alone have serious trouble pushing one out."
James let out a shaky sigh of relief. "At least the twerps won't notice anything. That is, until the third day." He ran his hand through his hair. "I wish I had the full nine weeks to figure this all out. I still haven't thought of a way to fight that Gastly."
Jessie zipped up her red shorts. "Well, you won't have to face this all alone." She handed James a hair tie. "We have salt. I heard evil spirits hate that."
"Thanks. Then I won't use salt when I cook dinner tonight. We'll save it for the fight," James said. He tied his hair back into a ponytail and pulled on a pair of loose blue shorts.
Jessie squinted at James's hair. "Your hair is slightly longer and fuller. It must be the hormones."
James smiled weakly. "Small victories."
They rejoined the others in the main room. Brock wasted no time.
"What is it that you're not telling us?" Brock asked.
Jessie and James shared a look. "We know just as much about that Gastly as you do," Jessie said.
"Which is practically nothing," Meowth added.
Brock folded his arms. "Yeah, see, I don't think you do."
Jessie threw her arms up, frustrated. "We told you everything we know. I don't know what else to tell you."
Brock was relentless. "I kept a list. First of all, when we came across that dead Fearow, James started to say something about corruption." He tried to make eye contact with James, whose gaze seemed to be bolted to the floor mats. "What did you mean by that?"
James wouldn't look at them. "Nothing, really."
"Then why would you say it?" Ash pressed.
James sighed. "Demons tend to corrupt things. The same way mold spreads from one slice of bread to the next, the owner of the disembodied voice could have spread his spores of dark magic." He clutched the doorknob, suddenly weak. "Why did I have to use a food metaphor?"
Misty raised an eyebrow. "How do you know the disembodied voice belongs to a demon?"
James regarded her wearily. "Who else but a demon could put a force field around an entire forest?"
"A demon could do that. Or a powerful Pokémon," Brock said. "Or….maybe a series of devices buried around the forest? The same forest that contains your base?"
"You seem to have a disturbing familiarity with this demon and his behavior," Misty said. "Especially you, James."
Meowth leapt forward. "Hey, lay off him, will ya? All three of us saw this demon-Gastly!"
"How do we know this isn't an elaborate scheme to get Pikachu?" Ash demanded.
"Or that you're not just riding a chaos wave into your next wipeout?" Misty added.
Jessie palmed her face. "Just think for a second, twerps. If this were a plot to steal Pikachu, do you really think we would lead you back to our base?"
The twerps tensed up. "Is this actually your base?" Brock asked carefully.
Jessie let out an exasperated growl and clawed at her hair, not caring if she mussed it. Meowth put both paws over his face and made an equally frustrated noise. James murmured, "Mew's Tail," and rushed back into the bathroom.
"I guess a decoy base scheme is probably out of their competence range," Brock whispered to Misty and Ash.
The twerps turned back to face Jessie and Meowth. "Okay. So maybe you are telling the truth," Misty said. "But you have to admit, Meowth, you did seem a little suspicious, whispering in the bushes with James."
"He was pukin' his guts out. I had to make sure he didn't faint," Meowth said. "You saw the shape he was in."
The twerps looked ready for another round of questioning, but shrugged. "I guess we can't argue with any of that logic," Brock said.
"I understand that you still don't trust us."
Both teams looked over to see James, standing by the bathroom door, eyes downcast.
"I don't blame you," James continued. "But the longer we keep fighting, the further we'll get from defeating that Gastly, or demon, or whatever it is, and escaping this forest." He peered out the window. "I need to collect kindling to cook dinner." He finally made eye contact with the twerps. "You're welcome to accompany me if you think I need supervision."
The twerps shared a look, then nodded. "I'll go with you," Brock said.
"We'll stay alert," Misty assured him.
"And we'll be on our best behavior," Meowth said. "If only for James's sake," he added silently.
-O-o-O-
James took a shaky breath. He only had to pick up sticks. He could manage that even in his state.
He would not dwell on the twerps' interrogation. He would bury all thoughts of the Fearow carcass, the blood wafting its heady yet odious odor. He would bottle up his simultaneous burning-like-Moltres desire and paralyzing dread of Meowth's touch, its cap one he would never collect.
There were only the sticks.
He found a fallen tree branch and snapped off some twigs. Since it hadn't rained like they'd thought it would, these would be nice and dry for the fire. He picked the whole thing up and turned to go back to the cabin.
The stench from beyond the bushes nearly felled him. He knew he should ignore it—carry on past the carrion, stick to the sticks. But he was a magnet drawn to the ferrous and flesh fragrance. He crossed the leafen threshold.
Three dead Spearows lay on a bed of verdureless dirt, arranged in an inverted triangle with a twig construction erected in the center. James tried to turn away, but his body wouldn't obey. His traitorous feet dragged him closer.
The view grew better and worse. Now that he was nearly on top of the arrangement, he could see that the twig structure was a rough capital "P" made from three twigs burnt black. He could see all too clearly the gaping holes in each Spearow's chest, the blood pooling like a heart soup. His gorge rose, yet his mouth watered. Maybe just a taste….
James tore himself away with a choked cry. Why did the blood tempt him so? He could never!
It was the thing inside of him. It had to be. He smoothed his hair with an unsteady hand. He wasn't going to succumb to the wicked urges the corrupted seed forced on him. He was going to pick up the sticks.
The twig talisman mirrored the "P" gashed into the temple ceiling
The dry branches he'd collected would do nicely.
The Gastly assailant never stated his name
James hoped that eldest twerp—Brock, was it?—hadn't seen that gruesome diorama. What a horrible sight for his innocent twerpy eyes!
The red blooming from the sacrificed hearts
James's lower body clenched. Focus on the task at hand. Think of the sticks.
Was it blood or red ectoplasm?
Woodgathering was an inadequate distraction. Think of roses. Think of rose petals, fluttering in a gentle summer breeze.
Red petals turning to gobs of red ectoplasm, staining his snow white unmentionables
Smokescreen these thoughts!
The smoky tendrils probing
James's grip on the kindling tightened until several of the sticks snapped. He collapsed against a tree. Jessie and Meowth kept telling him it wasn't his fault, but he just couldn't believe them. Somehow, he should have known those red clouds were a bad omen. He should have told Meowth they needed to wait until the storm had passed (or until they were out of this forest) to consummate their relationship. At the very least, he should have known to use protection.
He should have prepared for these troubles.
James got to his feet, leaning heavily on the tree. He turned to leave when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the solution to all their Gastly problems.
Near the tree grew a long-stemmed plant with green, purple, and black streaked leaves. James had no trouble identifying the toxic stalks.
"Seedbane," he whispered. He couldn't believe his luck.
"James! Are you out there?" It was Brock.
James ducked behind the tree, not quite ready to face Brock. This was the one who fancied himself a Pokémon breeder extraordinaire, wasn't he? Did Brock suspect James's condition? Could Brock tell that James carried within him the ticking timebomb ready to blast them all off into a world that could not be protected from devastation?
Brock continued his hunt. "This better not be another trick!"
James silently watched Brock pass the tree and disappear into the bushes. He turned back to the seedbane plants.
He remembered one of his childhood visits to his grandparents, the only adults who seemed to care about him as a person and not just a tool for maintaining their status. There had been a length of time during which his grandpapa would distribute the plant, usually to anxious young people, sometimes to middle-aged adults. He would instruct them to make a tea of it, drink the tea, and come back for a follow-up visit a few days later. James had noticed that when they made their second visit, they seemed less tense, relieved even.
Later, in private, James had asked if the plant was some sort of rejuvenating remedy. Grandpapa had made a strained expression James couldn't quite read at the time. Then he had gently explained that, no, this plant was actually quite toxic.
"But why do you give it to them?" James had asked.
Grandpapa had sat him down and explained. "When two people do certain activities with each other, there may be unexpected results. Sometimes, they aren't ready for such a life-changing event. This plant helps prevent that change from taking place."
As the reverie ended, James approached the seedbane plants. He hadn't realized it until he read further about herbalism, but his grandparents had been the only adults in his childhood who taught him anything useful about reproduction. He was woefully naïve about most of the details until Jessie and Meowth clued him in, but now he knew better.
He knew how to defuse the time bomb.
James knelt in front of the seedbane. In very large amounts, it was toxic, but its taste was so bitter, no human or Pokémon was likely to eat enough to really hurt themselves. However, for an organism that needed a host to survive, it was deadly. His grandpapa usually brewed a tea from it, but one could get the same results from chewing the raw leaves and swallowing the saliva worked up from chewing. The leaves were to be spit out after.
He plucked two leaves, as the recipe required. "Better make it double," he thought, noticing that the wild leaves were half the size and potency of the cultivated version his grandpapa grew. Still, he faltered as the scent threatened to intensify his morning sickness.
"Maybe if I washed it down with Spearow blood…."
James shook the thought from his mind and bit down on the leaves.
The silence descended upon the clearing almost instantly. Ribbons of red and black smoke slithered toward James, surrounding him.
"You won't escape me so easily." The voice emanating from the cloud froze James's blood. He'd scarcely been able to swallow the chemicals he'd chewed out of the leaves before he was forced to bring them back up. He tried to swallow again; his body betrayed him a second time.
"I will close the circle. And you will help me." The voice boomed inside James's skull.
James tried to disentangle himself from the cloud. "Get out of my head."
"James?"
The clouds dissipated. The silence receded. The last echoes of the booming voice faded. James looked up to see Brock, standing a couple of yards away and looking very concerned.
"Who were you talking to?" Brock asked.
James could only stare at him. Had Brock not heard the roaring haze? Before James could think further, Brock's eyes darted to the disgorged remains of the seedbane.
"Did….did you do that?" Brock asked. James, struggling to remain upright, nodded.
Brock shook his head, shocked. "But why?"
James couldn't look at him. Instead he picked up the pile of sticks. "We have enough wood."
Luckily, Brock didn't press the issue. They walked back to the cabin in an uneasy silence.
James couldn't help sneaking peeks back at the bushes. Brock would have had to walk past the circle of dead Spearow to find him. Had Brock really not seen it? Could he really not have heard that booming voice or seen the red clouds?
Could James have simply hallucinated it all?
-O-o-O-o-O-