Ash's head feels like it's being torn in half.
Claws digging into his skull, ripping through his soft brain tissue and slowly, agonizingly tearing it open, apart.
It hurts and it seems like it's never going to end.
With each step the pain throbs, pounding against the inside of his thought process like a sledgehammer.
The early morning streets are almost barren. Horses slowly crawling by his left as he wearily advances along the sidewalk.
His eyes drift upward to the grey sheet of a sky, coming to rest on the horizon, watching the sun peek shyly over the edge of the world.
It's beautiful, he thinks to himself, the mixture of colors melting into the bland sky as the morning yawns into the day and for a second he forgets about the pain in his head and that's when his foot catches something and gravity pulls his tired, weak form into the gold, hard cement. Face first.
Startled, Ash yelps just before making contact and going silent. The bushes next to him rustle as he groans and rolls over onto his back. Looking down, he notices what he tripped over – a pair of legs. Another rustle of the brushes accompanied by a foreign grunt.
Ash scoots his butt backwards, using his arms to weakly pull lift his torso and steady himself as he sits up straight. The legs readjust themselves as the leaves and the branches rustle and part. Out stumbles a very hungover, possibly even still drunk Brock, struggling to catch his balance with a plastic sack containing a single beer can wrapped around his wrist and dangling limply from his clenched fingertips on his right hand.
Standing, he notices the frightened and confused child at his feet.
"Oh! Hey, little bro. Looks like you had an eventful night as I did," he says, reaching his hand out to help Ash up.
Ash takes his hand and struggles his way to his feet.
"Did you sleep in the bushes?"
"Yeah," he says, fishing the can out of the barely untangled bag. "Not the first time, either. When my body needs to rest, it tends to collapse wherever. What I get for pushing the old thing too hard! Where did you crash?"
"Some girl's house."
"Nice!" he exclaims, raising a fist.
Ash isn't sure how to react. "It wasn't as nice as you might imagine. I puked on her toothbrush. She wanted me to scrub my tongue."
"Did you do mouth stuff or something?"
"Uh. What?"
"You know. Oral stuff. With your mouth."
"I don't know what you me-"
"No worries," he says, opening the can and offering it to Ash. "Hair of the dog?"
"No thanks," Ash says, his face contorting into a disgusted expression. "Never again."
"I say that at least once a week," he says shrugging and takes a long pull from the can, chugging its contents and crushing the receptacle with his hand before tossing it into the bush.
"How in god's name do you drink that stuff?"
"As fast as humanly possible, little bro. As fast as humanly possible. Let's get breakfast!"
"I can't," Ash says, sadly. "I have to find my Pikachu."
"Your Pikachu? What, did it run off or something? Look kid, if you love something and you strangle it a bunch, it might run away, or something, but if you let it go naturally, it also might run away from you, or something. Until it gets hungry. Man, I'm hungry."
"No," he says impatiently. "He was stolen from me by this couple with weird hair and matching costumes. They looked like some kind of theater troupe."
"Tell you what, bro. Aimlessly wandering this town on an empty stomach won't do you or your Pikachu any favors. What do you say we get some breakfast and then we can look for your Pikachu together?"
"You said you'd help me look last night, then you ditched me at a party and I ended up puking on a strange lady's toothbrush."
"Hahahaha. That sort of thing happens, bro. I was drunk! I say and do a lot of things when I'm drunk, and I don't have an explanation for any of them. This time, man This time. Honest injun, bro."
"You just drank a beer right in front of me."
"That was for the hangover, baby. I didn't even catch a buzz, seriously though."
"I dunno. I feel like I'd be more productive on my own."
"No way, bro. Come on! Two heads is better than one, and besides, I'm buyin'! Soon as we're done eating, we'll shoot over to Jenny and file a report. Then we'll notify the Pokemon center to be on the lookout for any suspicious people with weird hair and costumes turning in a Pikachu. I have a plan. Did I have a plan when I was drunk?"
"No," Ash sighs. "You just said things."
"I say things a lot, bro! Especially when I'm drinking. That's what I'm sayin'!"
"Right."
"Come on. You can trust me. I'm buyin'."
"As soon as we're done eating?" he asks warily.
"As soon as we're done eating," Brock repeats, spitting on his hand and offering it to shake. "Promise."
Ash doesn't want to shake Brock's hand after he spit on it, but as his stomach growls, he does it anyway. He hasn't eaten in 24 hours. He looks up at Brock as he's shaking his hands and solemnly nods.
"Thank you," he says.
"Think nothing of it, little bro."
"Hey!" she yells, her words and footfalls echoing throughout the almost empty streets. "You owe me a toothbrush, you little twerp!"
They both turn to see Misty running towards them on the sidewalk.
"That her?" Brock asks.
"That's her," Ash says.
Brock scratches his chin and nods. "Not bad, little bro. Not bad. I'd hit it."
"Patty melt!"
"Patty melt?"
"Yeah, I'm gonna have the patty melt for breakfast. And whatever the little dude over there wants. Him breffus on me."
"Breffus?"
"Breakfast."
The waitress eyeballs both of them impatiently.
"Um. I'll just have the standard breakfast plate."
"You want bacon or sausage?"
"Sausage."
"Eggs?"
"Scrambled," Ash squeaks out. "And could you also bring some hot sauce?"
She nods at him. "And for you?" she asks, nodding towards Misty.
"I'm not hungry," she says, her arms crossed and her eyes closed and her head cocked to the side.
"You're not impressing anyone by not eating," Brock says, earnestly shrugging. "WE'dgaf, man."
"I'm not a man," Misty begins, annoyed," and what the FUCK is a WE'dgaf?"
"We don't give a fuck. Sorry," he says, nodding to the waitress. "It's an abby, du."
"An 'abby,' huh? Is 'du' an 'abby' too?"
"Yeah! An abbreviation. I spend a lot of my time learning new ways to be fast and efficient."
"So, uh. You don't want anything?" the waitress asks.
"It isn't it less efficient to have to explain a series of inane abbreviations to people like me after you say them? Isn't that counter-intuitive to the point?"
"No way, bro. It's all about the page. You're on a different page than me, which is cool. But it totally works for peeps on mines, dig?"
"I'll, uh. I'll just get you your orders," the waitress says, walking away.
"No, I'm afraid I don't 'dig,' Brock," Misty says. "You're a fucking idiot."
"She's cute, huh? More like a Joy than a Jenny."
"What do you mean?" Ash asks quietly, sipping his orange juice.
"Oh brother," Misty says, burying her face in her palm.
"Well, you know Officer Jenny and Nurse Joy, right?"
"Yeah," Ash says. "Well, I don't know them, know them, but I know who they are."
"You and everybody else! Hahaha!" Ash awkwardly laughs with him. Misty just sighs. "You see, Officer Jenny is the badass type, right? I imagine she's a rockstar in bed. You think those handcuffs just sit on her belt all the time? No way, du. I bet she's into all kinds of kinky shit. Insecurity problems, though, at least I imagine. Not a keeper, but totally not something you regret, you know?"
"Oh my. Everybody! Everybody, quick! Look to Brock the psychologist for dating advice! He really knows what he's talking about!" Misty scoffs, annoyed.
"Joy's the kinda girl I'd like to settle down with. Take home to mom, you know, bro? The more motherly type. I bet she gives wicked loving old fashion'ds."
"Old fashion'ds?" Ash asks, curiously.
"Oh, dear god..." Misty breathes.
"Old fashion'ds, bro! That super warm and affectionate kind of handjob that comes complete with all kinds of eye contact, cuddling and even some kissing if she can multitask!"
"Uh.." Ash stares dumbfounded. Misty doesn't say anything. Not a word. She simply fumes and rubs the bridge of her nose."
"Don't get me wrong. I love the Jennies of the world. They're lots of fun! But what can I say? I'm a romantic at heart. I want something more than that. Sometimes you just wanna gaze into the eyes of the girl you love and hold her close as possible while she gives you a heartfelt handjob, du."
Brock sighs happily. Ash just stares. Misty is a whole different story.
"What the HELL is wrong with you two? Is your brain hardwired to your dick, or something?"
"No way, dude," he says, smiling with his eyes closed. Cradling his own chest. "It's hardwired to my heart."
Misty laughs, disgusted. "And you. What about you? Are you seriously this naive? Is this an act or something? What, are you twelve?"
"Um. I'm ten, Misty."
Her face turns white as a sheet and freezes.
"Woah! You're ten, little bro?"
Ash nods.
"You can fuggin' drink like a goddamn champion for a ten year old, man!" Brock exclaims proudly, clapping his hand hard against the kid's back. He offers his fist, a sign of respect in his culture. Confused, Ash warily bumps it. "Haha! Hell yeah!"
"Are. You. Fucking. Serious?"
"Um," Ash gulps, the poor, awkward kid that he is. "Y-yes?"
"I'm seventeen, you little-!"
"Patty melt," the waitress says, cutting her off and setting Brock's plate down in front of him and following suit with Ash. "Standard with sausage and scrambled. You boys need anything else?"
Brock shakes his head.
"No ma'am," Ash says. She forgot the hot sauce, but he doesn't say anything about it.
The waitress eyeballs Misty. "How about you, hon? You doing okay?"
Her neck almost creaks with the unnatural nod she displays.
"Okayyy... I'll be back to check on you guys in a bit."
"You're a peach!" Brock exclaims through a mouthful of patty melt.
"Thank you, ma'am!" Ash says with a smile, looking up from picking at his eggs.
Misty says nothing. At least until the waitress leaves.
"This could..." she stammers, dumbfounded. "This could ruin me, Ash. You're not gonna tell anybody, are you?"
"Tell anybody what?" Ash asks through a very confused faceful of eggs.
"THAT WE-" she cuts herself off, noticing her volume and lowering her voice to that of a whisper. "That we made out. That I felt you up! I swear, I didn't know. This could ruin my life."
"Um, Misty?"
"What?" she snaps.
"None of that stuff happened. You led me outside and backed me into a bench. Then you headbutted some guy and kicked him into a pool. You said you'd help find my Pikachu, but instead took me back to your house where I puked on your toothbrush and you yelled at me for awhile. Then I fell asleep on your couch."
"You mean we didn't...?"
"Didn't what? What are you talking about?"
"I must be losing my goddamn mind..."
"Losing?" Brock asks.
Misty glares at him a moment before shifting focus. "Oh, honey! Your Pikachu, though. What happened?!"
"He was stolen from me by-"
"That's so horrible!" Misty says, cutting him off and scooting closer. "What kind of monster would steal a Pikachu from an innocent child?"
"Some kind of theater troupe."
Misty looks for some kind of answer in Brock's face. Brock just shrugs.
"A theater troupe?"
"Um, yeah," Ash says, scratching the back of his head. "Brock and I are going to go look for him after breakfast, if you'd like to hel-"
Before he can even finish his sentence, Misty is already shaking her head. "Nonononono. After breakfast, you're buying me a new toothbrush."
"I don't, uh," Ash stumbles through his words," I don't have any money. It was all in my backpack. They took that, too."
"How are you paying for breakfast, then?" she asks, cleaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. "Hmm?"
"It's on me!" Brock chimes in, punching Ash on the arm. "This little guy's my little buddy! Right, little buddy?"
"Ow..." Ash says, rubbing his arm. "Um, yeah?"
"Okay, so YOU buy me a new toothbrush. He puked on mine. He can pay you back."
"Why did you lend him your own toothbrush?"
"I didn't! I gave him a spare."
"I was just trying to brush my tongue," Ash says, being ignored. "Like she told me to."
"GAVE him a spare toothbrush. Did he agree to buy it?"
"No, I said-"
"So... you're charging him for it because he puked?"
"It could have been boiled."
"It could still be boiled."
"Look," she says, losing her patience. "I'll help you find your STUPID Pikachu, okay?!"
"You don't have to..." Ash says weakly, slightly afraid.
"No, I'll do it. But I'm going to get a toothbrush out of this, you understand that?"
Ash looks at Brock who looks back at Ash. They both shrug and Brock looks back at Misty.
"All right, lady, look," Brock starts before he's quickly cut off by Misty.
"My name is Misty."
"Okay, Misty. I'll make you a deal. I care about this kid, right? He's like a son to me. So, you do him a solid while I do him a solid, we both do him a solid and I'll do you a solid, you dig?"
"I have no idea what you're getting at."
"You help me help him find his Pikachu and I'll buy you a toothbrush. Deal?"
She's chewing on her own mouth in silence with her eyes closed. "Okay. Deal."
"Hey, guys?" Ash squeaks out, timidly.
Misty opens her eyes and her pupils dart towards his direction. Brock turns his head.
"Thank you guys so much for helping me," he says, sniffling and wiping a falling tear from his cheek. "I've been so scared since I left my home in Pallet Town. It's all just been so hard, even before the robbery and the headaches. It means a lot to me that you two would help me, it really does, even if it's for a toothbrush or because you feel guilty or whatever. I just need a friend, and this means the world to me."
Brock and Misty stare in shocked silence as Ash breaks down and starts to cry his eyes out into his gloved hands, sobbing uncontrollably into his open palms. His fingertips angling the bill of his hat.
"You guys okay?" the waitress asks before noticing the detriment of the situation.
Her eyes widen and her heart sinks.
Nobody says anything.