Well, we made it, guys. A year and a half later, and we made it. The final chapter. The end of what's been an awesome road. You guys have been great throughout all of this, and I'd like to thank you for that. Your support made all the difference, and I'm proud to be able to give you guys the ending that you deserve.

At some point, I will be uploading the first chapter of a new story. I haven't yet decided what that story is going to be (I'm debating between three ideas), but expect it to most likely be AAML. Until then, I am planning on releasing one or two one-shots, since I haven't written any of those in a while.

Shout-outs:

Alina 122 - Your reviews always make my day. And no, it wouldn't make you too sentimental if you said that you cried; it makes me happy to know that my writing has invoked such emotions from someone. And don't worry; I have plenty more stories up my sleeve to come after AotP. It's just a matter of choosing which one comes next ;)

SpencerDorman - Thank you very much!

LEGAL-EAGLE53 - I don't recall ever describing his dad with red eyes, but maybe I did and just can't find it now? Anyways, thanks for the review!

Bluepaw265 - Thank you so much!

JordanMax - That's okay; your reviews are always worth waiting for! And you know what they say: a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts.

AshuraJaeger - I'm sorry for your loss! I was bullied, too, so I too can sympathize with Ash. You're definitely right when you say that sometimes one person can make all the difference.

Deuce141 - You'll just have to wait and see!

Danika11pikachu - Thank you!

The featured story for this chapter is Pikachu Tales by AmyBieberKetchum. "A collection of oneshots of Ash and Misty's life with all their friends from Pikachu's point of view." It's a cute spin on AAML that I think a lot of you will enjoy.

This story currently has 60 reviews, 64 favorites, and 71 followers. Thank you so much!

~ "Power is what men seek and any group that gets it will abuse it." ~

- Lincoln Steffens

I didn't stop walking after I left that room. I whisked myself down the stairs, out the front door, and along the sidewalk, away from my house.

On the outside, I had a tough face on. After years of having to force one on, by that point I think it had become a permanent part of my features. That was all right by me, of course. It would help keep others from bothering me.

On the inside, however, I was a frightened mess.

I had just stood up to my father. The one man who, if he wanted, could bring hell to Earth for me if he so desired. The man who, with just a flick of his finger, could send me scurrying up to my room faster than a mouse after cheese.

What would he do now? Several glances over my shoulder confirmed that he hadn't followed me out of the house. So then what was he doing? Calling the police? Getting ready to come hunt me down in his car? Passing out drunk on the floor?

Those thoughts quickened my pace. I knew that, deep down, I shouldn't have taken the risk of fighting back against my father. I should have just submitted to his demands. That way, the worst I would have gotten was maybe a smack or two. Now, however, I was in for something ten times as bad.

I'd never stood up to my father like that before. Even when I'd called social services on him all those years ago, it wasn't standing up to him directly. All of my attempts to "fight back" were either indirect or under my breath.

He'd tried to starve me after I tried to get help. Now that I had openly defied him - which in his eyes was worse than spilling the beans -, I couldn't even begin to fathom what he was going to do.

I considered going and seeking asylum at Misty's house, but then decided against it. I had a feeling that my father knew of the friendship Misty and I had developed. He'd surely check her house first for me.

And so, I kept walking. I eventually ended up in a quiet part of town, standing in front of a now-closed convenience store. There were two newspaper boxes about a foot in front of the concrete front wall. I decided to take a rest behind there, as it would make it more difficult for anyone to see me from the road. I just had to hope that no police officers would come by and drive me off.

I sat down on the dusty, cracked sidewalk behind the metal boxes. It was cold, sure, but I could stand it.

As I sat there, I milled over my options. I knew for a fact that going back to my house at that moment would be like signing my own death warrant. I had nobody in town that would even consider giving me refuge except for Misty.

So then what was left? I most certainly couldn't start living behind a couple of newspaper delivery boxes.

I knew that, eventually, I'd end up having to face my father again. Despite my submissive nature in regards to him, I was not a coward. Every fiber in my being screamed for me to take the next bus out of town, but I resisted the temptation. He'd find me sooner or later.

No, I had to go back and face him. Just not at that moment.

I spent the whole night behind those stands. When morning came, the owner of the store found me and drove me off. Apparently my presence was "hurting business".

Going to school that day was not an option. I had a feeling that my father would be there, waiting to take me home and beat the holy shit out of me.

So, instead, I wandered through town. I visited some shops, telling the workers there that I was "just looking". I'd spend as much time as I thought appropriate before leaving.

At some point, I stopped in to a candy shop. I managed to convince the worker there to let me have some free candy. I guess I must have looked pretty shitty, since she let me have some without too much of a problem.

I took the candy down to the park. My legs were starting to get sore from walking around all day.

I ended up finding the bench that Misty and I shared on that day that seemed like an eternity ago. I sat down on it and began eating my candy. As I did so, I watched a young couple play with their toddler son. The sight of the little boy and his parents flying a huge kite together brought a small smile to my face.

I was just finishing my candy when a soft, soothing breeze picked up. The fresh smell of coming rain filled my nose, along with (of course) a tinge of cigarette smoke and stagnant water.

Above me, dark clouds were beginning to roll in. Claps of thunder began going off somewhere in the distance. The family with the kite quickly packed their things and headed off.

I stood up, ready to do the same. Every part of me wanted to just stay in the park, but I knew that I couldn't. It would be better for me in the short and long run to just get it all over with as soon as possible.

As I headed home, it started to rain. It started as a light drizzle at first, but soon had picked up to a steady downpour.

By the time I got home, I was soaked down to the bone and shivering. As my hand closed around the doorknob, I sent a silent prayer to whoever was up above.

My father, as I expected, was waiting for me. He was standing a few feet from the front door, his hands behind his back. I could tell just by looking at his eyes that he was sober - and furious.

His lips curled into what was anything but a pleasant smile as I closed the door.

"Glad to see my beloved son finally decided to return home," he sneered.

I swallowed hard. "Yes, sir." My voice trembled like that of a young boy's.

He started toward me. "Lovely. Perhaps now, then, he can explain to his father the reason as to why he didn't come home last night."

"I-"

He cut me off, which both relieved and terrified me. "Was it because he's gotten too big for his britches? Does he think he's a man? Does he think that he has the right to treat his own father however he wishes?"

"No, sir."

He laughed. "No? Did you just say no? I find that amusing. Do you want to know why I find that amusing, Ash? Go on, do you?"

"Y-yes, sir."

He lunged at me then. A small gasp escaped from my mouth as he slammed me back against the front door with one arm.

"Well, then, I'll tell you why. It's because just last night, you told me that you would walk away from me. And then you did. You did, and now you're just coming back, nearly a whole day later. You know what that tells me, Ash? It tells me that you think you're stronger than me. It tells me that you think you're better than me. And, most importantly, it tells me that you think you're superior." He hung on that last word.

He leaned in close, so close. "And we both know that we can't have you thinking like that. When the animal gets stubborn, the master must get tough. Isn't that how it goes, Ash?"

"Y-yes, sir, that's h-how it goes."

"But," he said, stepping back. "When the animal proves that it is strong enough, the master must let it go. So go on then, Ash. If you think that you are stronger than me, prove it. Prove to me that you're ready for the freedom that you so crave and fight me."

Confusion cascaded over me like a waterfall. "What?"

His voice raised to a deafening scream. "I said fucking punch me, you worthless twat, if you think you're so good!"

His demand turned my blood to ice. He wanted me to hit him?

"Go on!" he screamed. "What the fuck are you waiting for, the second coming of Christ? Or would you just rather go back to your old life, serving me as your worthless ass was meant to do?"

I curled my hand into a fist. I knew that he was being serious, but the request still made me want to curl up in a ball and hide.

My muscles tightened as I drew my arm back. I still couldn't believe that any of this was happening. I screamed at myself to just submit to him, but somehow I knew that doing that would only make things even worse.

So I swung.

My fist connected with his face. I heard a slight crack as his head snapped to the side.

I had dreamed of being able to hit him ever since he'd started abusing me. I had imagined the rush that it would give me. The joy. I had always pictured the feeling of my fist connecting with his jaw as a wondrous feeling that could compare to nothing else.

But in reality, now that it had happened, I felt only fear.

My father recovered rather quickly. He was still smiling, despite the fact that a bit of blood was dripping from the corner of his mouth. I must have hit him harder than I realized.

"Well, then," he snarled. "It looks like someone's finally grown a pair."

What happened then was so crazy and so chaotic it gives me chills to this day.

He hit me back. I crumpled to the floor, pain reverberating through my skull. I felt him shove me to the floor. I rolled on to my back just in time to catch another whack to my face.

"Fight me!" he ordered.

Whether it was out of desperation or submissiveness I'll never know, but I did as he asked and fought back. I brought my knee up into his stomach. The air all rushed out of his lungs in a painful gasp.

I used that moment of distraction to punch him in the jaw again. He stumbled off of me, and at that second something fell from his hand and clattered on the floor.

A knife.

He had a knife.

I made a jump for the weapon, not wanting it to fall back into his hands. His hand connected with my chest, however, knocking me away from it.

Before I could recover, he grabbed the knife again. I started backing away from him, nearly screeching in terror. He came toward me, a fury unlike any I'd seen before in his eyes.

He was going to kill me.

I managed to get up. I grabbed the nearest thing - a lamp - and swung it at him. He ducked underneath my swing and lunged upward, knife extended.

I rolled to the side, just narrowly avoiding him. The knife sank into the couch; I heard him let out an angry shout as it did.

As he worked the blade out of the cushion, I made a break for the front door. All I had to do was get out into the open. He wouldn't follow me out there. Not with murderous intent, anyways. Not in front of the neighbors.

Before I could make it, however, he caught up to me. He grabbed me from behind, and I felt the cold metal edge of the knife against my throat. Every inch of my body seized up in sheer terror of what was next.

"Now," he hissed in my ear. "Let's see how tough you really are."

He forced me toward the basement door, the knife still against my throat. I didn't dare struggle, for I knew that to do so could be deadly.

My father flung open the basement door with so much force it was a wonder the thing didn't shatter into a million pieces. He was still for a moment after that, allowing me a moment to take in the pitch black below.

He spun me around to face him then.

"Give me your arms."

I must have hesitated, because he repeated in a yell, "Give me your fucking arms!"

My arms presented themselves to him, almost as if they had a mind of their own. My whole body was shaking uncontrollably.

"Please stop," I choked out, my voice cracking. Tears were beginning to form at the corners of my eyes.

Above me, my father roared with laughter. "Aww, is the little tough guy scared?" he taunted. "What happened to the big show, Ashy-boy? Is your bark tougher than your bite?"

"You don't have to do this," I begged. "You can take away my food. Keep me out of school. Lock me in the basement again. Anything but this."

He shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that." A wicked smile suddenly appeared on his face. "Just remember what they say: 'pain is weakness leaving the body'."

He slashed at my wrists then. I screamed as blood squirted everywhere, across both him and me.

"Oh, look," he spat, "you got my clothes dirty. What a naughty child you are."

He let go of my arms. I immediately hugged them close to my body. The blood soaked through my thin shirt in a near instant. It was warm against my otherwise cold skin.

My father grabbed me by my throat. I thought for sure that this was it. He was going to choke me, or snap my neck. Something.

But instead, he gave me a rough shove. I didn't have time to react before I was tumbling head over heels down the stairs.

When my head finally hit the concrete floor of the basement, I looked up to see him silhouetted in the doorway. He stayed there for just a moment before slamming the door shut, bathing me in complete darkness.

The pain in my arms was extreme. I was growing dizzy from the amount of blood I was losing, but somehow I managed to get up. My only thought was that I had to end the bleeding before it ended me.

I stumbled around that basement for what felt like ages before finally coming across something. It was a box of what I assumed to be old clothes.

I picked up the first two things I saw and tied them tight around my bleeding wrists. I worked quickly, pushing down the nausea that was beginning to rise in my stomach.

My work was completed just in time, as within seconds of tying that last knot, I slumped against the wall and passed out.

I have no idea how long I was down there before help finally came. It could have been just a few hours, or even a day or two. I'll probably never know.

All I do know is that I spent that time curled up on the floor of my basement, trying not to freeze to death. The basement in that house was not well-insulated, which meant temperatures could drop quite a lot at night. I even tried dumping the rest of those clothes on top of myself, but they didn't help much.

Eventually, I heard some talking, and the basement door opened. I was bathed with light, and as I squinted against it I could make out the figures of two people.

One of the people shouted. I flinched, but remained still.

Several people came stampeding down the stairs. It took me a few moments to process everything, but I eventually came to the conclusion that they were cops and paramedics.

Through the haze of near-unconsciousness, I was barely able to understand what they were saying. All I managed to make out was a short "he must be his".

A stretcher was brought down the stairs, and the paramedics lifted me on to it. I must have slipped out of consciousness then, because the next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed with cops and medical personnel all around.

I was hooked up to an I.V., and both of my wrists were bandaged. I tried to raise them, only to find that I didn't have the strength to.

"Easy," a tall man in a white coat told me. "You're still recovering. Don't try to move."

I managed to turn my head and look at him. "What happened?" I rasped. "To him."

The doctor looked rather nervously at the cops. One of the officers stepped forward, hands on his belt.

"Do you mind if we speak to the young man privately?" the officer asked.

He nodded. "Of course." He stepped out of the room.

The officer took his seat. He placed his hand on my arm, which made me flinch.

"Your father is dead," he told me gently. "We found him in the park early yesterday morning. The post-mortem examination is not done yet, but it looks as if he may have drunk himself to death."

My father was dead.

I could scarcely believe what he was telling me. The man that had tormented me for over eleven years was gone. I'd tolerated him for what seemed like an eternity, and now it was over.

"If you don't mind," the man continued. "I'd like to ask you a few questions. Standard procedure, of course.

I nodded to give him my consent.

He took out a pad of paper and a pencil. "Alright, then. First question. And if at any time you feel sick, tell me and we'll put this on hold."

With a jerk of his pencil, he gestured toward my injuries. "When we found you, your wrists appeared to have been slashed. How did that happen?"

I hesitated, my instinctive fear of the consequences of telling the truth bubbling up once more. I pushed it down, however, and reminded myself that I needn't worry any more.

"My father," I murmured, "did it. We got into a fight. Or, rather, he provoked me into one. He's always been abusive. Has been for years now. Right before he... died. He approached me after I got home and taunted me. He told me that he wanted me to prove to him that I deserved freedom. He kept on pushing me, telling me to fight him... until I finally did."

I was surprised at how easily the truth came out. I'd been expecting it to stick in my throat like a rock. And yet, it was coming out as smooth as butter.

"We got into a physical fight after that," I continued. "He eventually overpowered me and pulled a knife. He sliced my wrists before pushing me down the stairs."

The cop was silent for a moment as he took down all of the information. A slightly surprised look was on his face. Apparently he had been expecting some other kind of story, like a suicide attempt or something.

He asked me a few more questions about this and that. I answered them as best as I could, but by the seventh or eighth question I was getting pretty sick of it.

Around that time, a young nurse popped her head in. "May I interrupt?"

The officer who was interviewing me nodded. "Yes, of course. We were just finishing, anyways."

He and his accomplices shuffled out of my room. The nurse stepped in, a sweet smile on her face.

"I have a young woman here who says that she knows you. May she come in?"

I nodded, already knowing who it was. "Of course. Send her in."

The nurse left.

As the seconds ticked by folowing her departure, I found my fingers curling into the bedsheet in anticipation. There was no denying it anymore; I wanted to see her. Perhaps not for the reasons that some may think - not at that time - but for the fact that she was the only person who I felt even remotely understood.

It felt like a lifetime before she came in. A wide smile broke my previously-stoic expression.

She rushed over to me. "Oh, Ash, I'm so glad that you're all right!" She threw her arms around me in a hug, and I did my best to reciprocate.

After a couple of moments, she pulled back. There were small tears in her eyes. "When you didn't show up to school, I knew that something must be wrong. You never miss school. Not once in these past few months have you been absent, even when you had the flu that one time."

She wiped at one eye with a finger. "And when I heard about your dad? Well, then, I knew things weren't right. So I turned the police to your house, and insisted that they check every nook and cranny until they found you."

This revelation brought tears to my own eyes. Here was this girl, once again going out of her way to try and help me out. The me that would have pushed her away six months prior found himself instead reaching out to hug her again.

"Thank you," I whispered.

She nodded as we separated again. "There's no need to thank me, Ash. I did what any good person would do."

I gave a somewhat-bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, it sure took long enough for those 'good people' to show up."

She pursed her lips but said nothing.

A few minutes of silence stretched between us before I finally decided to speak again. "I can't believe he's really gone."

She shook her head. "I know. He must have felt guilty over what he did and got himself a little too drunk."

I gave her a serious look then. "No, Misty. It wasn't that. He didn't want to face the repercussions if I died. He knew that, somehow, they'd figure it out. And so, he drank himself dead in the park. He was a coward, but don't mistake him for a guilty man."

She sighed. "I guess so. I just find it hard to believe that there wasn't any part of him that was good. Even the smallest part."

"Well, then, I guess that's the difference between you and me. You see everyone for how they should be, and I see everyone for how they are."

"And is that a bad thing?"

I shrugged. "Depends on how you look at it."

After that, we sat in silence. Even though no words were being exchanged, I still felt at peace. I knew that she wasn't judging me. And for me, that was all I needed.

At last, she gasped, reaching out to touch my arm. "Ash, look at that!"

I twisted my neck, just barely able to follow her gaze and look out the window. Outside, the sky had turned a beautiful hue of pink and orange. Wisps of cloud were streaked across the sky, giving it an almost surreal look.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she murmured.

I nodded. "It sure is."

It was true. Sitting there with Misty, I felt as if no sunset had ever been brighter.

Once again, I'd like to thank everyone for sticking by me throughout this journey. It's been an honor to tell this tale, and I look forward to sharing more of my thoughts with you in the future. There will be an epilogue to this story that will be posted soon, but other than that there will be no sequel. I have seen this story to completion, and I see no reason to attempt a full-blown sequel.

If any of you out there who are reading this are victims of abuse, please, seek help. There are many resources out there to help you. It's never too late. I wish all of you the best, and I will see you down the road first with the epilogue, and then with my next story.

All my best,

- Nony