(The lyrics quoted are from "It's the fear" by Within Temptation.
While I'm writing author notes, gonna take the chance to thank everyone who's read and commented on/faved this story so far, since I haven't done so yet. I hope you continue to enjoy it!)

RETURNING HOME

CHAPTER 6

"I have something for you to do."

They're familiar words at this point. The wounds on his back have healed; so have his broken ribs. He got new cuts and bruises on top of the old ones and those too have faded or are starting to, blue to yellow to nothing, pain to scars. He's learned what happens if he says no, if he tries to resist.

He's learning not to.

(What gives, anyway? If he doesn't do what Giovanni wants someone else will. Someone else will do worse.)

The way his stomach crumples to a knot upon hearing them is also familiar. But he asks: "What do I have to steal this time?"

Giovanni's glance lingers on the papers in his hands for a moment still, then he sets them down and looks at him. "No, no. Nothing about stealing. I've got something else for you."

He doesn't dare to ask what. "It's come to my attention that one of my recruits may be having second thoughts about having joined the Team," Giovanni continues. His Persian nuzzles his leg, purring when the man's hand absentmindedly scratches its head. "Which is disappointing, because I've invested a lot in the training of this boy. You see, he's the son of someone who holds a high position within the Pokémon League, and I had very high hopes to eventually turn him into a double agent. Fortunately for us, he hasn't tried to run or hide yet so I know exactly where he is, but he's ignored repeated requests to appear before me. Which is why I want you to bring him here."

"And—" Ash swallows and his nails sink into his palm a little. "What's gonna happen to him, once I do that?"

"That's not your concern for now," says Giovanni. He pulls a folder from his drawer and drops it in front of him: attached to the front with a paperclip is a picture of a boy with brown scruffy hair and a faceful of freckles. "Everything you need to know is in there. You won't be alone, of course—my men will monitor you as usual. But you will do the job."

He looks at the photo. The boy can't be more than two or three years older than he is. Giovanni leans forward, resting his chin atop his hands.

"So what do you say? Can you do this?"

It's not really a question, of course, and even without turning he can feel the glance of the men standing silently behind his back. So he swallows again and gives the only answer he can.

"Yes, sir."

—-

"I dunno why Giovanni hasn't done anything to get me back yet. But he will."

The woman nods. Next to her James pokes at the branches in the fire with a stick, causing the flames to flare up higher. "Aye, you're probably right. He certainly isn't the type to give up on something he wants," she says. Then purses her lips for a moment, thoughtful. "How long has it been since you escaped?"

He counts quickly in his head: two days running, two at Misty's gym, four between flying to his house and then here. "About a week now."

"Not that long then, but still more than enough time for him to get his hands on anything he's really after. Trust me,"—she pauses again, releasing a breath in a sigh—"it's no stretch to assume that he's known where you were hiding if not all along, then nearly so. I can only think of two reasons why he hasn't made a move yet: either he's convinced that he can get you back any time he wants and therefore is in no hurry to do so—"

"That's not gonna happen," Misty steps in. The woman's eyes narrow as they run to her.

"You seem quite bold, child, but let me tell you that in this case it might not be so wise. Do not make the mistake of underestimating Giovanni," she remarks, before turning back to Ash. Her face is stern and taut in the firelight. "The only other option, the way I see it, is that he has some motive to not be doing anything."

He shakes his head a little. "What's that mean?"

"That he might have been observing you without interfering to gather information he could eventually turn to his advantage. Where you would be most likely to hide, who you would turn to for help. That sort of thing. You can never have too many weak spots."

His insides twist. He's thought of that already—he's expected Giovanni's men to be lurking in every shadow ever since he allowed himself to think that this time, this time he might really have done it. But hearing it in a voice not his own makes his presence suddenly feel almost palpable, like he's standing right behind his back, and a prickle crawls slowly down his spine. Pikachu nuzzles his side a bit, noticing his discomfort. The woman clicks her tongue.

"Of course, one option doesn't necessarily exclude the other," she adds. "Perhaps he's taking his time observing you because he thinks he can get you back whenever he wants."

Brock frowns. "But if he's really been observing Ash all along—then isn't there a chance that we're being watched even now? I mean—what if he's sent someone to follow him all the way here?"

"I thought of that, and I took precautions to ensure it wouldn't happen. I chose this location for our meeting for a reason. The route James was instructed to take is only possible by air. Anyone following them from the ground would have been forced to loose them at one point. And to follow someone by air, well, is quite hard without being noticed at all. I trust even James would have been able to tell if some aircraft was following the balloon."

"...Yep, pretty sure I would have," he concurs, tossing the stick over the fire. She gives a slight nod.

"I have a safe house in Viridian City," she goes on, taking her glance back to Ash. "Several of them, actually, but one is enough for our purpose. I am reasonably sure that Giovanni is not aware of it. James will take you there. I will not go with you—Jessie will accompany me back to my house as soon as our conversation is done. I will be in touch, but the less I run the risk of being seen with you the better for all of us."

"Can we go with him?" Misty wants to know. The woman considers.

"In a different situation I would advise against it—returning to your normal lives as soon as possible would look far less suspicious. But given that Giovanni probably already knows that Ash has been with you all along I doubt he would be fooled, so it doesn't really make that big a difference in our case. Although we do need you back in your position at the gym for our agreement to be worth anything."

Misty straightens her back a little, her hands tight. "I'm not leaving him alone until I've seen this place and I'm sure it's safe."

The fire paints orange brush stokes on her face. Something pops—sparkles fly up in a swirl and die onto the grass. Her eyes look aflame too, like mirrors, and the woman watches her and lets out a "mh".

"Go with him, then," she concedes. "Both of you, if you want, but keep in mind that it cannot be a very long stay. If you want my help you will have to trust me."

"You're in good hands," says Jessie. She stretches her legs out in front of herself, a slightly bored look on her face. "Believe me, I wouldn't have gone to her if I didn't think she was the right person."

Ash raises his eyebrows. "Yeah, well. Not like you're the first I'd trust either, y'know," he remarks, and her glance shoots to him immediately, but after a second her frown scrunches into something resembling awkward guilt and she takes her eyes off.

"...Fine. Can't really blame you for that, I guess."

"Someone will meet you in Viridian City," the woman continues. "I will ensure that it is someone trusted. They will take you to the safe house. I'm going to ask for a definitive answer now—are you still convinced that you want to go through with this?"

Misty and Brock look at each other, then at him. He sinks his teeth into his lip, hugging his knees a little closer.

"If—you guys are okay with it."

They exchange another glance and Misty turns back to the woman. "We are."

"Very well," she says. She looks at James. "Give me your map."

He stands to go retrieve it from the balloon. In the brief silence that follows Misty leans over to him and strokes his arm a bit: "It's gonna be okay," she whispers, but he can't bring himself to meet her eyes.

James hands the map to the woman and she fishes a pen out of her pocket and marks a spot on it. "Land on the intersection between Chartreuse Street and Shamrock Lane. Look for a black van," she says. She gives it back and stands up, smoothing wrinkles and bark out of her skirt. "I will get in touch with you when necessary."

"Wait—" says Misty. The woman stops halfway through turning away, a silent question in her gaze.

Misty takes a huff of breath. "Can we—know your name at least?"

"You don't need it," she answers. Her glasses catch the light from the fire, masking her eyes. "If you want something to refer to me by, Mrs. R should be enough."

She heads off then, nodding for Jessie and Meowth to follow. Jessie lags behind for a couple moments still.

"Good luck," she says finally before turning to leave. Ash bites the inside of his cheek and watches as they step out of the clearing and into the dark, followed by the sound of their footsteps, then by silence.

—-

He still thinks about his friends sometimes. Not so often, not anymore—it's getting harder and harder to picture them without their faces twisting in disgust, without their eyes turning away from what he's become. It's getting harder to picture their faces at all: the details blur at the edges, a bit fainter each time. He's starting to struggle to remember what Pikachu's weight felt like on his shoulder, or the exact green Misty's eyes turned in the sunset, or the tired fondness in Brock's voice when he had to deal with their daily spats. They're slipping away.

But sometimes if he shuts his eyes hard enough he can still pretend that they'll be there when he looks, and that they will still want him back, that they'll forgive him for not being stronger than this. So he does it while the helicopter lands, curled up around his knees. He does it until the sound of the door being opened rips his fantasy from his grasp.

"Get out," one of the men says. He looks: they're not there. So he does as he's told, because he knows he can't do anything else. His breath fogs in the cold night air.

(Who is he trying to fool, anyway? He knows they'd never forgive him.)

—-

The black van Mrs. R told James about is already awaiting when they reach Viridian City.

"I can still turn around and take you back to Pallet if you want," he says, one hand still grasping the knob on the burner. "Last chance. I'm sure she won't mind."

Brock lets out a sigh. "We don't really have an alternative."

They approach the van cautiously, James first, then the three of them. It's early: the street stretches out empty and quiet, the only movement a scrunched newspaper page swept at their feet by the wind. It's not really a threatening kind of emptiness, but Misty slips Gyarados' pokéball back in her hand anyway, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and Pikachu frowns at the van and a sparkle or two flickers around his cheeks.

Sitting at the wheel there's a woman with jet-black hair tucked under a beret and big sunglasses to shield her eyes. She rolls down the window when she sees them, leaning out a bit.

"Who sent you here?" she inquires. She looks closer to what he had expected—she's well built and she's wearing a sort of uniform, although a plain black one with no red Rs on sight; and his throat feels a little dry as he swallows. There's something about her face that looks vaguely familiar, too, but he can't seem to pinpoint what. James steps ahead and answers for all of them.

"Mrs. R."

She nods. "Get in the back," she says, then stops them when all four make to do so. "Not you," she tells James. "Get that balloon away from here. It's not exactly subtle, you know. Might as well leave a flashing arrows sign that says 'that way'."

He pauses and looks at the balloon, then back at them. "...Well," he goes, kicking loose crumbles of asphalt. "I guess this is it then. See ya, kids. I hope everything works out for the best."

"Thank you for all the help," Misty tells him. A slight smirk finds its way to the corners of her lips after a second. "Oh, and thanks for all the cookies too while we're at it."

James blinks—then understanding sinks in and he half-jumps back, a panicked look on his face: "The coo—wait, you knew?!"

"Yeah." She lets out a small hint of a laugh. "I saw your balloon. It was really nice of you. Say thanks to Jessie and Meowth for me, alright?"

"Cut the tearful goodbyes, we don't have all day," the woman steps in. James raises a hand to stroke the back of his neck.

"Yeah. Um, well. Glad you enjoyed 'em." He looks at him. "And glad you're alive, kid."

He waves his hand in something vaguely resembling a salute, then turns on his heels to leave. The woman nods towards the back of the van again.

"Get in."

They do, after exchanging dubious glances. He's been on other rides like this, ones that would take him to people he was supposed to hurt or steal from or both, and his breath hitches in his throat a little as the doors slam shut leaving them in the near-dark. Being able to make out his friends after a couple seconds only makes it marginally better, because the guilt of having dragged them into this is still worse than everything, and he sits crumpled around his knees and avoids their eyes as the van starts up. None of them speaks.

It's not a long ride. They stop some odd fifteen minutes later; there's a pause and the sound of a shutter closing, then the doors of the van open again and the woman tells them to get out. Ash blinks a couple times as his eyes get used to the light again, although there's not much of it: they're in what looks like a basement, only faintly lit by a couple narrow windows high up on the walls. He jumps slightly as he turns to the right—there's someone else, a man in a similarly black uniform standing with his back to the wall next to a metal door. Misty's fingers brush his wrist a little, halfway through reassuring and alarmed.

The woman takes off her sunglasses and beret and heads in that direction, running a hand through a mane of kinky black curls. The man doesn't speak, just nods at her as she walks by. She nods back and opens the door: "This way."

They follow. She flicks a switch and rows of lightbulbs lit up beneath them, outlining a metal staircase stretching far down. And he thinks of the dark in his cell, the kind of dark that only happens so far underground that not even the slightest crack of light can filter under a door, and his throat is dry, so unbearably dry. He thinks of how the hours and days and weeks blurred and bled together in that dark.

"It's nicer than it looks," the woman says. He buries his nails into his palms until they burn as the staircase groans under their steps.

There's another door at the bottom, and she opens that one as well and hits another switch. She's right: it's nicer than it looks. It's still underground and still lit only by the sickly yellow light of a few lightbulbs, but the room they're staring into actually kind of looks like a house. There's a doormat and a couch and even fake plastic plants scattered around.

"Feel free to make yourselves at home."

He walks in first, with Pikachu on his tail. There's a kitchen in a corner and shelves stocked up with canned food and some bunk beds beyond a half wall, and he can see what looks like a bathroom through an open door. There's a TV, too, a small thing with rabbit ears. He stands in the middle of the floor for a moment, biting down on his lip, then turns to look at the woman.

"Could I—leave?" he asks. He breathes in. "I mean if I wanted to. Would I be free to go?"

She raises her eyebrows. "That would be pretty stupid, considering we're doing all of this specifically to keep you protected, but yes, you would be. You're not a prisoner here."

"We'll be staying here for a few days too, if it's not an issue," says Brock. "We just want to make sure it's safe, that's all."

"I've been told," she nods. Her eyes are golden, Ash notices now that she's no longer wearing the sunglasses; the same color Mrs. R's looked to be in the firelight.

(I have three children of my own—well, they're not really children anymore, he remembers her saying.)

"Who's the guy upstairs?" Misty inquires. The woman's eyebrows shoot up a little again.

"A friend," she says. "Same as I am."

Brock looks around, bringing his hands to his hips. "Do we know for sure that Giovanni doesn't know about this place?"

"We don't know for sure that there's anything in all of Kanto that Giovanni isn't aware of. But if it helps, Mrs. R kept this place for her own family."

Ash bites his lip again and runs his eyes over the room one more time. "Is there—" he starts, then stops, swallows, tries again. "Is there any way I could contact my mom to let her know I'm okay?"

"She will be informed," the woman replies. He takes his glance back to her.

"I'd rather inform her myself."

"If you made a phonecall from here he would be able to trace it back to your location. It's a risk we can't afford, I'm sorry."

He finds nothing to retort. "My friend and I will be guarding the building," she adds. "You should find everything you might need down here. There's an intercom you can use over there, near the TV, but try to save that for emergencies. Mrs. R already told you that she'll get in touch when needed, yes?"

"Yeah."

"Good." She pauses for a second, then gives a small shrug. "I know feeling like you're trapped in a hole in the ground might not be ideal, but trust me, considering your situation this is probably the safest you can be for the time being. You can call me Abbie, by the way."

She turns to leave without further ceremonies. "Thank you," Misty tries to tell her. "For—all of this."

But she shrugs her words off. "When you can honor your half of the deal, that'll be enough of a thank you."

—-

The lock on the window gives under one last turn of his crowbar. He takes a breath, the cold biting sharp at his lungs; then pushes the window open and slips inside. The five men follow like shadows.

The apartment is silent. He stumbles on something—some takeout box—and freezes, expecting a light to turn up somewhere or the sound of footsteps; but nothing comes, so he swallows and forces his feet to keep moving, one hand reaching for the pokéballs at his belt. The dim light coming through the window is enough to make his way through the room, dodging more takeout containers and a pile of clothes hastily thrown next to the couch.

The boy is asleep in a bedroll on the floor of his bedroom. He looks even younger in person—maybe he isn't older than him at all after all. Ash slips one of the pokéballs on his palm, pressing his thumb over the release button: "Arbok."

A red flash and the pokémon materializes at his feet. At his nod it slithers over to the boy, stopping with its jaws open in front of his face. He swallows again, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to hurt; then steps forward.

"Wake up," he says. The boy stirs. His eyes open by a crack, then snap wide and he half-jumps back, groping for his own pokéball belt on the floor behind him. He's not stupid—he was expecting something like this to happen. But the belt is just out of his reach and Arbok's fangs are enough of a threat to keep him from attempting to sit or turn around, and Ash walks up to him and kicks it away.

"Giovanni wants to see you," he informs him. "You can either come with me willingly or I can take you to him."

The boy shoots him a furious glare over his shoulder. "Who the fuck are you? His faithful servant?"

He spits the words out, but there's a tremble at the bottom of his voice. Ash's insides twist. But he feels the men's stares on his back, piercing, cold.

"You can either come with me willingly," he says again, "or I can take you to him."

The boy looks at him for a second still. Then suddenly props himself up and tries to catapult himself out of the bedroll and stand—but "Arbok, bite!" he commands before he has a chance to, and the pokémon's jaws lunge forward and sink into the boy's arm and he falls back to the floor with an agonizing scream. What little Ash had to eat for dinner tries to climb its way back up to his mouth, but he forces it down and tries to keep his words from shaking: "Don't try that again."

The boy's eyes turn back to him, his face a knot of pain and anger. "Bet you're proud of yourself," he manages to gasp, his fingers grasping his now-useless arm. "Following the boss's orders like a little trained Mankey. Think you'll earn his favor doing this?!"

Shut up, he wants to scream, shut up, it's not like that, you don't know anything. But instead he grits his teeth. Instead he thinks of the whips whistling through the air, of the sound like snapping branches when he felt his ribs crack.

"Stand up," he says. The boy mutters a "go die" under his breath. Ash gives him another few seconds, then walks up to him and grabs him by his arm, pulling him to his feet.

"I said stand up."

I can no longer restrain it

my strength, it is fading

I have to give in

—-

There isn't a lot to do. Misty sighs and declares that she needs a shower ("I need to get used to sleeping outside again," she adds, undoing her ponytail and trying to untangle her hair with her fingers, and he wonders what she means with that again—that she expects that things will go back to how they were before?), and he watches her shut the bathroom door and flops back on the mattress and stares at the springs above. Pikachu curls up on his stomach after a moment, carefully avoiding his healing wound.

It's weird—it doesn't bother him. It's still hard not to flinch when someone touches him, even Misty, still hard to feel fingers on his skin and not think of pain first, his or someone else's. But Pikachu's weight feels different somehow, almost like something that had been missing from his body all along.

"So how did it go at home?" Brock asks after a minute. Ash winces some.

"I don't really wanna talk about it."

There's a pause, but not a long one. "Well, Pikachu looks really happy to see you."

He can hear a smile in the tone of Brock's voice, and for a second maybe his own lips fold into a slight smile too. He runs a hand through the pokémon's fur.

"Yeah."

Brock is silent for a moment again. "We're all glad to have you back, Ash," he tells him then. "I hope you know that."

Maybe, but he doesn't want to think about it, so he sinks his teeth into his lip and rolls to his side to look at him, forcing Pikachu to jump down. "Misty told me you're thinking of becoming a pokémon doctor," he says to change the subject. Brock seems somewhat surprised, like he wasn't expecting an attempt at some actual conversation; then smiles again and nods.

"Oh, yeah. It's true. A few months back I took some of the gym's pokémon to the pokémon center, and some medicine students were there for their internship. I got to take a look at what they were doing, and... what can I say, I really liked it. I felt like I was watching someone who had a real purpose." His glance trails off a little, following his thoughts, and something about his face seems to light up in a way he hadn't quite seen before. "I guess I like the concept of it. I mean helping something to heal. Helping to... fix something that's been broken."

Ash listens, his fingers slightly clasped on the blanket, and an undefined lump catches in his throat. Beyond the bathroom door the water stops. "...You think that's something that can be done?" he asks after a moment. "Fixing something that's broken?"

"With the right amount of time and care, yes. I believe it's possible."

He chews down on his lip, tugging at the blanket a little harder. "But what if—a thing gets so broken that you can't even tell what it used to be?"

"You're not a thing, Ash," Brock says. He swallows and says nothing. Pikachu nuzzles his face, curling up again next to him.

Brock lets out a small sigh. "Listen," he starts. "I'm sure Misty already told you this, but if you ever feel like talking about what you've been through we're both here to listen. I mean, you don't have to, it's not—it's not an order. If you don't feel like it, that's fine too. All I'm saying is, you're not alone anymore. We're here if you need us. We can help."

He doesn't really believe that, but he tries to force his lips back into that shadow of a smile anyway. "Thanks." But he pauses then. "...I don't really feel like talking about it right now."

"That's okay," Brock assures him. "I didn't mean right now. Whenever you'll feel like it."

The bathroom door cracks open and Misty walks back into the room, wiping a towel over her hair. She drops it on one of the beds, stands there for a moment as if trying to think of something to say, then turns suddenly to Brock and a grin spreads on her face.

"Hey Brock, did you tell Ash about your girlfriend?"

Ash blinks and props himself up on his arm. "...What?"

"She's not—she's not my girlfriend," Brock stammers, flushing bright red from ear to ear. Misty's grin widens.

"Almost." She elbows him a bit. "Come on, you know I'm right."

Ash sits up. "...What are you guys talking about?"

"Brock met a girl who actually likes him back," she explains, turning to look at him. Brock gives an embarrassed burst of laugh.

"Yeah, huh, we—she's one of the students I was telling you about, you know, at the pokémon center. She—she's from the Sinnoh region, she came here for her specialization. And huh, well, I hadn't really noticed her at first—"

"You didn't notice a girl?"

He brings a hand to the back of his head. "Yeah, I, I wasn't—really feeling my usual ladies' man self, you know, with..."

He doesn't go on. Ash raises his eyebrows, looking away.

"I get it. 'Cause of me."

"Not because of you," Misty tries to retort. He shakes his head.

"It's okay. Go on."

Brock sighs. "Well, as I was saying, I didn't really notice her at first. Then one day I was watching her and the other students perform a medical procedure, and she was really good at it, and she noticed I was interested and she explained me what she was doing and so we started talking, and I told her I was starting to consider getting into medicine studies as well. And then we went for a coffee, and we saw each other a few more times after that. Her name is Arianne. She—she's gone back to Sinnoh now, but we've kept in touch and she's coming to Kanto again in a few months."

"I've met her once," says Misty. "She's really nice. And apparently she loves Brock's family because she was always alone growing up and she always wished she had that many siblings."

Ash stares at both of them. "...You guys aren't messing with me, right?"

"We're not, but it would be nice of you not to react like a girl being interested in me is the most unbelievable thing you've ever heard," Brock grumbles, dropping his arms in defeat. Ash shakes his head a little again.

"Sorry. It just... kinda really is."

Misty snorts. And there's a funny sort of feeling somewhere in his chest, a ticklish bubbling thing, and before he realizes it a tiny hint of laughter tumbles out of him too. He hadn't heard himself laugh in forever, and he pauses, surprised. He gets what they're doing—telling him about something normal to try and take his mind off everything, to try and make him feel part of that too. But it worked, if only for a blink.

"...Okay. Sorry. Congrats, Brock."

Misty walks to the bed and sits down next to him, giving Pikachu's back a quick ruffle. "And you still haven't heard the most unbelievable part," she says. "She invited Brock for that coffee. Not the other way around."

She smiles, but he can't help noticing that the curve of her lips looks weary and there's slight purple shadows under her eyes. She has to have barely gotten any sleep over the past week. Brock too, probably, and that glimmer of normalcy he felt slips suddenly from his grasp as guilt rears its head again. So he attempts again to smile back because it's probably what she hopes to see, but it comes out wrong: it's fake, like those stupid plastic plants.

But maybe he can at least keep trying, even if it feels pointless. Maybe he can do at least that for them.

(You think that's something that can be done? Fixing something that's broken?)

—-

Bet you're proud of yourself, the boy told him. He hears those words over and over in his head as the helicopter takes them both back to the base, like a blade twisting and twisting in his guts, and his nails claw at the skin of his arm until it bleeds.

—-

Abbie comes to check that everything is alright come the evening. She informs them that they've detected nothing suspicious around the building, then leaves again, her steps echoing along the metal staircase.

That night he doesn't sleep. He lies folded around his knees in the dark and stares at the wall, his heart hammering a little too loudly in his back, feeling the weight of the concrete around and above and expecting to hear Giovanni's footsteps coming closer, closer. You're not a prisoner here, he tries repeating himself again and again, but they're only words. They won't convince his hands to quit shaking.

It's probably around three or four in the morning when he hears a gasping breath come from the top bunk. A sound like a smothered whimper follows, like lips pressed against the palm of a hand to keep the noise in, and then more gasps, muffled as well. He looks up and stares at the springs for a moment. Then sits and pushes the blanket aside, careful not to wake up Pikachu as well.

When he climbs to the top bed Misty is half-sitting up, her hand clamped over her mouth and her shoulders shaking. Her eyes run to him and then away, and she dares to take her hand off, careful, like she still expects a scream to come out.

"Sorry," she says. Her voice trembles a little as well. "Did I wake you up?"

He shakes his head. "I was awake already. You okay?"

"Yeah." She runs her fingers through the tangled snarl of her hair, pushing it away from her face. "I just—I have nightmares too sometimes."

Her brow is clammy wish sweat. He bites his lips and remembers the way she hurled her worlds at him as he sat on her couch, his own world still trapped in his chest: every time I thought things were getting a bit better, every time I tried to go on. I'd just wake up screaming all over again.

"Yeah, you—mentioned that."

She doesn't say anything. Ash bites his lip harder. He thinks of the first night he spent at her gym and how she tried to help him when he woke up from his nightmares. How knowing she was there did make the dark a little easier to bear after all.

"You, huh," he tries, then stops, swallows; goes on. "Want me to—stay here a bit?"

Misty looks back at him, surprised. He gives a slight shrug. "I couldn't sleep anyway."

She watches him for a moment still. Then her lips fold slowly into a smile, although shaky as well, weak at the corners.

"That's really nice. Thank you."

So he lifts himself to her bed and sits on the edge of the mattress as she lies back down, his legs dangling in the air. She curls up a little bit, brushing a strand of hair away from her face again.

"It doesn't really happen that much anymore," she tells him. Her glance drifts to nothing in particular. "I guess all the craziness of these past few days finally caught up with me."

She tries to say it lightly, like it's something silly, even forcing a small laugh out of her throat. But her voice still isn't completely steady. He doesn't know what to retort other than I'm sorry, so he sinks his teeth into his lip one more time and says nothing, his hands tightening on her blanket.

She doesn't seem to mind. She's silent for a moment; then takes a sharp breath. "Most of the times it's—I just see you in your sleeping bag. And I think you're just sleeping, but then I go to shake you and—" She can't go on, but she doesn't need to. She already told him what the nightmares were about. He watches her press her lips into a thin line and then force herself to go on: "And the worst part, well, it's—in the dream I always know that it's my fault, because—because I wasn't there. Because I didn't help you. Because—something happened to you and I was sleeping."

Ash's insides twist. For a handful of seconds he can't do anything but look at her. Then he shakes his head, a growing weight on his chest.

"Sorry that—you thought it was your fault."

Her eyes turn to him. "I'm still not all that sure it's not."

"It's not your fault."

"How can you tell? Maybe if I'd been awake I could have—"

She stops, her voice on the verge of cracking again. Ash breathes out in a sigh.

"You wouldn't have had the time to do anything. He sent people trained just for that, they're good at their job. I hardly had the time to realize what was happening myself. You wouldn't have been able to stop them, even if you saw something."

"You don't know that."

"I've seen them in action. Trust me."

She looks away. "Well either way at least I would have known to look for you."

He sighs and shakes his head again. "Listen, I can tell you what would've probably happened if you saw something," he says. "Your body would have been found with mine in the river. Except it would have really been you. He would have made it to look like an accident, maybe I fell and you tried to help me or the other way around, and voila, no witnesses again, no one who could tell what really happened, exactly like he wanted. Or if they let you live then they would have killed you as soon as you started digging for the truth." He pauses, staring at the dark of the room; then kicks his heel against the ladder. It hurts a little. "So I'm glad you didn't see anything."

Misty just stares at him for a while. Then sits up and scoots over next to him, her legs dangling below. She takes her head in her hands.

There's a part of him (and it's almost all of him, really) that wants to believe that Giovanni was right. That he's no better than him, that he deserves nothing but all the pain he got. Because if he deserved it there's at least some rhyme or reason to everything; if he deserved it then it's easier to crush all of his anger and fear and hurt into a ball and shove it deep down where it can barely reach him anymore. Easier not to feel anything at all, just like he wanted.

He wonders if she feels something similar to that. If some bit of her somewhere wanted it to be her fault, because in some twisted way having herself to blame made it easier to make sense of.

And if she's wrong, then maybe—just maybe—there's a chance that he might be wrong too.

So, "It's not your fault," he says again. And maybe he's saying it to himself as well.

—-

"Of course, you know that disobedience can't go unpunished."

He does know. But his stomach turns upside down at the sight of the boy and the man holding the whip, and he balls his hands tight into fists hoping that he won't see them shaking. He wants to take his eyes off more than he's ever wanted anything, but he knows he can't.

Giovanni takes a step closer. "You made me proud tonight," he says. Then his lips twist into a slight grin. "I have one more task for you, since you did so well. I want you to be the one to do it."

Ash follows his glance from the whip to the boy and wants to vomit. "No. I—no. I won't do this. Not this."

"Well, that's disappointing," Giovanni comments. The grin stays. "But you see, I'm not asking. I'm giving you an order. And you know what that means, no? If you disobey you will need to be punished too. It would be a shame, after you did such a fine job."

Ash shakes his head. His breath hitches stuck in his chest, heavier than a stone. "Please," he tries pleading. It comes out all shaky, almost like sobbing. "Please don't make me do this."

"It's your decision at this point, really. But know that if you choose to disobey me I will be extremely disappointed. Your punishment will need to be an adequate one to match."

"Please," he tries again. But he thinks of pain. Red, screaming, tearing him to pieces. He thinks of lying in a crumpled heap on the floor of his cell for days, barely managing to swallow a sip of water at a time without throwing up. He thinks of healing wounds splitting open again and again.

The man clicks the tip of the whip against the floor.

"I'm waiting," Giovanni reminds him. The boy can't speak through the gag covering his mouth, but his glance says enough: coward.

He closes his eyes, pushing a sob back down in his chest.

He takes the whip.

(Bet you're proud of yourself.)

(Later, when he's done, Giovanni claps his hands. I knew you could do it, he says. And do you want to know what I find most interesting? I didn't make you capable of this. You always were. It was always within you. All I did was bring it out.)