(Some notes:
- The lyrics quoted this time are from "Plan the Escape", which is technically by Son Lux, but I was listening to Bat For Lashes' cover.
- To those who asked in the comments "are we going to see_?": yes, you are going to see things. At some point.
- I actually attempted to calculate the distance between Pewter City and Cerulean City to see if it would be possible to travel from one to the other via blimp over the span of one day. It should be.)

RETURNING HOME

CHAPTER 2

"You're crazy if you think I'll ever do what you want."

The man on the other side of the bars smiles. It's just a twitch of his lips, but something about it makes his skin crawl, and he swallows and fights the instinct to press his back against the wall. "I imagined it would take some convincing. But I can be patient. I'm sure you will come around in time."

"Not a chance," he spits out. The man doesn't flinch.

"I think my friends here might help you consider your alternatives," he says and nods to the men standing behind him. Their faces are shadowed by the brims of their caps, and as they come closer he sees the shape of their muscles under their black uniforms and does take that half-step back, clenching his fists to keep them from shaking. He keeps his chin up, though, and holds his glance.

"I won't do it," he insists, and perhaps his voice is shaking a little, too, but he swallows again and doesn't look away. "It doesn't matter what they do to me. I won't do it."

He keeps repeating it as the door of the cell creaks on its hinges and they pin him to the wall. I won't do it, I won't do it, I WON'T DO IT, even as a punch splits his lip open and blood fills his mouth. I won't do it I won't

The man doesn't speak. He just stands and watches, waiting, waiting.

—-

The water of the shower itches on his scars and stings on the raw wound on his side, pooling in a murky puddle at his feet. He watches it roll down the drain for a bit; then reaches for the knob and turns it all the way to cold, and stands under the freezing blast until he's shivering so badly that his teeth clatter together and it almost becomes hard to breathe. Only after another handful of moments he turns the water off and finally steps out.

His eyes keep getting caught on details. The anemones on the shower curtain, the toothbrushes in the cup near the sink (three in different shades of pink an purple, one yellow); the half-used soap bar in the holder. He forgot what this looked like. The small everyday stuff, the kind you don't usually think about because it's just there and it's ordinary and normal and your eyes brush past it.

He lets out a breath that had gotten stuck in his throat a little. Then grabs a towel from the rack, and avoids meeting his own glance in the mirror.

Misty left clean bandages on the counter. She also said to call her if he needs help, actually, but he doesn't, although the wound has started bleeding again and he struggles a bit to hold the bandages in place. They slip from his grasp as he's trying to fix them, and a grunt escapes through his teeth as he moves too abruptly to keep them from falling and a stab of pain runs through his side. There's silence for a couple moments; then a knock on the door.

"Everything alright?"

He sighs. "Yeah."

He finishes patching up his wound and throws his pants back on. He finds her standing in the hallway, a white shirt folded in her arms. Her eyes run to the bandages and she lets out a small hint of a sigh.

"I said I'd help."

"Well, yeah, there was no need," he retorts. Perhaps a bit too harshly, because she presses her lips together and her hands tighten around the fabric. He tries again: "It's fine. It's nothing."

"Does it hurt?" she wants to know. He shrugs.

"It's nothing. Just a scratch."

"Yeah, of course. Here, I found this."

She hands him the shirt. He hears her breath catch for a second as he slips it on, and when he looks and sees her quickly turn away he realizes she was looking at the scars. Her teeth sink into her lip.

She's different, in a way he can't exactly put his finger on. She's a little taller, maybe; her hair is a little longer. There's a bit of her bangs that she keeps pushing away from her eyes. Something in the lines of her face looks not quite the same too, her cheeks somewhat less round, her chin sharper. As he watches and tries to find the differences she looks back at him and manages a smile.

"So, you coming?"

He nods, and follows her along the hallway, digging his hands into his pockets. "Where are your sisters?" he asks after a few moments. He hears nothing but the echo of their footsteps and muffled splashing noises, but he thinks of the four toothbrushes by the sink and a flicker of nervousness flares up at the bottom of his stomach. Misty's eyes turn to him again.

"Not here. Daisy won some tickets for a trip in a beauty contest, they'll be away for the next three weeks," she answers. Then gives a slight smirk: "So don't worry, there's only me you have to endure."

"I'm not enduring you," he protests. She doesn't retort. Instead she stops, one hand on the door.

"I hope you're ready to be impressed," she says. He shrugs again.

"Impressed by what?"

"You'll see."

She pulls the door open. The surface of the water glints under the lights on the other side.

Psyduck is chasing Togepi around the pool when they walk in. They both freeze the moment they notice him, so abruptly that Togepi falls down on its rear and Psyduck crashes on top of it, and the whole arena is suddenly dead silent and his stomach crumples again, a bit. He thinks of Misty's eyes growing wide and her face turning suddenly sheet-pale when she opened the door and saw him. She takes a breath, slowly; then walks to her pokémon and crouches down.

"I know, you thought he was dead. I did, too. But he wasn't. He was—" her voice hitches and she pauses for a second before finding the words to go on. "Some bad people took him and—did bad things to him. But he's here now. And we're not gonna let anything bad happen to him ever again, right?"

Togepi's mouth wobbles. Misty lets out a sigh and picks it up. "Oh, don't cry. I know. You missed him. I missed him too."

It's hardly more than a whisper, and maybe he wasn't even meant to hear, but still it cuts right through him like a knife. She holds Togepi tight for a moment, ruffles Psyduck's feathers, then sniffles and stands, and spins back around extending one arm towards the pool, a slightly shakier smile on her lips.

"Well, ta-da! What do you think?"

His eyes scan the place, following the direction of her arm. He remembers it messier, and louder, some scene prop always forgotten somewhere and the bleachers filled to the brim with cheering spectators. Right now it's empty except them and the pokémon, and quiet; and the knot in his stomach loosens some. "It looks—nice."

"You still haven't seen the best part," she grins. "Gyarados, come out!"

"You have a Gyarados?" he marvels, as the surface of the pool bubbles and bursts open. The massive pokémon towers over them, water droplets glimmering on its blue scales, and she beams and lifts her chin with pride.

"Well, not to boast, but yes. Not long after I started taking care of the gym a Magikarp evolved suddenly and started making a mess. All the other pokémon were terrified. My sisters wouldn't do anything either, they were scared to even step close to the pool, so I had to do almost everything by myself. But I managed. I calmed it and got it to listen to me, and well, now I have a Gyarados."

He stares blinking at the pokémon, then back at her. He can't quite find anything to say. Misty tilts her head, watching him; and suddenly her face lights up.

"There it is," she says. He shakes his head a bit.

"What...?"

"A smile. You're smiling. A little. I just—really missed that."

Ash's chest feels tight. Maybe he should say something too; tell her that he missed seeing her smile as well, that he missed her, more than he could ever hope to explain. But he doesn't know where to find the words for that. Maybe Giovanni took them out of him with everything else. He tries to hold on to that semblance of smile for a moment still, though.

She drops the subject and raises her eyebrows. "So, are you impressed?"

He's more than just that. He's proud; but that's more words he can't reach and there's a dull pain behind them anyway, there's knowing that she was okay until last night, that her world was whole and that he's now broken it twice, first by dying and then by coming back. He swallows a lump in his throat and can't look her in the eye as he answers.

(He thinks of her voice shaking with anger: every time I thought things were getting a bit better. Every time I tried to go on.)

"...Yeah. I am."

Still not looking, he walks to the edge of the pool and sits down, pulling his knees close to his chest. Light bounces off the water and draws dancing patterns on the wall as Gyarados slides back under. Misty hesitates for a bit; then comes closer and sits next to him. He can feel her eyes and keeps watching the reflections, wondering what he could ever tell her: I'm sorry? He's already said that. He could say it a thousand times more and it would change nothing.

She talks instead, after a moment. "You know, this one time a kid who had just started his journey came here insisting he wanted to battle the strongest pokémon I had. So I sent out Staryu, because I didn't want to crush him too hard, but he just kept insisting, and so I called Staryu back and sent out Gyarados. He wasn't expecting that."

Ash turns to look at her. She laughs a little: "He basically had to pick his jaw up from the floor. I beat him in a minute and he bolted out of the gym without so much as a goodbye. And do you know what he did next?"

He shrugs. "What?"

"He came back two days later and tried to convince me I'd met his twin brother. Can you believe that?"

She keeps talking, telling him about something silly one of her sisters did, about that one time Psyduck got stuck in a lifesaver, about how once she battled a trainer who'd placed second in two different leagues, and sometimes her voice trails off stretched over an awkward pause, and he can feel the questions she's not asking him looming behind; but her words fill the silence. He listens, mostly, sometimes looking at the pool, sometimes at her. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Did you know once a trainer came here with a team that was entirely bug pokémon?

Small, ordinary things. Like the toothbrushes in the bathroom. Like the way she slips off her shoes and dangles her legs in the water, Togepi sitting on her knees.

The day goes by slowly, but that he's used to. At least, though, as her voice tiptoes around another halt, he remembers that for the first time in over a year he doesn't have to endure the silence alone.

—-

"My—" pain rattles through him and he has to stop and catch his breath before trying again. His lips are chapped and swollen. "My friends will find me."

Giovanni's shadow crouches beyond the bars. "That sure is a comforting thought. But see, the thing is... they're not looking anymore. A dead body was found two days ago and just now identified as yours. Your friends are currently mourning your death."

"They—they won't believe it." But something that feels an awful lot like fear knots his stomach tight. Because it's been days, almost weeks now and no one's come yet, no one's found him. Giovanni grins.

"Oh, they already do. Your mother, too. She was never a very bright one, was she? I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm all you have left now."

He spits. Blood stains the floor of the cell. "I'm never gonna do what you want. You're gonna have to kill me."

The grin doesn't falter one bit.

"We'll see about that."

hold on to our reasons

and plan the escape

—-

Brock gets there in the evening. He listens to the conversation from the living room, his hands clasping the edge of the couch.

"You were fast."

"Yeah, I managed to catch a ride on a blimp that was just leaving Pewter. Misty, can you tell me what's going on? What happened?"

A pause. "It's—a bit hard to explain. Maybe you should just—come and see."

"Come and see what?"

"Just come, okay?"

Footsteps. He holds his breath. His throat is dry as paper. "Misty, seriously, what's this about?" says Brock's voice, closer now, and he can see shadows move on the wall; "Why are you acting like—" and then they're both on the door and Misty presses her lips together so tight that they disappear, and Brock's eyes brush past him once almost failing to realize he's there, stop, dart back to him. And he freezes, just like she did, just like Psyduck and Togepi did in the gym. Ash manages to hold his glance for a second, then looks down, sinking his teeth into his lip.

"Hi, Brock."

Silence. He bites his lip harder and looks back up. Brock is still staring, his mouth hanging half open. He's different in the same almost unnoticeable way Misty is, taller, his shoulders wider, a faint shadow of stubble on his chin. He gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down; then closes his mouth and opens it again as if trying to speak, but no sound comes out. Misty's hand brushes his arm.

"...Maybe you should sit," she says. He looks at her, then at him again, then nods.

"Yes," he manages to get out. "Maybe I should."

He reaches the armchair in front of the couch and falls down on it. His eyes scan him up and down, as if trying to make sense of what they're seeing, and he shakes his head. "Just—say there's some explanation for this."

"There is," says Misty. She nervously twiddles her fingers behind her back and bites her lip, looking at him. "Do you—want me to tell him? So you don't have to say all that again."

"No, it's—fine," he assures her, although he isn't all that sure himself. His stomach has crumpled to a knot. Brock is waiting.

Misty watches him for a moment still; then walks to the couch and sits next to him. The cushions sink slightly under her weight.

He swallows and breathes in. "I was kidnapped," he says for the second time, looking away. It comes out of him a little more easily now that he's already found the words once, and the rest of the story does too. Maybe if he keeps repeating it eventually it'll be just that, a story, and he won't see Giovanni's grin as he talks, won't hear the whistle of whips. Won't hear someone else's cries. Misty's breath hitches in her throat as he gets to the beatings, and out of the corner of his eyes he sees her hold her arms tight around herself. Brock doesn't speak.

He repeats to him everything he told Misty last night. About how he started doing what Giovanni wanted, about the reason Giovanni wanted him, too, even if that one word feels like broken glass in his mouth. Not about the scars. Those at least he can keep hidden this time.

There's silence when he's done talking, and he can't get himself to look up. "...I heard knocking on the door last night," Misty finishes for him after a second. "I went to look and I found him standing there."

Still not a word. When he forces himself to take his eyes off the carpet Brock is still staring. As he watches he reaches up and rubs the bridge of his nose, breathing out, and he can see his hand is shaking.

"Who—" he finally articulates. "Who else knows about this...?"

"No one does yet, except you and me," Misty says. "Well, and my pokémon."

Brock lowers his hand and looks at him again. "Your mother doesn't know anything?"

And he knew it was only a matter of time before he or Misty brought that up, but still his stomach crumples harder and something inside him feels about to break in two. She answers for him again: "Not yet. I—I thought about calling her, but I wanted to talk with you fir—"

"Don't call her," he squeezes out of his throat. She stops.

"...But we have to tell her, Ash."

"I—know. Just—not yet."

They both look at him. He takes a breath, trying to loosen the knot in his gut. "It's just—she never told me anything. About Giovanni."

"I'm sure she just wanted to protect you," Misty says after a moment. Something like a choked burst of laugh comes out of his chest.

"Yeah, it worked great, didn't it?"

Silence. Misty and Brock look at each other and he digs his nail deeper into the fabric of the couch. "You can't... blame her for this," she whispers then, and he bites his lip hard enough to hurt.

"I'm not. I just—can't see her. Not yet."

"She's your mother, Ash," says Brock. His voice sounds weary. "She needs to know that you're alive."

"I know!"

Another pause. Then Misty sighs and shakes her head a bit, tucking her hair behind her ear. "...Okay. It's fine, we can talk about it later. Right?" She locks eyes with Brock, but doesn't wait for an answer. "Brock, we need to figure out what we're going to do. Ash said Giovanni might be looking for him."

"He is," he remarks, grim. Brock purses his lips.

"Can't we just—go to the police for help?"

She sighs again. "Apparently we can't."

"There's no apparently," he snaps. He thinks of everything Giovanni told him, showed him. She recoils a little.

"Okay, fine. I do believe what you told me. It's just—you haven't told me a lot, you know?"

"A lot about what?" Brock tries to understand. Misty looks at him.

He breathes in again. "Team Rocket has people inside the police," he explains, for the second time. "And not just there. Pretty much anything you can imagine, they control it to some degree. Giovanni is just—he's the tip of the iceberg, but the organization's existed for longer than he's been alive. They're everywhere. There's no way to be safe from them."

His voice hitches slightly on the last couple syllables. Misty is silent for a moment; then leans closer and brushes the back of his hand. He tries not to jerk away from her touch and only half-manages it, but her hand stays, her fingers gently closing on his.

"There has to be one. And we're gonna find it. Okay?"

He wishes he could believe it. Brock brings a hand to his head again.

"Alright," he says. "I'm just—gonna need this whole conversation to go a little more slowly. Can we take a step back?"

"Yeah," he grumbles. Brock stares at the carpet for a second, as if trying to collect his thoughts; then turns back to them.

"What about the body?" he wants to know. "Who was that? How did we not... know it wasn't you?"

Misty's teeth sink hard into her lip. "Giovanni probably had the tests faked," Ash answers. "Dunno who it was. Some kid. I just know Giovanni wanted to make sure no one would ever come looking for me."

Brock sinks into his armchair, his face drained of color. "Arceus," he mutters. "Alright. What about—Giovanni? How can he be your father?"

He shrugs a little. "He and my mom met when they were young. He wasn't the head of Team Rocket then, his mother was. But he was a high-ranking official. My mom didn't know at first. He wanted her to join the Team as well, but instead when he told her the truth about who he was she never wanted to see him again. But then he—"

His voice catches, stuck halfway out of his throat. He swallows. "...He kept watching her, and he found out she was pregnant. He never sought her out again and she thought he was really going to leave her—us, in peace, but instead he had a plan all along. He was waiting."

Misty's hand is still around his. She tries to give his fingers a gentle squeeze, but he thinks of the other things Giovanni told him, and how he proved them to be true; and pulls his hand from her grasp.

"So he was planning to force you to join Team Rocket all along?" Brock asks. He nods.

"Yeah. Well, he watched me. I dunno, maybe at first he thought eventually I'd decide to join myself. But I think he enjoyed it more this way."

"And—your mother never said anything at all about him?"

"Nope. She always told me my dad was a pokémon trainer who went on a journey."

He curls up a bit, wrapping his arms around his knees. Brock and Misty both say nothing, and in the silence his nails tear at his skin.

"He's gonna want me back. Wouldn't surprise me if he knew where I am already. I shouldn't have come here."

"Quit saying that," sighs Misty. Brock thinks for a moment, sucking his lower lip against his teeth.

"Where were you when you escaped?"

"Not far from here. I was sent on a mission. There were a bunch of Giovanni's men who were supposed to guard me, but I—got pretty good with some of the things he taught me, so I managed to distract them and run. Took me a couple days to get here."

Misty frowns: "Wait—a couple days?"

He glances at her. "Yeah?"

"You didn't tell me."

"You didn't ask."

"And it didn't cross your mind to mention that you were on the run for a couple days, with—an open wound and—?!"

He rolls his eyes. "It's nothing, I told you. It's just a scratch. I've had much worse."

He says it without thinking, not meaning to hurt her, but her face kind of falls apart at his last words and she stares at him for a second before turning away and biting her lip harder, tears glistening in her eyes. Brock breathes in and out again, slowly.

"...Okay. It's a good thing you came here, Ash. Misty is right, there's gotta be a way to keep you safe and we're gonna find it."

"You don't need to keep me safe," he retorts. His nails dig deeper into the skin of his arm, leaving marks. "It's what I've been trying to tell her all along. Just—let me leave and I'll find somewhere to hide or something, and the two of you won't be in danger."

"Yeah, great plan," she grumbles. "It's not like you've been telling us about how these people tortured and brainwashed you and how—they have spies in the police and whatever other freaking place we can imagine. You can totally just hide or something while we sit here and do nothing at all. That's not a bad strategy at all!"

Her voice shakes. There's silence for a couple moments, her hurt lying between them like a wall; then Brock raises his hands.

"Alright, guys. Come on. I'm sure we can figure this out without fighting."

"Not if he keeps being this stubborn," she remarks. She sniffles and angrily wipes her eyes. Ash lets out a sigh.

"Fine, sorry. You got a better idea?"

She doesn't. Brock drums his fingers on the armrest.

"Do you think Team Rocket—I mean Jessie, James and Meowth, do you think they had anything to do with all this?"

He shrugs. "I never saw them."

"I don't think they did," says Misty. He gives her a curious look, but she adds nothing else. Brock drums his fingers again, thinking.

"Perhaps they might know something that could help? Like, I don't know, some piece of information about Giovanni that we could use to our advantage?"

"Maybe? Why, do you think they'd wanna help?"

"I'm sure we could convince them. Now if only we could figure out how to get a hold of them..."

Misty sniffles again and looks up. "I might know, actually. Brock, remember what I told you? About the packages?"

He nods. Ash shakes his head a bit.

"What packages?"

"You'll see. Well, I don't know if it'll work, but I'm gonna try tomorrow."

"Well, we have a first step at least," Brock sighs. "That's something."

He stares puzzled at both of them. Before he can ask more, though, Brock has another question.

"Ash, anyway... how are you—feeling? I mean, after everything you've told us..."

He doesn't know what to answer. Feeling wasn't really something Giovanni wanted him to do. He tries a checklist: he's all in one piece, more or less. He's not spitting blood on the floor of a cell. If he doesn't do what he's told he probably won't get his senses beaten out of him. That's gotta be worth something, after all, so he shrugs again.

"I'm fine," he answers; but the words sound strange in his mouth, like it's not really his voice he hears.

—-

Misty insists he sleeps in her bed for tonight. Insists for a bit, at least, then sighs and says she'll sleep in her sister's room anyway, he can do whatever he wants.

So he takes her bed, but tries hard not to fall asleep. The dark makes him nervous; he keeps expecting to hear Giovanni's footsteps along the hallway, and he folds himself around his knees and pulls Misty's blanket over his head, because if he does his best to disappear maybe he won't find him.

He's already slept this morning, and he's gone nights without sleeping before, so this shouldn't be hard. But the exhaustion from two days spent walking and running with nothing to eat and with a wound that kept opening up again and bleeding and hurting still hasn't worn off, and he manages to jerk himself awake a few times before the room begins to slip from his grasp. His eyes shoot wide open again, his heart hammering loudly in his back. Somewhere a clock strikes three. I won't fall asleep he tells himself. I won't fall asleep. I won't

fall

(awake I'm awake I won't fall asleep I)

"You know, I don't think we're as different as you want to believe," Giovanni says. He knows he's right, because he's shown him what he can force him to do. Behind him are shadows of men in black uniforms. The tip of the whips clicks against the floor.

"But perhaps you'll see it too with a little more convincing, no?"

He grits his teeth and waits. The whips cut through the air. Then there's a voice tearing through the dark, and fingers grasping his shoulder and shaking him awake as the voice keeps calling—Ash, Ash, Ash—and the instinct Giovanni planted into him kicks in and he rolls to his back to strike the attacker. But before he can do it there's arms around him, stopping him, holding him still. He struggles and elbows the shape; then the voice becomes a whisper, shh, it's okay, it's just me, calm down, and the hold is a hug and Misty's fingers stroke his arm up and down. "It's just me. Shh. It's okay."

"Let go—" he manages to squeeze out. She does. His heart is a throbbing lump in his throat. He rolls away from her, his brow clammy with sweat.

"I told you not to do that," he mutters between gasps. He's got to have hit her; he felt it. The mattress sinks a little as she moves.

"I know. I heard you scream all the way from my sister's room."

"It's—dreams. I told you."

"I know," she says again. She doesn't leave. He wraps his arms back around himself and stares at the wall, listening as the furious hammering in his chest slowly begins to revert to a quieter hiccup.

"Do you want me to stay?" she asks after a bit. He sinks his head between his shoulders.

"No."

"I won't touch you," she promises. "I'll just be here. Just so you're not alone."

And almost all of him wants to shout at her to go away, that she doesn't deserve to see this, that he doesn't deserve her there, not after everything he's done. But there's a bit of him that desperately wants her to stay, and for a moment it manages to scream louder than everything else.

He pulls his knees closer to his chest. "If you want."

There's silence for a second, then he feels her lie down behind him. "Do you want the light on?" she asks. He shrugs.

"No. Doesn't matter."

The mattress wobbles a little again and there's the click of the switch, and the room disappears once again into black. It's different now, though, because she's there and he can hear her breathing quietly, and the dark is still unnerving but not quite as suffocating as before.

They don't talk. He stares at the numbers on the clock on her nightstand, moving slowly from 3.42 to 3.43 to 3.44; and after a while imagines outstretching one arm behind his back and finding her hand. But Giovanni took everything he was, little by little, and left nothing but darkness in its place. He can feel it almost like a physical thing, a weight at the center of his body, like he could follow the shape of it under his fingers. If he touches her maybe he'll stain her too.

So he keeps his arms around his knees and doesn't move. The night seems to go on forever, even with her by his side; but no more nightmares await.

—-

"I must admit, I'm impressed," Giovanni says. His voice filters through the pain and the haze, slithering across the cell. "I expected you to put up a fight, but I didn't think you'd last this long. But you see, there's something I've learned about people. It's that it matters nothing how stubborn they are, nor how brave, how strong or how good they think they can be. Sooner or later, they break."

—-

The next morning she tapes together several pieces of paper to make one big sheet. GET YOUR ASSES HERE she writes on it in big letters with a sharpie. I KNOW YOU'RE AROUND.

He shakes his head, watching her. "What are you doing?"

"Sending a message," she says with a slight grin. He's not following.

"A message to who?"

She puts down the sharpie and brushes a strand of hair back in place. "Well, when I first came back here, not long after you—"

"...died?" he finishes when her voice falters. She sighs a bit.

"...yeah. You know, things weren't—I wasn't feeling that great at first. And well, one morning Daisy comes into my room and says she found a package on the door and it's got to be for me because she and the others aren't expecting anything. So I open it and there's cookies inside."

"Cookies...?"

"Yeah. At first I thought maybe Brock or your mother sent them, but it was strange, because the package said nothing, not even my name, and then I realized it didn't come with the mail because it was too early. Someone had to have left it there during the night."

He's still not sure what she's getting at. He frowns as she goes on: "Anyway, a few weeks later I found another, still with nothing written on it and still left on the door in the middle of the night. This time there was cake. I still had no idea who could have left them, but I decided I'd try to keep an eye on the window for a while, to see if I spotted anyone. And guess what I saw one night."

He gives a shrug. "What?"

"Team Rocket's—I mean Jessie, James and Meowth's balloon, hovering just above my front door. And lo and behold, the next morning there was another package outside."

Ash blinks. "...Team Rocket brought you cookies?"

"Yeah. And cake." She laughs a little. "I think they were meant to be little 'feel better soon' gifts."

"But—why would they do that...?"

"I think deep down those three pests cared about us a lot more than they'd have ever admitted," she says. She's silent for a moment; then lets out another small sigh. "That's why I don't think—they had anything to do with what happened to you. They were... actually sad and worried. I don't think they knew."

He looks at the writing on the sheet. "And what are you gonna do with that?"

"Once in a while I still find something when—things are a bit rough, so I'm pretty sure they're still keeping an eye on me from time to time. I'm gonna hang it outside. With some luck they'll happen to be actually around."

Ash keeps staring at the big sharpie letters and bites the inside of his cheek. "...And what if you're wrong? What if they knew, and the gifts were because they felt guilty or something?"

"Then I'll kick their asses so hard that they'll regret having been born," she replies without missing a beat, and from the way she almost spits out the last couple words he's sure she means it. Then she picks up her message and stands. "Come."

She hangs the sheet out of the window of the top floor, so that it lies on the roof of the gym. Wind scrunches it up a bit at the edges, and it blows her hair on her face too; and she puffs her cheeks and tries to adjust both, grumbling a curse under her breath. He watches her and tries again to spot the differences. If he squints and tries not to think it's almost like they aren't there, and the past year never happened at all.

Almost.

(He wonders what she sees when she looks at him. The same slight, barely-there changes or something else.)

She rips a last chunk of tape with her teeth and sticks it to one corner of the message, then rights herself, and her eyes quickly scan the clear sky before she closes the window. He shrugs a bit.

"Now what?"

"Now we wait," she answers. Then turns around and sniffs the air. "Hey, I think Brock made breakfast. You hungry?"

And it's so normal—the tone of her voice, Brock making breakfast—that for a second he doesn't quite know how to reply. He blinks. "I guess."

She smiles and her fingers brush his arm for the briefest moment as she walks past him.

"Let's go then."

—-

"Please."

He doesn't know anymore how long it's been. A month, maybe; maybe less. Maybe there's never been anything but this. The words hurt like claws along his throat, but he squeezes them out anyway, and maybe a sob tumbles out of him too, or more than one. He's only giving him what he wants to hear, he tries to tell himself, only until he can figure out how to get away from here. He tastes blood and sick as he swallows.

"Please. I'll do it. I'll do what you want. Enough. Please."

Giovanni smiles.

—-

They do get the message. He didn't think it would actually work, yet by sunset there's a familiar, Meowth-shaped balloon hovering at a not-at-all-suspicious distance from the gym. He blinks a couple times, peering at the orange sky from behind the curtain.

"I can't believe it."

"See, I was right," Misty grins, and all three stare at the balloon for a while. After a couple minutes he gives a shrug.

"Well, why aren't they coming down?"

"...I imagine this must look pretty weird."

Another ten minutes later the balloon still hasn't moved, and she sighs loudly, writes YES, I'M TALKING TO YOU on another piece of paper and hangs it next to the other. There's another long pause, and squinting he thinks he can see some sort of commotion going on inside the basket; then the balloon slowly starts descending.

They go back downstairs. He balls his fists a little and listen to the echo of their footsteps along the hallway, trying not to think about how dry his mouth suddenly feels.

Misty opens the back door by a crack, a pokéball in one hand ("Just in case," she said, calling back Gyarados from the pool), and they watch the balloon land on the grass. Jessie gets out of the basket first and brings her hands to her hips, warily looking left and right as she takes a couple steps forward. Behind her James is busy fiddling with the burner. Ash's nails dig into his palms.

He can see the red Rs on their shirts. He thinks of the same Rs on black uniforms, thinks of the cracking of knuckles, the whistle of whips; and all of a sudden his throat is even drier than before, like sand, and his insides crumple together and his breath isn't coming out quite right. It's just a letter, and it's just Jessie, James and Meowth, he can tell, but his body won't listen.

"Ash?" Misty is looking at him, frowning slightly. "Everything okay?"

He swallows and nods. She doesn't seem convinced.

"They're not going to hurt you. Even if they try, I'll—"

"No, I—know," he stops her. His throat feels tight. "It's just—"

the uniforms. But he can't say it out loud, it already sounds idiotic enough in his head. Misty watches him for a moment still, then shakes her head a bit and turns to meet Brock's eyes.

"Want us to go talk to them first while you wait here?"

He presses his lips together and swallows again. "I just—need a second. You go. I'll reach you outside."

"Are you sure you're gonna be alright?" Brock asks. He nods one more time.

"Yeah. Just go."

They look at each other for another moment, then do. Misty's eyes linger on him as she walks out of the door.

He presses his back against the wall once they're out of sight, breathing slowly in and out. The knot in his insides gives a little after a minute. He waits for a few seconds still, to be sure, then stands back straight.

It's just a letter on a damn shirt.

He walks outside. The trio's eyes follow the noise of the door slamming closed behind him, turning towards him at once. He takes a few steps forward and then stops, looking straight at them.

There's a pause. Their eyes grow wide as recognition sinks in. Then all at once Jessie and James throw themselves in each other's arms, shrieking "Oh, Mew, a ghost!" in the exact same moment, and Meowth brings his paws to his mouth and lets out a high-pitched scream. It's so completely ridiculous that he forgets about the tightness in his throat, and his fists fall loose.

"Quit it!" Misty snaps, crossing her arms. They look at her, then back at him, then at her again.

James points a shaky finger at him. "But—but—but—you can see him too, right? You—"

"He's not a ghost, you cretins!" she yells. James shakes his head frantically, still pointing.

"But—but—he was dead!"

"Well clearly no he wasn't," she retorts. Then takes a breath. "So I take you didn't know anything about this?"

Jessie and James turn to each other. Jessie's eyes dart back to him: "Know about—what? Of course we didn't, what—what's even going on?!"

Misty raises the pokéball in her hand, her thumb lingering on the release button. "Are you sure? Because I'm pretty sure my Gyarados would love to get the truth out of you if you happen to be lying."

"Wait!" They both turn back to her, letting go of each other and raising their hands in surrender. "We don't know anything," Jessie swears. James and Meowth nod furiously in agreement. "Whatever it is that you think we know, I can assure you, we don't."

She doesn't lower her hand. She turns to Brock instead: "Brock, do you think we should trust them?"

He pretends to think about it for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe you should call Gyarados out, you know, just to give them a taste. Just to be sure."

"Be sure of what?! Wha—why do you even think we know anything about... whatever you're talking about?!"

Misty shrugs. "Oh, I don't know. Does the fact that it was Team Rocket's doing ring any bell? You know, Team Rocket, the organization you're a part of?"

There's silence for a moment. James keeps his hands up. "...Listen, kid, we don't actually know a lot about what goes on in the team, y'know? We and the boss, huh, we haven't exactly been on great terms for ages."

She studies them for a bit still. Then shakes her head a little and slips the pokéball into her pocket. "Fine. Let's say I believe you. For now."

For a handful of seconds no one speaks. A stronger gust of wind rustles the trees, blowing a plastic bag across the grass and slipping cold fingers down Ash's shirt.

"...So, anyone care to explain what's going on?" Meowth finally asks. Misty bites her lip and looks at Brock and then at him, then sighs.

"We need your help."