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RETURNING HOME
CHAPTER 5
"She said she can arrange a meeting," Brock tells her. "But it has to be in some isolated place because apparently this person is concerned about her safety. She said if we still want to do it she'll get in touch with James and he can get you and Ash to wherever this secret spot they decided on is." He pauses, pressing his lips together, then breathes out in a sigh. "Does that sound risky to you?"
"Kinda," she admits. Brock taps his fingers on the counter.
"I'll be there too, of course, that goes without saying. But this whole secret meeting place thing... I don't know, I don't really like the sound of it. You know?"
"Do you think Jessie, James and Meowth might—what, lead us into a trap or something?"
"Well, no, not on purpose, I don't think," he says. "I'm just not as sure about this person. Jessie says she trusts her enough, but... I don't know if we should."
Misty bites the inside of her cheek a bit. "...But we don't really have a choice, do we? I mean, it's not like we have some Plan B up our sleeve. It's this or what, wait for Giovanni to show up and hand Ash back to him?"
"No, of course not," Brock sighs. But his glance trails off again, his brow creased in a worried frown. She shakes her head.
"We're just going to meet this person and hear what she's got to say for now, right? If it doesn't look safe enough we'll stop there. And we'll be careful. Counting the trio it makes six of us, and we'll have our pokémon. If this whole thing somehow turns out to be a trap we'll fight them off."
"Yeah, well, let's hope it's that easy. From the way Ash put it, I'm not so sure we're looking at the kind of people you can just fight off."
He's right, probably, and his words do make her stomach crumple some more. She thinks of what Ash said over and again: you don't know what they can do. "It's still the only option we have," she reminds him though, after a moment. "Unless you got some other idea in the meantime. I know I didn't."
Brock raises a hand to his temples, rubbing them like to contain a headache. "No, yeah, me neither."
"Do we even know anything about who this person is?"
He shrugs: "Jessie didn't say much. Just that she's known her for years and she's had some help from her a couple times."
"What sort of help?"
"She didn't say."
"Great." She thinks about it for a second, pressing her teeth into her lip. "Wait. I'll go get Ash, so we can talk."
He isn't too thrilled to hear the news, predictably. He stands frowning as she puts the call on speakerphone, his jaw clenched; and shakes his head as soon as Brock's done repeating everything for the second time.
"I don't like it."
"Well, neither do I, as I was telling Misty," says Brock. "But she's right. We don't exactly have many other options."
He looks away, his hands curling into nervous fists. "I'll go alone then."
"Don't be stupid," she retorts, earning a swift glare in response. Brock agrees on this one at least.
"That's out of the question, Ash."
He turns back to the screen. "I'll manage. I don't need you guys babysitting me all the time."
"No, but you need some backup," Brock replies patiently. "Think about it. Let's say you're right about not liking it, let's say—this person pulls some double agent stunt and this whole thing turns out to be some sort of set up. You get there and five, or ten Team Rocket officers pop out of hiding to get you back to Giovanni. What do you do then? The more of us, the more chances to actually be able to fight them."
"I'll figure out something," he insists, stubborn. He swallows and his eyes drift back to the floor, meet Pikachu's, skitter away. "And if I don't at least you'll be safe."
"Yeah, and you'll be back in a cell who knows where," she snaps. Ash scowls at her again for a second, puffing his cheeks. "If you're not dead or—or dying or being used as a punching ball!"
Brock waves his hands weakly on the videophone screen: "Guys, come on, if you're gonna jump at each other at least wait until I'm there to physically restrain you," he tries to intervene. Then sighs. "Ash, we're not discussing this part. Either we do this thing together or we don't do it at all, but considering that none of us can think of a better strategy the second option isn't... well, really an option here."
He says nothing. Brock takes a deep breath and goes on. "So unless you just got some other idea—and I'm gonna assume you don't, or you'd have mentioned it at this point—I'll let Jessie know that we still want to go through with this."
For the rest of the phonecall Ash keeps silent, obstinately staring away as she and Brock discuss the details a bit further, and barely mutters a "yeah, bye" before he hangs up. Misty puts down the phone and turns to look at him: she takes in his hands still clenched tight at his sides, his stiffened shoulders. She shakes her head a little.
"It's gonna be okay," she tries. "We're going to be careful. And if I tell my Gyarados to roast anyone who looks at us wrong it will."
He glances at her. "Yeah, well. If no one shoots it dead first," he grumbles. She's left scrambling for a reply and finds none. Ash stands in place for a few moments still, biting down on his bottom lip; then breathes out in a sharp forced huff and heads back upstairs. Pikachu rushes after him like a shadow.
—-
They don't tell Delia what exactly they're going to do.
"I can't—stay here much longer," Ash says. His eyes are glued to some spot near her slippers. "He might come looking for me."
His mother stares at him—stares at the backpack in his hand, and her face crumples up at the edges. She parts her lips to speak and manages nothing for a few moments, and Misty can see her chin quiver and looks away, her throat tight. "...Honey, no, you—you don't need to go anywhere," she finally lets out, stumbling over her own words. "You're safe here. We can—we can go to the police, we can keep you protected, you don't have to leave..."
He presses his lips together and shakes his head. "That's not gonna work. I dunno how much Giovanni told you about Team Rocket back then, but it's—bigger than just him and a bunch other people. They're everywhere, the police, the government, everything. Going to the police would be... the same as showing up on his door and asking him to take me back."
"But you don't have to leave," she says again. Her voice cracks, brittle, like ice under heavy footsteps. "I won't let him hurt you again. I won't, honey, I promise."
"You can't do that," he retorts. He must notice how harsh that sounded then, and he pauses, trying again. "I know you would if you could. But you can't. He's way too strong for anyone to fight him."
She seems to shrivel up under his words. Her shoulders fall and her face does too, so much that Misty can't understand how she's not crying yet. Ash swallows. Then manages to stretch the corners of his lips into something that vaguely resembles a smile and his eyes venture up for a second, only to turn away again before they've really met hers.
"It's gonna be okay," he assures her. "I know—a place to hide. I'll be safe. You don't have to worry."
"I'll make sure he stays out of trouble," she chimes in, although it doesn't come out quite like she hoped. Delia looks at her and then back at him.
"Where are you going?"
"I can't tell you. It's safer for you if you don't know. Listen, mom—"
He stops. She waits, her hands knotted so tight around one another that her knuckles are starting to turn white, and he looks down towards Pikachu and sinks his teeth into his lip.
"Don't stay here alone. Go to Professor Oak's lab. Take Mimey too. Explain him everything that's happened and then don't come home, stay there at least for a few days."
He doesn't say you're in danger here, but that's what his words mean. His mother shakes her head and panic rises in her voice: "No, I—I can't let you do this. I can't—Ash, don't think you can just walk out of that door or—"
"Or what?" he cuts her off. "You gonna lock me up somewhere too?"
She takes the blow. For an interminable moment the silence is unbearable; then he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and takes a breath.
"I'm sorry," he says. He bites his lip again. "I didn't—mean that, mom."
Delia shakes her head one more time. "Come with me to Professor Oak's laboratory," she pleads. "Both of you. We can all hide there, honey, please—"
"I can't," he insists. "I wish—there was another way, but there isn't one. I need to do this."
She looks at him for a second still, tears welling at her eyelashes. Then takes a step closer and pulls him into a hug, her shoulders shaking as though she's trying her best to keep the sobs from breaking loose. Ash stands still, clenching his fists a little. His mother holds him tight for a long moment before letting go, and when she finally does her hands linger on his arms.
"I'll be back soon enough. Don't worry," he promises. Then swallows and draws back, and quickly heads to the door without turning again. But on the doorstep he pauses, one hand grasping the frame.
"...Mom?" He's still not looking at her. Her face perks up a little bit, hopeful. Ash breathes. "I don't think—any of this is your fault."
He walks out then, letting the door slam shut behind him. Delia lets out a sob and turns to Misty like she just remembered that she was there as well. She digs her nails into her palms:
"I'll take care of him, Mrs. Ketchum," she tells her. "I promise. I won't let anything happen to him this time."
That this time feels like being ran through with a knife. Delia just stares at her for a bit; the closes the distance between the two of them with a couple shaky steps and hugs her too, so tight and so suddenly that for a second she's left frozen in her arms. "Please be careful," she whispers, and Misty nods, her throat caught on a lump.
"We will."
Delia lets her go and rights herself, wiping her palm over her right eye. Somehow that's still all the crying she allows herself in front of her. Misty tries to give her a smile, not entirely sure she's managing it; and after a moment of hesitation slips her backpack onto her shoulder and turns to follow Ash outside.
She finds him sitting on the porch steps, Pikachu patiently waiting at his side. She stops next to them and tucks her hair behind her ear.
"Ready?" she asks. Ash stares ahead for a second. Then nods, getting back to his feet.
They go. Behind the house Ash stops, turning to look back one last time; and she can see his hands tighten again. Shrouded by the patch of trees the trio's balloon awaits, the Meowth ears peeking just above their tops.
—-
James takes them to a clearing about a day of flight from Pallet. He's got it marked down on a map with a scribbled red X, and the whole time he holds it in front of his nose and squints at it, carefully following their trajectory with the tip of his finger.
It's dark when they land. Ash looks around as he steps out of the basket, dry branches snapping under his shoes.
"Where are we?"
"Near Viridian City," James answers. Then raises a hand to rub the nape of his neck: "...maybe I wasn't supposed to say. Whoops."
He secures the balloon, then lights a small fire at the center of the clearing and throws some canned food at them. "Relax," he says, sitting with his back against a fallen trunk. "Jessie won't be here until the morning at least, so we've got the whole night to get some rest. We can take turns to sleep after we've eaten."
Ash stares down for a second at the can in his hands before he sighs and resigns to sit down. Pikachu stands on his rear legs as he works it open, sniffing curiously at it and his fingers.
"Do you know who this person is?" she asks James, sitting as well. He nods.
"Yeah. Me and Jessie met her a few times."
"What's she like?"
For a second she's sure she saw a slight grin flash on James' face in the firelight. "Well, probably not what you're expecting," he answers with a shrug. "I think you're gonna like her."
Ash stabs the contents of the can with his fork. "Yeah," he grumbles. "I'm more concerned about her turning on us or selling us to Giovanni than not liking her."
James looks at him for a moment. Then scarfs down a bite from his own can of whatever and shakes his head.
"Nah, kid. That ain't gonna happen. Wait till you meet her, then you'll believe me."
Ash doesn't retort. They go on eating, the silence broken only by the crackling of the fire and the distant call of some pokémon echoing between the trees. Ash sets down the can still half full, letting Pikachu have the rest, and tilts his head back to stare frowning at the sky. Misty watches his shoulders rise, shudder slightly, fall again.
(Scared, she thinks—yeah, that's the right word. He looks scared.)
—-
She takes the first watch, and for the next couple hours she sits looking at the leftover embers from their fire glowing bright orange in the dark and listening to the quiet of the night. Listening as Ash tosses around in his sleeping bag, awake still. Her fingers go prickly around Gyarados' pokéball, so tightly clasped they are, ready to hit the release button at the first suspicious noise.
She doesn't need to. James sits up and stretches after a while, yawns, and stands up scattering the remains of the fire under his boot. "Get to sleep," he tells her. "My turn now."
So she slips into her sleeping bag and tries to. She leaves the pokéball where she can easily reach it, though, along with her backpack.
She's awakened by screaming. Over the span of the three seconds total that it takes for her eyes to snap open and for her to scramble to sit up her mind's already jumped to absolute certainty that he's here, he's found them, he's found Ash—but she stops, one hand already groping for the pokéball. Ash is in his sleeping bag, curled to a tight ball, and his breath comes out in gasps and as she watches he screams again, and Pikachu stares at him with his eyes wide and his ears flattened on his head, close but not daring to nuzzle him awake.
Misty swallows. Then gets to her feet and reaches him, and drops to her knees again by his side; but she pauses with her hand hovering mid-air, remembering how he reacted the last time she did that. How he shook and struggled in her arms before he recognized her and how his elbow slammed into her ribs, not really hurting but so ready to strike. So she lowers her hand and instead knee-walks around the sleeping bag and lies down so that her face is right in front of his. Only then she does shake him.
Ash's eyes fly open and he half-lunges forward—then sees her and stops. He stops entirely, his breath stuck halfway out of his chest as well. Misty keeps her hand around his shoulder.
"It's me," she tells him. She can feel his heart race against her palm. "It's okay. It's just me. You were dreaming."
He stares at her for a moment still. Then manages to take a ragged breath and rolls to the other side, wrapping himself back around his knees as tight as the sleeping bag allows him. He stiffens when Pikachu tries to wedge himself against his back.
Misty sits up and shakes her head a bit: "It's okay," she tries saying again. He pulls his knees closer, still breathing in gasps.
"I—know."
She waits. Waits until he stops shaking, until it no longer looks as if he might snap into pieces if she dares to touch him again. Sitting by the once-was fire James eyes them trying to pretend that he's not.
"How did he do that?" she whispers after a bit, although she thinks maybe she knows already. Ash gives a slight shrug, not turning to look at her.
"Do what?"
"Teach you to do that. The be alert even while you're sleeping thing."
The moment of hesitation before he replies is pretty much an answer in itself. "...Well, it wasn't that hard. It was either learn to react or get beaten."
Something inside her crumples. For the next few seconds she finds nothing to say or do; then slowly, hesitating a little, she leans closer and lays a hand on his shoulder again. He jumps slightly; then relaxes a bit when he realizes it's just her.
She runs her fingers along his arm. He shakes his head.
"What are you doing...?"
"Not beating you," she answers. "Shh. Try to get back to sleep."
"I can't. It's my turn to keep watch."
"James and I can do that. You don't have to."
"I'm fine."
"I know." She keeps stroking his shoulder. She can feel his bones sharp under his skin. "Just try to get back to sleep. You hardly slept at all in the past few days."
He does, though kind of begrudgingly. Misty listens to his breath and waits for as long as it takes for it to turn heavy and slow. When she's sure he's asleep she takes her hand back and stands, dusting dirt and pine needles off her knees.
"You get back to sleep too, kid," James tells her. "I'll take the rest of the night."
She thanks him with a slight smile and walks back to her sleeping bag. She doesn't sleep much: mostly she listens, checking that he's not having nightmares again. But his breath remains quiet, only hiccuping a little a couple times; and after a while she does doze off again too. This time she's not awakened by his screams.
—-
The gym is quiet. She dreaded them at first, these moments: the ones where she'd find nothing to keep herself busy with, when all the daily chores would be over and done with and her pokémon tired from battling, and there'd be nothing left to do, nothing left to fill the silence. But she's starting to ease herself back into them, she thinks, a bit at a time. She's learning.
It'll be six months tomorrow. It feels like a lifetime and at the same time a blink, like he was there yesterday.
Gyarados' back emerges from the pool for a second, its scales glimmering in the blue moonlight.
"I think—I'm doing alright," she says. She feels a bit silly, talking to no one, and the corners of her lips twitch into an embarrassed smile. She goes on, though. "I didn't think I would at first, you know. But I think—I think maybe I can do it."
Saying it out loud feels all kind of right and wrong mingled together. Light bounces on the surface of the water, and she swallows, her eyes fixed on the dancing patterns.
"I just wish—you could see this. I think you would be happy for me. I think—maybe you'd be proud."
There's no answer of course, and she wipes her eyes, finding them a little wet. His name is a lump in her throat. She keeps smiling, though.
"I hope you are."
—-
The morning comes and goes without anyone showing up.
Ash pokes at the remains of the fire with a twig, impatient. "You said they'd be here by now. You sure you got us to the right place?"
"I said they wouldn't be here until the morning at least," James reminds him. "They're probably on their way. I think our person might travel slowly."
"Why?"
"Oh, you'll see."
He won't say more, and it seems to him that he's enjoying the secrecy for whatever reason, so he stops asking, annoyed. Misty stretches her back and sighs a little, sitting down next to him. Her fingers brush a strand of hair away from her face. She catches him watching after a bit and her lips fold into a slight smile.
It gets dark again before they've seen or heard anyone. A sharp wind rises, threatening to blow out the new fire James lit, and he shivers a bit and pulls his knees close to his chest. The sky above is pitch black, punctured by rows of stars. He's slept under a sky like this countless times, but now it feels different, unfamiliar somehow, like it's slipped farther away. He didn't have many occasions to look at the stars while he was with Giovanni.
It's got to be pretty late when they finally hear footsteps. He jumps to his feet; Misty does the same after a second. The footsteps come closer, branches snapping, dead leaves crackling under more than one set of feet, and he swallows, his throat suddenly so dry it feels almost raw. His eyes scan the trees. It's too dark to see anything past the edges of the clearing, where the firelight fades.
He digs his nails into his palms, his breath hitching in his chest.
Misty takes a step forward and holds out one arm as if to shield him, the pokéball in her other hand. Pikachu jumps ahead too: sparkles fly around his cheeks, bright sizzling yellow. And now he does see something, now he makes out shapes coming into the light. Jessie first, pushing branches out of her way; then Brock and Meowth. And then—
He blinks.
She doesn't look like he imagined. Well, that's an understatement. He was expecting someone tall, maybe, maybe with square shoulders and large biceps stretching their Team Rocket uniform. Someone who would crack their knuckles against their palm, and he'd hear the sound echo through his gut and feel his knees shake. Someone who could just look at him, standing on a doorway with a whip in their hand, and make his skin crawl.
But instead he's looking at a small old woman, shorter than he is, with a mane of gray hair tied behind her head. She's not wearing a Rocket uniform. Her face is dark and wrinkled, small metal glasses perched at the top of her nose, and she walks with a slight limp on the uneven terrain, her hands firmly knotted behind her back.
She stops at the opposite end of the clearing and her eyes look the three of them up and down. "You can tell your pokémon to calm down, child," she says. "I'm not here to hurt you."
"It's—okay, Pikachu," he reassures him after a moment. Pikachu backs down, although he keeps looking warily at the woman and his stance remains that of ready-to-attack. Ash shakes his head.
"...You're a Team Rocket agent?"
"That I am," she answers. Her voice sounds somewhat wrinkly too, like parchment, like flipping the pages of an old newspaper. "Not what you were expecting, huh? I'm not a field agent, you can probably guess as much."
He looks at Brock and he gives a little shrug. "She's a friend," says Jessie. "She's been in the team for longer than Giovanni's been in charge."
"Why would she want to betray him and help us then?" Ash wants to know. The woman frowns:
"One thing at a time. I was told you have something to offer. You go first. I'm doing you a favor by being here, not the other way around."
He hesitates for a second. Misty meets his eyes, her hand still tight around Gyarados' pokéball; then turns back to the woman.
"We're offering our help," she says. "In exchange for protection."
"And why should I need your help, or be interested in what you ask in return?"
Misty draws a breath. "Jessie, James and Meowth told us that you're part of a number of people who are plotting against Giovanni," she continues. The woman doesn't confirm nor deny, her face unreadable, but the slight glint in her eyes gives him the feeling that she already knows the whole deal and just wants to hear it again from them. "I'm a gym leader of Cerulean City. I'm—I'm willing to offer all of my support to your cause. And my friend—"
"Giovanni is my father," he stops her. He takes a step forward, looking straight into the woman's eyes. "My mother's name is Delia Ketchum. I dunno if he ever mentioned her to anyone, but she was involved with Giovanni about fifteen years ago."
She doesn't speak. Ash breathes in.
"I didn't know until about a year ago," he goes on. His throat tightens. "I was—on my journey as a pokémon trainer when he sent someone to kidnap me. I was held a prisoner and—" he hasn't actually said that word out loud yet. He swallows, pressing his nails into his palms. "...I was—tortured until I accepted to follow his orders and join the team. Until I managed to escape, a few days ago. But he's gonna want be back. It's only a matter of time."
The woman's eyes scan him from head to toe again. "I heard talk about Giovanni having a child," she says after a few seconds. She squints through her glasses: "I guess I can see a resemblance."
Ash winces. She tilts her head a little, watching him. "So do you have any proof of what you just told me or am I expected to just take your word?"
"Proof?" He frowns. "If you want some DNA test or something I don't have it. I was kinda busy running away to think about collecting evidence."
"What reason could we have to make up all of this?" adds Misty. The woman says nothing: her glasses glimmer in the firelight, the flames painting dark shadows over her face.
Ash gives a shrug, not sure what else to say or do. Then bites his lip, hard enough to hurt, and after a moment of hesitation reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head. Fists clenched, he turns to show her his scarred back.
"Is this proof enough?" he spits out. He can hear more or less everyone's breath catch and remembers that only Misty had already seen them. The woman gives a "hm" sound.
"Put your shirt back on, child," she says. Then adds: "I am sorry about what happened to you."
"Will you help?" Misty wants to know. She doesn't answer right away. Instead she observes them for a bit still.
"I work for something called the International Police," she says finally. "Supposedly, we catch criminals. I'm not a big fish; I work in an archive. My duty is to organize and preserve evidence. And, when I'm asked to do so, to destroy it discreetly." She nods in the general direction of Jessie, James and Meowth. "I had to do it for these three scoundrels a few times. They've left behind a fair number of messes that needed some cleaning up, least one of them lead my department straight to them."
She pauses for a moment, as if looking for the right words to go on. "As you can perhaps guess, it's not a particularly dangerous position, at least for what concerns my physical safety. But I have a family. I have three children of my own. Well, they're not really children anymore. Two of them have children themselves. If I am caught, I won't be the only one affected. And I have a certain age, anyway—I can't keep doing this forever. So a few years back I told Giovanni I wanted out. I felt it was finally time to retire. Do you know what Giovanni said when I told him that?"
He shakes his head. The woman's eyes narrow.
"Nothing. He just slid a folder towards me. Inside were pictures of my children, and of their children. Hundreds of pictures, all clearly taken without them noticing."
Ash's stomach crumples.
"It was his way of telling me that I belong to him. That I wasn't and will never be free to leave him, because he will always have that insurance. My family. If I don't want them hurt, I can't leave. You asked why I would betray him: that's why."
There's silence. A log collapses in the fire with a dry thump, sending orange sparks to swirl up into the air.
"So will you help us?" Misty asks again, her voice shaking a little. The woman looks at her. The features of her face soften the tiniest amount, all the lines and wrinkles seeming to loosen around the corners of her eyes and mouth.
"Yes, child. If you help me, I will try to help you."
—-
There's a moment when something in him just cracks. When it feels like his body cannot possibly contain any more pain, when there's just nothing left of him, when they've successfully beaten out everything he knew to be true.
And so when after managing to K.O. his Raticate the boy tries to run away with the master ball in his hand this time he doesn't just stand there, knowing that his failure will be reported to Giovanni and that he'll want him punished accordingly. This time he springs forward and tackles him. The boy fights back, but he's got advantage. He's got training, months of it.
When he deposits the master ball on Giovanni's desk there's blood on his hands, and some of it stains the sphere too, bloody fingerprints all over the purple and white. Giovanni looks at it with a grin.
"Good job," he says. And he thinks of the sound his hand made colliding with the boy's face, of his voice begging him to stop. Yeah, good job.
Giovanni nods for the men to leave the room and leans his chin on his hands, watching him. He's heard the report of how the mission went from one of them. He knows everything he did.
"I'm curious, tell me. Do you think your friends would forgive you?" he asks. "If they saw you now, I mean, if they really saw you. If they saw what you've become, what you're capable of doing. Do you think they'd want you back?"
Ash looks down at his hands. At the blood dried around his knuckles, in the lines of his palms. He took off his gloves but it'd already soaked through.
He knows the answer to that question.
—-
"I can't be the one to singlehandedly protect you from Giovanni, as you may have guessed," the woman tells them. Her eyes reflect the light from the fire: they're an odd shade, it seems, almost gold. "I'm not worth much in terms of physical strength anymore. Not that I ever was. But I'm only one of many in the same position. We can get you to somewhere safe while we plan our next move."
Misty bites her lip a bit. "What would we need to do in return exactly?" she asks. Then quickly adds: "I'm ready to do—whatever it takes. I just want to know what."
The woman turns to her. "As a gym leader, you're a public figure. This puts you in a position of relative advantage, because if something were to happen to you the accident would definitely make the news. Something happening to an ordinary person might, too, but it would be talked about much less and be forgotten way more quickly. But he cannot hurt you without stepping into the spotlight at least to a degree. Which isn't to say he wouldn't—he would, definitely, if he had a good reason to. But he's going to have more qualms."
Somewhere behind her a pokémon hoots its lonely call. Misty swallows.
"So what does all of this mean?"
"It means that this small power makes you a valuable ally. Your gym could serve as a temporary base or meeting point on necessity. And in the eventuality of a direct confrontation you and your pokémon would be considered resources. Which is to say, potential fighters."
She tries not to falter. She meets Brock's eyes across the fire and he purses his lips, obviously nervous. The woman's glance runs to him:
"The same could be said about you, although to a smaller degree. You're not in exercise as a gym leader at this time, correct?"
"Yeah," he sighs. "My parents are currently administrating the gym. I still have the faculty to take their place if needed, but I'm not the current gym leader of Pewter City."
"But you were in the past. You still have a reputation as such. That gives you a similar position of advantage, although I suppose former gym leader found dead sounds slightly less sensational than it would without the former."
He takes a breath. "I don't want—to bring the gym into it though. That'd mean involving my family as well."
"You might not have a choice," she says. "Once you're in this, the people around you will be involved merely by virtue of being related to you. You think I wanted my family brought in?"
Brock finds nothing to retort. Ash is quiet as well: he stares into the flames and once again draws his knees closer to his chest, his hands around his ankles. Misty watches him, sinking her teeth into her lip; then leans towards him a bit and brushes his arm.
"What do you think?"
He doesn't answer. Instead he swallows and looks up at the woman.
"I've seen what Giovanni is capable of doing," he says. He shakes his head. "He showed me. And you want—my friends to fight him, and you know that it could get them killed, you just said it."
She arches her eyebrows. "You asked for my help. This is what I can give you."
He's silent for a moment longer. Then he shakes his head again and stands, tightening his fists. "We're not doing this. I'm sorry you had to come all this way, but we're not doing it. We're not."
"I don't think—we have much of a choice, Ash," Misty points out. His eyes snap to her, his brow crumpling to a frown.
"Yes we do. I'll just do what I wanted to do all along and find somewhere to hide and if he shows up I'll fight him myself. You'll stay out."
"We've been over this, Ash—" Brock tries. He doesn't let him finish.
"I don't care!"
His voice shakes. He stands there for a second; then turns abruptly and walks away, shoving the bushes out of his way to step out of the clearing. Misty jumps to her feet.
"Ash—"
He doesn't stop. She follows him between the trees, stumbling and scraping her shins in the near-dark. He doesn't even seem to notice her: he keeps walking so fast that even Pikachu is barely keeping up, and she thinks I'm going to lose him and suddenly she's seeing his empty sleeping bag, she's seeing hours of calling and calling under the rain and not finding him still.
"Ash! Wait!"
She can barely see anything. She pushes away a branch and it almost snaps back to hit her in the face, only barely scraping her cheek instead. He stops finally, maybe because he can't see anything either.
She reaches him with her heart running way too fast, her breath half-caught in her throat. "Where on earth are you going? Are you trying to get lost?!"
"Stop," is all he says. His eyes are glued to the ground. She shakes her head, frowning.
"Stop what?"
"This. Doing—this, thinking that you need to follow me everywhere like I'm five years old!"
She blinks. "...Well, sorry for worrying about you getting lost in the woods in the middle of the night!"
"You don't need to worry! And you don't need to protect me, I can do that myself."
His voice is still shaking. She's not going to pretend that she isn't scared as well—she is, so badly that her stomach scrunches up at the mere thought of everything accepting the woman's deal implies. But she's not going to back out either.
"We've talked about this. We're helping you, Ash. We're your friends! We're not gonna leave you alone."
"Yeah, great. Get yourself killed because of me. That really helps, thanks."
She's left without a comeback. Ash keeps looking away and after a moment kicks at the ground, scattering dry leaves.
"I should have just gone somewhere else," he grumbles. Misty stares at him for a second, then balls her hands into fists as well.
"Yeah, you said that," she retorts. She shakes her head again: "Well guess what, it's too late now. You're here, we know you're alive, and we're helping you. Get it through your stupid thick skull once ad for all!"
She didn't mean to yell, but she does anyway, her voice rising higher with each word. Ash throws her a glance:
"Or what, you gonna hit me with the pillow?"
She finds nothing to retort once more. He turns away again, crushing more leaves under his foot.
"I shouldn't have come. I'm not even—"
He stops. Misty looks at him. "...What?"
There's a tremble in his breath. "I'm not even—the person y'all want back."
"...What the hell are you talking about?"
For a bit he says nothing. When he finally does it sounds like he has to squeeze the words out of his chest, one by one. "I'm not—the person you remember. Not anymore. He turned me into something else. It's not—it's not me you wanted back."
"That's bullshit," she spits. Ash gives a scoffing noise.
"Really."
"Yes really! That's some bullshit! That's—the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say, and I've heard you say a whole lot of stupid things!"
He doesn't reply. Misty sinks her teeth into her lip; then loosens her fists and takes a step closer.
"You—you were hurt," she tells him. "That piece of shit hurt you in so many ways that—you ended up thinking that was all there was. But that's it. It doesn't mean that you're not still you. And it doesn't mean we don't still care about you and want to keep you safe."
But he kicks the ground again. "Just stop," he says. "Stop doing this. Stop trying to keep me safe. I've taken care of myself for a year while I was with Giovanni. I can keep doing it."
"But you don't have to!" she explodes. She takes a breath, trying to keep calm. "We care about you, Ash. We can't just stop doing that. We can't just—forget about all of this and—what? Go on with our lives while for all we know you might be dead or dying or who even knows what?!"
"You'd be better off."
"Oh stop."
She can feel something begin to crumble. Something that she didn't mean to let go, something that she didn't mean to throw in his face because it's not his fault, but now it's too late, she doesn't know how to stop it. She realizes she's shaking. Ash looks back at her.
"What?"
"This! Stop this! Stop acting like it's only about you!"
"What are you—"
"You're not—you're not the only one who's suffered, okay?"
He doesn't say anything. She shakes her head one more time, tears pushing at the back of her eyes. "Yeah, maybe you had it worse than all of us, I'll give you that. But do you have—do you have any idea what it meant to—wake up every morning knowing that you wouldn't be there, that you'd never be there again, that—something happened to you while you were alone, that—that maybe it was my fault because I wasn't there to help you when you needed me?"
The words tumble out of her like a landslide, crashing between the two of them. Her eyes burn. Ash takes his away.
"I told you I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be! I'm not telling you to be sorry! I'm just—I'm trying to make you understand!"
Silence. Somewhere there's the flapping of wings of some pokémon, probably disturbed by her yelling. She buries her nails into her palms, her hands trembling, trembling.
"Do you know—do you know what it meant to try to go on," she continues "because that's what you have to do, you know, the world doesn't stop because your best friend died, and sometimes feel sort of okay for a bit, and then hear your name or see something that reminded me of you and feel the world fall to pieces all over again? And then feel—then feel guilty because I dared to feel okay for that little bit? Because I forgot for a freaking minute?"
She catches her breath in a sob. Ash keeps staring at his feet and his image wobbles before her eyes, doubles. She tries not to blink.
"But you got over it," he says. "You were okay."
"I was trying! I had no choice! But if I let something happen to you now this time I won't 'get over it'. I won't be okay. Because this time I won't just have to wonder, this time I'll know that I could have helped you and I didn't."
Tears spill. She wipes them away with the back of her hand, but they keep coming. "And it's not just about me either. Your mom, Pikachu, Brock, all of you pokémon and your friends—we'll all feel that. And if you don't think that's worse than risking our life—well then congrats, maybe you're right, maybe he's really turned you into someone else, maybe he's turned you into someone who doesn't care about any of us. But I don't think that's true."
He still doesn't speak. She can't stand to look at him anymore, so she sniffles and turns away, taking a few shaky step with her hand pressed against her face to try and smother the sobs. She find something to hold on to—a tree, and slides down to almost-sitting with her back to the trunk; and with her face between her knees she sobs some more, all of the pain from the past year swelling and gurgling its way back to the surface. There's silence still for a handful of moments. Then the crackle of footsteps.
Ash crouches next to her. There's another pause; then his hand stretches towards her, slowly, almost stopping mid-air a couple times. His fingers tap her shoulder, draw back immediately like he's afraid he might have hurt her, come back. Stay this time. It's like he's trying to make himself remember how to touch someone.
She looks down at his hand. She sniffles again; and after a moment covers it with hers.
He sits down. He takes a breath and lets it out, his brow furrowed like he's trying to collect his thoughts.
"There was—some guy who tried to betray the team once, while I was there," he says. "He had some evidence he thought could lead the police straight to Giovanni. But one of the officers he talked to was actually a Rocket agent, so he found out. He showed me what happened to that guy, as a warning, in case I got some similar idea sooner or later."
He takes his hand back and closes his eyes. "His house burned down at night. He had a family, a wife and two kids. The youngest one was only two years old. They all died in their sleep. All the evidence he had was destroyed. And the whole thing was written off as an accident."
A tremble stirs at the bottom of his voice. She remembers hearing about it in the news: a family of four killed by a house fire, a tragic fatality. Not a mention of Team Rocket or arson being involved. Ash bites his lip and turns to look at her.
"I'm putting you in danger just by being near you," he says. "I just—don't want you hurt."
"And I don't want you hurt," she retorts. She wipes her arm over her face. "We're even."
He says nothing. She waits for a bit—waits until she's successfully pushed back her tears, until she's sure enough that she'll be able to speak without her voice cracking. "I think we should go back," she says then. "I promise we will be as careful as we can. If you promise me you'll let us help you. Deal?"
He hesitates for a moment, his teeth again sunk into his lip. He turns to look at Pikachu and finally lets out a sigh.
"Deal."