Disclaimer:

Question:

My Answer:

Characters: Morty. (Along with cameos of Leaf, Amber, Gold, Giovanni, Red, and Eusine); hinted Morty X Eusine.

Summary: Writing this was depressing.

Halloween

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Halloween has always been Morty's favourite time of year.

He goes up on his tip toes, straining to light the candle he has placed on the windowsill. Losing his balance, the eight-year-old begins to fall, and the lighter clatters to the floor-

When suddenly slender arms encircle his own, and hoist him gently back onto his feet.

"Whoopsies," someone laughs, and he turns to find a teenage girl standing behind him. A cheeky grin splits her lips, and the eyes that gleam beneath her hat are a leafy shade of green. "You should be more careful next time, huh?"

Morty blinks watery eyes back at her, and smiles. "Who are you?"

She makes a dismissive noise, and flaps her hand at him. Her long brown hair sways with the movement. "You don't really need to know that, now do you?" Stooping down in her short red skirt, she picks up the lighter and places it back in his hand. "And should you really be playing with fire?"

"I'm lighting candles so that wandering ghosts can find their way home," he answers, his expression warm and youthful in the gloom. "I do it every year."

"And do you believe in those?" She's still teasing, but Morty thinks there's a sudden sadness about her. "Ghosts, I mean?"

"Yep," he says. "Because ghosts are people too, you know. To not believe in ghosts is to not believe in people."

Turning his back on her, he carefully reaches up, and successfully lights the candle.

When he turns back around, she's gone.

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"Honey, who were you talking to just now?"

"Huh? Oh, this lady just helped me with the lighter. Don't worry about it, Mum."

.

Morty is ten when he moves from Lavender Town to Ecruteak.

"Are you new here?" a girl asks. He can tell right away that she's younger than him: her cheeks are round and smiling, and the little white dress she wears is laden with lace and frills.

"Yes," Morty answers shyly. In reply the girl tosses turquoise hair over her shoulder and sweetly says, "Oh, that's so nice! I grew up here too, you know." She beams at him, closing her eyes as she smiles. "What's your name?"

"Morty. What's yours?"

"Amber," she answers warmly, and catches his hand in both of hers. "It's so nice to meet you, Morty! I haven't made a new friend in such a long time." She shakes his hand once, twice, and positively glows with excitement. "I can't stay long, but I promise that you'll like Ecruteak! Life here is wonderful."

.

"Mum! Mum! I made a new friend!"

"Oh, that's nice, sweetie. What was his name?"

"It was a girl! She said her name was Amber."

"Amber…? Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"O-oh. Nothing, honey. Go out and play some more, would you? I need to talk to your father about something."

.

Morty is twelve. While other boys his age are out practicing football and playing video games, he's walking through the graveyard, stepping over bouquets and taking the time to read over each headstone because he knows that no name deserves to be forgotten.

One day he finds a dark-haired boy lounging on a tomb, twirling his baseball hat between his fingers.

"What are you doing here, little man?" the teen asks, not even bothering to sit up.

"Grave rubbings," Morty replies, holding up the pencil and paper he's been carrying around. The teen blinks, as if surprised at receiving an answer, but otherwise doesn't comment. "Could you move, please? I want to collect the one you're sitting on."

"This one?" The boy's smile falters, and he runs a hand through his choppy black hair. "I dunno. He was pretty much a nobody."

"Nobody's no one." The words slip out from between Morty's lips, rising like vapour into the air. "Everyone's someone."

The teen peers closer at Morty, his metallic eyes narrowing into a squint. Then he starts to grin, and says: "That's a good attitude you have there, kid. Don't ever lose it, okay?"

Brushing nonexistent dirt off of his jeans, he puts his hat back on and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his red-and-black jacket. He turns, and takes only two steps before the fog swallows him whole.

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"Hey, Dad! I'm home."

"Hello, Morty."

"Hm? What're you watching?"

"The News was just doing a story on the ex-Champion of Johto, Gold Yuu. It's the anniversary of his death today."

"O-oh…"

"Yes, it's very sad. He's buried in the cemetery on the outskirts of town, actually. Did you happen to see any camera crews when you were out there?"

"N-no, nothing like that…"

"Hm. Well, okay. Wash up for dinner, alright? Your mother made spaghetti."

.

Morty is fourteen, and he doesn't smile as much anymore. Realisation has a tendency to do that, you know: it comes on slowly, like the steady beating of a drum, and your smile fades away to the same rhythm.

Sitting at the windowsill, he watches as the rain pours. On the street below a lone man walks, his dark suit blending into the equally dark sidewalk. The R emblazoned on his chest is the colour of blood, and is the only colour in the otherwise monochrome world.

Morty thinks he looks sad, that man. Like one of those people that wasted all of his second chances.

Like someone who went knocking at Death's door early.

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"Hey, Morty. What are you looking at?"

"Oh, hey, Dad. Nothing much. I was just wondering why that man isn't carrying an umbrella."

"Haha, Morty, c'mon now. You're fourteen; you've got to stop telling stories like that. We both know there's no one out there."

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On his sixteenth birthday, Morty is given a pokemon. It's a ghastly, and its sharp-toothed smile almost- almost- makes up for its trainer's solemn face.

(Morty thinks that's why his mother caught it for him.)

"So you're a Ghost pokemon, then?" He has an insomnaic's voice, now: the words just barely manage to stitch themselves together before they fall from his mouth, as tired and achy as he is.

The pokemon glances at him, still smiling.

Morty breathes out, keeping his eyes trained on the graveyard in front of them. A young man in a red baseball cap wanders through the mist, his frostbitten fingers loose at his sides. A small yellow shape, made indistinct by the fog, follows behind him. "You can see them too, can't you?"

He takes its laugh as an affirmation.

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"Well, your laugh is annoying, but… It will be nice to have someone that doesn't think I'm insane."

.

Morty is eighteen, and he thinks that he has finally come to terms with himself. He stays in his gym among the dimmed lights and floating candles, and decides that if he can't see the outside world, the outside world can't see him, either.

When a challenger emerges from the darkness and smiles at him, he reaches out to brush his fingers against his wrist to check for a pulse, not expecting to find one.

Instead, a heartbeat dances under his fingertips, just as warm and alive as he is.

"What's your name?" he asks, and the boy- his age, with tousled brown hair and a kadabra at his side- smiles all the wider, taking his hand to shake.

"Eusine."

And Morty finds his smile beginning to come back, just a little.