By the time he woke up, the table had been cleared from lunch, and the leftovers had been packed into the fridge. He could hear the soft clinks of the dishes being washed in the kitchen, but decided to stay in bed.

He would call it a nap since he didn't sleep longer than six hours at the most, but Lyra claimed that he was the opposite of an insomniac – whatever that was called.

Every time she did, he would just shrug and say that sometimes sleeping was better than being awake. It got him a hug, and any guy would be an idiot to turn down a cute girl pushing herself against them.

He wasn't an idiot. In fact, he prided himself in being particularly brilliant. When he was a child, whenever his mother was around, she would sing his praises and parade him around whatever facility they were living at crowing in delight about her son's test scores.

(Always test scores, never drawings or paintings or poems. He quickly discarded any childish flights of fancy after that.)

His mother called him stupid, however, when he brought Lyra to the prison to see her. His mother, once beautifully sharp with her power suits and bright red lipstick, was dressed in drab grey that washed her out. He joked that the orange would have made her look like a traffic cone, and she called him a traitor to the family.

Lyra had been a godsend, but even she wasn't strong enough to shield him from his mother's barbs.

But if he had counted himself as so smart, so brilliantly intelligent, why the hell was he here? Here in Delia Ketchum's perfect little house with a white picket fence out the front, and an apple tree in the back?

(The tree was in full bloom, big red apples hanging from the branches. The fruit's skin was as red as his hair, and as red as his mother's. He took one look at it and said he was tired from the journey and hasn't come out of the guest room since.)

Hours after falling asleep, he'd felt Lyra slide under the covers with him. He had cracked open an eye and looked at the other spare single bed in the room – the one she was expected to sleep in: one of Delia's rules – and pulled her closer. He'd felt a little better afterwards.

Now he just felt like shit – worse than before, because now he felt like shit emotionally and physically. He groaned and clutched his head, glaring at the late afternoon sun streaming into the room from a crack between the curtains.

"Oh, stop grumbling," Lyra chided as she brushed her hair. He rarely got to see it down, and watched her carefully. The ends curled outwards and up, and he quickly subdued the urge to run his fingers through it. "It's not like you're hung over."

"Because we'd know how that feels," he teased and ran a hand through his own hair, "we're model citizens."

"Hey," she said and spun around to face him. Her unfastened overall straps hit her thighs, distracting him, "we've saved the world before – I think we're entitled to a little recreational intoxication!"

"Don't you mean Ethan saved the world and we happened to be nearby?"

Lyra frowned, so he held out a hand empathetically. She grabbed a hold of it and flopped on top of him heavily.

"I'm just trying to think up a good story for when the cops come busting down Delia's door asking for the young offenders – really, I thought you'd be open to more lawbreaking."

He shrugged and gave into the urge, running his fingers through her hair. Lyra grinned and went limp.

"I'm not exactly a hardcore criminal, Lyra."

"Noooo," she hummed and snuffled into his chest, "but you were pretty cute when you were doing all that petty theft – Elm still hasn't forgiven you, by the way."

"He'll live. I hardly need that fool's forgiveness anyway; I doubt he could even control Feraligatr anymore," he said idly, but Lyra hadn't been listening.

"I think we should recreate that time you tried to get me to take off that Rocket uniform in Goldenrod."

He felt himself go red as the flush crept up his neck. "Ly–"

"Kids!" Delia exclaimed from the other side of the door. "Wakey wakey? I'm afraid I can't let you sleep all day!"

Lyra giggled into his chest and lifted her head, "We're awake, Delia! We'll be out soon – Silver's just gotta fix his hair. It looks like a mop!"

Silver could hear Delia giggling as she walked away from the door, and groaned when she was far enough away. "Insufferable woman."

Lyra smirked. "Her or me?"

Silver sighed and looked at her, still on his chest, with an inscrutable expression. "You," he said softly and kissed her, "definitely you."

—

"I can't believe you're Grandpa's assistant scientist," Daisy remarked as Gary crashed the trolley into a display of bananas, "we've been here three minutes. Even Green isn't as inept as you."

"Don't tell me to do things and then complain about how they're done," he retorted as Daisy stopped to pick out some tomatoes, "and I'm his protégé – not his assistant."

"I was thinking lasagne, maybe," Daisy said absentmindedly, ignoring her brother.

"Last time you made that we had to call the fire department," he sneered, "and we have tomatoes in the garden at home."

She moved onto the apples, "Only because you and Green forgot to take it out of the oven," she answered and paused. "How about apple pie for dessert?"

"Delia's got a tree in her backyard. I think they're ripe."

Daisy nodded. "I'll ring her when we get back," she mused as they went down an aisle.

"How do you think tonight will go?"

Daisy thought about it for a moment before placing an item in the cart and moving on. "I'm not expecting it to go well, exactly."

"So fucking horribly?"

She sighed and rubbed her arms as they walked into the cold section. Pallet only had one small and cramped grocery store, but it generally served her needs. Most vegetables she needed she got out of her own garden – the same one her mother had planted when Daisy was born.

"Not that badly. Unless Green and Red decide to elope between now and dinner, I think it'll be salvageable," she hummed to herself and picked up more food.

Gary shrugged as his attention was taken away by a free samples stand. He abandoned the cart as Daisy turned around to walk down an aisle.

"Where did you get that?" she asked when he returned with a toothpick sticking out of his mouth. He pointed over to the stand, ignoring her frown as she stalked over to it.

Gary sighed and turned the cart around, following her.

"Maybe we can have a cheeseboard?" she mused out loud, chewing thoughtfully.

"So you can sit at the big kid's table and wax lyrical about cheese that smells like the old socks under Green's bed with the other geriatrics?"

Daisy glared. "I'm regretting letting you come along."

"Letting me?" he squawked as she picked out a few. "You made me!"

"And aren't you having fun now?" she teased. "Do you want any snacks? I think I'm about done – everything else we have at home."

Gary rolled his eyes. "No. Can we go now?"

As they were stacking the grocery bags into the boot of Gary's highly impractical car, Daisy frowned.

"This really isn't going to go well, is it?"

Gary grinned. "Hell no."

—

"This show is really unrealistic," Leaf observed. "Real life problems aren't solved in one hour episodes. This is worse than those after school specials from the 90s."

"You loved those shows," Ash replied, "you loved them that much, I remember you running home from school to watch them – you use to steal the remote from me."

"Only because you watched baby shows. At least I can remember what I watched."

Ash went to send another barb her way, but was distracted by Lyra as she started to rifle through the medicine cabinet.

"He has a headache, the dork," Lyra sung to Delia from the bathroom. "I told him not to sleep so much, but he didn't listen."

"I was asleep," Silver replied grumpily, as Delia started offering muffled advice from the other room, "and I can't listen to you if I'm not awake."

Ash heard more shuffling and complaining from the bathroom before they emerged with painkillers. Lyra looked pleased with herself, as per usual, while Silver looked disgruntled.

Ash had never seen a different expression on his half-brother's face – although, to be fair, he hadn't had much contact with him since learning of his existence.

"Here," Delia offered a glass of water to the boy and ruffled his hair, "you ought to be more careful – headaches are just horrible!"

Leaf chimed in her agreement from the lounge. "We have dinner at the Oaks tonight, and Green is like, literally a hundred times worse if you don't feel well," she made a face at Ash. "Did you know he actually made fun of me last time I had a stomach ache?"

Ash rolled his eyes, "Can't imagine why."

His sister frowned and was just about the throw the television remote at him when their mother plucked it out of her raised hand.

"None of that," she scolded. "Leaf, go and get your brother. Daisy rang and asked for some apples for dessert tonight, so you can both help me in the garden."

Ash stuck his tongue out at Leaf as she stalked upstairs.

Ash watched as his sister walked away, unsurprised at which room she was going to.

It wasn't like he was the brother their mother was talking about since he was in the room, Red had ran away for god only knew how long, and that only left one brother in the house.

(Silver didn't count, Silver never counted. He was never going to be a brother, Ash repeated over and over.)

But even if they were all in the house, there was only ever one of them who were referred as Leaf's brother.

Leaf had as much contact with Fire as her other brothers during her childhood – which was little, a voice chimed in Ash's head as she climbed the stairs – but Fire was her brother. They were twins and no amount of separation could've changed that. That fact didn't stop Ash from feeling jealous that his only sister's time was consistently monopolised by the three brothers (two brothers, two) who had actually accomplished things.

Their house was on the smaller side – cozy, their mother called it affectionately; to everyone else it was stifling – so noise travelled easily.

"Bothering him?" Ash heard Misty ask as she walked out of his room – and hers, temporarily – just as Leaf went to knock on Fire's door. "I always used to knock on my sister's doors when I knew they were doing homework, or if they had a boy around."

Leaf snorted, "I wish. Ma has requested our presence in the garden," she said sarcastically and banging on Fire's door with her fist. "Come out, jerk. We've got a job to do!" Thirty seconds with no answer. "I'm coming in, Fire!"

Misty smiled awkwardly and started towards the staircase.

"What's with the sour face, grumpy?" Misty asked and flopped down next to him, stealing the remote in the process.

Ash shoved his thumb out behind him gesturing towards the kitchen. Misty turned around on the couch.

"Just take them!" Lyra shouted, shoving the pills towards Silver. "You're already so grouchy all the time – if you don't take them you'll be worse!"

"No, I won't," he replied quickly, crossing his arms. "I won't take them."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "You wanted them when we were in the bathroom – is the feng shui wrong in here or something?" she looked around. "I can probably move the fridge if you helped..."

Silver looked at the little pills again and grimaced.

"You baby," Lyra exclaimed and pointed a finger at him, "you don't like pills!"

"I thought you were getting the liquid painkiller," he grumbled. "I can't swallow pills, I never have."

Lyra looked at him for a moment, mouth open wide. In all the years she had known Silver, she had never found out this fact. Though, now that she was thinking about it, she never had seen him take any sort of medication. He sort of looked like he had a perpetual migraine, and assumed he was on top of it.

Apparently not.

"Hey, it's okay," Misty called out from her spot hanging over the back of the sofa, "my ma had to crush pills up for me and mush it into a banana until I was twelve. My sisters used to tease me and call me a pokémon taking their medicine because I hated them that much. You're not alone."

Misty saw Ash raise an eyebrow out of the corner of her eye, but ignored him as she smiled at Silver.

"My name is Misty – you must be this mysterious fourth brother."

Silver grunted in response as Lyra bustled about the kitchen, grabbing a knife and a banana in quick succession.

"Silver," he introduced simply, "and I guess I am."

"A black sheep is more like it," Ash muttered from the couch. Misty turned and shot him a pointed look.

"Don't be mean, Ash," she scolded, causing the boy to frown more. "You shouldn't treat your brother that way."

Ash stood up quickly, surprising Misty and Lyra both – the latter who almost dropped the unappetising bowl of mashed banana – before storming over to the front door.

"Half-brother," he said dully as he walked out, being the second Ketchum brother of the day to leave the door slamming in his wake.

—

"Gramps," Gary started as empathetically as possible, "stop."

He wasn't a very empathetic person.

The professor looked up from where he was tossing the salad, a glazed look in his eye. Gary briefly wondered if he had gotten into the whiskey early, but dismissed the idea. Surely his grandfather wasn't that much of a ditz.

"Hmm?" he asked instead.

"The lettuce can't get any more tossed," Gary said and pulled a soda out of the fridge, "not to mention that it's only three thirty – the Ketchums won't be around for a few hours at least."

Samuel made a noncommittal noise. "Fetch me the dressing, will you?" he asked and went to chop up a tomato.

Gary scrunched his nose. "It'll be all gross by the time we eat," he complained, but got the salad dressing out of the fridge anyway. "Does Daisy know you're in the kitchen making salad?"

"Of course she does!" the professor stated gruffly. "She asked me to."

"I didn't," Daisy said as she breezed into the room, a wicker basket full of vegetables from the garden tucked in the crook of her arm, "I told you to go and watch TV instead, or play with the pokémon in the lab. You shouldn't be standing for so long, anyway – it's bad for your back."

"It's true, Gramps," Gary chimed in, "you do have a bad back."

"Poppycock!" he exclaimed, "I'm as fit as a fiddle, no pain at all!"

He continued to chop the tomatoes into what was beginning to appear like a fine, red paste.

Gary sent Daisy a look and mouthed poppycock?

Daisy shooed Gary away from where he was leaning against the fridge and began putting the vegetables away. "He was bothering Green," she whispered to him, "so he broke into the liquor cabinet and slipped a little bit into Grandpa's tea hoping he would have nap, but it's had the opposite effect."

"I think he's regressed eighty years," Gary noted back quietly, watching as his grandfather hummed a tune that had to be at least six decades old.

"Grandpa is only fifty seven," she replied dryly.

"Old."

"You think everyone older than you is old," she accused and stole his soda, taking a big sip. "I bet you think I'm old."

"You are old," he said, and stole it back. "You're at least thirty."

Daisy sniffed contemptuously. "You can't love me very much if you don't know how old I am," she accused, "I turned twenty one three months ago. I recall that both you and Green were elsewhere."

"Huh," Gary hummed, "are you sure I didn't send you anything?"

"You rang me the next day to ask for fifty dollars."

"Oh! I remember" he exclaimed, and sent her a grin, "happy birthday, sis."

Daisy frowned and went to grab the can again, but missed as he pulled away. "Shut up, you owe me."

"Yeah?" he drawled, and cradled the soda closer to his chest, "and what did Green get you?"

"Green sent me a card, but the handwriting looked suspiciously like Red's."

"How do you know what Red's handwriting looks like?" Gary asked suspiciously.

"Daisy taught Red how to write in cursive," the professor stated from his chopping board – the tomatoes were definitely paste now – and turned to smile at them, "he wanted to communicate quicker, and Daisy here had the best handwriting in Pallet – for an eight year old, of course."

"Grandpa, those tomatoes were for the lasagne!" Daisy exclaimed as Samuel scraped the tomatoes into the over-tossed bed of lettuce.

"Oops," he said cheerfully and handed her the bowl, "apologies, Granddaughter. I suppose I'm just a bit tipsy from the tea you gave me earlier."

Daisy had enough common sense to appear bashful. "It's not like I was the one who—" she began, but shut up after one look from her grandfather. "Green's in his room if you want to go yell at him," she offered instead.

"I believe I shall have my nap now," he said instead, and wandered out.

Daisy and Green shared a look.

"Well he's crazy," Gary said lightly.

"Mm, he asked Green what his name was the other day," Daisy replied, equally dismissively, "but I do think something's on his mind lately. He's even more dithery than usual."

Daisy placed the unappetising bowl to one side – not throwing it out, not wanting to offend her grandfather – and took out the ingredients for the pasta dough.

"Is that her recipe?" Gary asked after a moment, and neither of them needed to state who exactly she was.

"Of course it is," Daisy replied, "I've had it memorised for a while."

Gary stayed quiet for a moment afterwards, struggling to think of what to say.

He would be lying if he said he remembered his mother – and his father – since he had only been a baby at the time. But Green and Daisy at four and six, respectively, they still remembered their parents well. Well enough to be sentimental enough to keep the copies of their father's favourite books, or learn family recipes by heart.

All Gary received was the knowledge that he looked like his mother, and some days, it didn't quite feel like enough.

"Where's Green?" Daisy asked, breaking his reverie.

Gary cleared his throat and skulled the rest of the can before throwing it in the bin, "In his room," he told her, "probably jacking off."

"Gary!" his sister exclaimed and turned around to face him. She had already managed to get flour on her top and a smudge on her cheek. "Don't say stuff like that! I'm better off not knowing."

Gary snickered. "Sorry."

"You're not sorry," Daisy accused and turned back around, "and for that, you can set the table for me – use the good china, too. We haven't had a big dinner in a while."

He huffed and grumbled, but crouched down to the bottom cupboard regardless.

"Green's feeding the pokémon, by the way," he said with an armful of plates, "Gramps mixed up all their food, so he's sorting it out now. He gave the geodude the food labelled for the water types, so I think there's some damage control to be done."

Daisy sighed, and kneaded the dough harder. "What is with him lately?" she wondered, furrowing her brow in concern, "he's never–never—,"

"Shown his age before?" Gary interrupted.

Daisy stopped kneading and pursed her lips, "Yeah."

Her brother shrugged in response, not that she could see him.

"He'll be fine – he's probably nervous about tonight. Y'know he's got the hots for Delia?"

"Call her Ms Ketchum, Gary," Daisy scolded, "and I can't say I'm surprised. They've been friends for almost twenty years now, and both of them have been unattached the entire time. It's natural that feelings can come of circumstances like theirs."

Gary raised an eyebrow, "Have you ever wondered where ol' Mr Ketchum is?"

"Of course, but his name would be something different – Ketchum is Delia's family name," she replied and shot him a look over her shoulder, "and it's rude to just ask things like that, Gary. If Delia wanted to tell me, she would have told me by now. We see each other almost every day."

"Maybe," Gary started slyly, "maybe you have the hots for Delia."

"Ugh! Gary – you're being a nuisance, so go and make yourself useful!"

—

Ash smiled softly as his pikachu ran around the front yard, Chuchu close on his heels. The sun was slowly setting, casting Pallet in a warm orange glow. Ash loved travelling – the adventure was more than enough to keep him happy, but occasionally he missed the tranquillity that home provided.

"There you are," Misty walked outside and sat beside him on the front steps, "I thought you had run off."

"I'm not my brother," he replied tersely. Misty smiled sadly in response.

"I know that," she whispered, and put a placating hand on his arm, "I was just wondering. I mean, that was a – a big lunch," she said, "a big... after lunch, too." Ash knew she wasn't referring to the food.

"You can see why I never mentioned them before now, huh?" he asked with a smug grin on his face.

Misty sighed in response. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. But don't look so pleased with yourself – it's not exactly something to be proud of." His grin dropped.

"I love them," he swore, "they're just a lot to handle."

"You," Misty said and poked his arm, "are talking to the only other person in Kanto who understands the sheer trauma of being the youngest sibling in a family full of overbearing assholes."

Ash smiled, sincerely, and threw his arm around her, pulling her close. "We can get revenge together," he said cheekily.

Misty giggled and shoved him, but his arm didn't move. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, and watched the pikachu play.

"Do you know why we all only have pikachu?" he asked abruptly. Misty looked up at him – when did he get so tall,she mused – and shook her head.

Ash whistled and the pikachu Misty knew as their Pikachu squeaked and cooed to Chuchu before he ran to his master. Ash swiftly picked Pikachu up one handed and deposited him on her lap.

"My mother was a trainer once," he revealed, surprising Misty, "she only ever had one pokémon – a nidoran, then a nidorina. She was never any good at battling, though, and she told me she gave Nidorina to a good home just before, uh, Red happened."

"You child," Misty teased, before he shushed her.

"She was like, almost an adult when she gave Nidorina away and she still hadn't gotten any badges. Ma always told me she always got really nervous and couldn't think straight during trainer battles," he laughed, "which is strange considering how amazing I am at battling – and don't try and tell me otherwise, Misty, my head is too big to notice," he said, grinning.

Misty shook her head in fond exasperation.

"But anyway, I guess I must've been pretty young when she told me the story, but I remember asking her why she'd never evolved Nidorina into a nidoqueen. She probably would have won more battles, statistically. She would've had a better chance, at least," Ash paused and looked down at where Misty was stroking Pikachu's ears. "She said that she'd tell me the same thing she told Red when he got his pikachu, and Fire when he brought home Chuchu."

"What did she tell you?" Misty prompted quietly after a moment.

"She said..." he murmured and paused, "she said that no one achieves their dream in just a week, and that getting what you want takes hard work and commitment. She told me to apply the same logic to pokémon, especially pokémon species like pikachu who need a stone to evolve."

Misty hummed as Ash scratched behind Pikachu's ears. "Good advice."

Ash nodded. "But I don't think my brothers took it onboard themselves," he said and laughed. "Red was champion at eleven, and Fire earned a right to be in the Elite Four like, a year after that. They didn't slow down at all – now they're bored."

"But none of your pikachu are evolved," Misty noted.

Ash hummed. "I doubt we'll ever evolve them, to be honest. I know I won't, and Red's a stubborn bastard. Fire might, one day, but probably only until Chuchu asks."

Misty nodded, and rested her head on his shoulder. Ash tensed up momentarily before relaxing.

"I remember evolving my staryu," she revealed. "I caught them together, y'know, Staryu and Starmie, only both as little staryu at Vermillion during a family holiday. They were that small they actually fit in my hands," Misty reminisced happily. "I couldn't tell them apart for so long – they used to get so annoyed at me that one day one of them used a water stone Lily used to hang around her neck to evolve. She was angry for weeks."

Ash snorted. "You couldn't have given them names?"

Misty frowned and poked him again, harder. "Be quiet! I was only little – they were the first pokémon I ever caught, after all."

Ash laughed, but Misty chose to ignore him.

"Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that I agree – sometimes pokémon just know. It's not very fair to evolve them just for your own gain," she mused, "your mother is a smart lady."

Ash smiled. "Yeah, she is."

Pikachu cooed up at Misty before jumping out of her lap and running out into the front yard again, jumping on Fire's pikachu cheekily. Misty watched as a sneasel came bounding out of the house at the sound the two pokémon playing and joined in with the roughhousing.

"I'm sorry, by the way," Ash said quietly, "I shouldn't have been such an asshole inside before."

Misty smiled and nudged his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. We all have our moments," she was quiet for a moment before breaching uncertain territory. "So Silver is your half-brother, huh? Your mother's?"

"On my father's side, whoever he is."

Misty frowned. "What happened?" she asked, then bit her lip, "sorry, you don't have to tell me. It's clearly pretty personal."

Ash shook his head, "No, it's okay. I want to tell you."

"Take as much time as you need," she reassured. Ash smiled in response.

"I don't know who my father is," he revealed slowly, "I've never met him, or heard his voice. I've never seen a video, or a picture of him. I don't even know what he looks like, but I know his name is John and that he isn't a very nice man.

"Ma had this ongoing thing with him since she was only a little older than me, and clearly it sort of gave her a few souvenirs," he joked grimly, "I think she loved him, since she had four of his kids, but he was never a very good role model, I think. I don't even know if he knows about us all.

"He's in prison, at the moment. That's what Silver says, anyway. Silver is the same age as I am, and he sort of grew up with John. He's told us all these horror stories about growing up with him, with a criminal for a father. I know it should make me happy – knowing that I dodged a bullet by never knowing the guy, but it still sort of hurts sometimes."

Misty rubbed his arm comfortingly.

"You may not know him, but he's still your dad," she whispered into his shoulder.

"I know," he sighed, "I know it all – Ma's told me time and time again, but it still sits with me, like a weight on my shoulders I can't seem to shake," he confessed as he hunched himself over and clutched the back of his neck. Misty rubbed his back.

"Have you ever thought of going to see him?" she asked hesitantly. "It might set your mind at ease."

Ash shook his head. "I've tried to bring it up with Ma, and even with Silver once, but they both changed the subject pretty quickly. I don't even think they know where he's being held, to be honest. They want nothing to do with him anymore, which makes me feel even shittier for wanting to know him.

"Silver... he has it worse, though. I mean, the dad he actually grew up with is an asshole in jail, and his mother is in jail, too, you know? Same thing that got John locked up. He comes here to Pallet since he's underage and we're the closest thing to a family he has left who's not fucking incarcerated. Can you believe that shit? He only met us a few years ago and we're it, we're all he's got – a not stepmother who can't be anything more than polite and three brothers who can barely stand to be in the same room as him. Leaf's the only one of us who actually likes him!"

Misty murmured soft words into his shoulder and continued to rub his back in hope of soothing him. It hurt her to see him so wound up, especially over something she never knew he carried so close to home. She wondered how long he had been bottling everything up.

"You can let it out," she told him gently.

"I want to know him" he finally said after minutes of silence, "I always wanted a dad, then one day this kid walks into our lives and says he knows my dad, says he grew up with him. Silver is... he's fucked up, I know that. He's got issues a mile long and I'd never want that kind of shit in my life, but at the same time – at the same time, he got to have a mother and a father —"

He looked up at her imploringly, and Misty felt her heart break.

"— that's all I ever wanted."