Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Normally, I have better judgment when it comes to something like this. Normally, I would have never gotten myself into this situation in the first place, but I was desperate for knowledge.

Normally, I’d take a challenge like this with tact and care, wringing it through the scientific method and looking for any way to escape, but I am desperate to escape.

I’ve been here for ages, watching hours become days, and days become weeks. Strapped to this God-forsaken chair that Maxwell was so kind to leave me was starting to grate on my nerves. My mind was starting to drift from my nerves and isolation.

The dark tendrils and claws that anchored me to the Throne were starting to bruise my limbs. I have to get out of here before I completely lose my mind any more than I already have. I dug my nails into the armrests.

Maxwell had vaporized into dust before my very eyes, so he couldn’t help me. I was alone, stuck in this nightmarish world of death after death after death. Thankfully, the shadows on the Throne didn’t restrict my movement too much-- just enough to prevent me from sitting comfortably.

I didn’t have much on me. I had a few now-spoiled berries, gems, and a useless blob of nightmare fuel. In fact, the only thing that managed to survive the whole journey here was a broken spear and my all-to-valuable telelocator staff. Nothing that I could use to escape this place.

Unless…

A lightbulb went off in my head. Moving quickly, I rummaged through my stuff, taking out the telelocator staff. The staff only had one two uses left, so I had to make them count. One to get out of the nightmare Throne, and another to escape wherever this place is. With luck, I’ll be able to find my own base.

I attempted to use the telelocator staff on myself. The purple gem embedded in its claws of wood glowed fairly, then fizzled out, the shadows having strangled it. I could hear them laughing at me from the shadows, mocking me. I gritted my teeth in frustration.

I slumped back into the chair, defeated. Maybe it is impossible to escape the Throne. I know Maxwell tried a lot of things himself in order to attempt to escape, ranging from sheer force of will to more… barbaric measures I’d rather not think about.

I stared at my backpack. It is waiting patiently at the base of the Throne, next to my foot, like an all-too loyal dog. The telelocator staff was still in my hands, waiting for something, anything to teleport.

Maybe I’ll never get out of here. Maybe I’m doomed to pay for my disproportionate crime of flipping the wrong lever. I wish the knowledge that was given to me had any use at all, outside of building that stupid portal to this nightmare world I call the Constant. A constant pain is what it is. A constant pain of misery that I’ll never be able to escape.

What am I saying? I can’t give up that easily! No man of science could give up on a problem that easily! Did Newton give up on his pursuits? Did Socrates? He’s not a scientist, but still! The point stands! I can’t give up! Not now!

I stood up. Yes, I was going to escape this wretched place, there wasn’t a single doubt in my m-

The hands pulled me back down. Right, I almost forgot about those.

My vigor faded. I can’t leave, not with these hands holding me back. Think, Wilson! How would someone get out of this situation? How can someone get out of this situation?

I had an idea. I reached into my bag, pulling out the gems. I set them in my lap, then started to pull apart the top of the telelocator staff, the warped wood creaking as I pulled it apart. Perhaps I could over-charge it somehow?

The Throne tightened its grip on my arms. After I pried apart the top of the staff, I began to shove more gems into the top, using the somewhat flexible wood to shove more gems into the top.

The Throne was starting to draw blood as I worked, beginning to leave deep gashes in my already scarred arms. I need to work faster.

Once I was done, I examined what I’ve made. The top of the staff now had a few more gems lodged into it, with the wood re-twisted around the cluster of gems. It looked like a mess, but it might work. Might.

The Throne’s grasp on me was beginning to tighten. I stood up, tasing the staff above my head, preparing to teleport. The gems glowed like a star above me, illuminating the normally dim room. The shadow hands briefly recoiled, then dug their claws into me, desperate to keep me there.

The gems glowed brighter, and started to crack, with fractures splitting the gems like a jigsaw puzzle. I wasn’t too worried about an explosion, but I was worried about this not working.

I struggled against the grasp of the Nightmare Throne, trying to keep the staff above my head. The staff needs plenty of room for the teleportation to work.

Admittedly, even if this did work, I’m not sure how far it would take me. It might just move me an inch away from the throne, which would be useless. Or, it would take me back to that volcano I found while I was sailing. That would be awful.

One of the tendrils wrapped around my neck and tightened, restricting my breathing. I gripped the staff tighter as the hands tried to pry it away from me, knuckles turning white.

In a flash of brilliance, the gems in the staff shattered. For a split second, I was horrified; thinking that the staff broke before it could teleport. The Throne engulfed me, clawing at my flesh, trying desperately to pull me back into the chair. Shadow hands covered my eyes, blocking my vision. They pulled at my face and limbs, leaving long, bloody claw marks on my body, cutting through my managed clothing like a hot knife through butter. I should have just given in-- it would have been less painful.

I couldn’t breath, couldn’t move, could barely even think. I clawed at my throat with one hand, trying to get the suffocating tendrel away. Tears filled my eyes, and I could see the shadow creatures making their way towards me. No, no no no--

This was a… a mistake! A grave error! This was a terrible Idea why the heck did I think this was a good idea? Nothing could escape from this hellscape, not even the man who basically created a majority of it. This is a nightmare, and absolute, inescapable nightmare that I was doomed to be trapped in. Why did I think this was--

Suddenly, all of the things that were holding me were gone. For a brief moment I felt like I was floating. Everything-- the ground, the walls, the shadows-- felt so far away. It was a welcome relief although it was short-lived.

I gasped for air, eyes still trying to adjust to the brightness. I landed on my own two feet, and then collapsed to my knees. Choking on my own saliva and digging my fingers into the soil, I tried to get a handle of where I was. Everything spun around me. I shook my head to no avail.

I could feel stray patches of grass under my hands. The area smelled different; it didn’t have the same dull smell of dirt and rotting grass that the places I’ve visited had. There was a twinge of sweet in the air, possibly from some sort of fruit? I can’t tell.

I forced my eyes open. I was welcomed with the sight of the blurry canopy of leaves above me. Normally, that wouldn’t be anything special, but these trees looked... different. They didn’t look as scraggly or as hostile as the ones I was used to. They seemed quite healthy actually, sporting some bright green leaves-- a sign of new growth, if I remember my botany correctly.

I relaxed a bit. Wherever I was, It was far better than the throne room. I got out. I escaped! I managed to do the seemingly impossible! I’d celebrate if I wasn’t so sore and lost. Maybe I should walk around and get my bearings? Maybe I could find my base from here.

Carefully, I forced myself to my feet. It was painful, thanks to the gashes on my legs, but it was doable. My backpack was next to my feet as well, although the only thing inside it now was rot and a blob of nightmare fuel.

I dumped the rot and fuel out of my backpack and examined it. It seemed fine, even though it had a few holes. I slung it over my shoulder and started to walk in a random direction. Perhaps I could find something to use as a bandage or some honey for a poultice--

My stomach growled.

--And some food. Definitely some food.

-

I’ve been waking for what feels like hours. I know it’s only been thirty minutes at most, but it feels like an eternity.

I was sore and starving. Wherever this place must not have a whole lot of rabbits or even beefalo for me to eat. There were some berries, but I couldn’t recognize them. They could be poisonous.

My stomach growled in protest. It was actually starting to become painful. I’ve starved to death before, so I’m used to it-- as awful as that sounds-- but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it.

I stopped at a bush. Pink, peach-shaped berries with small yellow speckles adorned the bush like jewels on a crown. They certainly looked poisonous, although my stomach disagreed.

Saliva was starting to build up in my mouth. I grabbed a berry cautiously, then popped it into my mouth. It was pleasantly sweet and watery, a bit like a tamer version of sweet berries. Strangely, it was also hollow on the inside, a sort of like those giant strawberries I’d sometimes find growing near my house.

I ate another, and then another, and then another. They didn’t taste poisonous, but they could be deceptive. Maybe I should stop eating them in case they are.

Despite my stomach’s protesting, I stopped. They weren’t very filling, and I still felt very hollow inside, but at least I won’t die of hunger or poison. Not today at least. I could find more food later on, one that isn’t as likely to be poisonous.

My hands were covered in juice, the berries being a bit more tender than I thought. I wiped my hands on my shirt, smearing juice and blood over my torn vest. Right, the bleeding. I have to stop the bleeding.

I looked at my arms and legs. The gashes didn’t seem too deep, but they could easily get infected If I couldn’t cover them up with something. I grabbed some broad leaves from a nearby plant-- hoping to God that it wouldn’t irritate my skin-- and wrapped the gashes with them. I probably should have washed the leaves first, but at least I wouldn’t lose any more blood.

I swallowed, becoming aware that my throat was now sore. I brought a hand up to my neck and poked it, wincing as a dull pain engulfed my windpipe. My neck, and possibly my windpipe, were bruised. Hopefully that will heal on its own. I’m not very skilled at treating neck wounds.

I sat down next to a rock, staring up at the sky. It was starting to get dark, and I didn’t have anything to make a fire.

Terror gripped me. I sprang back up to my feet, much to my body’s dismay, and frantically struggled to grab something, anything to make a fire with. I settled on a bunch of twigs and leaves. Thankfully, I was able to get a fire going rather quickly. I sat next to it watching the fire.

Night fell like a transparent curtain. Smoak from the fresh leaves and twigs billowed into the sky, fading to nothing above me. Shadows flickered with the fire, although a few looked… suspicious.

Despite the full moon being over a week away, the night time wasn’t as dark as it usually was. Rather than anything outside of the fire being swallowed up by the darkness, I could actually see a fair distance out from the fire. It was still dark, but it was less dark than it usually was.

I suppose I should be comforted by that. The Gru won’t be able to attack me if I need to flee, but it still seemed… unnerving. This is not how nightime usually works. Did something happen to the Nightmare Throne? Did I break it? I hope not, otherwise there might be… problems.

I leaned back against the rock, staring up at the stars, going limp. I was tired, very tired. It was like all of those nights I’d skipped sleeping caught up with me all at once. Normally, I’d be able to stay awake and not feel any sort of side-effects of sleep deprivation, other than the shadow creatures appearing, but that would happen eventually anyway.

I could feel myself starting to fall asleep, despite my rising anxiety levels. My eyelids started to feel like lead weights. Despite my instincts screaming at me to stay awake, despite my struggles and turmoil, despite all of my best efforts, I fell asleep, nestled next to a rock and a small fire.

Chapter Text

I woke up, sore and hungry. Sunlight filtered through the canopy above me, weaving its way between branches like a snake. It would have been welcome, if the light wasn’t right in my eyes.

My backpack was still next to me, although it looked like it was rummaged through. Probably by a gobbler or something of that nature. The fire had gone out in the middle of the night, with the charred remains of the branches and leaves being the only remainder. There weren’t even any embers left in the pile. Just the cold remains of what used to be a hearth.

I don’t appear to be suffering any symptoms of poisoning, so those pink berries from earlier are okay to eat, unless they’re only poisonous in large amounts. I might have to go grab some more before I continue looking, since they might be the last food I find in a while. I’ve seen other berries, but I don’t trust them.

I stood up, wincing once I put too much pressure on my legs. They were still very painful, with their wounds having bled through the leaves I used to patch them, leaving thin streaks of blood to travel down my shins and arms. I suppose leaves aren’t very absorbent.

I took a step, then another, then a few more. I was a bit more unsteady than yesterday, but I’d be able to manage. If it gets any worse though, I might need some sort of crutch. A stick would work, and double as a weapon in a pinch.

I grabbed a nearby stick. It was long enough to keep me steady, and I’ll be able to sharpen the end of it as a makeshift spear. It’ll last until I find some flint, at least. Although I haven’t seen any flint in a while...

I continued to follow an invincible trail. Strange cries of animals that I didn’t recognize echoed through the forests. This area was new. Completely new. I might have to make a base somewhere, if this is a new part of the constant-

A twig snapped behind me. I froze, turning my head slightly towards the noise, instincts starting to flare up.

Another twig snap, this one closer.

I held onto my branch with two hands, preparing to use it as a club. I wish I found some flint.

The bushes rustled. I braced myself, preparing for a hound or a clockwork to run out of the bushes. A small bird-like creature came out. It looked a lot like a pigeon, although it was bigger, coming up to my knee in height, and had a little blackand whtie swirl on it’s head.

I breathed a sigh of relief. A pigeon? Why was I so worried about a pigeon? They’re harmless unless you have food, and even then the worse they can do is peck at you.

Although, I did not expect to see a pigeon in a place like this. Normally, they flock around in cities. Not in a death world like this. Wonder how it’s survived this long…

It waddled up to me, looking angry…? Did it expect food from me? Did it have a nest nearby? Didn’t matter, I can just shoo it away with my foot-

It hopped back, it’s beak glowing a brilliant white. I cocked my head, deeply confused. This wasn’t a pigeon.

I braced myself. The pigeon thing flew up into the air with surprising speed, then dove down, aiming for my face. I tried to step aside, but it hit me, knocking me to the ground and leaving a bruise on my forehead.

I got up as it flew up again. It hovered in the air a moment, glaring at me, then dove again. I side-stepped, missing the attack by a strand of hair. I regained my bearings, gripping my stick tighter. The pigeon dove back down, it’s beak once more.

This time I was ready. I side-stepped again, hitting it as it flew past me, and knocked it to the ground. Dazed, it stood back up, shaking itself off. It turned back towards me and made a chirping noise, running back into the underbrush.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, that was the only one in the area, otherwise I might be in trouble. Flying things were always annoying to deal with.

Unfortunately, I was now bleeding much more. Whatever healing my wounds did overnight was undone, bringing with it more blood and more pain. The leaves didn’t do much help, but I didn’t want to remove them.

Using my stick to aid my ever-exhausting legs, I pushed forward, hoping to find food or shelter or… anything really. Maybe another berry bush? That would be very nice.

I kicked something. Looking down, I saw a strange orb. It was red on one side and white on the other, with a black stripe separating the two halves. It was dented, and had a white button on the front of it.

I examined it. Was it some sort of gem? A mine? It didn’t sound hollow when I tapped it with my finger. It didn’t have any other markings on it, save for a few dirt smudges.

Sitting down next to a rock, I rolled the object around in my hands. It was small, only about the size of a baseball. Perhaps it was meant for throwing? I don’t think it would have a button on it if that was the case.

My finger hovered over the button in hesitation. I wanted to press the button so badly, but I didn’t want to be teleported by my inability to control my curiosity. And yet, I also didn’t want to live the rest of my life not knowing what this thing does. Maybe If I just… press it really fast nothing bad will happen. Maybe. Hopefully. It’s not like I had anything better to do at the moment. Besides, even if something bad does happen, I’ll just be revived by my Meat Effigy at my base. Or, failing that, I'll just be transported to a new section of the world. Not much worse than my situation now.

I pressed the button. At first, it did nothing. Then the orb opened up on a hinge, and a red glow shot out of it, forming a shapeless blob in front of me. I dropped the capsule.

In a flash the blob turned into what looked like a blue and black mouse with a tail ending in a little yellow star. It looked around frantically, then turned around, noticing me.

We stared at each other a moment, not sure what to make of each other. It was about the same size as the pigeon earlier, although a bit smaller. I held onto my stick in case it was hostile.

It tilted it’s head, looking just as confused as I was. It barked at me, probably trying to say something. I wish I could understand.

Cautiously, it took a step towards me. I reached my hand out, offering to let it sniff my bloodied hand. It did, although it still didn’t look any less confused.

“I suppose you’re lost as well.” I said. My voice came out raspier than expected. I haven’t spoken in a while.

To my surprise, the creature nodded. I could understand me? Or at the very least, understood that statement? Interesting.

“Ah.” I paused. “Do you happen to know anyplace with shelter nearby?”

It shook its head, looking worried now. It’s stomach growled.

I suppose some food would be helpful for both of us. I stood up, legs shaking a bit under my weight. I picked up the capsule, stuffed it into my pocket, and then continued to walk, using the stick to keep me upright. The creature walked next to me, occasionally glancing up at me. Was it worried? It’s facial expression said yes, although it didn’t tell me if it was worried about my health or the fact that it was lost.

-

I was starting to succumb to my wounds. Each step was eating away at my stamina more and more, leaving me to stumble over more steps than before. I need to rest.

A nearby berry bush served as our rest stop. Thankfully, this buch had those pink berries from before. I stuffed a pile of them into my mouth, suddening aware of just how hungry I was. I felt so hollow, and my stomach felt like it was trying to claw its way out.

Suddenly, I remembered the creature. It was sitting like a dog next to the bush, possibly waiting for me to finish. I picked a handful off and offered the berries to it, cupping them in my juice-and- blood-smeared hands.

Can it even eat berries? It’s teeth would suggest it was a carnivore, but it ate the berries happily once I placed them on the ground in front of it. Maybe it was an omnivore?

Once we finished eating, I loaded up my backpack with more of the pink berries and stood up, nearly losing my footing. It was getting dark now, with the sun casting long shadows on the ground.

“...I suppose we should get moving?” I asked, not expecting an answer.

It nodded, following me like it has been since noon. I’m still not sure why it’s following me. Does it have something to do with the capsule? Is it bound to it? I suppose Maxwell had something to do with it. He always does.

I keep calling it “it.” It feels wrong, since it seems sapient, but i don’t really know what else to call it. A name would be okay, even if it isn’t it’s real name.

“...Would you like a nickname?” I asked. It perked up and nodded, giving me a small grin. I suppose it was glad I was actually talking to it.

“Alright then. Let’s see… how about…”

I looked at it, trying to get some sort of inspiration or idea as to what it should be named. I’m bad at naming things.

“Victor?” I asked. It was a strong name, although it didn’t really fit it.

It raised a brow and shook its head, not liking the name.

“Hmm… Sparky?” That one was a bit more fitting.

It thought for a moment, then shook it’s head.

“No? How about Fang?”

It shook its head. I huffed in annoyance.

“How about Toother?”

No. This would be easier if I could tell if it was a male or female. Wait does his species even have that? Did I want to check? Not really.

“Ion?”

Nope.

“Astro?”

Nope. I sighed in annoyance, becoming irritated. I know a name could be important, but did it have to be this difficult?

“How about Watson?” I said, hoping this time it would stick.

It thought for a moment, thinking about how it would sound, then broke out into a grin and nodded. Watson it is.

Watson and I continued walking, hoping to find some sort of shelter. Unfortunately there didn’t seem to be anything other than trees nearby.

A twig snapped next to us. Watson’s ears perked up, and he turned towards the noise, growling. I stiffened, clinging to my branch.

The pigeon from earlier stepped out into the clearing, looking angry. I relaxed, since this wasn’t as much as a threat now.

“Shoo!” I said, stepping forward and trying to push it away with my stick. I managed to get it to the edges of the treeline before a glint stopped me.

A large bird emerged from the brush, glaring at me. The smaller one retreated as I took a step back. This bird was… a lot bigger than the other one, although it still shared the same coloration. Wonder if they're related?

Watson looked scared as well, taking a few steps away. The bird continued it’s walk forward, talons leaving small holes in the dirt.

It paused, still glaring at me. It took a step back, then lunged, it’s wing glowing a brilliant white. Rather than aim for me however, it aimed for Watson. He managed to dodge by jumping into the air and landing in front of me, waiting. The bird landed in front of him, growling.

Watson waited patiently in front of me, looking back occasionally with an increasing level of franticness. I wasn’t sure exactly what he was waiting for.

The bird didn’t wait. It charged at me with blinding speed, talons bared. I managed to side-step at the last second, hitting it effectively with my stick. It broke.

Oh no.

Now I was unarmed. I balled my fists up, raising them in a boxer’s stance, hoping that my punches would be enough to do something against the super-powered bird. Watson gave me a confused and worried look, but snapped back to the bird when it charged again, this time managing to hit me with a glowing beak.

It hurt. A lot. It’s attack did more damage to my chest than the little one did, and it sent me flying into a nearby tree. My vision swam. Colors bled and blended into each other like a ruined watercolor painting. Shapes became fuzzy, and less detailed.

I saw a flash of yellow collide with the bird. It fell to the ground, unable to move. Electricity coiled around it anytime it tried to get up. It growled in irritation, glaring at us.

Did… did Watson do that? I suppose if the bird could have a glowing wing, then Watson could shoot sparks. Hehe… Watt-son. I guess the name fit him after all.

I stared at the bird, vision still swimming. I have a concussion, most likely. Hopefully it’s not too severe, or I’ll have even more problems.

Watson was tugging at my bloodied pant leg, trying to encourage me to move. Yes, running away would be a good idea. A very good idea. If only I could move.

I gripped the tree behind me, managing to use the support to pull myself up. I staggered once I got to my feet. Watson gave me a glance, then started walking ahead of me, looking behind to make sure I was following. I was following, to the best of my ability.

I heard movement behind me. The bird had gotten up, and seemed angry. Watson noticed, and then yelped at me, trying to get me to walk faster.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins. We can’t fight the bird. We barely managed to incapacitate it earlier, and that was mostly because of Watson. We have to get out of here. The bird let out a loud screech, flying into the air.

I scooped Watson up, cradling him in my arms as I forced my legs to move. I retreated into the trees, hoping the branches would slow the bird down enough for us to get away.

My feet pounded against the dirt, pushing me further and further into the forest. Watson’s claws were digging into my arms. He was probably just as terrified as I am.

Looking behind me, I could tell the large bird was no longer following us. At least, I couldn’t see it anymore. I was about to celebrate, but I tripped over an unnoticed root.

I landed face-first into the dirt. Watson managed to crawl out from underneath me. I groaned, the adrenaline wearing off, leaving me exhausted. Hopefully, the bird was gone.

“Sorry… Watson.” I mumbled, trying to lift myself up off of the ground. He didn’t seem too angry about me nearly crushing him.

With a grunt, I pushed myself up off of the ground and staggered to my feet. Everything hurt, and I was desperately trying to catch my breath. My wounds were bleeding, dripping blood into the dirt.

“Okay.. now we need… shelter…”

I looked up at the sky. It was starting to get dark, which was bad.

“And fire.” I mumbled. “Fire too.”

We might not need the fire, since nighttime actually isn’t that dark, but it would still be nice to have. Problem was, my legs won’t work now. I could stand, but not walk.

Waton grabbed my pant leg and tried to drag me forward. I took a staggering step forward, nearly collapsing.

“I don’t think I can-”

Watson dragged over a long stick. That would work.

“Okay maybe I can.”

Slowly, but surely, I walked forward. Unfortunately, night was descending fast. I don’t think we’ll have enough time to find a proper shelter. We’ll just have to hope it doesn’t rain.

-

Night fell like a blanket, smothering us. It was so dark. I can’t see anything! I think Waston can though. I hope so, since I’m following him through a forest.

There was light up ahead. It didn’t ficker like a fire would, and I couldn’t see any smoak above it. What was it? Was it a giant mushroom? The glow wasn’t any color other than white, so that was unlikely.

Watson perked up once he noticed the light, running towards it with a grin. I followed as quickly as I could. Whatever it was, it seemed to be good.

Walking towards the strange glow led us to what looked like a small town. Dirt roads connected the few houses that were there, along with a few not-house buildings such as a store and what looks like some sort of gym? It had the word “gym” above it. Not sure why such a small town would need one though.

Despite finally finding some sort of civilization that was more advanced than the Pigmen, I was still on edge. It could be some sort of hallucination, brought on by blood loss or those nightmare creatures that still poked their heads out of the shadows occasionally. Yes, it must be a hallucination of some sort. A civilization like this wouldn’t be able to function-

I heard a soft gasp behind me. I turned around slowly, not trusting my legs. A woman wearing all white was standing there, looking horrified. She had dropped her purse into the dirt beside her foot in shock. Her hand was clutching a capsule, similar to the one I had found, although hers wasn’t nearly as dented or dirty.

I stood there, stupefied. It was another person. Not a Pigman, not a Merfolk, an actual, living person. Was she stuck here too? She didn’t look like she had been her every long. Was I hallucinating? Watson seemed to see her too, so that can’t be right. Was she real?

I took a shaky step forward. She took a step back, clutching the capsule in her hand tighter. Was she afraid of me? I couldn’t blame her. I was bloody, tattered clothing stained with both my blood and the blood of the animals I’ve slain. I was skeletal, with a pock-marked face and jagged scars that covered my body. My hair and beard were unkempt, and I was dripping blood onto the ground. I probably looked like a madman to her. I’m surprised she hasn’t screamed yet.

“Are you… there?” I asked, voice raspy and weak. I still wasn’t entirely sure if she was really there or not. Everything was starting to feel so far away.

She nodded, taking a cautious step forward, still clutching her capsule. I would have stepped forward as well, but my legs wouldn’t move now.

“Oh my Arceus.” She murmured, walking towards me. I wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but the ground was suddenly a lot closer to my face than It was before.

Chapter Text

White. All I can see is white. Blinding, headache-inducing white.

Where am I? I didn’t seem to be the forest anymore. I think there was a town I stumbled into? But that shouldn’t be possible.

I’m laying on something rather soft, but I can’t quite see what it is. It didn’t feel like the ground, which was a good thing.

Watson was nowhere to be found either. I suppose he must’ve ran off once I collapsed. I hope he’s okay at least. He was friendly, sort of reminding me of Chester.

Everything hurt. It wasn’t a sharp pain, but a dull, throbbing pain that spreads throughout my body like water.

I shifted, trying to see through the blinding light. I was regaining more of my senses. I could feel my arms and legs wrapped in gauze. My face had a patch on it, and there was something poking into my arm. It was uncomfortable.

I could hear a voice nearby. Were they talking to me? I can’t process what they’re saying. Hopefully they weren’t hostile.

“Hello?” I asked, not wanting to be rude in case they are talking to me.

“Oh, he’s awake.” I heard them say. They sounded male, but I still couldn’t see much. Was he human?

“Were…?” My voice was weak and raspy, still not accustomed to talking.

“The Pokecenter.” He said.

The what? Pokecenter? What is that? Is it some sort of hospital? It sure seemed like it, if my current location is anything to go by.

I shifted again. My eyes had started to adjust, and I could make out a few things. There was a window on the wall next to me (possibly what was responsible for all of the light), and the thing poking my arm turned out to be some sort of tube that led to a bag hanging in a stand next to my bed. It seemed to be siphoning some sort of clear fluid into my arm. I poked at it, trying to examine what it was.

“Try not to mess with that.” He said, gently moving my hand away from the needle.

“What… is it?” I asked, looking up at him. He was definitely human. At least, I desperately hoped he was.

There was a short beat of silence. Did I commit some sort of social faux pas? Where am I?

“It’s an IV bag.” He said, looking a bit confused.

“What… does it do?” I asked, curiosity taking over my judgement.

“It takes medicine from the bag—“ he motioned towards the bag, then towards my arm. “—and puts it directly into your bloodstream.”

“Ew.” I said, mildly disgusted. I know it’s probably a good thing that the medicine gets there quickly, but it’s still gross.

While I was impressed that they’re able to get it into my blood that quickly, I still wasn’t a fan of it. It sounded painful honestly, although it was honestly more uncomfortable than painful.

The man chuckled. Well, I suppose he’s not just a man, if the stethoscope around his neck is any sign.

“It’s actually not that bad.” He said, taking out what looked like a clipboard and sitting down in a chair, rolling up to the side of the bed. “Alright, so your Pokémon is fine—“

“My… what?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t mean to interrupt but I don’t have a… Pokémon…”

He looked up at me, studying my face with a concerned expression.

“A… Pokémon.” He said. “The Shinx that was with you? That’s a Pokémon.”

“Shinx? Do you mean Watson? He’s a Pokémon?”

The doctor nodded, writing something down on his clipboard. “Yes. Him. He’s safe, although when we checked who he was registered with we didn’t find anyone.”

Registered?

He paused his writing and looked up at me. “Is he yours?”

I stared at him blankly, mouth open a bit. I closed my mouth, thinking.

“No.” I said, shaking my head. “He isn’t. I found him in the woods, stuck inside of a capsule of some sort.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, then nodded, putting his pen away.

“Well… if you would like we can register you as his trainer.”

Trainer? What is he talking about? What’s going on? Am I even in the Constant anymore? Is this all an illusion? Have I completely lost my mind?

I hope not. It was such a relief to see actual people again, even if they aren’t making any sense.

Wait didn’t he ask me a question? Oh no, I don’t want to be rude.

“I… yes?” I said. “I would like that”

I was lying to his face, but I think I’ve raised a bunch of alarms already.

“Alright--” He hung the clipboard at the foot of the bed “--I’ll go get him registered to your name. I’ll put him in a new Pokeball for you too.”

I nodded. I suppose Watson will be traveling with me from now on, although I’m still not entirely sure what that means.

“Wait!” I said, remembering something. “Where am I?”

The doctor paused in the doorway, turning his head to look at me.

“You’re Twin Leaf, specifically the Pokecenter.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

He left, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Twin Leaf town? Are there other towns? More people?

I’m not in the Constant anymore, am I? I suppose not. There weren’t any other people in the Constant other than me and Maxwell.

I rested my head on my pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Despite how pleasant the people here seem, it wasn’t home. It wasn’t my cabin, and it wasn’t my town. I suppose I’ll have to find a way to get home from here.

Chapter Text

A Sharp, piercing pain in my arm forced my eyes open. Jerking my arm away, I sat up in a cold sweat to see whatever was attacking me, heart pounding in my chest like a drum. I reached for my spear, but I didn’t find anything to grasp. There was nothing I could defend myself with.

Thankfully, it turned out to be a nurse, who was in the middle of re-inserting the needle I had yanked out of my arm by mistake.

“I’m sorry!” She said, putting a gentle hand on my shoulder. I haven’t felt such a gesture of kindness since before I made the portal. It felt strange. Everything around me still held the air of unbelonging, like I shouldn't belong here. Like it was all just a dream.

“It’s alright.” I said, holding my arm out to make it easier for her. “I forgot I was in the hospital for a second there.”

She re-inserted the needle and then secured it with some sort of medical tape.

“Are you feeling okay?” She asked, checking the machine that the needle was attached to and adjusting some things. A cold liquid flowed into my arm, quickly being warmed by my body’s internal temperature.

“I’m alright.” I said, getting a better handle on my surroundings and relaxing my arm. I was still in the hospital bed, wearing what felt like a clean T-shirt and shorts, safe from harm. I hope.

“Are you sure? You look a little pale.”

“I’m just a tad tired is all.”

She nodded, checking the machine one final time.

“Oh! Speaking of IVs--”

She opened a drawer and pulled out some clean gauze and a tube of what looked like but probably wasn’t toothpaste.

“--I need to check on your wounds if that’s okay!”

I nodded. She checked the wounds on my arms first, cutting away the gauze and revealing the… well, what used to be very large claw wounds. What used to be rather gaping wounds were now just long lines running along my arms, clean of all dirt and grime. Not quite healed, but not nearly as open.

Unfortunately, while they were no longer as large or as unbearably painful (thank god for adrenaline), they were still very tender, and I had to fight to keep my arm steady for her.

“Still pretty painful?” She asked, although I’m sure she already knew the answer. “I’ll be fast.”

She was in the middle of applying some medicine from the tube onto my arms.

“I take it that’s not toothpaste?” I said, trying to take my mind off of the pain currently ebbing through my arms.

“Nope!” She said, smiling. “It’s medicine. It disinfects and heals the wounds, as well as help with the pain.”

“Ah.”

I wasn’t so sure about the first two parts, but I was confident about the pain part. The more of the medicine she applied, the less pain I felt in my arms, although the medicine did feel unpleasantly cold and smelled of herbs.

Soon she was finished, re-wrapping my wounds in gauze.

“There we go!” She said, smiling warmly. “Much better! They’re healing very well!”

I nodded in acknowledgement, rubbing my arms.

“Thank you.” I said. “Wait, where is Watson?”

“Your pokemon is currently being transferred to a new pokeball.” She said. “He’ll be ready for you when you leave.”

“Is he injured?” I asked, unsure. Being honest, I don’t remember much after the bird attacked.

“He’ll be fine!” She said with a smile. “He wasn’t as badly injured as you where.”

That’s good. At least he didn’t get injured in the whole mess.

“Oh!” She said, standing in the doorway. “The doctor will be here soon to talk to you!”

“Alright. Thank you for telling me, Miss.”

She nodded, and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Heels clicked down the hallway as she walked, possibly going to check on another patient. Other sounds echoed through the hallways as well; carts clattered, bottles were rearranged and moved, people talked. I know the hospital isn’t very big, but it sounded busy nonetheless.

Deciding that I might be here a while, I looked around the room for any other clues. Other than various equipment and cabinets, there didn’t seem to be anything here. No clues as to where I am or what to do next.

Actually, what should I do next? Should I explore? I won’t be alone; Watson will be with me. I suppose I could travel around. I’ll have to find some supplies first. An axe, maybe a tarp for shelter. And food! Food and drink will be needed as well. Hopefully Watson doesn’t have any special dietary needs. Wonder how common those berries are.

The door clicked open, interrupting my train of thought. A man, who I presume is a doctor, walked in and greeted me politely.

“Hello!” he said, grabbing a chair and sitting down. “Glad to see you’re doing well.”

“Hello.” I said.

He shifted in the chair a bit, then grabbed the clipboard hanging on the foot of my bed.

“So I’m just going to ask you a few questions.” He said, pulling out a pen. “If you’re feeling up to it.”

“That’s alright with me.” I said, scratching my jaw. I need to shave.

“So what’s your name?”

“Wilson. Wilson Percival Higgsbury.”

He raised an eyebrow, writing some things down.

“Long name.” He said, scribbling. “What’s your trainer card number?”

I blinked in confusion. “My… what?”

“We weren’t able to find your trainer card, so we need your number to help identify you.”

“I… don’t have one?”

Concern and confusion swept across the man’s face.

“No number? You’re supposed to get one when you turn ten.”

Oh no. This isn’t good. I’m gathering unwanted attention. Quick Higgsbury, think of soemthing!

“I didn’t get one.” I said.

He nodded, tapping his pen on his clipboard as he thought.

“Would you like one?” he said, perking up a bit. “We can give you one here, since you already have a pokemon to start with.”

You need a Pokémon before the card? Does everyone have a Pokémon? Why? Are they like pets?

“That would be nice, yes.” I said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He continued to scribble things down. I tried to read what he was writing, but he was too far away for me to see anything.

“Alright, now to move onto more pressing matters.”

Arguably, identification is a pressing matter, but I don’t think now is the time to argue.

“What happened to you?” He said, his tone shifting to a more serious inflection.

“...What do you mean?” I said, trying to buy some time to think of an answer.

He pointed his pen at my arms. “Those wounds are pretty deep. You don’t usually see people coming in here with those unless something bad happened.”

He paused, thinking.

“Come to think of it, a fair amount of them don’t look like you got them all at once. Some look about a week old, some a month.”

He furrowed his eyebrows.

“You have a fair amount of scars too, and some of them don’t look like they’re from Pokémon.”

I paused. I could tell him exactly what happened, but I feel as though I’ve already raised the alarm enough. I’d probably be thrown into an insane asylum if I told them I used to be strapped to a chair and then escaped using a teleporting stick.

“Er, something attacked me!” I said, thinking. “It was a pokemon…”

“A pokemon?” The doctor said, raising an eyebrow. “What species?”

I should have thought this through more. I ran through the empty list of pokemon names that I knew. Short of “Shinx,” I don’t know any other type.

“I didn’t see what it was…” I said, hoping he would buy it. “I don’t remember.”

“Try.” He said, writing something down on his clipboard and looking back up at me.

I thought harder, then shook my head.

“I cannot. I’m sorry.”

Skepticism and concern was blatantly clear on his face. He looked at me, probably knowing there was a lot more to the story than what I was telling him. He wants more answers, but I suppose he knew I wouldn’t be able to give him anything useful. That, or he valued bedside manners over a mystery.

“It’s alright.” He said sighing and writing something else down on the clipboard. “If it makes you feel any better, whatever pokemon attacked you wasn’t a poison-type, so we just have to wait for the wounds to heal.”

“That’s... Good!” I said, smiling. “How long will it take?”

“Depends.” He said, setting his clipboard down on the table. “Depending on how quickly they heal, you might be able to leave today.”

“Really? That would be great! Er, no offense to the… hospital.”

“None taken.”

The doctor glanced at the machine, then turned back towards me.

“That reminds me.” He said, standing up. “Do you have anyone you would like to call? Family? Friends?”

My smile vanished as yet another reminder of my isolation was shoved into my face. I almost want to blame the doctor, although there is literally no way for him to know that there’s nobody to write or call.

“No.” I said, point-blankly.

The doctor furrowed his eyebrows, his neutral face being replaced with a slight frown.

“Are you sure?” He said.

I nodded. He nodded back, probably wanting to ask more questions, but also not wanting to push his luck. He then left the room after saying something about a take-home-care kit for my wounds, closing the door behind him. Hopefully it isn’t anything too complex, or might find myself coming back here again.

-

The nurse at the front desk handed me the care-kit for my wounds, as well as the pokeball that contained Watson. The pokeball seemed newer, and didn’t have the large dent in it.

“There you go Sir!” She said cheerily, typing on a flat typewriter and glancing at a flat object in front of her.

“Thank you, Miss.” I said, shoving the kit into my tattered bag. Surprisingly, all of my stuff was still in here, save for the nightmare fuel.

“You’re welcome. Oh! Before I forget--”

She rummaged around under the desk, then handed me a card with my name on it, as well as a bunch of other information.

“--Here’s your new trainer card! You’ll have to get another that has the rest of the information on it, but it’ll do for now!”

“Thank you.” I said, examining the card carefully.

“You’re welcome, again.” She said, still smiling.

I gathered my things and headed out the front doors which, strangely enough, opened on their own. It was morning, early morning judging from the position of the sun. People walked around the small town, talking amongst themselves and laughing.

It wasn’t just people either. Some people had creatures walking next to them, with some of them being far larger than Watson was. He doesn’t have to stay in the pokeball?

Pulling my bag off of my shoulders and pulling out the pokeball, I let Watson out. He came out determined and ready, although he relaxed once he saw where we were.

“Hello Watson.” I said.

He turned around and smiled, letting out a sort of growl-bark in response that reminded me of the young hounds I’d found when I decided it was a good idea to go into the mounds. It was a terrible idea, obviously, but the hound pups where adorable.

I slung my tattered bag over my shoulders, looking around. I didn’t really see much, other than the odd building labled “Gym.”

The gym stood out among the town. While the houses and hospital(Pokecenter?) were a little plain, the gym had an airy look to it. Painted with white and sky blue, it stood out like a beacon in the small town, sporting structures that looked like wings that wrapped around the dome of the building. It looked far newer than the other buildings, so new that it looked like it was still under construction.

Curiosity pulled at the back of my mind. I’m tempted to go see what it is, although I don’t want to cause any trouble by going somewhere I shouldn’t. I suppose it’s for the best. I need to figure out where we’re going to sleep tonight. I supposed I could find a tarp or fashion one out of leaves--

Watson barked at me, walking in the direction of the gym and stopping, turning to look at me.

“...You want to go to the gym?” I asked.

Watson nodded, determination in his eyes.

“Alright then. I suppose we could check it out.”

We headed towards the gym, with Watson leading the way.

Chapter Text

As it turns out, the Gym was definitely under construction. Workers and pokemon alike were crawling over the building like honeybees, hammering and soldering away at the exterior.

Watson sat at my feet, watching the construction with me, his tail flicking occasionally. Is he okay?

Regardless, the building definitely had some sort of purpose, although exactly what it’s purpose is cannot be seen. I’d guess it’s for storage, although it is very decorated for a simple storage warehouse. Perhaps it’s for decoration? Like an art installation? Is it a church of some kind? A house? It’s awfully expensive-looking for such a small town—

“Hello!”

Jumping and spinning around, I raised my fists, ready for a brawl. It turned out to be unneeded, as the man approaching didn’t seem to have a violent bone in his body. He was waving, and running up to us with a large grin on his face.

“Hey! Welcome to the Twinleaf Town Gym! It’s, ah, unfinished!” He said, running up to me and grinning.

The man was wearing round glasses, shorts, and some sort of vest? I can’t tell what that article of clothing is.

“I can see.” I said, giving the Gym a quick glance. “What is it exactly?”

“It’s an air-type gym!” He said, with growing enthusiasm. “It’ll be the first of its kind in the Sinnoh region! People will come from all over to battle here—“

He threw his hand out towards the Gym, as though he was presenting it to me.

“—in Twinleaf Town!”

He stood there, grinning and panting slightly.

“Ah.” I said. “I see. Battles you say?”

“Yes.” He said, his arm falling to his side in defeat. “Battles. This town needed some extra tourism, so we put a Gym here. Plus, the League wanted trainers to have an extra badge.”

He sighed, although he didn’t give me any more information on what “battles” are. They don’t sound pleasant at all, particularly if they involve pokemon.

“I wish it could be done sooner. At this rate it’ll take a few years, even with the Machokes helping with construction.”

“I’m sorry it’s taking so long.” I said, hoping to comfort the energetic man at least a little bit. “How long has it been in construction?”

“A year.”

A year?! A building of this complexity has this much progress in a year?!

“I see.” I said, gazing in awe up at the building. “And what are badges?”

He looked at me with a quirked eyebrow. Watson looked a bit confused as well.

“A badge? How do you not—“ his other eyebrow raised. “Ooh you’re probably from the Alola region, aren’t you?”

“I—“ I shouldn’t have asked. He’s going to think I’m a lunatic. “—Yes?”

“Okay! You know the trials? Where you get the Z-crystal things and a stamp?”

I blinked. “...Yes.”

“Okay! Badges are like those stamps; They’re just little tokens that show you beat a gym battle. There’s eight in this region, not sure how many there are in Alola, but it's the same jist.”

I nodded. I’m glad he’s so helpful, otherwise I’d have to get this information elsewhere.

“Thank you.” I said.

“No problem!” He said, smiling brightly. “You must’ve traveled pretty far to get to Twinleaf.”

Confusion crossed his face, coupled with slight worry.

“How’d you get all the way here without knowing about Gyms? I’d guess you came from Canalave City, right?”

Canalave City? Is that some sort of location far away? Wait he’s still staring at me. Say something you idiot!

“I—“ I sputtered. “Yes! I came from there…”

“Then how’s your not come across the Gyms yet?”

I froze. Do I tell him the truth? Do I lie? Watson is looking at me in confusion too.

“I-I mostly used the forests to travel! Yes, forests.”

He stared at me for a moment, then grinned.

“...You’re a pretty weird fellow.” He said. “You have a name?”

“Wilson.” I said, not bothering with my middle and last names. “And this is Watson.”

“Wilson and Watson!” He shook my hand a little too roughly. “Great name for a duo! I’m Darin! Nice to meet you!”

I recoiled my hand when he was done, perhaps a little too quickly.

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Darin.”

Looking back at the Gym, I could see a shadow shift and crawl across the foundation. A cold, emotionless, white eye stared back at me. The edges of shadowy claws gripped the foundation, and a jagged grin of malice formed across the creature’s face. It was one of Them.

The edges of my vision blurred. My stomach churned, my heart started to beat faster. I’m shaking like a leaf, fists clenched, ready to spring into action.

Something grabbed my shoulder. For a split second, I could feel teeth sinking into my arm, and an all-too familiar coldness of winter blowing in my face.

I whirled around, raising my fist to punch whatever had bitten me, but it turned out to just be Darin, who had grabbed my shoulder.

“Wilson? Are you okay? You look pale! And sweaty…”

“Okay?! Do-- Do you not see them?!” I said, slightly irritated.

“See what?” Darin asked, taking a step back.

“THEM!” I said, pointing at the building. Only, the shadow creature that I had seen before was gone. I lowered my arm. “Oh…”

“The Machokes?” Darin said. “They won’t hurt anything! I can promise you that!”

“No, not the—“ I sighed, trying to steady myself. “Never mind. I just thought I saw something.”

Watson and Darin were looking at me with concern.

“You still look a little… off. Ah! You must be thirsty!” Darin said, pulling out a small water bottle from his pocket and handing it to me.

“Thank you.” I said, taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid. What material is this bottle made out of anyway? It’s certainly not metal, unless metal can be transparent.

“There! You look better already!” Darin said, looking relived.

I gave him a small grin, despite my still-racing heart. Watson still looked concerned, staring up at me with those big eyes of his.

“I’m alright, Watson.” I said, putting the bottle into my backpack.

“Good to hear—“ Darin checked his watch. “Oh! Sorry! I gotta go now! See you two later on!”

He walked off, waving. I politely waved back. He disappeared around a corner, leaving us alone in the middle of the street.

“...I suppose we should get going too.”

Watson barked in response, walking ahead of me as we followed the roads through the small town. One of them led to the edge of the forest, carving a wide path through the trees.

Pushing down my worries of being trapped in the wilderness once more, we pushed on as the sun began to set, feet crushing the grass and gravel beneath us. The sun that once shone high above us was now beginning to set, painting the sky purple and orange.

Chapter Text

We passed over the border of Twinleaf, heading into the forest. The pathway cut through the trees, opening up to a fairly large clearing that split into two different paths, one heading left. And one heading right. We headed left.

The left pathway took us to a rounded lake. It was peaceful, with clean, deep-blue colored water and clear air. The path to it seemed fairly well-traveled, although there isn’t anyone else here. Other than the water-dwelling Pokémon that sent ripples in the surface of the water, that is.

Oddly, there appeared to be a small landmass in the middle of the lake. Actually, now that we’re closer, it appears to be a cave with a rather large, almost inviting entrance. It’s piqued my curiosity for sure.

I can feel a sort of pull coming from the cave. It’s making me feel…sad? Nostalgic? I suppose melancholy would fit, although that still doesn’t feel like the right word to use. Despite the slightly negative feeling I’m getting, I still have the urge to get closer.

“Do you see the cave?” I said, taking a few steps forward and stopping at the lake’s edge. Wave lapped at my well-worn shoes. “Wonder what’s inside.”

Watson just sat down next to my foot, ears angled toward the lake, eyes fixated on the cave. He wasn’t smiling, he was just staring. His facial expression sort of looked… sad.

“Watson?” I said, reaching my hand out towards him. “Are you okay?”

He blinked, then nodded, his small, cheerful smile returning. That’s a relief.

“...It does have a sort of pull doesn’t it?”

We both stood at the lake’s edge. Perhaps, if we really tried, and had the time, we’d find a way to get across.

Unfortunately, the sun was setting. As much as I enjoy exploration, it wouldn’t be safe to do it at night. Plus, I don’t trust my swimming abilities, or the Pokémon in the water for that matter.

Why didn’t I bring a tarp? Or anything useful, really. I mean, I still have those pink berries from earlier, a stick, a water bottle, and that wound-cleaning kit the nurse gave me, but nothing else.

Night is falling, fast. A familiar feeling of fear was beginning to form, although I’ll admit it’s unwarranted, since the nighttime isn’t as dark here from what I saw. Unless, of course, that night just so happened to be a full moon.

I’ll build a fire just in case, just to be safe.

I began to walk a bit faster, spotting some hunched-over trees we could use as a temporary shelter if it rained.

Dropping my bag near the trees, I started to look for some sticks. It’d be great if there were more sticks further from the water, that way I won’t get pulled in by a Pokémon. At least I managed to find a dozen or so small rocks on the path, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to safely build a fire.

Watson’s watching with curiosity near my bag, his ears swiveling to catch the noises of the forest and water. He stared as I gathered the sticks and rocks, looking confused.

“I’m making a fire.” I said, answering the question he was probably asking himself.

He nodded. I made a small fire in front of us, using the rocks to keep it contained and the sticks to fuel the flame.

“There we go! Now we won’t get attacked by the Gru!”

Watson cocked his head.

“Er, you probably don’t know what that is, do you?”

Watson didn’t look any less confused. I’d explain it, but I don’t think I know enough about it to explain. I know the Gru is related to Them, but in the exact way is… unknown.

I leaned my back against the tree, staying under the canopy. Above, a smattering of stars could be seen through the leaves. Thankfully, the night Isn’t pitch-black. Dark, yes, but not completely dark. It’s nice actually. Maybe we should have kept walking, so we’d cover more ground.

Then again, the elongated shadows aren’t giving me much confidence. While the areas away from the trees are sort of clear, the actual forest itself is as dark as any winter night. Who knows what lurks in the brush. I hope it’s just Pokémon and not Them.

Something rubbed against my arm. Shuddering, I jerked my arm away, although it turned out to just be Watson. He frowned.

“Sorry! I didn’t realize it was you.”

I patted his head in apology, which he accepted with a smile.

It’s strange for an animal to show this much affection. Other than Chester, the animals I’ve seen generally aren’t this nice. They were neutral at best, hostile at worse, and wanted little more than food from you. They’d turn on you the instant things got bad. Even the intelligent pig-men would do that, although I’d argue they were on par with humans in terms of intelligence.

Funnily enough, Pokémon seem to want companionship as well. Watson, despite just meeting me, seems friendly enough, and all I’ve given him is some berries, which seem to be plentiful.

Are Pokémon like dogs? The wild ones do seem less human-oriented, so it may be similar to the difference between wild and tame dogs. Wonder if food can be used to gain the trust from wild Pokémon as well. I’ll have to try it sometime in the future.

Speaking of food, I’m starving. Watson’s probably hungry as well, given that we haven’t eaten since yesterday.

I grabbed my bag and opened it, pulling out some of the berries, as well as the wound-treatment kit the nurse gave me. I put some berries on the ground for Watson and opened the kit, stuffing a few berries into my mouth as I fumbled with its contents.

The kit had a piece of paper with written instructions(in what looked like Japanese) and pictures on it, detailing what I had to do.
Thankfully, the language they use to write had an English translation on the back, since I don’t understand a single word of Japanese.

First step is a basic look-over of the bandages, where I check if they actually need to be clean. The bandages on my arms and legs are covered in dirt and grime from my little stick-and-rock adventure earlier, so they probably need to be changed.

I unwrapped my arms, stuffing the old bandages into a side-pocket to be disposed of later. The claw wounds from the giant bird and the shadow creature were just long, half-healed scabs and scar tissue, with the bird-Inflicted wounds being jagged, and the shadow ones being unnervingly clean.

The second step calls for the healing gel being applied, and the third is just re-bandaging. I grabbed the bottle of gel and started to apply.

My hands are trembling. Not out of pain(the wounds actually don’t hurt too much) or temperature, but out of nerves. For some reason, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched by something. Something unnatural. Something that shouldn’t be here.

I was staring into the trees, trying to find what was stalking us, but I couldn’t see anything. Am I hallucinating? Or am I just still adjusting to this new world.

Watson’s looking up at me in concern, again. I finished my bandages and patted him on the head, trying to ease his worries as well as my own.

“I’m alright.” I said. “They’re healing.”

Wait, does Waston have any wounds that need cleaning? I don’t see any, but they may be on his stomach or somewhere else I can’t see…

I picked him up, turning him over to see his belly. I don’t see any wounds, so I suppose whatever they did to him at the hospital was enough to heal him.

I put him back down. He looked back up at me in annoyance.

“What?”

He narrowed his eyes a bit.

“What?!”

He frowned.

“Did you not like being picked up? I had to check to make sure you didn’t have any wounds! You don’t want to get sick do you?”

He shook his head, then sat down next to me, watching the fire. I suppose that’s his way of saying he understands.

I leaned back against the tree, listening to the fire crackle and pop. Maybe I can relax a little.

I suppose I should find a way back home. I’d hoped the overcharged telelocator staff would’ve taken me home, but it just took me here instead. I know where it teleports you is random anyway, so I suppose I should just be lucky I got out of the Constant at all.

Maybe I can make another? I already have a stick(not that there’s a shortage), but I doubt this place has any purple gems. There may be an equivalent however, so there’s still some hope I’ll be able to get back. I’ll have to find someone to take care of Watson though, since releasing him into the wild seems… cruel.

There is a small doubt in my mind however. Do I even want to leave here? The people seem very kind, and it’s not like I have much to go back for anyway. Most of my family is either dead or estranged, and the ones that aren’t probably don’t miss me.

I mean, I could continue my scientific endeavors here as well. Physics seem to work the same here as they did in my world, so it’s not like much has changed. Chemistry is certainly different, however. Plus, I don’t have any of my machines.

There’s also a question of… Them. I’m not even sure if they’re here or if I’m just… hallucinating.

Are they actually real? In the Constant they were real enough to hurt me, but here they disappear after a few moments. Is it just me? Can nobody else see them? Will they ever go away, or will I be forever haunted by them?

Will they follow me back home?

First, I’ll have to find out if they’re real or if I’m just hallucinating. Which means I’m going to need to purposely drive myself insane.

I looked over at Watson, who’s curled up by the fire, asleep. How he’s managing to stay so calm during the night is beyond me. Maybe there isn’t anything dangerous in the night? I highly doubt it.

Regardless, sleeping helps sooth my nerves, so I guess it’s the first to go. In the Constant I never really felt tired, but here I’m already starting to feel the effects of exhaustion. My eyelids are heavy, and my head feels like lead. Good, I might not have to skip sleeping too many nights then.

Food might have to be stopped too, since starving definitely hinders a healthy mind, so I guess Watson can have the rest of these berries.

Darkness would speed things up, but now that I’m staring at the treeline, I’m having second thoughts. I need light, and I’d rather not find out if the Gru is here too.

So, all I have to do is not sleep and eat! Easy, I used to do this all the time in the constant, so this should be easy.

…

No. I don’t think that’s as good of an idea as I think it is. Something about forcing myself to stay awake and starve myself just to figure out if something is real or not seems insufferable. Just the idea of feeling hunger claw my stomach again to shreds is giving me chills.

I still remember my first Winter In the Constant. I remember the deerclops, and how it destroyed my pitiful camp. How hollow inside I felt after not being able to find food for days. The loneliness. The ungodly cold. The long, sleepless night where I was hunted by Them...

I shook that thought out of my head before it could go too far. Starving myself is definitely out. I need to find another way to find out if they are real or not.

Perhaps I could just ignore them and focus on getting home? If they’re real, all they’re doing is watching, so they might be weakened here. That, or I haven’t slipped that far into insanity yet.

I need to sleep.

-

A blinding light woke me up. Sunlight was filtering through the branches above me, partially blinding me. I blocked some of the light with my hand. Why does the sun have to be so… bright?

Watson was curled up near a rock. He stirred, yawning and stretching like a cat. His ears swiveled a few times as he tried to wake up.

“Good morning, Watson.” I said, pulling some fallen leaves and twigs out of my hair. “Did you sleep well?”

He nodded, smiling. Lazily, he walked over to where I was sitting, plopping himself down next to my feet. I patted him on the head.

“That looks like a yes.”

He barked happily, then his stomach growled.

“Hungry?”

He nodded. I opened my bag and put some of the sweet berries on the ground for him, popping a few of them into my mouth. Juicy and sweet, sort of like those juicy berries I’d occasionally find in the Constant.

Speaking of finding, where should we go next? I suppose we could stay here, but I’d like to live in a less dew-infested area. Besides, this place is a dead end, despite the beautiful lake.

I suppose we could take the other branch of the path and see where it goes. Perhaps we’ll come across another town, and I’ll be able to get a map of the area. And some more food. As much as I enjoy these berries, I don’t think we’ll be able to subsist on them alone.

Speaking of berries, I should probably bring some water with us as well. The lake seems clean enough to drink from, if you ignore the fact that there’s Pokémon living in it, which I will. I’ve used worse sources of water before.

Using the lake, I filled the small water bottle Darin gave us with some water, although the unfamiliar-looking face I saw in the crystal-clear water is startling.

Staring back at me was my face. I look like a madman; my face is skeletal and pockmarked with cuts and bruises, and the bags that were always under my eyes have darkened since the last time I saw my face. My hair was gnarled and unkempt, sporting a few leaves and twigs I’d missed earlier. Dirt and grime were absolutely everywhere(aside from my clothes, although those were given to me by the hospital)! It’s disgusting. I’m disgusting!

No wonder Darin— and the woman that found me first— were so eager to leave me earlier, I look like a feral beast! At least the bandage on my face was fairly clean.

Wonder how bad I smell. I don’t notice any foul stench, although I may just be used to it. Watson doesn’t seem to notice either, so it might not be that bad. Although, he is a Pokémon, so dirt probably isn’t that bad of a small.

I screwed the cap back on. First chance I get, I’m taking a bath. I’d take one here, but I feel far too exposed. Plus, I’m not taking my cloths off in front of Watson.

“Watson!” I said. “Are you ready to get going?”

Watson nodded, happily trotting next to me as we made our way back to where the path branches off, taking the other road.

“You think there’s more this way?” I asked.

Watson nodded, his tail waving as he walked. He seems pretty content to travel with me, which is nice. Perhaps I’ll bring him with me if I find a way out of here.

Something tickled my knee. As it turns out, we’ve found ourselves in some taller grass. I suppose it’s a different species than the shorter grass. No matter, it’s a small patch—

what was that?

It was a growl. A brownish with long teeth Pokemon suddenly leapt out of the grass, blocking our path with surprising ferocity.

“It’s… a beaver?”

It growled, crouching down. I pulled out my stick, ready to attack, but Watson stood in front of me, growling himself. He crouched down, preparing to leap at the beaver, sparks flying around him. I suppose he would be better equipped to handle something like this.

Rather than attack right away, Watson instead smiled with determination and waited patiently.

And waited.

And waited.

After a bit of time, he went from confident and determined to very confused, looking back at me with a very distressed look.

Does he expect me to do something? I’m not sure what he wants, but he looks very stressed out. It’s honestly quite disheartening. Does he need help? Is this beaver very powerful? Should we flee?

The beaver lunged at Watson while he wasn’t paying attention. I stepped forward and swung my stick, catching the side of the beaver’s face and sent it tumbling backwards. Thankfully, this one can’t fly.

“BACK!” I said, brandishing my branch at the beaver. It was undeterred however, and instead lunged again, aiming to tackle.

I blocked the attack with my stick. While the brunt of the attack didn’t hit me, it did break my stick and sent me tumbling backwards from the force. Despite its small size, this beaver was… very powerful.

It growled again, preparing to lunge at me. It was interrupted by a well-placed tackle by Watson. The beaver stood back up, then fled, disappearing under the underbrush of the forest.

“Thank you, Watson.” I said, brushing the extra dirt off of myself. “That was a very impressive tackle— Watson?”

He was sitting in front of me, his ears flattened.

“Is something wrong? Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, now looking a bit irritated with me.

“What?” I said. “Did I do something wrong?”

He barked.

“I don’t understand!” I said, tossing my stick aside. “I don’t speak Pokémon and you know this!”

He barked again, this time with more conviction and volume.

“Look, I understand you are angry but you don’t have to use such a sharp tone—“

He barked again, getting up from his sitting position, looking furious.

“What?!” I said, throwing up my hands. “I don’t know what you want! Did I do something wrong?”

He opened his mouth to bark again, then stopped. His face morphed from anger to dawning realization. He tilted his head to the side slightly. He looked at the ground, then the forest, then at me.

I wish I could communicate better with him, but there seems to be a one-way language barrier between us. He seems to be able to understand me just fine, but I can’t understand him aside from his human-like facial expressions, and those cannot portray a complex idea.

After a few more moments of thinking, he got up and continued walking along the path, a bit brisker than he was before. I followed, uncertain.

What did I do? Was it something I didn’t do?

Soon, we were outside of the tall grass and walking along a more defined pathway, with Watson’s tail waving behind him. The path street he’s out in front of us, littered with ledges and patches of tall grass.

I can see two people up ahead, a man and women, each Pokeball in hand, looking at each other with a look of determination.

“Turtwig, come on out!” The woman said.

“Crikitot! Let’s go!” The man said.

They threw out their Pokeballs. The Woman’s released a small turtle, and the Man’s released a… bug-looking.

With the look on their faces, I’m getting the feeling that this isn’t a friendly meeting.

I stopped to watch.

Chapter Text

The Turtwig and Crickitot stared at each other, mirroring the people standing behind them. They shared a determined expression as silence filled the air between them.

“Alright! Let’s do this!” The man said, getting into a sort of fighting position. “Crickitot, use tackle!”

Tackle? Are they fighting?

With the command given the Crickitot lunged at the Turtwig with a surprising amount of accuracy, slamming into its face before it even had a chance to move.

They are fighting! But why? Is there some sort of problem? Can’t they just… talk about it? Maybe it’s a cultural thing I just don’t get.

The Turtwig was launched backwards, tumbling on the ground and landing on its side. It regained its footing quickly, standing up with new resolve, waiting.

“Retaliate with Razor leaf!” The woman said, looking annoyed, although not at her Pokémon.

“Dodge it then use tackle again!”

The leaves on the turtwig’s head glowed and it launched a series of glowing leaf-like projectiles at the Crickitot. The Crickitot ran forward, getting hit with some of the projectiles, yet continuing forward without flinching and colliding with the Turtwig.

Are they making the Pokémon fight? They seem to be. Why the Pokémon are listening is uncertain. I’m sure if the Pokémon tried they could easily overpower their trainers.

Unless it’s a learned helplessness sort of situation. Then I doubt they believe they can ever truly escape their situation. A depressing thought, for sure, but it does seem accurate.

I need to stop this. This is wrong.

This is like those underground dog-fighting rings they had in my home, although the Pokémon seem more durable. Also they can shoot leaves at each other, which dogs can’t do (as far as I’m aware). Either way, it’s horrible! Nothing should be trapped and forced to fight for somebody else’s pleasure.

Should I intervene? If I don’t Pokémon could get hurt. Actually, everybody could get hurt in this situation.

“Why on Earth are they fighting?!” I said. “Should we—“

Watson was smiling. Honestly, he looked like he wanted to join in rather badly. He was slightly crouched down, his tail waving in anticipation.

Do they… enjoy fighting? Watson seems to want to join in at least. But the Turtwig and Crickitot?

They’re both bruised and exhausted, but they were smiling. I mean, I can’t see the Crickitot’s mouth(does it have one?), but it seems to be enjoying itself. At least, it doesn’t seem to be in much pain, and seems to actively want to fight.

The people seem to be enjoying themselves as well. At least the woman seems to be enjoying herself, the young man just seems a tad fustersted.

Maybe I won’t intervene. Not this time, at least. Maybe the Pokémon enjoy the fight. I hope they at least have a choice in the matter.

“Turtwig use Tackle!” She said, smiling.

The Crickitot didn’t have time to move before it was slammed into a nearby rock. It managed to get up, staggered, then fell over exhausted.

“Dang it!” The man said, taking out his Pokeball and returning the Crickitot to it. “How did you win!? I used a bug-type this time!”

What on earth is a bug-type? It’s… probably just a bug Pokémon right?

“Well, you didn’t have any bug-moves.” She said, returning her Pokémon to the pokeball and walking up to him with a smile. “Good job Turtwig. I’ll get you to a pokecenter soon.”

Bug moves? What are those? It’s probably just another name for an attack, I guess.

The man grumbled something about a bug bite he didn’t have a chance to do, and then handed her a few coins, which she stuffed into her satchel.

“See! That wasn’t so bad now was it?” She said, giving him a cheeky grin.

He huffed in annoyance, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

“Yea I guess.” He said.

She turned towards me, her smile widening a bit. “Hey! We have a visitor! Didn’t see you over there!”

“Oh hey.” He said.

“Did you want to battle? I have a healthy Pokémon on me.” She said, swinging her satchel to the front and beginning to open it.

Watson perked up and nodded, already getting into a fighting stance.

“No no!” I said, raising my hands up a bit. “that’s quite alright—“

Watson barked at me in irritation. I glared back at him.

“Hush you!” I said.

“Hold on now, you can’t really say “no” to a Pokémon battle.” She said, her smile widening a bit. Not maliciously, but in more of an encouraging way.

“I mean…” the man said. “You can, but it’s a bit of a faux pas, ya know?”

Ah, wonderful. I can’t even refuse this without it being weird. As if I wasn’t enough of an outcast back at home.

“It’s still a—“ I looked down at Watson, who was staring back up at me with a determined look on his face.

He really wants to do this? But I don’t know how! I suppose I could just ask, since this seems to be a very important activity here. But on the other hand, it’s still just legalized dog fighting.

The woman was staring at me too, a hand on her hip as she waited for my answer. At first she was smiling, but her smile eventually faded.

“...are you okay?” She asked, taking a step towards me. “You look…”

“Like crap” The man said “I mean, I thought you were just really boney but now it kinda looks like you’re emaciated—“

“Will you be nice!” She barked back. “He doesn’t look that bad!”

“I mean… he kinda does look like a hobo—“

I want to crawl into a hole and die. I’ve forgotten how unkempt and wild I probably look, and the fact that it must be so plainly visible for everyone to see.

Oh God how bad do I smell?

“I mean, he’s pretty obviously homeless—“ he said.

“He’s not homeless! You have a house somewhere right?” She said hoping I would back her up.

“Of course I—“

Oh my God, I’m homeless. Great, I’m literally the lowest member of society. Even Watson is looking at me with a worried look.

“...oh.” She said. “Look I can just give you—“

“Nonono!” I said, fumbling for an answer. “I have a home, it’s just really far from here.”

“Oooh!” She said, peeking up again. “You’re a traveling trainer! Those are always nice to see!”

“Cool.” He said. “How come you don’t want to battle though? Don’t you have some powerful Pokémon?”

“I’m not…” I sighed. “I’m not used to this region’s Pokémon, and I only have the one…”

It wasn’t a lie, at least not entirely. Doesn’t make me feel any less embarrassed about this whole thing, but at least I won’t get any pity from them. I don’t need it.

“Oh! You probably need help getting used to your Pokémon’s moves don’t you!” She said. “Do they not have Shinx where you’re from?”

“Well—“

“Okay this is getting really boring.” He said, cutting me off rather rudely. “See ya soon Gardenia!”

“Bye Gale!”

The man left, walking further down the path, leaving us alone on the pathway.

“Well there he goes again.” She said, shaking her head. “Soon as you do anything that doesn’t involve him he gets bored.”

“...is he a friend if yours?” I asked, watching as he became a speck on the horizon.

“More of a protégé.” She said. “I’m teaching him how to train his Pokémon and stuff like that.”

“Ah. Sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s fine.” She said, waving her hand dismissively. “We were done anyway, he just bugged me one last battle before he left.”

Hehe, bugged. That’s a good one. I’ll have to use that one later, once I know enough about Pokémon to properly use it.

“Oh. I’m Gardenia by the way!” She said, reaching out her hand to shake mine. “Grass specialist and Gym leader of Eterna City.”

A Gym leader? It’s probably related to the Gyms that Darin was talking about. That or it’s something entirely different that I’ll have to figure out later.

“I’m… Wilson.” I said, shaking her hand. “Just Wilson.”

I’m not going to bother with my last name. It’s not important right now.

She smiled. “Nice to meet you, Wilson.”

I nodded. “So...about these… moves you’re talking about.”

“Right.”

She kneeled to get to Watson’s eye level.

“So he’s your only Pokémon?” She asked, studying Watson’s face.

“Yes.” I said, shifting my weight from one foot to another. I’m not sure why, but there’s a creeping anxiety coming over me. “He is.”

“You’re pretty brave to be walking around with a Pokémon you barely know.”

Or stupid in my case. Very, very stupid. How am I still alive?

She glanced back at me, her smile faltering a bit before she turned her attention back to Watson.

“Hey there Shinx!” She said. “Are you ready to show Wilson what you can do?”

Watson nodded, eager.

“Alright, first move.” She said, getting up and stepping back. “Watch closely Wilson.”

I did, taking a step back myself. Watson grinned, crouching down and then tackling a nearby stone.

“Wonderful Tackle.” Gardenia said. “Next one?”

Watson bit down on a root nearby, although his teeth got stuck momentarily.

“Hmm… his bite needs some more practice.”

Shinx then sat down, ears flattened to the sides of his head. The determined, toothy smile that was once on his face was ok replaced with a look of embarrassment.

“You only know two moves?” Gardening said. “That’s alright, you’ll learn more as you gain some experience.”

“So he only knows a tackle and a bite?” I asked.

Gardenia nodded, which was strange. I distinctly remember a lightning attack he did during our encounter with the bird. Perhaps it was the adrenaline rush? I’ve done some impressive things when under extreme stress, although I’d pay the price for it shortly afterwards.

“It’s not much, but tackle and bite are pretty good moves to start off with. He’s around level 3 and 4 right?”

Levels? What on earth are levels? They sound like they’re related to moves somehow but I’m not quite sure exactly how.

“Yes?” I said. “I have trouble… telling.”

“He’s pretty young, so he can’t be more than a level 6.”

Watson grumbled, looking embarrassed about being what I presume is a low level. I guess he’s new too.

“Ah.”

Gardenia smiled, turning towards me and placing a hand on her hip. She looked me over.

“You know, a battle would help his bite attack get better…”

“...a battle?” I said. I don’t like were this is going.

“I have a budew with me that’s around a level 4 or 5, so he’ll be a fair fight.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I—“

Watson bit my pant leg, refusing to let me leave. I’ll admit he nearly gave me a heart-attack when I noticed he was going for my leg.

“...you’re really intent on a battle, aren’t you?”

Watson nodded, stubbornly sitting in front of me. He clearly wants to battle, although why in the world he’d want to fight unnecessarily is beyond me. He could get injured, he could die, he could have his spear break and leave him stranded in the dead of winter with a dying fire and the shadows starting to creep in.

Okay maybe not that last one, but still! He wants to battle. As much as I don’t like it, it’s the least I can do for him as a thanks for helping me earlier.

“...alright, we can... do a battle.” I said, giving in. I’m already regretting this decision.

Watson barked with delight, and Gardenia grinned.

“Alright.” She said. “Get ready.”

——

Gardenia and I stood in the middle of the pathway, a fair distance from one another. Watson stood in front of me, tail waving in anticipation and excitement. He had a small grin on his face.

Gardenia grinned, flashing her teeth as she pulled out a pokeball and threw it at the ground. It opened up, releasing a small green Pokémon.

“Alright! Let’s do this Budew!”

The budew made a… noise… and then got into a fighting stance. Watson crouched down, ready to attack.

Wind blew across the path, kicking up a faint amount of dust and leaves. Gardenia was staring at me with a serious expression, looking me over like a predator. Then, she grinned.

I didn’t grin back.

“All right, we’ll go first!” She pointed at Watson. “Budew, use razor leaf!”

The Budew’s bud-thing glowed, and it fired a series of leaf-shaped projectiles at Watson.

A pang of fear hit the middle of my chest. I instinctively took a step back, reflexively raising an arm to block the projectiles.

Watson dodged, jumping up into the air and landing on his feet behind the Budew. Rather than attack immediately, he waited.

“Watson! Uh… use bite!” I shouted, hoping I’m doing this correctly.

Watson smiled before brandishing his fangs, which were now glowing a purple-black, and lunged at the Budew. I guess I am doing this right.

“Budew behind you!” Gardenia said, although she was still smiling. Is she glad her Pokémon is getting hurt?

Budew didn’t move in time. Watson sunk his fangs into the Budew’s side.

“Darn it!” Gardenia said, looking irritated. “Use stun spore! Get him off!”

Stun spore? That doesn’t sound very good.

The Budew created some sort of yellow power around itself, then flung a it at Watson with surprising speed. How does a cloud move that fast?!

“Watson! Get away—-!“

I spoke too late. The yellow cloud had already hit Watson in the face, although it didn’t seem to hurt him, oddly.

“...alright then. Watson, use tackle!”

Watson tried to move, but just froze in place, shaking. He winced, and a few sparks cracked around him.

“... he’s… paralyzed…?” I said, panicking.

“Yep!” Gardenia said, grinning. “Budew, use tackle!”

Budew charged at Watson, who still couldn’t move. He braced himself, closing his eyes.

I took a step forward. This is insane! He can’t move! He can’t even defend himself now! How can he be expected to survive?! Why does he want to do this so badly

“Watson!” I yelled, although I didn’t mean to sound that panicked. “Look out!”

His ears perked up. Sluggishly, he managed to force himself to side-step and avoid a head-on tackle, although he still clipped on the side.

“Good job Budew!” Gardenia said, grinning. “Now use razor-leaf!”

“Watson dodge it!” I yelled, taking another step forward.

Watson grinned and temporarily broke out of his paralysis, side-stepping around the projectiles. He stood still once he was done.

He’s waiting.

“Watson!” I said. “Maybe we shouldn’t…”

He looked back at me, a determined look on his face. He still wants to do this.

Why?

“...Okay.” I said. “Use tackle!”

Watson charged forward, running at the Budew without any hesitation or fear.

“Budew intercept it with tackle!”

Watson and budew slammed into each other, sending each other flying backwards and kicking up a cloud of dust.

The dust settled. Watson was still standing strong, although he looked a bit battered. The budew was laying in the dirt, out cold.

Did we win?

Watson was beaming, his tail waving. He turned around, giving me a huge grin. He… he enjoyed it. Loved it even, despite getting paralyzed.

“Hey! Look at that!” Gardenia said, returning her Pokémon to her Pokeball. “You won! I can’t give you the forest badge until you beat me in the gym though.”

“That’s alright.” I said, panting. Why am I so exhausted? Watson was the one fighting.

“Want me to heal him for you? That way you won’t have to go all the way back to the pokecenter.”

“Yes?” I said.

The pulled out some sort of spray and squirted some into Watson. He shook like a dog, and the bruises were gone, as well as the static powder that paralyzed him.

“Gotta love full restore.” Gardenia said, rubbing the top of Watson’s head affectionately. “Feel better?”

Watson nodded, grinning and nuzzling her hand in thanks.

“Thank you.” I said. “For healing him. That was very kind of you.”

“No problem!” She said, smiling. “You know, you did pretty well, even with a new Pokémon!”

“Really?”

“Yea! Oh, speaking of which.”

She shoved her hand into her pocket and pulled out some coins.

“Here ya go! For winning!”

She stuck out her hand. Tentatively, I accepted the strange-looking coins.

“Thank you.” I said, stuffing them into my pocket. “...so do you always pay the winner?”

“Yea.” She said. “There isn’t really a law about it, but it’s considered pretty rude not to if you have money, ya know?”

I nodded. It made sense if you think about it. It’s sort of like how you’re supposed to tip at a restaurant. Not a law, per say, but still expected.

She put her hands on her hips, grinning at me thoughtfully.

“Honestly, I look forward to seeing you in Eterna City!” She said. “There I’ll be able to use some stronger Pokémon.”

“...really?”

“Yea! Don’t worry, I have to use Pokémon around your level. All Gym leaders do. Although I’d recommend you bring more than one Pokémon with you, since I’ll be using three there.”

She thought for a moment.

“I’ll match the level of your Pokémon too!” She said. “The average level at least.”

She expects me to have another battle with her? Why? I’d ask but I feel like I’ve already tested my luck far too much today.

Wait how do I get more Pokémon?

“That is… nice.” I said.

Her grin faded. She looked me over with concern.

“You okay?” She asked.

“Hm? Why do you ask?” I said.

“You’re shaking like a leaf.”

I looked down at my hands. They’re trembling, despite not having a reason too. I closed my hands into tight fists, trying to force them to stop shaking so much. It didn’t work.

“...oh.” I said. “That’s… normal.”

Sadly, I’m not lying. These sorts of things happen whenever my sanity is beginning to suffer. Usually, this would be followed by Them beginning to creep up on me, but that shouldn’t be happening here.

Why is it happening here?

“Normal?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” She said again, stressing the last word.

“Yes. I’m—“ I swallowed a lump forming in my throat. “I’m just very tired is all.”

She doesn’t look like she believes me.

“Alright then. Guess you got a little worked up over the battle.” She said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Take care, and see you in Eterna city!”

I involuntarily flinched when she put her hand on my shoulder, a rather vivid memory of a hound’s maw in my peripheral vision accompanying it. Hopefully she didn’t notice.

“I’ll… see you then?” I said.

I have a headache now. A bad one. My vision is beginning to warp as well.

“See ya then!” She said.

She took her hand off of my shoulder and turned on her heel, heading further down the path, then taking a right into the forest.

Why did she walk into the forest?

“Wait!” I said, running after her. “Wait it’s dangerous is in there—-“

She’s gone. The trees had swallowed her whole.

Should I follow? I had to fight myself to not go after her. What if she gets lost? What if she never finds civilization again? What if she ends up like me? Who on earth just walks into the forest like that?! Is she insane?

My vision is starting to warp even more. Bile is beginning to rise up from the back of my throat, threatening to make me sick. I covered my mouth with my hand.

My head really hurts.

I sunk to the ground surrounding my campfire. Blood is streaming from a deep wound on my stomach. Every pulse of pain sent a wave of nausea through me, threatening to upheave my stomach and make me lose the dinner I had just nearly died for. Not that it was very filling anyway.

How could I be so stupid…?

Covering the wound with my arm, I looked around for something to stop the bleeding. Other than my shirt, there wasn’t anything nearby. I can’t go looking since it’s too dark, not that I could move much anyway. Anything beyond the aura of warmth is swamped in darkness that only beasts could see through.

I wish I had a meat effigy. While death would just plant me in a random spot on the constant(or the beach, in a couple of cases), I’d still be too from my base to ever find it again, and I’d be at square one in the middle of the night. I’d be torn apart again and again as the Gru inevitably finds me within seconds, somehow.

Something touched my arm.

I jerked my arm away, expecting something to be trying to bite or grab me or tear off my arm.

Instead, I saw Watson, who was trying to grab my attention by nudging my arm with his paw.

I’m still on the path near Twinleaf town. Not near my campfire, just here. Not there, here.

What on Earth was that all about? It felt like I had been temporarily teleported? Or dreaming? I don’t quite have the right words for it. Either way, it was unpleasant and jarring.

Did Gardenia really run into the forest, or was that part of… whatever that was? Did Watson see any of it? Maybe I can ignore it and it’ll go away. That works with some things, maybe it’ll work with this.

Watson was sitting in the dirt next to me as I continued to hold back vomit. He’s worried about me.

“Watson?” I said softly. “Do you think she’s going to be okay?”

Watson nodded, although he wasn't any less concerned. Actually, he seems even more concerned now, and is sniffing my arm.

I’m shaking. My entire body is shaking, despite how much I’m sweating. My head is pounding in my skull and my stomach hurts.

“We should probably keep going…” I said, standing up and taking a shaky step forward.

Watson followed behind me, most likely still looking at me with confusion and concern. That seems to be the most common way people look at me.

Ahead, I can see a few buildings peeking above the treeline. A town most likely, which is good. I need to refresh some supplies. Perhaps get a map of some sort so we’re not just wandering around blindly.

Hopefully the money Gardenia gave us would be enough to buy the supplies we need, because I have no idea how to determine the value of these coins. On the bright side, the coins do have a hole through the center of them, so I can put them on a string if my pockets prove to be useless.

Hopefully I can calm myself down enough to actually function in society.

-

The smell of salt filled the air. I can hear crashing waves nearby, just over the treeline.

I hate the ocean. Between the snakes and the sand getting everywhere, it’s a right pain to deal with, even if I wasn’t currently running on berries at the moment. Thankfully, this place doesn’t have any snakes.

I have a sinking feeling I’m very wrong about that statement.

The path we were traveling on led us to a small town, with a sign reading “Sandgem Town” greeting us as we walked into the clearing. Most of the town seemed pretty old-fashioned, having brick houses and wind-worn roofs, although there was a rather modern-looking pokemart nearby. Which is good, since we’ll be able to buy some supplies--

Watson froze, ears perked up. He tilted his head slightly, trying to catch an unheard sound over the ocean breeze sweeping through the forest and the chatting of a few people nearby.

“What’s wrong?” I said, freezing.

Watson’s ears are swiveling, trying to find the source of the noise. He squinted a bit, focusing.

“Do you hear something?” I said, trying to keep my voice low.

Watson nodded. He tilted his head towards the beach, where the sound was presumably coming from.

“...is it something bad?”

Watson nodded, a concerned look on his face. Guess we’re going to the beach after all.

Watson took the lead, running ahead as we traveled down south to the beach. The ground went from a dirt pathway littered with leaves to sand and small rocks as the trees parted, revealing a small beach surrounded by sharp rocks on all sides except forward. Small, broken shells lined the faint lines of sand like music notes, and the sea stretched out ahead of us. If I squint, I can see a faint landmass on the horizon, although I can’t tell how big it is from here.

I can see a few trainers out on the water ahead, easily avoiding the rather dangerous-looking jagged rocks.

Shadows shifted. Coils of a shadow serpent arched out of the water.

“Watson?” I said, panic edging my voice.

Watson looked up at me, ready for a fight.

“Get ready to— oh.”

I blinked, and now it’s gone. Maybe I was just imagining it. I was just imagining it. It’s happening again.

“Never mind.” I said, sighing.

Watson was looking at me, head tilted. I worried him for no reason it seems.

Still, hopefully whatever is wrong isn’t in the water. I don't know if I’d be comfortable going out into the water now, not that I was comfortable going out in the first place. Neither of us are very strong swimmers, and--

“COME ON!” A voice cried.

A man with a bushy white mustache wearing a lab coat was struggling with an expensive-looking fishing pole, trying to keep it from flying out of his hands. The reel was locked in place, and the string was beginning to fray. He had one foot firmly planted on a rock to keep him from being dragged out to sea, and the other dug into the sand for stability.

“Ah! You over there! Come here!” He said, looking relieved. “I didn’t think anyone would hear me all the way out here.”

His voice was loud, but firm and travels well across the somewhat open area we were in. I ran over, preparing to help him fight off whatever was attacking him, although I wish I had a weapon...

“Quick! Grab a Pokeball!” He said. “From my bag over here!”

His bag was next to the rock. Inside was a bunch of those capsules from earlier, although these seemed to be different colors and patterns than the simple red ones from earlier.

“Does it matter which one?” I asked, picking up a blue one.”

“Get one of the blue ones!” He said, straining. “And hurry!”

“I got one!”

“Great! I’ve been tiring this one out for hours, so it should be tired enough for me to catch it!”

“Wait, you're trying to catch this thing?!” I shouted back, although a bit louder than anticipated. “Are you insane?”

“I left my good pokemon at the lab!” He yelled back at me, looking annoyed.

“Do you at least have a plan?”

“Yes. I reel it up, you throw the pokeball.”

“Good plan.” I muttered, with the sarcasm being a bit more bitter than I had hoped.

The dark shadow of whatever was in the water was growing. Froth and sea foam bubbled up as it thrashed around, trying to escape capture. Trainers from further in the water turned back and stared,a few of them getting pokeballs ready. Whatever monster this is, it definitely isn’t happy.

Watson stood next to me, fur bristled and electricity sparking around him as he growled, ready to fight back if this went wrong for whatever reason. Well, I can actually think of a few ways this can go wrong. The rod breaking is one of them, although it’s holding up very well, strongly enough.

With a grunt, the man yanked on the fishing pole. The line snapped as the enormous, finned serpent with giant teeth and blue scales crash-landed on the beach in front of us. It lifted itself up off the ground, it’s fins flaring once it shook the sand off of it’s face.

“Dear God what is that?!” I said, taking a step back.

The creature roared, sending out a mild shockwave, blowing sand and leaves everywhere. Watson stood his ground, crouching down while I raised an arm in reflex.

“Throw it!” The man said, scrambling up from the sand.

I threw the pokeball like a baseball. The Pokeball sailed through the air and hit the Pokémon in the face. Splitting down the middle, the capsule engulfed the creature in red and sucked it inside, landing in the sand.

It shook once, then twice.

“Come on, come on…” the man said, watching with bated breath.

The capsule clicked and stopped moving, laying still in the sand. I suppose it worked.

The man let out a sigh of relief and walked over to pick the blue pokeball up. “I finally got one.”

Watson let out a sigh of relief as well, his fur re-flattening and the sparks stopping. He sat down in the sand, looking pretty pleased with himself.

“You’ve been trying to catch it for a while?” I asked, panting a bit.

“Yes!” He panted before regaining his breath. “For a few weeks now. Gyarados are pretty stubborn, that’s for sure.”

He brushed the sand off of his coat and cleared his throat.

“My name is Professor Rowan.” He said. “I study Pokémon, in case you didn’t already know.”

He stuck out his hand.

“My name is Wilson.” I said, shaking his hand.

“Wilson…” he mused. “Sounds familiar. Although it’s a pretty common name.”

He stuck the Pokeball into his pocket.

“I suppose I should repay you.” He said.

He grabbed his bag and rummaged around in it, looking for something.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to—“

“Here.” He said, shoving a couple of empty pokeballs into my hands. “You seem like you needed a few. Quiet the throwing arm you have there by the way. I didn’t expect you to be able to throw that far.”

I feel vaguely insulted, but I don’t feel like causing any sort of trouble.

“I kid.” He said, smiling.

A beat of silence filled the air uncomfortably.

“So…” I said. “You’re a professor?”

He nodded. “Yes. I study Pokémon here in Sinnoh. Specifically, I help keep track of the populations and general health of the wild Pokémon.”

“Is that why you were trying to capture a… Gyrados? Is that what you called it?”

He nodded.

“They’re pretty difficult to catch and monitor.” He said. “Not to mention they tend to be temperamental.”

He examined me with a critical eye.

“Hm… where are you heading?”

“I’m heading to the town that’s nearby.”

“Sandgem town?”

I nodded, hoping that was the actual name of the nearby town and not one across the ocean.

“My lab is there. You can walk back with me if you’d like.”

Company would be nice. While I’m glad Watson is with me, it’s still a bit lonely. Not that I’m a stranger to loneliness.

“Thank you.” I said.

-

The ocean’s behind us now as we head up the path to Sandgem town. Watson’s walking next to me with a small, satisfied grin on his face. Professor Rowan is on my other side, silent. He’s not the talkative sort I guess.

“So what happened to your arms?” He asked, breaking his silence. “And well, the rest of you.”

“Erm, it’s a bit of a long story.” I said.

“We have time.”

“...I had an incident with a giant bird.”

Watson’s ear twitched a bit, and his cheery smile faded. I guess he’s not a fan of the bird incident either.

“A Staraptor?” He asked.

“Yes?”

“They can be pretty territorial.” He said, although he doesn’t sound very convinced for some reason. “But that doesn’t explain the rest of it, unless you were foolish enough to mess with a Staraptor multiple times.”

Foolish doesn’t even begin to describe it. What do I even say? Do I say anything? Do I tell him the truth? Even Watson seems to be paying more attention now.

“I see.” He said, taking my silence as an answer. “I won’t bother you about it again.”

Thank God. I feel like I’m about to break. I don’t know how I would have managed if I had to explain everything. Actually I probably would have just lied.

Although, I am curious as to what conclusion he came to. Hopefully it isn’t too bad of one.

My stomach is in knots again, and my chest and throat feel tight. I can see the edges of my vision beginning to warp again. Why won’t They just leave me alone?

“Are you new to the region?” He asked.

“Yes!” I said. “Yes I am. Are you?”

“No. I’ve lived here a while. I did go to Kanto five years ago.”

“Kanto?”

He nodded. “Studied with Professor Oak for a while, then came back here.”

“I see.”

Watson was smiling again. A chill ran down my spine. Something dark passed by my peripheral vision, barley out of focus.

“...are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m alright.” I said, lying through my teeth. “I’m just… cold is all.”

“Ah. You must be from Alola.”

I nodded. Watson’s ear twitched, and his grin faded again.

Thankfully, we’re at the edge of the town now, passing by the wooden greeting sign for Sandgem Town. A small sign for a small-ish town.

“We’re here.” He said, looking around. “It was nice meeting you, Wilson.”

“It was nice meeting you too, Professor Rowan.”

Watson barked a goodbye as he left, heading towards somewhere unknown. Unfortunately, I’m still shaking. I don’t have a headache, thankfully, but it’s still troubling.

I wish I’d stop shaking in front of people. It’s getting a bit annoying, and isn’t helping me look less like a lunatic. I probably look more like a trembling chihuahua, which is embarrassing.

Why is this happening here? It shouldn’t be happening anymore! I escaped didn’t I?

I don’t know. I don’t know a lot of things, as annoying as it is. I don’t know where exactly I am, I don’t know where I should go, I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know exactly we’re I am.

I need to find a map. Now.

Watson was walking next to me as I headed to what looked like a shop. I wonder if he’s as lost as I am. Does he know where exactly we are? Or is this all new for him as well? I think is is.

The door to the shop slid open automatically! I didn’t even have to touch the handle. I’d stay and investigate but I’m already getting looks from the other customers.

Products such as packaged food and supplies lined the shelves of the fluorescent-lit shop. The store, despite how sleek and shiny it is, is surprisingly small, and there isn’t a whole lot in here. Pokeballs, some spray-potions, and food are all I can find in the shelves, as well as other things I can’t identify.

Well, there is some rope, which can be useful for building and navigation, but that’s about it. No tarp, no camping supplies, nothing.

Maybe the man at the front desk will be able to help?

“Excuse me?” I said, walking up to the man behind the counter. “Do you happen to sell tarps?”

“Tarps?” He asked, confused.

“Or tents?” I added. “The collapsible kind?”

“Oh! Here I have a tent back here.”

He put a blue tent that was bound by string onto the counter.

“Will this work? It’s a pretty small one, but its pretty sturdy!” He said, patting it proudly.

“That will work nicely, thank you.” I said, rummaging through my pocket and pulling out my coins. “Will this be enough?”

He counted the coins, then took a few of the larger ones, leaving the rest behind.

“Yep!” He said, throwing something into the device behind the counter.

“That’s good.” I said, mostly to myself.

He stopped typing and glanced down at Watson. “So you’re a traveling trainer?”

“Yes, I suppose you could call me that.”

“You new to Sinnoh? Where’d you come from?”

Quick, what other regions are there?

“A-Alola!” I said, shoving the rest of the coins into my pocket. “The Alola Region.”

“Really? I just got back from there!”

Oh no.

“Pretty hot there isn’t it?”

“Yes, it was.” I said. “It’s not too bad here though— oh?”

He handed me a small pamphlet. I opened it, and on the inside was a simple map of the Sinnoh Region, including the names of the cities, lakes, oceans, and routes nearby. Turns out, we were on route 209 earlier.

“A map!” I said. “Thank you! I was actually about to ask you for one.”

“Figured you need one.” He said with a smile, handing me the tent. “Here’s your tent by the way! Need anything else?”

“No, thank you very much!”

I folded the map back up and put it in my pocket.

“You sure?”

I nodded, shoving the tent into my backpack and closing it. Hopefully my backpack will stay intact for a little while longer.

“No, I think we’re good—“

Watson barked, heading back towards the shelves.

“What’s wrong Watson? Need something?”

Watson walked behind one of the shelves, his tail poking out into the aisle.

“...What’s he doing?”

“I honestly have no clue.”

Watson came back, dragging a rather large bag of dried fruit and nuts. He dropped it by my foot, sitting down and looking pretty pleased with himself.

“...Watson I don’t think I have enough money—“

My stomach growled before I could finish. Perhaps that’s why Inwas so nauseous earlier.

“...you know, earlier I counted your money, and you do have enough for the bag if you want it, even after the tent!”

“I do?”

That’s a relief. Problem is, we won’t have any afterwards, and I don’t want to end up completely broke.

On the other hand, it is food that won’t rot any time soon. While I will eat rotten food if I have to, I’d rather not have to eat it again. Besides, Watson will like it.

“Alright.” I said. “We’ll get it.”

I handed the clerk the rest of my money and put the bag of trail mix into my backpack.

“Thank you!” I said as we walked out.

Alright, so now we have shelter and food, but no money. That’s okay though, because we have a map now, so we won’t be wandering aimlessly anymore.

Unfortunately, now that I’m looking at the map closer, it’s not as helpful as I had hoped. It’s a basic map containing route and city names, but nothing else about the topography or geography of the area.

On a side note, the lake we visited is apparently called Lake Verity, which is a strange name for a lake, not that everything else so far has been normal.

It doesn’t matter. To the north of us is Jubilife city. Seems like a rather lovely name for a city, and it may or may not have something that can help me get home or, at the very least, have a bathroom I can get cleaned up in. We’ll have to follow route 202 north to get there though, which shouldn’t be too much of a distance to travel.

I really need a shower. I can feel the stench of sweat and dirt sticking to my skin like tape. It’s disgusting! I haven’t had a proper shower in… how long? It feels like years, but I doubt it’s been that long. It couldn’t have been that long. I wasn’t stuck there for that long.

Was I? I hope not, otherwise my home is going to look very different.

Watson nudged my calf, trying to push me forward. I suppose he wants to get moving as soon as possible, given the irritated, impatient look he’s giving me as he’s shoving his face into the back of my leg.

“All right, we’ll get going! No need to be so pushy!”

I headed towards the northern exit of Sandgem town, with Watson in tow. Very soon, we’ll be in Jubilife City. Maybe I’ll be able to find a way home there.

I hope I’ll find a way home.

Chapter Text

Route 202 is pretty short, which is good I suppose.

Aside from a few ledges and the usual treeline barracasing the sides of the path, there isn’t much here.

There are some taller grass patches however, and I’d rather avoid having to deal with the wild Pokémon. Unfortunately, the grass blocks the only easy path across.

I might be able to climb the ledges. They don’t seem too high, only about ten feet or so. Problem is, they’re pretty steep, and I’m not very good at climbing things. Not that I’ve had a lot of experience. The one time I climbed a tree it turned out to be a treeguard, which was… unpleasant. And splintery.

There’s also the problem of Watson. I doubt he can climb much better than I can, despite his claws that he may or may not have. I’ll have to find a way to carry him while keeping my hands free.

He could hold onto my back, if he has claws. Actually, no. The idea of claws digging into my shoulder and back is… unnerving, so that idea is out.

Maybe I could use my backpack! It’s held out for this long, so I’m sure a little extra weight won’t ruin it. I hope.

“Watson?” I said, taking off my backpack.

Watson perked up next to me.

“I have an idea. Climb into my backpack.”

He cocked his head. I kneeled down and opened the bag for him. He should have enough room, although the bag of trail mix and the tent will make it a right fit.

“Well? Get in!”

Watson flattened one ear, still a bit confused. He climbed into the backpack, his head poking out of the top.

“There we go!”

I put the backpack on, tying the broken straps together so it wouldn’t collapse while I’m climbing.

Digging my foot into the short ledge, I pushed up, digging my fingers into the dirt and roots that held the ledge together.

“You’re heavy!!” I grunted, pulling myself up.

Watson barked in response.

“At least we’re halfway up— GAH!”

My hand slipped, and I proceeded to slide down the cliff face and onto the ground, covered in even more dirt. Granted, we were only a few feet off the ground, but it’s still rather terrifying when you lose your grip.

“Okay so that… didn’t work. Maybe I can try again?”

Watson barked in protest, rubbing his head with his paw.

“Okay, you’re right. We’ll just walk.”

Watson jumped out of the bag and shook the dirt off of himself.

I should probably check my bag to make sure nothing was broken or missing before we leave. It would be terrible if it rained and the tent had a hole in it.

The tent and the bag of trail mix are fine. I still have some berries from earlier, as well as a few sticks and a pebble. Everything is accounted for, except for one thing:

The nightmare fuel.

I know it was in here earlier. I shoved some in here before I went to look for the Nightmare Throne, and I’m pretty sure it was here after I teleported, so then… where…?

Maybe I’m just missing it. The backpack is rather dark, thanks to the cliff and the position of the sun. Even then, shouldn’t I feel it? It has a rather cold, gelatinous texture, so I can’t mistake it for a smashed berry or tent fold.

I can’t find it. It’s not here. Where did it go? Did it simply vanish?

Was it even real to begin with? I wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind when I went looking for the throne. It’s possible it could have just been rot that I grabbed instead of the fuel.

Maybe it just… dissipated? It might not have been… compatible with this world? It wouldn’t be the strangest thing that happened…

Watson barked at me. At first, he looked irritated, then concerned.

“Watson? You didn’t happen to see any ni- er, any sort of dark shadowy blob, have you?”

Watson shook his head slowly, confused and more than a little worried.

“Okay. Thanks anyway.”

He hasn’t seen it either. Logically, the best place to look for it would be where I last saw it, but I don’t remember when or where that is.

Maybe we should just keep going and hope it turns up. God, I hope it turns up. I doubt it can do much here, but still.

I stood up, then followed the path around the cliff, entering the small puddle of tall, itchy grass.

“Why do Pokémon even like tall grass anyway?” I asked myself.

Watson’s tail was the only thing visible as he walked next to me, waving happily. The rest was hidden under the grass.

“Ah.” I said. “You can hide. That makes sense.”

It’s sort of like a non-wearable bush hat. Actually, a more apt comparison would be comparing Pokémon to the Gobblers, up to and including their apparent love for berries. Although, I don’t think Pokémon can be killed for drumsticks.

Do people eat Pokémon? I saw jerky at the pokemart earlier but I didn’t know if it was plant-based or meat-based. Not that it would matter too much, since I’m pretty sure that budew earlier was all plant matter.

Wait, if I killed a budew would I get leafy meat or would I get regular meat? Would it just be plant? Does it count as a vegetable if it walks? I’m pretty sure the mandrakes counted as a vegetable even if they are clearly somewhat sentient (and annoying).

Why am I thinking so much about food? I must be hungry.

Once we were out of the grass, I sat down under one of the trees and opened my backpack, pulling out the bag of trail mix.

“Are you hungry, Watson?”

Watson nodded, happily trotting over and sitting next to me under the shade. I scooped out a handful of trail mix for him and me, then set the bag down beside us, looking at the path.

Funnily enough, despite the fact that the path goes around the ledges, it’s still very short. I sort of wish that the path was more straightforward, but I can’t complain too much. It’s not that much of an inconvenience. Well, it is, but it’s better than traveling through the forest.

“Hey mister?” A voice said.

I jerked at the sudden noise. “What?! Oh, hello?”

It turned out to be a kid, around eight or nine years old if I had to guess, wearing a hat and carrying a bug net. I suppose he came from the city? Or possibly from Sandgem Town.

“Hi!” He said, grinning. “Cool Pokémon!”

“...thank you?” I said. “Is there… something you need?”

I know the kid’s probably just being nice, but it’s still weird and jarring. How did I not notice him walking up to me?

“Yea!” He said. “I wanna battle!”

“A… battle?” I asked.

I suppose we could use the money, although I don’t think I’ll take any money even if we do win. He is a kid after all. It just wouldn’t sit right with me.

“Yea!” He said enthusiastically. “I gotta train up my caterpi so he’ll evolve!”

“I suppose we could battle— Wait, evolve?”

“Yea! Into a metapod! I think. Or is it a Silcoon? Cascoon?”

“It’ll evolve?” I asked again, hoping to get an explanation without explicitly saying I don’t know.

“Once he’s a high enough level!”

Ah, so it’s related to the leveling system. I’m still it sure how to calculate it. Is it a set equation combining age and battle experience, or is it less concrete?

Will Watson evolve? He doesn’t… look like he would, although I didn’t think that pidgin would be a problem, so maybe I’m just bad at evaluating things like this.

“Alrighty then. I’ll help your caterpi level up a bit while we’re here.” I said, standing up.

“Yay!” The kid said, taking out a Pokeball. “And don’t go easy on me just because you’re a grown-up!”

I feel really old now, even though I’m only thirty. “I won’t.”

We took a few steps away from each other so we had enough room to battle. The kid let out a a Caterpi. It… looks like a caterpillar. A very large caterpillar, but a caterpillar nonetheless.

Watson stood in front of me, ready to battle. The Caterpi looked ready too, lowering itself down to the ground.

“All right!” The kid said, grinning. “Caterpi, use tackle!”

The Caterpi lunged at Watson.

“Watson! Dodge it and use bite!” I shouted.

Watson heard me and side-stepped, getting out of the way. He then bit down on the caterpi’s tail with a bit more precision than last time. He jumped back once he was done.

“Grr!” The kid growled. “Use tackle!”

With surprising speed, the caterpi lunged. Without prompting, Watson countered with his own tackle, colliding with the caterpi and sending them both backwards. I suppose it was a good thing that he decided to do that, since I would have been too late with a command.

“Okay, we gotta slow you down!” The kid said, widening his stance a bit. “Caterpi! Use strong shot!”

The caterpi reared back and shot a white string at Watson while he was recovering from the collision.

“Watson!” I yelled. “Look out!”

Watson looked up, then side-stepped the attack, grinning as the attack missed by a rather large margin. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the same reaction time. The sticky substance, rather than hit literally anything else, instead hit the dead-center of my face with a surprising amount of force, covering my nose and eyes.

“ACK!” I said, trying to get it off.

“Sorry!” The kid said, running over. “Time out guys!”

I can feel him tugging on the substance clinging to my face.

“I’m so sorry Mr!” He said. “caterpi didn’t mean to hit you.”

“It’s okay—“ I said, although I think my voice is muffled.

Something scraped my face. I think it was the kid’s finger nail or something. It doesn’t matter, whatever it was it sent a shiver down my spine. For a split second, all I felt was one of the shadow hands raking its claws across my cheek.

Using more force, I yanked the substance off, along with a few hair strands and possibly a large portion of my eyebrows.

“Whoa you’re strong!” The kid said.

I tossed the string shot aside, panting. “Thank you?”

The kid stood in front of me for a moment, in slight awe at my apparent strength.

“We don’t have to battle anymore.” He said. “We can call it a tie.”

“That would be okay with me.” I said, pulling a few stray strands off of my face.

Watson grumbled, none too pleased with the prospect of a tie. Despite that, the caterpi seemed okay with everything, if a bit disappointed.

“Watson, hush.” I said. “Do you give money if it’s a tie?”

“Nah.” He said, retiring his caterpi to it’s Pokeball. “You just kinda deal with it.”

I nodded, taking a step further down the path. “I suppose I should be going.“

“Thanks for the battle!” He said, smiling. “It was fun!”

Wait, before I forget—

“Have you…” I said. “Did you happen to see a… small shadowy blob of what looks like slime made of transparent tar?”

“...no.” He said, sounding a bit scared but also excited. “Is it a Pokémon? A ghost-type?”

“...no, it’s not.”

“Aww.”

He sounded so disappointed that it wasn’t a cool pokemon. I’m just glad Nightmare Fuel isn’t sentient.

I hope.

“Thanks anyway.” I said, taking my leave.

“Bye!”

“Goodbye.”

We continued down the path towards Jubilife City. Watson walked ahead of, looking a bit miffed.

“What’s wrong, Watson?” I asked, not really expecting an answer I could understand.

He barked, giving me an annoyed look as he walked.

“You’re mad about the battle aren’t you?”

He huffed, nodding.

“It was a tie, which I count as a win.”

He gave an irritated, almost scolding bark. I’m sort of glad I don’t know exactly what I was saying, since whatever he said was probably an insult.

“Watch your tone. The next battle won’t be a tie, I promise.”

He seems mostly satisfied with that answer, although I still don’t understand why he hates a tie. I understand he likes battling, but I’d assume he’d like a tie, since he technically didn’t lose. Unless he’s the sort of person who hates how unsatisfying a tie can be. That’s understandable.

Jubilife City is ahead. I can already see the skyscrapers towering above the treeline, although they seem like they should have been visible from further away. Maybe I just wasn’t paying attention. That or there’s some sort of veil over the city that only lets you see it when it’s close. Probably the former.

Either way, we’re here. “The City of Joy” as the map calls it. I could use some joy, even if it’s fleeting.

-

Jubilife City is… absolutely massive!

The endless sea of trees gave way to civilization. Advanced civilization.

Skyscrapers pierced the sky, lined with mirror-like windows. The roads were smoothly paved, and lined with very sophisticated-looking street lamps. Moving and flashing signs lined some of the wider buildings, displaying various ads for products, nearly of which all starting with “poké.” There also seems to be a few building that stand out amongst the grey, although I can’t see what they are from here.

There’s quite a few people and Pokémon going about their daily business as well. All of them walking at a brisk pace, determined to go wherever it is they’re going.

Where do we even start with this place? I haven’t seen a city this big since I visited New York a few years(?) ago. Even then the amount of noise and the sheer amount of people were staggering.

This place doesn’t seem quite as busy, but it’s close enough to bring up some nostalgia, even if I eventually decided to isolate myself in a cabin.

Maybe I should have stayed in New York. It was loud and obnoxious, and the people there were rude, but maybe if I had stayed none of this would have happened. I’d be home, tinkering on some project that would eventually cement myself in the scientific community as one of the greats. I’d be adored and loved worldwide, I would have changed the world for the better, and humankind would have been one step closer to a better future. I wouldn’t have been a joke anymore.

Yet, that didn’t happen. No glory, no better future, Just a radio. A radio, a deal with the devil, a cut hand, a world of nightmares…

I think I’ve failed already. Well, less of a failure and more of a squandered opportunity, which is worse. Couldn’t even overpower a telelocator staff correctly, although in my defense, I don’t think that was ever done before.

We’re blocking foot traffic just standing here in the middle of the sidewalk. We need to get moving before.

“...is there any place you’d like to go first?” I asked Watson.

Watson was still looking up at the buildings in awe, smiling a bit a bit as he watched and listened to the bustling city.

“...I suppose a hotel would be nice to find.”

That’s probably not what he would have said, but it’s not like I can understand him anyway. Besides, we really do need a place to sleep. We have a tent, but I doubt the city would appreciate us setting up a tent here. They might think we’re going to cause trouble.

Where do we even start? No building here looks like any sort of hotel I’ve ever been to. They’re all either some sort of Skyscraper, house, or some sort of colorful building. I suppose one of the skyscrapers could possibly be a very large hotel, but I doubt I’d be able to afford it.

Actually, we most likely won’t be able to afford anything. I still don’t know the exact value of any of these coins, but I doubt it’s much. I suppose I could battle someone and get some money that way, or risk losing what little I have…

“Watson?” I asked.

He perked up, taking his eyes off of a pigeon-looking pokemon on a wire nearby.

“Are you up for a… battle?” I asked.

He nodded enthusiastically, his face lighting up like that old lightbulb I found in my attic. I knew he’d be ready. He’s always ready. Now, we just have to find someone around that has pokemon and isn’t out of our league.

Problem is, I can’t tell what level Pokémon are. I could ask the trainer, but that feels like... cheating... for some reason. Actually, I can’t even tell if people have Pokémon or not. It would be pretty embarrassing to ask someone to battle and have them not have any Pokémon.

Is there a Gym here? I can try that to get some money and a badge, although finding a Gym in this maze of a city is going to be difficult.

Okay, I have a plan. I can pick a random person out of the crowd and hope for the best. It’s worked with a few of my projects in the past (and only half of them exploded!), so it should work here without too much trouble. Maybe not a completely random person, since I don’t want to bother someone on their way to work, but maybe someone just… sitting around?

There’s an old woman wearing white nearby. She’s sitting on a bench, with a large backpack on the ground next to her. The backpack looked a bit overstuffed, although I can’t tell what’s inside.

“Hello?” I asked, walking towards her. “Ma’am?”

She jumped a bit, then smiled.

“Hello there dearie.” She said sweetly. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Sorry to startle you.”

“It’s alright. Is there something you needed?”

I nodded. “Yes. Would you like to have a Pokémon battle?”

Her grin widened a bit. She stood up slowly, reaching into a hidden pocket on her shirt and pulled out a Pokeball.

“I suppose that’s a yes.”

I took a few steps back to give ourselves some room. A few people nearby looked up with interest.

Watson stood in front of me, ready to fight.

“Are you ready, Watson?” I asked, just to be sure.

He barked, his tail waving as he crouched a bit lower to the ground.

The old woman tossed out her pokeball, releasing a bipedal green Pokémon with blades for arms and wings coming out of its back. It’s probably a bug type, I think.

“June, are you ready?” The old lady asked,

The green Pokémon nodded confidently. It wasn’t smiling, growling, or really even in a fighting stance. It was just standing there calmly, waiting.

“Good.” She said, her smile widening a bit. “Let’s give them a good first impression, shall we?”

June nodded again.

“...I think an air slash would be a good start.” The woman said, nodding.

Air slash? That sounds like—

In a split second, June’s arm blades were suddenly inches from Watson’s face, glowing a light blue and surrounded by wind.

“Watson—!” I yelled.

It was too late. He didn’t even have time to blink before he was launched backwards, skidding to a stop in front of me.

“Are you okay?!” I said,

he got to his feet, looking dazed. He shook his head and got into a fighting stance again, ready.

“Alright then, try using bite!”

Watson’s teeth darkened and he dove at June.

“How about we try a little counter, June?”

June nodded, raising an arm in defense. Watson bit down on it, and was then swatted backwards by June’s non-bitten arm.

Watson landed in front of me, looking a bit battered.

“Watson?” I yelled. “Are you okay?”

Watson grumbled and stood up, shaking himself off and growling.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Try using tackle!”

Watson charged at June, who easily side-stepped him.

This is bad. I think this Pokémon is too above Watson’s level. Even if it isn’t, it’s far too fast for him to dodge or attack it.

How are we going to win?

“How about a cross-poison?” The old woman said calmly.

June nodded, then lunged at Watson with blinding speed.

“Watson! Side-step!” I yelled.

Watson side-stepped at the last second, just barely getting grazed by the blades.

“Hm. How about another air-slash?”

June turned on a dime, gathering wind for another attack.

“Watson! Dodge it and try bite!”

Watson side-stepped, then bit June’s leg.

“Yes!”

June didn’t seem too affected by the bite. In fact, all he did was shake a surprised-looking Watson off once the attack was over.

“Oh no.”

Watson’s confidence and cockiness faded from his face, being replaced with terror. I know that face all too well.

“Watson! Get ready to dodge!”

Watson stood his ground, getting ready to get out of whatever attack June does next.

“Hmm…” the old woman mused. “How about Night Slash?”

June’s blade turned dark, and it lunged at Watson.

He didn’t have any time to move. He probably didn’t even have any time to think before the blade collided with his face, launching him backwards. He landed on his side at my feet.

“...Watson?” I said.

No avail. He’s out cold, laying on the ground like a heap of bricks.

“That was a pretty good battle.” The old woman said. “Although I think June’s a little too high of a level for you.”

Watson’s out. Is he going to die? I don’t think so. What do I do now? I don’t have any of that healing spray! What do I do? How injured is he?

“I suppose so.” I said, handing over the rest of my change. I hope to God that she can’t tell how badly I’m shaking.

“Is he your only Pokémon?”

I swallowed, then nodded, scooping up Watson.

“You might want to take him to a pokecenter,” The old woman said, returning June to its Pokeball. “That way he’ll be freshened up.”

The pokecenter! That’s what they're for? Is there one around here? Where is it? Is it far?

“Don’t worry.” I said, feigning calmness. “I will.”

“You also might want to get a few more Pokémon.” She said, sitting back down on the bench. “At least two more.”

I nodded, then sprinted down the sidewalk, ignoring pretty much everything else, including the shifting shadows at the edges of my vision.

-

It took a while, but I found the pokecenter. Apparently, all you have to do is give them the Pokeball with the Pokémon in it, and they’ll heal your Pokémon for free. It’s pretty fast as well, only taking about a minute.

Unfortunately, Watson’s upset. Possibly upset about multiple things, including my incompetence as a trainer.

“What’s wrong, Watson?” I asked, getting more comfortable on the bench outside the Pokecenter while Watson paced in front of me. I know the answer already, but it feels rude not to ask.

Watson barked, looking angry. His tail waved in agitation.

“You’re upset we lost the battle, aren’t you?”

He nodded, glaring at me. I just sighed.

“I suppose I should have asked what level her Pokémon was.”

He didn’t seem too forgiving.

“...At least it wasn’t a tie?”

He looked completely done with my foolishness. He huffed, then laid down next to the bench, watching as the people and Pokémon of the city moved around like ants.

I should have asked what level her Pokémon were. I’m almost certain it was much higher, given how fast it was and how little damage Watson seemed to be doing. The fact he only knows two attacks doesn’t help either.

I wonder if there’s a way to get him to learn more? The old woman’s Pokémon knew at least four, so it’s possible. Perhaps that electric attack I saw a while ago could be Watson’s third attack? That would be a nice long-range attack to have, that way he won’t have to get too close.

Another Pokémon could help as well, that way Watson won’t have to do all of the fighting. I’m sure he would love too, but that’s not healthy. The body needs a rest every now and then.

My head is pounding. It’s been hurting mildly all day, but ever since Watson was knocked out it’s been bordering on unbearable. The tricks my eyes are playing on me aren’t helping much. At least, I hope this shifting shadows are just tricks.

I just realized I forgot to ask if she’d seen the nightmare fuel. I’m such an idiot! how could I have forgotten?! I suppose a feeling of helplessness will override any and all logic, won’t it?

I also gave her all of my money. I think I’m only supposed to give a portion, not all of it. Although, I wish I’d figured that out sooner, since now I definitely can’t afford a hotel. We’ll have to set up camp on a route, which won’t be fun.

“...we’re out of money—“ I said, sighing and rubbing my face with my hands.

Watson looked up at me, his face going from angry to worried.

“—Which means we won’t be able to stay here.”

Watson looks disappointed now. I can’t blame him; I wanted to see more of the city too, but we won’t be able to. Plus, the route from here to Fluoruma City is a very long one.

The sky Isn’t too dark yet, so we might be able to explore the city some more before we leave.

“We might be able to explore some more, if you want.”

Watson’s wars perked up a bit. He’s smiling again, nodding happily and standing up.

“Alright.” I said, getting up from the bench. “Let’s get going.”

Heading north would bring us closer to one of the exits of the city, as well as let us explore some more(and possibly find the nightmare fuel) so that’s the direction we headed. Hopefully, we’ll find something interesting for a change.

Hah, Change. That would be funnier if it wasn’t so inconvenient.

Chapter Text

I’m beginning to remember why I didn’t want to live in New York.

It’s the noise. So much noise.

As it turns out, by this time a lot of people are beginning to get out of work, so the streets are even more over-crowded now than they were before. You can’t walk five feet without nearly bumping into someone, and it’s starting to feel a touch claustrophobic. Plus, I’m getting weird looks from people. Most have the politeness to look away once I notice, but other just stare and whisper to none another as they walk by.

I suppose I should be thankful that, rather than the crushing isolation and constant danger of the constant (get it?), I’m now surrounded by a multitude of people. Rather than screaming and getting no response but the roar of whatever is attacking, you get… a response.

It’s not as comforting as it should be. These people are strangers. I don’t know them, they don’t know me. I’m stuck behind a film of animosity, and despite how polite and kind they seem to be, at the end of the day I’m still a stranger, to both the people and the world. Rather than being welcome, the noise is just an oppressive reminder of my own isolation.

I don’t understand. I got out of the constant, so I shouldn’t still feel this isolation. I’m free! It should be more liberating! Instead this unwavering, cold feeling in my chest persists. This… emptiness.

Maybe I was there too long. Maybe I broke somehow, and nothing will get better. Like I’m stuck.

Maybe things are getting worse, not better. Am I too far gone? If I get back home, will it be the same way? Do I even have anything I can go back to? No, I have to get home.

Maybe I never really left after all. The shadows are still here, so this might just be another area of the constant. That, or I’ve just gone completely insane.

I don’t know which one is worse.

Watson barked suddenly. I’d like to say I didn’t jump in surprise, but I did.

“What’s wrong Watson?” I asked, steadying myself and looking down.

Watson was tugging at my shoe, trying to drag me towards a building to our left. It looked a bit smaller than the other buildings, and quite a bit less modern. The windows revealed the insides, which were shelves lined with books.

“A library? A library!”

This is good. I’m sure the library (poke-brary?) will have something helpful inside. Knowledge? Guidance? At the very least, I can enjoy some reading time. Hopefully the books are in English.

Me and Watson walked through the door, although Watson didn’t seem as excited as he did earlier. Guess he thought the library was something else.

Inside of the quaint little building was a front desk, manned by a sleepy-looking teenager and a pink, sloth-like Pokémon. The poor kid had his head propped up on his elbow, trying desperately to stay awake.

“Hi.” He said, yawning. “Welcome to the Jubilife Library, looking for anything?”

“No.” I said. “We’re just browsing for now.”

He nodded, beginning to doze off. I tip-toes to the back of the library, searching for anything that might catch my eye.

Books lined the shelves like vines would line a poorly-maintained wall, leaving little room between them. They ranged in age from freshly printed to half-disintegrated, although there are only a few that are that bad.

They didn’t really seem to be organized by anything specific, other than types of course. Currently, I’m in the non-fiction section, which is good.

Watson grumbled, sitting next to a bookshelf and pouting.

“What’s wrong, Watson?” I asked.

He barked a rather loud response, clearly disappointed.

“Well, you wanted to come in here after all.”

He grumbled again. As much as I want to be offended that he wouldn’t like a place packed with knowledge, I understand that a library isn’t the best place for someone who can’t read.

Wait, can he read? I’d assume no, but assumptions don’t really lead to discoveries.

“You don’t happen to know how to read do you?”

He raised an eyebrow at me, confused, then shook his head.

“Ah, never mind.”

He can’t read. I mean, it would have been rather remarkable if he could read, since Pokemon usually can’t read. I think. It is honestly pretty hard to tell.

I don’t think Watson’s Interested in books anyway, given that he’s planted himself firmly at the end of the shelf, bored out of his mind, and clearly insisting that we leave for somewhere more exciting.

He’s going to have to wait.

I’m skipping books with titles such as Pokémon Adventures and Poke-Poffins(what on earth is a poffin? Isn’t that a bird?), since they won’t be very helpful right now. Although this one might be.

It’s titled Myths and Legends of the Sinnoh Region, and has an ancient-looking drawing of a quadrupedal Pokemon on the front. It sort of looked like a planet, given that it appears to have a ring orbiting its back, although that might just be an artistic choice.

The next page had a more colorful and realistic (I think), but still heavily stylized, picture of the Pokemon on the front. Apparently, it’s called “Arceus,” and is the creator of the Universe. The page also mentions a lesser-known Pokemon(“Mew”) that created, or at least helped create, the Pokémon themselves. An Interesting story for sure.

I flipped the page. Oddly, the next couple of pages are missing, having been torn out rather neatly. I’ve counted at least five pages of text missing, which is a shame. This is a pretty Interesting book; I’m not sure why anyone would deface it. It’s not even the rest of the book either (the next pages talk about “Darkrai” and “Cresselia”), just those pages. Interestingly, there’s a few indentions and pen marks on the other pages as well, like someone had used the pages as a writing desk.

I closed the book. Despite how Interesting it is, they’re just stories, and incomplete ones at that. Wonder if the person up front knows the book is damaged.

Watson let out a long, exaggerated, and loud grumble from the end of the shelf.

“Hush! This is a library!”

He grumbled, rolling over.

“I’m aware we’re the only ones here. It’s the principle! Have some respect!”

He stuck his tongue out,

“Rude.”

I grabbed another book. This one was non-fiction, and seemed to be a somewhat elementary book about the different types(if the cover was any indication). I suppose the basics are a place to start.

There’s a lot of types, all of which have their own strengths and weaknesses. Most type’s existence make some sense, such as plant and fire types, but others don’t. Dragon and fairy I can sort of understand. Perhaps there’s some primordial force driving those, but then there’s types like dark and ghost.

Ghost types in principle bother me. Are they dead Pokémon? Or is it just another type of energy? Are ghosts real here? When you die do you become a ghost Pokémon?

Maybe it’s just another energy. Even in a place as weird as this, ghosts aren’t real.

Dark types bother me too. For some reason, as I look at the example Pokémon for the types (Watson is a pure electric type apparently), I get a sense of unease. I know they’re definitely not related to… Them, but it’s still unnerving.

Unless they are somehow. Do They have any power here? They could affect my home world in small ways, such as driving people insane and taking over machinery, so it’s not out of the realm of possibility. Darkrai looks like it had a mishap with Nightmare fuel, so it’s possible dark type pokemon developed under the influence of Them. Although, they don’t seem as corrupted as the Fuel Weaver or the statues in the ruins were, so maybe they aren’t.

The Nightmare fuel is still missing! I can’t believe I managed to forget about it! I’m somewhat tempted to alert the authorities about the nightmare fuel, but I don’t want to sound insane, or be jailed for harboring an unknown substance and then losing it somehow.

Where could it have gone? It’s really beginning to bother me. It can’t move, so it’s not like it could have just walked away. Did something pick it up?

I closed the book and put it back up on the shelf. I think that’s enough for today. I’ve had enough of this library and it’s… unhelpfulness.

“Are you ready to get going?”

Watson perked up and walked over, nodding happily.

“Alright, lets go—“

something is touching my shoulder. Pain shot up my neck as claws dug into my shoulder, with no intention of letting go anytime soon.

I bit my lip to stop myself from screaming and whirled around. Problem is, there’s nothing there. Nothing, other than the teenager from the front desk, who’s staring at me, wide-eyed with slight terror plainly visible on his face.

“Sorry sir!” He said rather quietly. “I didn’t mean to—“

He glanced at my arm for a split second. Embarrassment is beginning to creep up the back of my neck. Why does everyone always stare at my arms?! Is it that noticeable? It’s just bandages!

“...You dropped this.” He muttered.

He tentatively held out his hand, which was holding my trainer card.

“Ah!” I said, taking it from his hand as gently as I could. “Thank you. Er, sorry to scare you. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“It’s okay.” He said. “Are you… looking for anything?”

I shook my head.

“I’m not. I was just about to leave, actually.”

The young man nodded and stepped aside to let me path through the slightly-too-narrow aisle.

That was strange. Not the teenager, he was fine, but my reaction. It’s been happening every now and then, that brief teleportation back to my world, sort of like a projection. That pain felt far too real for it to be in my imagination, even though it so clearly wasn’t real.

Speaking of pain, I’ll need to change the bandages later on. I’m not sure how often they need to be changed, but they’re covered in dirt from my little experiment with the cliff side earlier, so they’re probably in dire need of a cleaning.

I might be in dire need of a flower crown too. Shadows are beginning to follow me again, and my vision is warped. Is it the projection that causes it? Stress? How do I make it stop? I haven’t seen any green mushrooms around, not that I’d expect them to be here.

“Watson?” I asked. Maybe I can distract myself. “Where was it you were trying to lead me to earlier?

Watson barked and picked up speed, walking ahead of me eagerly. His tail waved as he scanned the shop windows next to us, trying to find something.

Suddenly, he made a sharp turn into a building, dragging me inside before I could even see what the sign on the window said. It doesn’t matter either way, as long as I can distract myself…

Actually, now that we’re inside and I can see the place, it might not be so bad. It’s well-furnished, with men and women bustling about in business attire. The floor was very clean (and over-waxed, if I do say so myself). So clean In fact, that I can vaguely see my reflection on the ground. I forgot I still have the bandage on my face.

What even is this place anyway? And why is Watson so attracted to this place? I feel a bit under-dressed, and my very existence is probably lowering the property value.

“Watson?” I asked, stepping aside for a woman walking by. She gave me a confused look. “Why did you drag me in here?”

Watson is sitting down in a sort of lounge area. The leather(?) seats were all pointed at a massive television that was somehow mounted on the wall. No, really. How on earth did they manage to get a television that big? And in color?! How did they manage to get color? The television back in my world had a small screen, and a big everything else.

Watson was still sitting in front of a couch, looking up at the TV in awe. I’d say he’s in awe of the size as well, but he’s probably more engrossed in the battle onscreen.

A woman with blond hair and black clothing is currently battling a young man with a red hat. Why and where exactly they are battling from isn’t evident, but it does seem like it’s outdoors. I can’t tell who’s winning either, although I’m fairly new to all of this so it might just be inexperience. For all I know the young man in the baseball hat is winning by a landslide.

They’re both using Pokémon I’ve never seen before either. One is an orange dragon with a flaming tail, and the other seems to be a bipedal blue shark-dragon. The orange dragon is definitely a fire type, most likely a dragon type as well. As for the shark one I can’t really tell. Dragon? Maybe.

“...Did you drag me in here just for the television?”

Watson didn’t answer. He’s staring, wide-eyed with awe, as the two high-level Pokémon battled each other with tooth and nail, a passion burning in their eyes as well as Watson’s.

As much as I would like to get going, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Watson this awe-struck before. I think I’ll just let him keep watching. Besides, I might be able to learn something from this as well.

“Good evening sir!” An excited voice said behind me.

“...Pardon?” I said. “Oh hello—“

A man excitedly shook my hand. Wait, is that Darin?

“Wilson! Watson! Didn’t think I’d see you two here! How’s the dynamic duo doing?”

“We’re doing alright.” I said. While his excitement is a bit much, it is nice to finally see a familiar face.

“You guys enjoying the Championship battle?”

“...Championship battle?”

He nodded, looking up at the screen and grinning.

“That’s Cynthia, Champion of the Sinnoh region.” He said. “Strongest trainer in the region.”

“Really?”

“Yep!”

They really do take Pokémon battles seriously here.

“I suppose that means she’s a very powerful trainer then.”

“She is! People who beat her go on to fight worldwide.”

“Worldwide?!”

Worldwide? Do they have worldwide championships?

He nodded, then got a bit of a twinkle in his eye. He turned towards us, looking at me and Watson over with a wondering look.

“Maybe you two will beat her someday!”

“I seriously doubt—“

Watson barked in protest.

Darin chuckled.“Don’t let yourself down! You never know what you’ll achieve!”

I nodded, although not in agreement. As much as Watson might want too, I doubt we’ll ever have the skills to face down the best trainer in the region. It’s too far-fetched. If Watson ever does get to fight her, it won’t be with me as a trainer.

Although...

“Maybe.” I said.

“Good to hear! So what brings you two to Poketech anyway? I take it you didn’t just come to watch the TV.”

“Watson sort of just dragged me in here.” I said, telling the full truths for once.

Darin let out a hearty laugh, getting a few glances from workers nearby.

“Watson’s a strong-willed Pokemon!” He said, grinning. “Speaking of wills, I have something for you!”

“A gift?”

He handed me a strap with a screen on it. A small screen. Actually I have no idea what this thing is.

“...what is it?” I asked. God I hope it’s not something stupidly common.

“It’s a watch!” He said, grinning.

“A watch?”

“Well, specifically it’s a Poketech watch. I bought two by mistake and they don’t do refunds since they’re the older models.”

This thing is a watch? I mean, it is displaying the time(I think), but I feel like there’s more to this than a simple watch.

“This is a watch?” I asked, trying to hide my disbelief.

“Yea. Look, I was too broke to buy the newer models okay!”

“That’s not—“

“Don’t worry! It still has a lot of the functions! If you press the button on the side, it’ll switch. There’s a nursery tracker, a tiny map and GPS—“

I pressed the button, and the screen changed from the watch function to a tiny map, with a blinking dot being my presumed location. It’s not too accurate however, and only shows that I’m in Jubilife City, not exactly where in the city.

“—And it’s waterproof and damage resistant!” He finished with a grin.

“Interesting.” I said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!”

I probably don’t sound as thankful as I am. Between the time and map functions, this is already proving to be very useful. Plus it’s waterproof.

Watson has climbed the back of the couch to get a better view. He barked, interested in the little gadget I have.

“So! Uh, have you been doing okay?”

Didn’t he already ask this?

“Yes?” I said. “Is there something that says I’m not?”

“Nono!” He said, a bit flustered. “I just wanted to make sure is all.”

“Alright.”

Something’s setting off his radar. Is it my face? I probably still look like a madman, and I do still have the bandages on my arms, and I’m still rather boney. Not that I expected anything to be any different, it’s only been a few days after all. I just wish it stopped coming up.

I glanced down at my watch.

“...is it really only five-thirty?” I asked, trying to shift the conversation.

“Oh, no your watch’s wrong. It’s actually nearly seven—“

“Seven?!”

I didn’t realize it was that late! We need to get going. I want to have the tent set up while there’s still light.

“Yep. Seven! You have somewhere to be?” He asked.

“Yes. We have to go now. Hope to see you soon!”

“Have a good night!” Darin said, waving at us.

Watson pouted as we speed-walked to the front doors, pushing them open and heading out. It’s already sunset!

“I’m sorry Watson but we had to go.” I said. “I don’t want to try and set up camp in the dark”

He huffed in annoyance, understanding but still not liking the situation.

Thankfully, we’re close to the northern exit of Jubilife City. Once we’re on the route we can set up camp.

Please don’t be dark by the time we get onto the route.

-

By the time I managed to set up the tent (no thanks to the useless instructions), it was getting too dark to do much else other than sit by the fire.

The tent actually turned out to be a sort of camping kit, including not only the tent and sleeping bag, but a few matches and a small pot and wooden prop stick for cooking small meals over the fire. It’s quite handy, although the only things I have to cook are some berries and nuts. I suppose I could make some jam or syrup if I needed too.

My stomach’s growling, making its emptiness rather apparent. I think I forgot to eat lunch.

“Watson? Are you hungry?” I said, taking the bag of trail mix out of my backpack. It’s still pretty full, thankfully.

Watson nodded, walking past the small fire and sitting next to me, smiling and eager.

I scooped out some trail mix for him and put it on a large leaf for him. I know he probably doesn’t mind eating off the ground, but still. It feels wrong to make him eat off the ground.

The fire made a sizzling noise.

“...Hm?”

Another sizzling noise. Something wet hit the top of my head.

“Oh, it’s raining.”

I put the fire out, and the two of us scrambled into the tent as it started to rain harder, the rain drumming against the sides of the tent. I zipped the flap shut.

“You didn’t get too wet did you?”

Watson shook his head.

“Good.”

I’m not too wet either. The tent doesn’t appear to have any leaks, so we should be dry as long as we stay in here.

Watson’s already curled up in a corner of the tent, trying to go to sleep. I suppose it would be agood idea to head to bed myself. It’s been a… long day for sure.

The sleeping bag’s fairly warm and surprisingly soft, smelling of plastic and fabric rather than beefalo fur. Which is nice. As comfy as a fur roll is, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get the smell of wet fur out of my nose.

Watson’s already asleep. I’m not sure how he fell asleep so fast, given the rain. I’ve heard some people find the sound of rain therapeutic, although I can’t say I agree. Between the threat of freezing to death in early spring and how slippery it makes everything, I can say it gives me a bit of anxiety to be honest.

Even before the Constant I was never a fan of rain. I’ve had more than a few machines ruined by water thanks to my leaky roof. Probably should have called a repairman rather than fix it myself, but it’s too late for that.

Hopefully it’s not raining tomorrow. We’re heading north, towards Floaroma Town. Maybe there I’ll find something that can get me home.

Chapter Text

Something’s chasing me.

I don’t know what, but something is definitely chasing me, and beginning to catch up alarmingly fast.

My torch is dim, and I can’t find my camp. Did my fire go out? I can’t see from here.

I can’t see anything, my torch went out. They’re catching up to me, feet clawing up the dirt behind me. Maybe, if I can find the herd of beefalo, I’ll be safe. I’ll be okay.

No, that won’t work. Beefalo only help against things they see. If this was a hound, tree guard or even the deerclops, I’d be able to get away.

But I can’t. It's not any of those. It’s too fast. I—

I’m on the ground, and I can’t move. Blood is leaking from my probably crushed foot and ankle. Claws grabbed my arms and legs and twisted me over, leaving me pinned to the ground, belly-up.

White eyes. Piercing white eyes with nothing behind them. No humanity, no soul, nothing. They peer out of the darkness like a warning light, the only sign of those shadow creatures. The only sign is those God-awful eyes.

They bore into your mind and soul and tear it apart from the inside out. That couple with their slightly incorporeal nature and cold physicality makes them impossible to fight off until they have you.

And by then, you’re too insane to fight back. Too defenseless, hungry, tired, or wounded.

Too broken.

I’m broken.

Unfortunately, they have me. I’m stuck, hopeless. I’d scream but there'd be no answer. There’s nobody else here but me. Not even Chester can help me out of this one. He’s back at the camp, safe from these… things.

Sharp pain spiked through my arms as their grip tightened. The eyes boring into my soul reared back a bit as more hands grabbed my limbs. If it was an animal, I’d see teeth.

It’s not an animal.

Suddenly, They lunged. Rather than go for the face or shoulder like they always do, They went for my stomach.

My shirt tore like ribbons, then my flesh.

-

A nightmare. That’s why I’m screaming. It was just a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

And yet, I’m sweating and shaking. Nausea is creeping up the back of my throat. I can’t breathe correctly, taking too shallow of breaths to really get any substantial amount of air. Am I choking? It feels like it.

I can’t stop shaking. My vision is still warped, and the nightmare is playing through my head like a broken record. It won’t go away.

Why won’t it go away? Has my own brain turned against me? Or is it Them, still keeping an iron grip on me.

I’m broken, like a toy train that’s lost a wheel.

My stomach hurts. Not just on the inside either, but on the outside. I know it was just a dream, but it’s still… haunting. Maybe I should check just in case.

I’m not wounded. Other than my belly button and a faint, relatively old scar going across my stomach(along with a few others), there’s nothing there, which is a relief. Although in hindsight, I’m not sure how I would have reacted if I actually was injured, since that would imply the nightmare was real and I’m jumping between worlds.

I think I’d scream, which is a… valid response in my opinion.

Something rubbed against my leg. Terror shot through me. What is it? Is it a hound? Is it Them?

No it’s not. It’s just Watson, who’s giving me a very concerned look. Shouldn’t he be asleep? Unless I woke him up with all the noise I’m waking. Yes, that’s probably what happened. Thankfully we’re in the middle of a forest right now, so he’s probably the only one I bothered, aside from maybe a few pokemon nearby.

“Hello Watson.” I said. “Sorry to wake you.”

He still looks worried, very worried. He got a bit closer to me and barked, possibly wanting an explanation or asking if I’m okay. How thoughtful, although there isn’t really much he can do to help, not that I really want his help.

“Hm?” I said. “No, I’m alright. I just had a… nightmare is all.”

Just a nightmare. It was just a nightmare. Why am I still shaking? Stop it. He’s still looking at you funny Stop it!

Watson Isn’t convinced. I shouldn’t be surprised, since Watson’s more perceptive than someone might think. I think it’s his ears that make him so perceptive. Maybe his eyes? Or it’s the fact that I’m still shaking.

I wonder if telling him would help? I doubt it. Then he’d think (know, he’d know) that I’m insane and broken. What do children do with broken toys? They certainly don’t keep them that’s for sure.

I’m broken.

He’s not convinced that I’m okay. Maybe petting him would help? It can’t hurt, at least. It’ll provide him some comfort.

“I’m alright Watson, you can go back to sleep.” I said, using a shaky hand to pet the top of his head.

Watson accepted the petting, then curled up next to me, much closer than he was before. That’s a bit strange, normally he likes to keep some distance while he sleeps(I think he gets too warm thanks to his fur). I’m not complaining. It’s a bit nice to know he cares, even if it’s just a little bit.

He reminds me of Chester, if Chester had a bit more brains and a smaller stomach.

Rain it still pounding against the tent, a bit harder than I remember it being earlier. Hopefully by morning it’ll clear up. I’d rather not have to walk around in the rain.

-

Wet. Everything is wet. Everything looks wet, smells wet, probably tastes wet. All I can smell is… wet.

At least it’s not raining or cold, otherwise the mud puddle I just stepped in would be even more insufferable. My shoes are definitely not impermeable to water.

Oddly, I can smell something else in the distance. I can’t quite describe it(and honestly it just might be how wet everything is), but it seems almost... floral? Maybe it’s a flower patch or something nearby. Or a Pokémon? I’m sure there are Pokémon that smell nice. Not that I’ve met any that smell particularly bad; All of them just smell faintly like an animal. Including Watson.

I probably smell garbage. At the very least, I smell like sweat and blood and desperation. Not a very appealing combo, if my nose is any indication. I can only imagine how bad it is for other people.Maybe I should try to clean myself off in a pond or something nearby.

Maybe I shouldn’t. With my luck somebody would see me, and either be horrified or laugh. I’ll have to wait for a proper shower, or a more secluded area away from the routes at least.

Speaking of cleaning, I do need to check my bandages. I keep forgetting to do that.

“Do you mind if we stop here?” I asked.

Watson shook his head. I sat down near a tree and pulled out the medical kit (poke-medi-kit?)

My arms have healed, thankfully. The wounds from the bird didn’t even leave any noticeable scars, although the ones from the throne remain. These are going to be difficult to hide…

Ah, I forgot about this one. It runs across my left palm, going from the base of the thumb and ending at the base of the pinky. It’s thinner and less jagged than the others, caused not by the claw of an animal or Them, but by a well-honed knife. That one’s self-inflicted.

Watson’s staring at my un-bandaged arms, a bit wide-eyed with either horror or awe. I'm going to assume horror.

“They’re healed.” I said, trying to ease him a bit.

It didn’t work. He still seemed just as concerned, possibly even more so. It is honestly a bit embarrassing.

I wish they were easier to hide, since I doubt people get any good ideas from looking at them. The ones on my legs and torso can be hidden by pants and shirts respectively, and I actually only have one on my face. But my arms are rather visible, and short of making myself uncomfortable with a long-sleeve shirt, there isn’t much I can do.

I suppose I could re-wrap them in bandages, since those are easier to explain away than visible scars. It will work as a temporary solution, until I can find another way. Yes, that’s a good idea.

There, done. Once we get to Floaroma town, I’ll find a better solution. Problem is, that solution might need money, of which we currently have… none. We’re broke.

I’m sure there’s someone on the route that can battle right? There’s always someone to battle. I’m sure Watson would love to get some fighting in…

What if they’re not our level? I’d rather not repeat our battle from earlier. Actually just the thought of battling is making me a little queasy. God I hope they’re Watson’s Level.

We should probably get going. The route isn’t too long, but I still don’t want to be too far from civilization by the time night comes.

-

What level is Watson anyway? I still can’t tell accurately. He’s gotten a bit stronger since I’ve been with him, I think. Surely that means he’s gone up a level right? Maybe even multiple. Perhaps I should have taken greater advantage of the library in Jubilife...

“Watson?” I said. “You don’t happen to know what level you are, do you?”

Watson shook his head, looking at me like I’m an idiot. An all-too familiar look from him.

“You don’t have to look at me like that.”

He doesn’t know either. I suppose it’s not really a Pokémon’s job to keep track of their levels. From their point of view they just get stronger.

I still don’t know enough. There’s clearly something big I’m missing about this whole Pokémon thing. Problem is, I’m in that awkward phase where I know so little I don’t even know what questions I should ask. Honestly, I’m surprised Watson’s even still here. I’d expect him to just leave in the middle of the night to find a better trainer.

But he didn’t. He stayed, and as far as I can tell, plans to stay a little longer. I wonder why. Surely he could find a better trainer? Or live in the wild?

Actually, why do Pokémon seem so inclined to stay with people? They don’t seem forced too. I see them working alongside people as though they’re good friends, although the trainer is still the one making all of the decisions. Seems pretty one-sided to be honest. The people get labor and a way to make money, but what do the Pokémon get out of it? Battles? It can’t just be battles, can it?

If it is just the battles, then I’m an even worse trainer than I thought before. I don’t like the Pokémon battles all that much. They’re noisy, destructive, and dangerous. I can’t understand why people would willingly harm their Pokémon for enjoyment. If the Pokémon didn’t enjoy it, I’d refuse to battle at all.

Maybe it’s not a problem with the battles itself. Maybe it’s just me.

It’s probably just me. I’m not a huge fan of unnecessary violence and bloodshed, so this whole thing of legalized dogfight seems like a nightmare for everyone involved.

There has to be other ways to make money. Not everybody can be a trainer, the supply would be too high for the demand, and that would cause an over-saturation of trainers in the market, which would lower the value, which would lower how many people do it. if that’s true, then what else can I do?

I could set up some sort of shop? Not that I have anything to sell, nor do I plan on staying in one area for too long(I get anxious if I stay in one place too long), so that’s out.

Maybe I could catch Pokémon for a price? I… don’t know how to catch Pokémon. That’s out as well.

I suppose being a trainer is my only option. I’m either too inexperienced or too nomadic for anything else. It’s not very ideal, but I suppose you do what you have to do to survive.

The floral smell is getting stronger. I suppose that means we’re going in the right direction, since the pamphlet did mention there are a large amount of flowers around the town. I suppose they’re a fan of gardening. Never could get into it myself. At least, not until I had to.

I’m shaking again. I didn’t realize I’d stopped, but I’ve started again. I need to stop before we get somewhere with people that start to worry or look at me weird.

Stop shaking. Just stop it! It shouldn’t be this difficult! I’m not even cold!

This is embarrassing. I still can’t figure out what is wrong with me. Every time I think of the constant I start shaking. Why?! Are They still trying to get a grip? Is it the missing nightmare fuel having a weird reaction to new surroundings? How do I stop? How did I stop before?

I got distracted. That’s what happened. I need to distract myself. Then it’ll stop.

Flowers. The floral smell in the distance. It’s stronger now, maybe I can focus on that? What species are they? Roses? They don’t smell like roses.

Do roses even exist here?, I hope not. I hate roses. They’re prickly and uncomfortable and smell like the Gru.

My chest is tight, and I’m still shaking. My entire body feels like a coiled spring, ready to explode.

“Watson?” I said, my voice sounding far shakier than I thought it would. “Hold on.”

Watson had apparently already stopped by the time I said that. He was sitting in front of me, brow knitted in worry.

“Just give me a minute alright?”

Watson nodded.

I might need more than a minute. Everything is spinning, and my vision is getting warped and shaky again again. My ears are ringing, my chest is tightening like a knot.

“Just a minute—“

A minute. It feels like hours have passed already. I’m getting worse. Nauseous. Why won’t it stop?

No, we can’t stop. We’re burning daylight, and I don’t know how far we are. We could have anywhere between a few meters to a few miles and I wouldn’t be able to tell. I’m not going to set up a tent again. Not this far.

We need to keep going. We will keep going.

“Okay, Let’s get going.”

I forced myself to move. Watson followed next to me, glancing at me now and then out of worry.

Keep going. Don’t stop. Get to your destination before you get attacked by something. Ignore the shadow creatures stalking, ignore your shortness of breath and your chest. Ignore it! Keep going!

That floral smell is getting pretty noticeable. It’s not potent or overpowering like perfume would be, just very noticeable through the smell of wet.

There’s a bright light ahead. I suppose the endless barrage of trees is coming again.

The trees parted, revealing a sea of flowers. Wild flowers cascaded over the hills, covering every inch with either soft green grass or a small flower. The sky had a few white, puffy clouds that held no ill, but there was no sign of the rain. Just the warm glow of the sun on my face.

“Oh wow…”

Watson seems pretty awe-struck too, staring out into the flowers with wonder.

Thankfully, there’s a path that cuts through the flowers, so we won’t trample any of the flowers. There’s also a collection of houses up ahead, which is Fluorma town according to the map. We’re here.

Despite its similarity to the flower fields of he constant, I feel strangely at ease here. Maybe it’s the abundance of flowers (there’s a lot here), Maybe it’s how soft the grass is compared to how scraggly the grass was in the constant, maybe it’s the lack of bees.

It’s probably the lack of bees. Those were annoying to say the least. Wonder if they have honey here, or if they lack the bees that make it.

I’ll admit, I’m tempted to lay down in the grass and just watch the clouds. Maybe make a flower garland for Watson. Does he like garlands? Maybe.

Unfortunately, we do need to get to the town. It’s a small one, having about a dozen houses, a pokemart, a flower shop(of course), and a larger building that I couldn’t recognize. There’s also a few paths that lead out into the sea of flowers, some ending randomly, others looping back like a nature trail.

There’s also a Pokecenter. There seems to be one in every town, even small ones like this. Maybe it’s a law or something of that nature.

One larger wider path leads to some sort of factory in the near distance, although why they would put a factory in a place like this is a mystery.

Watson seems interested in it though, probably because of its connection with electricity. We’ll go see exactly what it is later on. For now we have to find a way to make some money so we don’t have to live off of berries. I’d prefer not to battle, but if we have to…

I suppose this large building would be as good of a place to start as any. I just hope it isn’t a gym, although it doesn’t really look like one. The Gyms I’ve seen usually have a large symbol that looks like a Pokeball in a lightning bolt on the front, while this one doesn’t. It’s just as colorful as a gym though, having the outer walls painted a pinkish color certainly makes it stand out.

The inside is just as colorful. There’s a few waiting chairs scattered about. Posters of Pokémon wearing various clothing lined the walls, along with their trainers. This place definitely isn’t a gym.

We walked up to the counter.

“Hello!” The woman behind the counter said. “Do you need something?”

“Yes.” I said. “What… is this place exactly?”

Watson sat at my feet, not looking too sure about this place.

“This is the Contest Hall of Fluorma Town!” She said cheerily. “I know it’s a bit smaller than the one in Jubilife…”

“I didn’t know there was one in Jubilife.” I said, more to myself than to her.

“Really? It’s a pretty big deal there.” She said, giving me a questioning, so what judgmental look.

“Well I—“ I scratched the back of my neck. “I’m new to this region.”

“Oh! That makes sense.”

She types something on her flat typewriter thing and then looked back at me.

“So! Would you like to buy a ticket?” She chirped.

“No thank you.” I said. “I can’t really afford a ticket right now.”

“Well then, would you like to compete?”

Compete? In what? A contest? This is a contest hall after all.

“In a contest?”

She nodded. “There’s a cash prize too!”

That we need. This might be worth the investment. Although, wlWatson’s giving me an irritated look.

“I’m not so sure…” I said. “It depends on what you have to do during the contest.”

“You put on some clothing and you go on stage to perform a Pokémon move to wow the judges!”

That sounds… a bit boring actually. Plus I don’t have any clothing other than what I’m wearing, and I doubt that would “wow” anyone. Also, Watson is giving me a death glare.

“Ah.” I said. “I don’t think this is for us then.”

“Don’t be silly!” She grinned. “With that hair of yours I’m sure you’ll do great! You just need to get cleaned up is all and—“

Her smile faltered a bit.

“...I’d suggest long sleeves.”

My face is burning.

“Never mind.” I said curtly. “Thank you for your time.”

“Have a nice day!” She said.

“You too.”

Watson followed me out the door. At the very least, he seems very happy that he didn’t have to do a contest.

What a waste of time. An utter disappointment. An absolute waste of valuable daylight time.

Are my arms really that noticeable? Is that the first thing people see when they see me?! My arms? Are they that noticeable, that out of the ordinary, that bad that it’s the first thing people know about me? That I was an idiot and decided (had to in some cases) fight something I was woefully unequipped to handle? Why do they always seem so sorry about it anyway? What goes through their mind where they would feel sorry for me rather than large at my stupidity—

Oh.

Looking at them now, I can see how… a large portion of them could be mistaken for… not-animal. That would explain why they seem a bit awkward once they notice them. They probably think I… made them myself. Funnily enough, they’re not entirely wrong. I made the one on my palm after all.

Actually, depending on how exactly They work, it could be argued at least a quarter of the rest are self-inflicted as well, what with how the shadows creatures feed off of your own mental instability, and may just be projections from your own mind, and by extension you. Which is very unsettling.

I need to hide them with something other than bandages, now. Problem is, I don’t have anything else. I threw away my old clothing, so I can’t fashion anything out of those, and I sort of need the clothing I’m wearing.

Maybe I can go through the garbage cans? I’m sure they have something useful in them. Although I really want to keep my dignity.

Watson barked, grabbing my attention.

“What’s wrong Watson? Are you getting bored?”

He walked back towards the contest hall.

“Watson? I’m not doing a contest. Plus I don’t think you—“

Rather than go towards the door, he went towards the back, disappearing behind a corner.

“—Oh?”

I gave a quick glance around me, then followed.

“Watson? We’re not stealing any clothing from the people inside if that’s where you’re trying to lead me.”

He gave me a cheeky grin. That is a very helpful answer isn’t it?

Turns out, he’d somehow managed to find a small suitcase behind the hall, near the gravel cans. I suppose someone meant to throw it away, but didn’t get a chance to. Or they were too lazy to get it into the garbage.

“...How did you even know this was back here?”

Watson grinned, which was expected. He can’t talk after all.

The small, abandoned suitcase is full of clothing. Most of it was either torn or… not my taste (polka-dots are obnoxious), but there were some gloves. Long, fingerless black gloves that, when worn, would cover my arms almost completely. They’re pretty comfortable too, although I’ve only worn them for a few seconds.

“Thank you, Watson.” I said, patting his head. He’s beaming, his chest puffed up a bit in satisfaction.

These are perfect! They’re comfortable, they cover everything, and don’t restrict me at all! Only thing is they stand out a bit with my white shirt, but who cares!

How did he even know these were back here? Has he been here before? He might have been. After all, he had a life before me. I’m sure he went on all sorts of adventures.

Wonder what happened to his previous trainer. I found Watson’s Poke-capsule in the middle of the forest, so it’s possible his previous trainer may have either lost him or abandoned him, which is pretty heartbreaking if you think about it for more than two seconds. No wonder he freaked out when I first let him out. Why would somebody just abandon a pokemon like that?

I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I can’t really ask his old trainer why, and asking Watson will probably just sour his good mood and bring up some bad memories. I’m not going to subject him to that for the sake of knowledge.

“Watson?” I asked. “Would you like to go take a look at the factory?”

He nodded eagerly.

I doubt we’ll be able to get into the factory, but taking a look couldn’t hurt too much.

-

Turns out, it’s not a factory. It’s an electrical plant. At least, that’s what the guy at the door said when I asked.

Specifically, it’s a wind-powered electrical plant. It’s quite the modern marvel, somehow managing to turn wind into usable electricity. I wish I’d figured out how to generate electricity in the constant. Oh the things I could have built had I had access to electricity.

Unfortunately, we’re not allowed inside. They do have visitation hours, but they’re earlier in the morning. Plus, electric-type Pokémon aren’t allowed inside if they’re outside their pokeballs.

I suppose we should be heading back. Thankfully, because the energy plant Is technically on a route, I’ll be able to set up the tent here for the night. It’ll be a nice view, what with the flowers and the large windmill—

Hold on. There’s something… purple up there by the windmill. Is it a balloon? It sort of looks like one. It’s caught near the blades of the windmill.

“...what is that?” I asked, shielding my eyes with my hand.

“That’s a drifloon.” The man near the entrance said. “It must’ve gotten tangled in the motor. It happens pretty often.”

“...That’s a Pokemon?!” I asked. Is the ground a pokemon too? Why is every seemingly inanimate object a potential pokemon?

“Yea.” He said. “Kinda sad too, since we can’t really get it down.”

Wait, what? “Why not?!”

“The turbines don’t really have an off switch. Well they do, but I don’t have permission to access the area to make it lock up.”

“What if it gets injured?”

He just shrugged, giving me a sad but unsympathetic look. The absolute nerve of this guy.

“Nothing we can do—“

The drifloon looks so scared. I doubt getting hit by the turbine blades will be survivable by something that small.

“—Unless you want to try and climb up there.”

There’s a ladder that leads up to the motor, possibly for maintenance. Sort of like how they have ladders for power lines, so It’s not like I can’t climb up there.

“Hey don’t climb that!” He yelled from the ground. “You can’t do that!”

“Yes I can!” I shouted back. I’m already halfway up the ladder, so there’s no point in turning back now. Even if the ground is very far below me. Even if the dizzying height is beginning to make me queasy. Even if a single slip or strong gust of wind could send me plummeting to the ground.

I suppose now would be a bad time to realize I have a fear of heights. Not that it’s going to stop me— I have a lot of fears, so one more isn’t going to hurt much.

The flowers look like stars from all the way up here. Watson’s staring up at me, his tail waving. The man’s still yelling and half-speaking into a phone, probably calling for the help he should have called earlier. The wind makes it impossible to hear exactly what he’s saying though, so he could just be talking to the police.

The drifloon can see me coming up. It looks a bit less panicked now, although the motor is still dragging one of its strings (arms? Are they a part of its body?) deeper into the turbine. I need to be fast.

“Hey.” I said. “Hello, I’m Wilson. I’m here to help okay? So don’t shoot me with anything okay?”

The drifloon nodded.

“Okay, let's do this.”

The flowers below me formed a wave as a gust of wind blew across the ground. I gripped the top of the ladder as tightly as I could as a much stronger gust of wind nearly blew me off.

That was close. Good thing I was holding the ladder. Problem is, the ladder isn’t close enough to the drifloon for me to grab it.

I stepped onto the top of the windmill. The blades of the windmill intermittently blocked out the sun and cast giant shadows on the motor.

Closer. I have to get closer.

I wrapped my arms around the Drifloon, which sent a shudder up my spine. The drifloon doesn’t feel like rubber. It feels like… something else.

It sort of feels like nightmare fuel, although less nightmare-inducing.

Okay, so I’ve wrapped my arms around the drifloon, so now what? Do I pull? If the string is part of its body I doubt that would be a good idea. Maybe I can untangle it?

Still keeping one arm wrapped around the drifloon, I knelt down to get a better look at the motors, the blades occasionally brushing against my hair. The driftloon’s string is wrapped around several axles and pinched between all manner of gears and rods.

That’s not good. That’s not good at all.

“Okay, lets see here.” I said. “Maybe I can…”

I can’t even see the end of the string! How tangled is it? This is a nightmare, there’s no way I’ll be able to untangle this poor drifloon’s string. Worse still, as everything is turning, it’s feeding more of the strings deeper into the motor, meaning the longer I wait the more pain and suffering this thing is going to have to go through.

Maybe it would be best to simply cut it? It’s going to get torn either way, so at least cutting it would cause less pain and heal cleaner. Maybe. Hopefully.

“Okay, I’m going to have to cut the string.”

The drifloon made a sound of protest.

“I know, it’s not ideal, but it will be better than you getting pulled in, or it getting torn.”

I might have some flint in my pocket that I can cut things with— nope. Maybe it’s in my backpack, which is currently sitting at the bottom of the windmill. Maybe I can use something else—

The flowers are moving again. This time more violently. Wind tore across the flower field below like an invisible tsunami, which means—

Oh no.

I wrapped my arms around the drifloon. Maybe if I hold on tight enough, I can stay on and figure out how to get us both out of this. Maybe I can hold on just a little longer.

The wind hit me like a blizzard. The drifloon’s string was torn, and we both tumbled.

I can’t get a grip on the windmill. The smooth, glossy surface housing the motor has nothing to grab onto, and my shoes’s soles are far too worn out to give me any grip. I’m going to fall--

Airborn. I’m airborne! The drifloon is, of course, floating above me, it’s torn string curling like a cut ribbon. It’s trying to reach out for me, but it can’t float down as fast as I’m falling. Although, I don’t think it would be able to carry me anyway. It seems too small.

I failed. Not only am I falling to my death right now, but I failed. The poor drifloon will have to live the rest of its life with one less string, thanks to my inability to do anything—

-

Everything hurts. Everything.

I can’t move very much. What happened? Where even am I? I can’t really see well; everything’s so blurry and fuzzy. Is that Watson? A person.

No. No, it’s not. Those blurry figures aren’t people. They’re humanoid-shaped, but not people. They’re the shadow creatures. They’re wrapping their tendrils around me.

Screaming won’t help, so stop it. It only makes them stronger. I need to move. It hurts so much, but I need to move. I can’t just— I need to move!

My arms won’t work. Something is pulling them down. My legs too. They probably tied me up. They’re probably going to put me back on the throne.

No. I’m not going back. No matter how much it hurts. Not without a fight.

“Let go!” I yelled, although my voice was too raspy and weak to really have any effect.

I’m not going back to the throne. No. No, no, no please God no! Please let me g—

Was that a bark? It wasn’t a hound’s. Chester?

No, I can see blue.

Watson?

“Watson?” I said, trying to clear my vision.

Another bark, this one sounding closer. I think it is Watson, unless the shadows are playing tricks on me again.

Wait, if he’s here and I’m not in the Constant, where am I? All I can see is white—

“Sir? Can you hear me?” A voice said. It sounds so far away.

“Yes.” I said. “Hello? Where am… where am I?”

“Fluorma Pokecenter.” The voice said. “You’re going to be okay.”

Pokecenter? How’d I get here? Wait, I’m going to be okay? That’s good…

“Oh.” I said. “Why can’t I move?”

“He has some broken bones and a concussion, but he should be healed up in a week or so.”

They didn’t answer me. Why didn’t they answer me? And a week? I’ll be stuck here a week? Why can’t I move?

My chest is tight again. I can’t move. I can’t really even breathe properly, and this time I can’t stop it.

Maybe I really was captured again and out back on the throne, stuck in this… dream. I don’t want to be on the throne. I want to be able to move, but they’re holding me down.

I gritted my teeth. I can’t move my limbs! God, I can’t do anything—

Something warm curled up next to my side. Is it Chester? No, Chester is brown and smells worse. This thing is mostly blue.

“Watson?” I asked.

He didn’t respond, but he doesn’t have to. I feel a whole lot safer now, even if I still can’t move or tell where I am. Maybe I should go back to sleep and clear my head.

Yes, I’ll do that.

Chapter Text

I hear beeping. Steady, high-pitched beeping that quickened it’s pace ever so slightly when I shifted.

Something warm and fuzzy is curled up next to me, keeping my side warm. The feeling of fur tells me that it’s probably Watson curled up next to me. I’m glad he’s here rather than somewhere else, but he’s sleeping on my arm. That’s okay though. I don’t really have any energy to do anything right now anyway.

...Where exactly am I? It’s too hazy to tell with my eyes. I can smell the sharp scent of rubbing alcohol and plastic, so I’m probably in some sort of hospital. Doesn’t explain that annoying beeping sound though. Maybe it’s some sort of machine? Am I that badly injured?

What happened anyway? I remember falling off of a windmill trying to save a drifloon, but after that it’s just dark. I can vaguely remember somebody talking to me, but not what they said.

Wonder if the drifloon is okay. I don’t know how important those strings were to it, but I hope it can survive with just one. They really need to design those windmills better. The fact that Pokémon get caught enough for it to be a common occurrence is awful. Nothing should have to go through something like that. Poor thing’s probably traumatized from the whole ordeal.

Watson moved a bit next to me, shifting to get in a more comfortable position.

Wonder how long I was out. It didn’t feel like too long, but time moves a lot faster when you’reunconscious. Hopefully it wasn’t more than a few days—

“Good morning Wilson.”

Who’s that? Why didn’t I notice them walk in?

“Good… morning?” I said. “It’s morning?”

A man wearing a doctor’s coat is approaching my bed.

“Yes.” He said. “Are you feeling okay?”

“A bit numb, but fine.”

He nodded, sitting down in a chair near the bed and putting some gloves on. “That’s good.”

What are the gloves for? Is it just a standard procedure? Might be. He is a doctor after all, I’m sure sanitation is important.

God I really need to bathe.

“Quite the little stunt you pulled.” He said, examining my legs, which were bandaged and splinted.

“You know about it?” I said. I shouldn’t be this surprised. Of course he knows about it, he's a doctor! The plant worker probably had to explain what happened to me anyway.

“Of course. It was all over the news—“

Everyone knows? Wonderful, now everybody knows I fell off of a windmill like an idiot. Maybe nobody reads the newspaper here…

“—and some people call you a hero, if that makes you feel better.”

Wait, hero? Really? That’s unexpected, I would have expected more people to be angry, since I could have damaged the windmill.

“Really?” I said.

He nodded. “Driftloon get caught around Valley Work’s windmills all the time.”

He grabbed a roll of gauze and a long plastic rod, checking on my broken legs.

“Some manage to escape with minimal injuries. Most don’t.”

The plant worker wasn’t lying then. They really do get stuck very often. That’s horrific.

“Oh.” I said. “Is the drifloon I saved okay?”

“Yes.” He said, re-securing my leg. “It’s actually been waiting around the Pokecenter.”

Waiting? I sort of expected it to just… drift away after I fell. It was free after all, and didn’t really have any reason to stay.

“Why?” I asked.

“Guess it likes you.”

The doctor straightened in his chair, looking over a clipboard and twirling the roll of gauze on his finger as he thought.

“Did I tell you a summary of your injuries yet?” He asked.

“If you did, I forgot.” I said.

“Ah, okay.” He flipped back a few pages. “Both of your legs are broken; with one being completely shattered and the other femur just snapped—“

I’m crippled?! Oh no. No no no I need my legs! Am I paralyzed too? Can I still walk? Will they have to amputate?

“—but other than some pretty back bruising on your back and a nasty concussion, you actually made it out fairly okay.”

“I’m still crippled!” I said, sounding a bit more panicked than I intended to.

“Eh, your snapped leg should be gone in a few days—“

“A few days?!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, a few days.”

How on earth can a snapped femur heal in a few days? How long was I out?!

“How—?” I said.

“Medicine is a great thing,” he said. “Makes things heal a lot faster than they could on their own, although your shattered leg will still need about a week.”

Normally, a broken leg would take a few weeks to heal at least, assuming it was a very mild fracture. But a few days(assuming I was only out for a day) is incredible! I mean, I’m still crippled, but not completely.

“That’s incredible!” I said. “So no amputation?”

He grinned. “Somebody’s happy— Wait, who said you’d be getting an amputation?!”

“Nobody.” I said. “I just thought it was… standard.”

He blinked in confusion, staring at me.

“Anyway, How long was I out anyway?” I asked, trying to shift the subject away from my legs.

“About a day.” He said. “You woke up a few times, but you weren’t really lucid.”

“Ah. That’s not a lot of time.”

“Not at all.” He said. “You’re probably going to be pretty sore by the time you get out though. And you’re going to need crutches for your shattered leg, unless you want to stay in the pokecenter for a week.”

“I’d rather not, no offense to the pokecenter.”

He chuckled.

“All right. I have to go fill out some charts, then I’ll be back to ask you a few questions.”

He left the room, leaving me alone. Well, I’m not completely alone, since Watson’s still here. But he’s still asleep.

Amputations must be rarer here than it was at home. There it was standard procedure for infection and really bad injuries. I suppose they still do it here, but not nearly as often.

In the Constant, I was in the position where I needed an amputation a few times. One time a hound managed to tear a rather large chunk of my leg off and left me to rot near the swamp. If I had been strong enough too, I could have just cut off my leg and fashioned a replacement instead of just bandaging it up, but I couldn’t bring myself too.

It got infected, and it managed to kill me a week later. Thankfully I had a meat effigy up, but still. Getting a high fever during summer was not one of my more pleasant experiences.

It really hurt too. Anything involving the injured leg ended with me covered in sweat, tears, and blood. It was an awful week.

I can still feel it. The searing pain, the fever, the chills and weakness. It’s almost like it never really healed at all—

The door suddenly opened, tearing me out of my thoughts. The doctor from before stepped back in, with the drifloon following him eagerly.

“Here he is.” He said.

The drifloon floated over gracefully, and tied its remaining string to the bedpost. The remains of its other string is curled up, sort of like a fiddlehead fern. It doesn’t seem to be in any pain at least…

“Glad to see you’re okay.” I said, swallowing a bit. Hopefully I don’t look too shaken up.

“Now about those questions—“ He sat down. “—I noticed on some of the X-rays that you have previous breaks in your legs.”

Oh. I should have known they’d somehow find out about that. Wait, what are X-rays? Is that some sort of scan? Perhaps it’s a weird name for a surgery?

Furthermore, what do I say? I can’t really lie; he’s a doctor after all, so what do I do?

“I...have. Is that a problem?”

“No, but it is a bit concerning.”

If it’s not a problem how is it concerning then? Does he know? Can he tell from the way the bones broke?

“...how so?”

“Well, the way the healed means they weren’t set properly.”

I should’ve known old wounds would come up again. I’d hoped the long gloves would have stopped the questions, but I guess not. Suppose sticks and grass don’t make for very stable splints after all, although I’m surprised I lived long enough to have healed bones. Unless scars remain even after multiple deaths, which seems to be the case.

“I… couldn’t tell.” I said.

“I just wanted to let you know. You probably just had a bad doctor or something.”

Watson shifted a bit at my side, pressing himself closer against me. Is he cold?

“Yes, that’s probably what it was, a bad doctor.”

That sounds like a reasonable excuse, an inexperienced doctor could have set a bone wrong. I do feel a bit insulted that my splints didn’t work as well as I thought they did though, not that I’m going to mention it to the doctor.

“Well, they’re fixed now. Ready to start physical therapy?” He asked, tucking his clipboard under his arms.

Physical therapy? That sounds painful. Wait, do my legs not work anymore?

“I… what?”

“Physical Therapy.” He repeated. “It’s just to make sure your legs still work. Plus you need to learn how to use crutches.”

“I’m sure I can figure out how to use crutches on my own.”

“You sure?”

He sounds uncertain. Using crutches can’t be that difficult, can it? It’s just a triangle you tuck under your arm to walk, I’m sure I can figure it out.

“Yes.” I said.

“All right then. We still have to wait for one of your legs to heal, unless you want to be in a wheelchair—“

“No!”

“—thought so. I’ll be back in a little while to check on you, alright?”

I nodded. He walked out of the room, leaving me alone again. Well, not entirely alone. Watson’s still curled up at my side, and the drifloon is still floating near the bedpost.

“So, how are you doing?” I asked the drifloon.

It just tilted it’s head. It’s not as… emotive as Watson, only really having eyes to emote with, in contrast with Watson’s ears, eyes, mouth, and voice.

“I’ll… take that as an ‘okay’.”

It floated closer to the bed, it’s curly string trailing behind like a tail, entirely limp. I’d had enough time to figure out a way to save it’s string. I don’t even think it can move it anymore. Why couldn’t they have built the windmill better?!

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save your arm.”

The drifloon made a sound. I’d describe it as a balloon deflating in a large echo chamber with wind blowing through it. It’s Incomprehensible, but it does sound a bit melancholy. An agreement? Anger?

“...I can’t understand you.”

The drifloon is somehow even harder to understand than Watson. At least it can understand me.

Wait, why is it still even here? I would have expected it to fly away once I freed it. Does it want to come with me?

“...would you like to come with me?”

The drifloon nodded, which is a definite yes. I think I have a few Pokeballs in my backpack, wherever that is.

“Alright, you can if you really want to.”

The drifloon seems happy now, which is good, although it still needs a name.

What’s a good name for a drifloon? Floaty? No, too childish. I’m tempted to name it “balloon” for the sake of simplicity, but that doesn’t sound right, nor will it be easy to call out during a battle. Too many syllables for my tounge.

Wait, I think I might have a good one.

“May I call you Cirrus?” I asked.

It’s thinking, floating in place as it pondered. It tapped the bedpost lightly with its string as it thought, then nodded.

“Alright, Cirrus it is.” I said. “Welcome to the team. Erm, I still need to put you in a Pokeball don’t I?”

Cirrus nodded, floating a bit lower to the ground now.

“I don’t know where my bag is…”

It tilted its head (its entire body is essentially a head isn’t it?), then pointed at itself with its good string.

“You want to go get it? Do you know where it is?”

Cirrus nodded.

“Could you go get it for me?”

Cirrus nodded again. Watson barked suddenly, feeling left out. I didn’t even realize he was awake.

“I suppose you could go with him if you want to, Watson.”

Watson gave me a determined look, then sprinted down the hallway, with Cirrus floating effortlessly after him. They’re racing, or at least Watson is.

I hope they get along. I didn’t even think how Watson would react to a new team member. I’m sure he’ll be fine though, he seems friendly enough around other Pokémon when he’s not battling them. Even then, he has some unspoken honor code when dealing with opponents that prevents him from attacking them as savagely as wild Pokémon tend to. Maybe it’s a result of training? Who knows.

Which reminds me, I don’t know what Cirrus’ moves are. I’ll have to find that out later, once I can walk again, which should hopefully be soon. I’m starting to feel a bit restless to be honest.

Actually, I’m not even sure of it’s type. Is it Flying? They seem floaty enough to be a flying type. Does Cirrus have a secondary type? It might be dark, given how they felt up on the turbine. They felt almost like nightmare fuel, although not nearly as cold or unnerving. Cirrus felt a bit more lightweight rather than the cold, dense sludge that nightmare fuel is.

Speaking of, I still need to find the fuel. I haven’t seen any sign of it.

How did it even manage to vanish so quickly? Was I out for that long in the forest? It’s not like it can live by itself. I can, however, be moved.

God, I hope some poor Pokémon didn’t eat it. I’ve personally never eaten it (although I came close a few times, half out of curiosity, half out of desperation), but I doubt it would be kind to the digestive system. Worse, what effect would it have on someone? Normally I get uneasy and stressed out just by holding it, but eating it…

I feel sick. Even on its own it’s a dangerous substance that contorts the mind of those nearby if it’s in large enough amounts. Eating it would probably amplify the effects, and it would be a lot harder to get away from.

Hopefully nothing ate it, although that’s probably the most likely possibility. At best something moved it, at worse they consumed it.

It’s going to be really hard to find it, isn’t it? Of course, why would anything be easy for me? I’d be nice if I had some way to detect it…

But I don’t.

-

Thankfully, my bag was sadly returned. Not by Cirrus or Watson, but by a nurse, who looked rather annoyed walking into the room. Apparently, the two of them caused some mischief wherever they were keeping my bag, so someone had to intervene, and that unlucky soul happened to be the nurse.

At least I have my bag back. Everything’s in here, including the tent and trail mix, which is nice. Nothing was stolen, and everything is in the approximate place it was before.

“You two caused quite the stir didn’t you?” I said, although I didn’t sound as stern as I wanted to.

Watson grumbled and flattened his ears, looking like a scolded child. Cirrus just sort of floated, doing it’s equivalent of a shrug, not seeming too concerned about the trouble.

“...Thank you, the both of you.” I closed the bag. “I mean it.”

Watson grinned, his ears peeking up. Cirrus just sort of closed its eyes as though it were smiling.

Admittedly, I don’t know why I felt the need to have the backpack so badly. Maybe It’s just a holdover from my time in the Constant. There, my bag had a high chance of being stolen by spiders. Or Pigs. Or the Gobbler. Whatever the reason is, I do feel a bit safer with it closer to me, although I still have a feeling of unease….

Maybe it will go away if I don’t think about it. Problem is, laying in a hospital bed, there isn’t much else to do but think. I suppose I could try getting out of bed, although I doubt my legs can support any weight. Well, maybe if I can use this needle-and-tube arrangement I forgot the name of as support, I might be able to at least walk down the hallway.

Or, better yet, I can wait for a nurse to come back and help me rather than trying to force my unhealed legs to just walk down the hallway. There’s no way that will end well.

So I’m stuck here, trapped by my own stupidity in an uncomfortable bed. Next time I’ll bring some rope with me so I can tie myself to something rather than just plummet to the ground.

...I’m getting a serious sense of déjà vu, and it’s not the good kind either.

Chapter Text

Turns out, using crutches is far more difficult than I could have ever imagined. And magnitudes more frustrating.

They’re simultaneously long enough to be uncomfortable (even with padding) and short enough to be a circus-esq balancing act. Every step feels like I’m both hopping on one foot and falling over. My armpits are sore, and I’ve fallen flat on my face at least five separate times. I never really considered myself an agile person, but I’m not clumsy either! This is ridiculous.

I’m sure I look ridiculous too, stumbling around like a drunken monkey. The nurse who’s helping me has the patience of a saint and excellent bedside manners to not laugh.

I can only imagine what moving on unsteady ground will be like, considering how difficult this is. Stairs are going to be a living nightmare.

It’s not as bad as it could be though. My femur is nearly healed, so I’m able to put some weight on it. My other leg though isn’t as lucky. While the upper half is somewhat healed, the bottom half still has a little while before I can put any weight on it, something I am reminded of every time I stumble.

“Come on, you’re doing great!” The nurse said, trying to be encouraging.

“I think you’re trying flatter me.” I muttered, although I’m sure she heard me.

Watson and Cirrus are off to the side, trying to stay out of the way as I stagger to my feet, er, foot to be exact.

I can stand still, that I’ve mastered. It’s moving around that’s the problem. Maybe if I shift myself a little to the left…

No. This isn’t working. The crutches don’t have enough surface area in contact with the ground for me to lean that much—

Instinctively, I used my leg to steady myself. Unfortunately it turned out to be my broken leg, sending an arc of pain shooting up my leg.

I gritted my teeth. “Ow.”

“Here maybe you should sit down” the nurse said, rushing over.

“Maybe I should.”

This is awful. I hate this. I hate not being able to move, I hate having to rely on someone else, and I hate being trapped. I mean, if I really wanted to, I can leave, since I doubt they would stop me, but that wouldn’t be a wise idea now would it?

-

I think I’ve gotten the hang of this.

I’m still slower than I’d like to be (and God help me if the ground is really uneven), but I can move without falling over. Still haven’t mastered stairs yet, but I can avoid those without much issue. Hopefully.

But now there’s a different problem: I’m taking longer to heal than normal. My leg should have been healed in a few days, but the new estimate says another week at least.

At first, they thought it was because of a combination of the way it shattered and the previous breakages. That was ruled out pretty quickly, and they haven’t found another reason for it yet. Although, they are running some tests. Uncomfortable tests, might I add.

Whatever the reason is, I’m going to be stuck here even longer. I’m not the only one upset about this either; Watson’s been getting a little case of cabin fever, and has started to torment the staff. He eats the food they have for the patients, and then glares at them when they tell him not to. I’d stop him, but he’s a lot faster than he looks, despite how short his legs are. I can understand why he’s so restless. I can’t really go to far from the hospital, which gets more irritating as the days go by.

Cirrus, on the other hand, seems quite content to just float around the hospital and watch the staff as they work. Like Watson, he doesn’t really like going into his capsule that much, but he’s small and relatively harmless, so he can stay out. I might have to put Watson in his if he keeps causing trouble. Assuming I can get close enough for the capsule to work.

“Mr. Wilson?” A voice said.

I turned around. It’s the doctor, who’s walking down the hallway with his Chansey cheerfully following.

“Hello.” I said. “Is Watson causing problems again?”

“N— well yes, but that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.” He grinned. “I think we’ve found out why you’re taking longer to heal.”

“Oh? You have?”

He nodded and sat down in a nearby chair, flipping through his clipboards and breezing last a myriad of charts and graphs before stopping at one.

“So we ran a few tests on your blood and everything else. I’m sure you remember those.”

Yes, I remember all too well. Needles are very uncomfortable.

I nodded. “Go on.”

“And it turns out, you’re just very malnourished.”

“Malnourished?”

“And under-weight, although that actually might be helping your leg at this point.”

“Oh…”

Underweight and malnourished? I’m not surprised, just… It explains a few things. I makes sense that heals would take longer to heal if they don’t have the required nutrients.

How do you even fix something like that? Do I just eat a whole bunch? I don’t know if my stomach can take that. Maybe it’s unfixable…

“Is there… a way to fix it or…” I said, not really intending to actually continue the sentence.

“Yes. I can prescribe you some dietary supplements which will help, although I think we’ll have to find the root cause before you see any real progress.”

“Root cause?”

He nodded. “I wasn’t able to pull up any of your medical records, so I’ll have to ask a few questions if you’re okay with that.”

I nodded. Hopefully they aren’t too… invasive I suppose.

He pulled out a pen and flipped to another page on his clipboard.

“So! Do you have any sort of thyroid conditions? Or other diseases that may affect your weight?”

I shook my head. “No, I do not. Not as far as I’m aware anyway.”

“Alright. We’ll run a few tests later on just to be safe. Don’t want anything else popping up.”

He scribbled something down in his notepad, then started to tap his pen against the side, thinking and pondering. Was that the only question he wanted to ask, or is there more? Why does he look so… concerned? Is it that bad?

“Alright!” He said suddenly. “I’ll be right back.”

He got up and left, leaving me in my room with Watson and Cirrus. I suppose the multiple questions turned into just one.

“...Do I really look that underweight?”

Watson nodded without hesitation, being as blunt as he usually is. Cirrus did its version of a shrug, possibly not being able to tell since its 90% head anyway.

Why did he leave in such a hurry? How long will he be gone? Who knows. Maybe he just realized he had to work on another patient, and had to leave quickly.

-

He did come back, but after drawing some blood he had to leave again, saying something about a thyroid test. I would have asked exactly what the test was (and how it works, since I’m a bit curious), but I didn’t get the chance to. I’ll have to ask him later.

The shadows are beginning to follow me again, and I’m starting to develop a headache. Problem is, I’m bed-bound. I can’t really get up and distract myself from them like I normally would. It's just a warped vision and headache now, but I’m worried it will develop as time goes on. Develop into the shadow creatures forming and that awful headache that feels like your skull is splitting open. Then the shadows become real and attack—

I shuddered. No, it won’t get that far. I hope not at least. I don’t need any more injuries, or scars for that matter.

Would they actually become real here? I’ve come close before, but it never got bad enough for them to actually solidify. Maybe they can’t do it in this world. I’d test it but… I don’t want to. It’s not worth the risk and, quite frankly, I’m too terrified to attempt it. I don’t have the strength to fight them off, and they might attack other people if they did conjure.

I feel uncomfortable in my own skin now. All this thinking about those shadow creatures has me restless. Maybe if I just move my legs a bit—

For a split second, I could feel a hound sink its teeth into my leg. For a split second, I reached for a weapon, an axe or spear maybe, and went to attack. For a split second, I wasn’t in a hospital, I was back at the constant, fighting off a hoard of hounds.

And then, before I could even process it, it was gone. The projection just sort of… stopped, leaving me sweaty.

My heart’s pounding like it wants to escape my rib cage. It’s over, but the adrenaline and fear still remain. Actually, it seems to be getting worse. Anxiety and fear have a grip on my rib cage and throat, choking me slightly, putting just enough pressure to where I am painfully aware of my panting.

Why does that keep happening? I hope it isn’t something wrong with my lungs. Dear God I hope it isn’t something wrong with my lungs.

Watson barked at me.

“Yes?” I wheezed.

He’s giving me a concerned look, as is Cirrus.

“I’m okay you two, don’t worry.”

They exchanged worried looks, probably having some sort of unspoken conversation between themselves. So much is said with just a glance. I suppose when you can’t talk, body language is a good substitute.

I’m so tired. Whatever just happened has left me fatigued and exhausted. At least my heart rate is back to normal—

The door swung open. The doctor, along with a nurse barged in, looking more than a bit concerned. Would it have killed him to knock?!

“Are you okay?” The doctor said. “You’re heart rate spiked—“

“I’m alright!” I said, startled. I didn’t realize they could monitor my heartrate remotely. That’s actually pretty amazing.

“Are you sure?” The nurse said.

I nodded. The nurse left, although the Doctor stayed behind, either not believing me or just wanting to make sure.

“What… happened anyway? I thought you were going through cardiac arrest for a moment.”

That’s a good question. I’m not entirely sure either. A projection? A dream? A nightmare more like it.

“A… nightmare?” I said, uncertain. “One you have while you’re still awake?”

“Oh.” He said, blinking. “Alright then.”

The door clicked shut behind him. He didn’t sound too convinced. Hopefully they don’t have to run any extra tests later on. Tests involving the heart can’t be fun to go through.

-

I can’t sleep, despite the time (it’s midnight-ish).This… unease has an iron grip on me, strangling any other thought that could bubble up. Noises from the equipment and the other patients down the hall are making just enough noise to keep me awake but not enough for me to be interested.

The shadows are beginning to creep even more now, feeding off of my own distress and possibly taking advantage of my weakened state. I haven’t recovered from earlier, and my headache is getting steadily worse, crawling across my skull like a hoard of maggots. Sleep would normally remedy that but… it’s impossible.

Watson’s curled up next to me, tucked under the covers, fast asleep. Cirrus is floating next to the bed, asleep somehow. Personally, I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep while airborne, but I don’t think he’s physically able to sleep any other way.

Do they get nightmares too? Or those projections? If they do, they don’t show any symptoms.

Maybe they get them just as often as I do, and it’s just another part of this world I’m in, and it’s just something I need to get used to. I’m good at adapting, so I think I’ll be able to manage. Maybe I’ll be able to deal with this malnourishment issue as well, since it hasn’t really had any effects, other than slower healing.

Or, maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m the only one who sees these things.

It’s just me, isn’t it?

-

“Alright Wilson.” The doctor said, walking in with a small plastic bag with a few bottles tucked inside. “These are your supplements; They should get some nutrients into your system. Just make sure you eat when you take them.”

I accepted the bag, putting it in my backpack and closing the flap.

“Thank you.” I said.

It’s strange receiving medical care from someone else. Normally I would have had to procure all of this myself, usually risking more injuries in the process.

“Your leg should be healed in a few days.” He said. “Maybe a few more depending on how well the supplements work.”

I nodded along, grabbing my crutches and getting off of the hospital bed, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

“Thank you.” I repeated. “For everything.”

“You’re welcome.” He said. “Are you leaving?”

I nodded. “I need to get going.”

“Are you sure? You’ll heal faster if you stay.”

He’s right. I would probably heal a bit faster if I stay in the hospital, but I’m getting restless. Plus, Watson is causing more trouble, and I’d rather not let that continue.

“I know, but I really need to leave.” I said.

“Alright. Good luck out there.” The doctor said, holding the door open for me.

The warm sun hit my face once we got outside. The sweet scent of flowers replaced the smell of antiseptic and cleaner. There’s a few people walking around outside, enjoying the afternoon sun.

According to my poke-watch, heading North-East will have us end up in Eterna City. I believe Gardenia said that’s where she would be, so we should at least stop by.

“You two ready to head to Eterna City?”

Cirrus nodded, happily floating next to me. Watson, on the other hand, didn’t seem as eager. He’s sitting down in the middle of the walkway, refusing to go further.

“Watson? Is something wrong?”

He barked curtly, annoyed about something as usual. Exactly what is, as usual, a mystery. Honestly I think I should stop asking, since I never really get a clear answer other than him barking at me.

“Watson, you know I cannot understand you…”

He grumbled, standing up and pulling on a strap on my backpack.

“Watson stop! You’ll tear it!”

He stopped pulling, but still seemed upset, his stomach growling. Guess the breakfast he stole earlier wasn’t enough for him.

“Ah, you’re hungry.”

I suppose now would be as good of a time as any to eat, that way we’re not hungry when we leave town.

With some effort (and pain), we managed to seat ourselves underneath a tree nearby, using a few exposed roots as seats.

“Are you hungry too, Cirrus?”

Cirrus nodded as Watson munched in his share of trail mix, not minding the dirt. I scooped some out for Cirrus and myself. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, how does Cirrus even eat? He has no visible mouth from what I can tell—

His share of food is already gone. How—?!

Forget it. I’ll investigate it later, but we have a more pressing problem now. We’re running low on trail mix. I could probably get a few more scoops out of the rest of the bag, but it won’t be enough for the journey. Maybe if we skip a few meals we’d be able to stretch it out, but Watson and Cirrus would probably protest.

Maybe we could find someone to battle? This area doesn’t seem to have a whole lot of trainers, and the ones that are trainers are obviously far above our level—

Footsteps. I hear footsteps. Steady, rhythmic footsteps, originating from somewhere behind me. I’m almost scared to look.

“Hey! It’s the dynamic duo! Trio now!”

Oh, it’s just Darin. What on earth is he doing here?

“Hello Darin.” I said turning around on the root to face him.

“Hey Wilson! Are you doing alright? You look… worse actually. That fall really did do a number on you huh…”

Oh great. He knows about it too now. Does everyone know?!

“You know about it?” I asked, chewing on a dried berry.

“It was all over the news! Pretty much everyone does.”

The doctor wasn’t lying then. Just how far spread is this newspaper? How did it get printed so fast? Should I even keep asking questions about the technology of this world? At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if they said they’ve been to the moon.

“Ah.” I said. “Wonderful.”

“So where are you heading anyway?” He asked, sitting down under the tree with us. “Unless you’re staying here.”

We’re certainly not staying. “Eterna City.”

Darin furrowed his eyebrows after I’d said that, looking a bit confused.

“Eterna City? Are you sure you want to head there?”

“Yes? Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?”

“Well…” he said, “the ground’s pretty uneven! And with your leg…”

Uneven ground? Maybe I shouldn’t go then. I don’t really have the money to stay here at a hotel, so the hospital might be the only place I can stay. Unless I can manage to set up the tent.

Maybe I’ll take the risk.

“You might be right. But I don’t really have enough money to stay—“

“You can stay with me!” Darin said, perking up a bit. “Just until your leg heals”

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you.” I said. “Besides, I wouldn’t be able to pay you.”

“It’s no trouble at all!” He said. “You don’t have to pay either!”

It’s tempting. Very, very tempting. If I don’t accept this, I’ll either have to go back to the hospital or risk the journey.

Watson seems on board with the whole idea, as does Cirrus. Actually, they both seem pretty excited.

“...alright.” I said. “We’ll stay for a few days.”

-

“This is the guest room!” Darin said, showing me the room I’ll be staying in.

The room’s a bit sparse on the decorations, but the bed looks very comfortable compared to the sleeping bag and hospital beds I’ve slept in recently. No, comfortable would be an understatement. It looks absolutely heavenly.

It’s a bit strange walking through a house. I haven’t been inside of a house in… ages. The decor is simple and homely, contains a smattering of tans and browns and hand-made carpets and coverings. Large windows brightened up all of the rooms with natural lighting. The decor isn’t quite my style, but it’s still very comforting.

“Thank you again for housing me.” I said, awkwardly sitting on his very comfortable couch.

“You’re welcome!” He said, smiling. “Would you like some tea?”

Tea? They have tea here?

“Yes!” I said. “Yes please.”

Darin walked off to his kitchen. Watson somehow managed to climb onto one of the chairs, standing in the back of triumph. Cirrus is floating next to him, probably trying to make sure he doesn’t fall.

Why is Darin being so nice to me? Is he just that nice or does he want something? Hopefully it isn’t money… although he already said he didn’t want any.

Something cold touched my hand, sending a bitter chill down my spine. I let out a yelp, yanking my hand away from the dog-looking Pokémon that had been sniffing my hand. Well, it actually looks more like a fox, if a fox had short, black fur and yellow rings.

“Oh! It’s just a… Pokémon. Hello?”

Is it a Pokémon? It’s very… unnerving for some reason, despite its small stature and seemingly non-aggressive disposition. Maybe it’s the eye? They’re rather piercing.

“Moon! Leave him alone!” Darin said, stepping into the room with two mugs of steaming liquid.

Moon backed away from me slowly, heading over to the corner of the room and sitting down, staring at me.

“Sorry about that.” Darin said. “He’s always been curious, ever since he was an eevee.”

“It’s… alright.” I said.

Darin handed me a cup of tea, although it’s too hot to drink right now.

“Thank you.” I said.

I held the mug of hot liquid on my lap, letting it’s warmth warm my very core.

Me and my mother used to share tea like this. In the mornings she would heat up some water in her kettle and make earl grey (she’d make Chamomile for nighttime.). We’d talk about how we’ve been, and generally have a good time. Even my father would occasionally have a cup before he went off to work.

My mother died of tuberculosis a while ago though, and I haven’t had a positive conversation with my father since I moved out.

I wish I hadn’t been so curt with him, he only wanted what was best for me, and probably realized— no, knew— that “scientist” wasn’t concrete enough to go through college with. He was right. Wonder how he’s doing now…

Does he miss me? We didn’t write to each other very much after I moved out, so there’s a high likelihood he doesn’t even know I’m gone. And even if he did know, would he care?

How long have I been gone anyway? Days? Months? Years? Decades?

Furthermore, what’s changed? Is that old library still standing or did they finally tear it down? Is my mailbox stuffed or is it… empty?

Am I ever going to find out? Or am I stuck here, wherever this place is?

“Wilson?” Darin said, shattering my train of thought.

“Hm?”

“Are you okay? You’ve been staring at your tea for five minutes!”

“I’m alright.” I said. “I’m just… waiting for it to cool.”

He nodded, although I’m not sure if he bought it or not. I suppose it is a bit awkward to have a guest stare at their tea as though there’s something wrong with it. Maybe I should start a conversation so it’s not as awkward.

“So you had an… Eevee?” I asked.

“Yes! Moon over there evolved a little while ago.” He said, taking a sip of his tea.

“I see. What type is he?”

“A dark type!”

Oh. That… explains a few things. Wait,
Is he a common evolution? Or did the nightmare fuel have something to do with it? Oh God it didn’t eat the fuel did it?

“How… did he evolve?” I asked, trying to hide the fear in my voice.

“Eevee evolve into Umbreons by gaining experience at night time.” Darin said. “A bit weird, I know, but it worked.”

That’s not comforting at all. I didn’t realize the moon had power here too. Are there gestalts here as well? I hope not.

“Is it a… common evolution?” I asked, trying to hide my concern behind a veil of naïveté.

“It’s a bit rarer than the other ones, but he’s not the only umbreon.” Darin said, smiling and drinking his tea.

Maybe it’s just another evolution then, rather than an ungodly fusion of Pokémon and nightmare fuel as I had feared.

“Ah.” I said.

I took a sip of my tea finally. It’s… not any kind of tea I recognize, but it’s still very comforting. It tastes sort of like cinnamon, and wasn’t overly sweet either.

“Is it too sweet?” He asked.

“No,” I said. “It’s… perfect actually.”

“Really? Good! Usually I make it too sweet.”

He does strike me as the person to put too much sugar or honey in his tea. Energetic and polite, as most overly-sweet tea-drinkers are.

Maybe staying a few days won’t be that bad. He doesn’t seem to mind all that much, and actually might be enjoying the company, although I’d rather not push my boundaries. At least I’m not being too much of a burden at least. There is one thing I’d like to ask though.

“Would it trouble you to let me use your bath?” I asked.

“Not at all! You can use my shampoo and body wash too!” he said.

“Thank you.” I said.

Guess the smell was starting to bother him too, with how eager he is for me to use his shampoo and body wash.

-

The water going down the drain is muddied with dirt and dried blood as I scrub the grime off of my skin, using my nails to scrape any stubborn patches that wouldn’t come off with water pressure alone.

It’s disgusting. Never have I felt so… disgusted, except for the time I stepped in a rather large pile of beefalo droppings. Took ages for that smell to fade.

Despite the fact I have to be careful because of my leg (the cast isn’t water-proof evidently), and despite the fact I’m taking a shower rather than bath, I’m enjoying myself.

Maybe “enjoying” is too soft of a term for this heavenly break.

It’s been forever since I’ve had access to running, hot water. This is the first time I’ve smelled soap (lavender, a lovely scent) rather than blood, dirt, or beefalo for as long as I can remember! It’s… refreshing, to put it lightly. I almost don’t want to leave the shower.

The only thing that ruins it is looking at my scars. They cross most sections of my body, with some being jagged and others being unsettlingly straight, as though they were caused by a wide knife. And then there’s the one in my hand, which actually was caused by a knife.

None of them have a very pleasant memory attached, and I’d rather not trigger one of those projections in such a precarious situation like this. Although, if I’m going to get all of the dirt off, I need to see to make sure I’m clean.

A chill ran down my spine. I feel like I’m being watched, but by what isn’t exactly clear. I’ll need to hurry this up before I get attacked, or use up all of Darin’s hot water.

-

I’m clean, and smelling of berries and cream rather than dirt and blood. My hair is back to its soft, stick-less self, and I’m squeaky clean. Only thing I’d complain about is the fact that I have to wear my dirty clothing, since I only have one pair.

Still, I’m refreshed and clean. My scars are hidden safely behind my clothes and gloves, and I no longer smell like a wild animal. I feel a lot more relaxed too. Save for that little moment of worry, the steam and hot water were pretty therapeutic and soothing.

Stepping out of the bathroom and into the hallway, still ever so slightly damp, I walked towards the living room, catching a glance at some photographs Darin has hanging on the wall. Looks like he has a rather large family, including a bunch of Pokémon and some family members.

There’s a photograph of him with another man and a small child sitting between them. I’d say it’s from some sort of formal event, since they’re dressed in tuxedos. A wedding maybe? The little girl looks like she’s the flower girl, although I might be wrong. I haven’t been to very many weddings.

There’s another photo of Darin and his Umbreon, back when it was still an eevee. They look pretty happy, and the eevee isn’t nearly as scary as it is now.

Can Cirrus evolve? I know Watson can (although when he will is impossible to tell), but I don’t know about Cirrus. He doesn’t really look like he would evolve…

Wait, there’s something wrong with this photo. It seems… ever so slightly off. It’s a photo of a landscape, possibly somewhere near Fluorma Town judging from the carpet of flowers. But the flowers seem… off, as does that business-looking building in the back.

I can’t quite tell what’s wrong though. It’s a photograph of a bright, sunny day. Other than a green hedgehog-looking Pokémon in a bush, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with it. Although the shadows seem a lot darker in places than they should be…

Wait how are these photographs in color?! That shouldn’t be possible—

“That’s the old Team Galactic HQ!” Darin said, coming up to my side. I nearly punched him in the face.

“Galactic HQ?” I asked.

“Yep!” He was smiling, as usual. “They used to research energy but uh, well…”

“But what?” I pressed.

“Well, they raided the Valley Windworks for some reason—“

They raided the wind farm? Why?

“—And then they did something in the mountains. Their leader vanished off the face of the earth, and then they disbanded.”

“Why’d they disband?” I asked.

“Well they lost their leader for one.” He said, crossing his arms as he explained. “Although other than that I don’t really know. They were pretty secretive about what they were doing.”

“Really…?”

He nodded, looking at the photo with a smile.

“Yes.” He said. “Only the police really know what they were up to. Actually that might be why they disbanded. The police.”

What on earth were they doing?! Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been good if the authorities had to get involved.

The shadows on the Photograph are starting to move, and those piercing eyes I’d sometimes see on bad nights are appearing, scattered all over the windows and darker areas of the photograph.

“Anyways, are you hungry?” He asked, turning towards me.

“Hm?” I shook my head. “Oh, yes.”

“Great! Come on! I made soup!”

I glanced at the photograph one last time. Maybe, once my leg is better, I’ll go investigate the building.

I smell food. Specifically, something warm and savory. Darin has already prepared a bowl for me, placed on top of a placemat so the heat wouldn’t damage the table beneath. Watson and Cirrus has their own seat at the table, with Watson sitting on top of a couple of books so he could reach the table. Cirrus was just floating, not that he really could sit down anyway.

Watson was already eating his soup, completely ignoring any and all table manners by sticking his face into the bowl like a wild animal. Cirrus has already cleaned out his bowl before anyone noticed.

Is the soup that delicious? I suppose all they’ve eaten is trail mix, so I can understand how—

Oh.

Oh God!

This is real food. Real, healthy, filling food. It’s not berries, or half-rotten meat, or even trail mix. No, it’s real substantial food! And it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. It’s full of mystery veggies (and berries?) and has a earthy, savory flavor that makes it ambrosia.

I might actually start crying, it’s such a relief.

“...well I was going to apologize for how bland it was, but it seems like you all liked it!” Darin said, accompanied by a hearty chuckle.

Bland? Bland?! This isn’t bland. This is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted and he calls it bland?! What in God’s name does he normally cook that warrants calling this bland?!

Oh, I’ve forgotten to use my spoon. Actually, I think Darin is the only one who even bothered to use his spoon. So much for my shower.

“...Oh. Excuse my poor manners.” I mumbled, wiping my face off with a napkin.

Darin is laughing. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you needed it!”

He’s not as bothered by the mess I’ve just made as other people would have been. Normally I’d have more manners than this, and I wouldn’t have eaten like a wild animal.

Where are my manners? No, really. Where did they go? I suppose it’s another thing the Constant tore away.

“...Wilson?” He said, sounding a bit worried. “Are you okay?”

“Yes!” I said. “I’m fine. I just think I ate a little too fast is all.”

“Alright! Would you like some more?”

I do. I really do want some more, but… I don’t want to make more of a mess.

“No thank you.” I said. “Although I’m sure Watson and Cirrus would want more.”

Watson piped up from his chair, knocking over the bowl in excimer as he barked in ecstatic agreement. Cirrus just nodded.

“Alrighty then!” Darin said. “I’ll get you guys some more!”

-

This is a nice bedroom. It’s cozy, having a rather large bed for just a guest room. At least Watson and Cirrus will have enough room. Although, I’m not sure if Cirrus needs a bed. Wouldn’t he get cold though? I suppose I could just drape a blanket over him, sort of like a bird cage.

“Are you cold Cirrus?”

Cirrus shook his head, wrapping his string around the bedpost. Watson hopped up onto the bed, burrowing under the covers, eager to get in an actual bed for once.

I can see why he’s so eager. The bed is warm and soft, better than any hospital, sleeping bag, wet-smelling grass roll, or even a hospital bed. It’s like laying on a cloud.

Everything’s in place. My bag and crutches are next to the bed, Cirrus is tied to the bedpost, and Watson is becoming a foot-warmer under the covers. Both seem pretty content, so they should be okay.

I’m tired. I didn’t realize I was this tired until I got into the bed. It's cozy and warm, so maybe I’ll get a good night’s sleep.

Maybe.

Chapter Text

Skeletal, barbed trees and bushes became a blur as I ran past, dashing through puddles and dodging angry mermen.

They’re not what I’m running from. Well, not the only thing at least. Those mermen are also chasing me, and they’re a bit faster than I recall them being. This is their turf though, so I shouldn’t be as surprised.

I’d come to the swamp in search of reeds, but I didn’t expect there to be evil flowers growing here. Wish I had brought a garland with me. If I had, then I wouldn’t be in this mess.

I also wish I hadn’t tried to pick the flowers. I guarantee the amount of fuel I’m going to get from here isn’t going to be worth the trouble.

A tentacle took a swipe at my face. Sucking and rolling, I managed to escape from it, dodging a few more that popped up out of the ground. The mermen can deal with those—

Wait, where’s the sun?

The swamp has warped into something else entirely. The ruins? A dark room? There isn’t enough light for me to see…

Is it nightfall already? But there was no warning! Even summer would have a short but present dusk! How could there be no dusk?! That’s not how the sun works!

As though the Constant follows the rules of my world.

My head hurts. No, my head is pounding. It feels like it’s getting pried apart at the seams with a crowbar. It’s a radiating, pulling pain that’s bringing tears to my eyes. It’s unbearable.

I can’t do anything but curl up on the ground and hold my head. Maybe, with time, it will fade and I can find my base or a torch or something.

Silence. Crushing, consuming silence engulfed my ears. The ambience of birds and trees and the wind are gone. It’s as though the world was eaten.

Something’s moving. I shot to my feet.

The air is shifting. It’s not an animal, otherwise there’d be footsteps or crunching grass. No, this was a sort of faint gliding, a soft—

Pain engulfed my leg, and I collapsed to the ground. Something wrapped around my hands and injured leg, effectively pinning me to the ground with unimaginable strength.

No. Not like this. Not again. I can’t—

The gru? Is that what it is? It looks vaguely humanoid, standing over me. Whatever ungodly abomination it is, it’s terrifying! It’s fingers are claws, and it’s eyes are a piercing white, much like the other shadow creatures. It radiates an aura of power. Oh, and insanity.

It wants something, clearly butI don’t have what it seeks. Does it know? Does it care if I have it or not?

Claws raked across my face, possibly taking an eye out. Shadow hands dig into my limbs to hold me in place as I struggled.

“I don’t have it!” I said. “Let me go!”

It tilted it’s head, then grabbed my chin, it’s claws pricking my cheeks.

“Scientist.” It said, with a noticeably feminine voice “I know.”

Their grip tightened, wrapping around my limbs and throat, shedding blood. It doesn’t care after all.

“Please—“ I choked. “Don’t!”

No avail. The gru took a step back as other shadow creatures surrounded me, maws open.

They lunged. I screamed.

-

It was just a dream. Yet, I’m shaken to my core. Nausea is creeping up the back of my throat, and I can’t seem to stop panting. Glimpses of shadows danced at the edge of my vision, taunting me as I shook like a leaf.

The worst thing, however, is my headache. It’s… nearly debilitating. My vision’s worsening as the seconds drag by, and I still haven’t caught my breath. Maybe I can go outside and get some fresh air.

Something bit my leg, hard. Was it a shadow creature? They’re real again? Can others see them? There’s no way I’ll be able to fight—

Oh, it’s just my broken leg. I wish I’d known that before screaming. Well, it was a bit more pathetic than just a scream… moreso a loud whimper than anything else. At least nothing actually bit me.

It still really hurts. Everything hurts; My leg, my head, my chest. Everything feels like a coiled spring that just keeps getting compressed and bent and I still can’t breathe correctly. Tears are forming in the corners of my eyes from the sheer amount of… well, everything.

Am I dying? I feel like I’m about to die. This feeling of dread, the pain, the difficulty breathing, all are pretty commonly associated with dying, especially in the constant. Although, I doubt my meat effigy would work this far.

Nothing works this far. Not even a touchstone.

“Wilson?”

Is that Darin? Was I being that loud? Why is he here? I didn’t even hear the door open.

“Wilson!” He said again. I can hear his quick footsteps through the floor. “Can you hear me?”

I can, but telling him that is difficult. Maybe I can just nod? My throat is so tight.

“Okay, good.” He said, sounding a bit scared. “What’s going on?!”

I don’t know! I don’t know anymore! All I know is I’m curled up on the floor. I just don’t— I just don’t know! God, what is wrong with me?!

Darin moved. “Maybe we can just—“

For a split second, I could feel a shadow wrap itself around my arm. It’s just Darin trying to roll me into my back, but I’ve already let out a yelp, so it’s a bit too late.

“Sorry!” He said. “I won’t touch you again!”

That’s okay. I doubt moving me would have helped either way. Nothing is going to help.

Wait, did he leave? I can’t tell from where I’m laying. Is he that annoyed? Disgusted? Disappointed?

“Wilson? Would you like me to leave?”

So he hasn’t left then. Do I want him to leave? No! I don’t! I don’t want to be alone. Not again, not like this, not right now. Please, not now.

Using what strength I could muster, I shook my head desperately.

“Alright then. I won’t. I’ll just… sit right here.” He said, sitting next to me.

Panic still has a stranglehold on me. I wish I knew how to make it stop. The nightmare is over, so this should be over as well right? That would make sense, following a cause-effect logic pattern, but nothing really makes sense anymore.

What on earth is wrong with me? Am I dying? Is this what happens when the shadows win? They just let you dissolve in a puddle of your own fears and thoughts? Would I die? Where would I go? Would everything just…Stop?

“Wilson? I think you’re having a panic attack.”

A what? What even is that? I do feel like I’m being attacked by panic, but I don’t really know how to fight it off. Can you fight it off? Why is it happening anyway? Was it the nightmare? Is that what causes a panic attack? How do I get it to stop? Is it fatal? It feels fatal, that’s for certain.

Why is Darin trying to help me anyway? He could just leave me here, lying on the carpet and choking on my own fears. Although, that wouldn’t be very hospitable.

“A panic attack?” I said, my voice coming out far shakier than I’m comfortable with. “I don’t— how do you get it to stop?!”

“Just focus on my voice okay?” He said.

“How is that—?”

“Just trust me, okay?”

Trust him? I barely know him, let alone know enough to trust him. I don’t really trust anyone anymore…

Maybe he is trying to help? I mean, it’s not like I have any other option. I certainly don’t know how to stop this… whatever he called it. He seems knowledgeable enough to help, so it’s not like it can get worse.

No, it can get worse. Much worse. This is new, but there’s been many times where I’ve felt worse. There was no help then, nothing but the cold claws of death to claim me and re-animate me somewhere else. If he’s untrustworthy, then it can get far worse than I care to imagine.

Still, he might be… trustworthy. Some people can be trustworthy right?

It went sour the last time I trusted a voice.

But he can be trustworthy? He doesn’t seem malicious at least. If he’s wanted to hurt me, he would have done it already.

“Okay.” I said finally.

“Alright!” He said, his cheerful attitude shining through. “Just focus on my voice.”

Focus on his voice? Why? What will that do? I mean, it can’t hurt, can it?

“This will be over soon.” He said, sounding too optimistic.

How does he know?! Has he had one before? What did he call them? Panic barrages? Panic attacks?

“Can you feel the carpet?” He said.

Carpet? How is a carpet going to help?! I’d ask for clarification but...

“Carpet?” I said. “How is that—“

“Just focus.” He said, as though it’s easy to focus.

“I— okay. I feel the carpet.”

“What does it feel like?”

“...Carpet.”

Specifically, soft-ish carpet. It sort of smells like flowers too. Wonder why. I suppose it could be whatever they use to clean the carpets. Do they even clean carpet? I never really had any in my house, mostly because of how expensive and flammable it is.

Still, I’m not entirely sure why he wants me to focus on the carpet. My first guess would be he’s trying to show it off, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of person to do that, especially now.

“Close enough.” He said. “What about the color? What color is it?”

Color? It’s… brown (I didn’t realize I had my eyes closed)? Well, it’s probably more of a fan than a brown, but my brain isn’t working well enough to tell.

“... is it tan?” I asked.

“Yes! Well, it’s more of a sandy color, but you’re close enough!” He said, sounding more cheerful and less scared.

Isn’t sand tan? Last time I checked, it was.

“Ah.” I said. “Close enough.”

He chuckled. “Do you feel better?”

Better? I mean, my head and chest still hurts, but I’m not as nauseous, nor is my vision too warped.

“...yes.” I said. “A little bit.”

How though? How do I feel better? Did he just distract me until it passed? Is it still going? Is it like those projections and will happen again?

Actually, something like this may have happened before. Something similar happened the other day, although this one lasted a bit longer, and didn’t have the projection.

What time is it anyway?

“Darin?” I asked, forcing myself upright. “What’s… the time?”

“Easy!” He said, “it’s, Uh, six in the morning?”

Six?! What on earth is he doing awake so early? I woke him up didn’t I?

“Oh.” I muttered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s fine!” He said, smiling. “I’m usually awake this early anyway!”

I’m sure he’s saying that to make me feel better. No sane person wakes up at six in the morning unless they have to work.

“...thank you.” I said. “For helping me with… whatever that was.”

“A panic attack?” He said.

“Yes. That.”

Watson nuzzled my hand while citrus floated sleepily next to me. I suppose I woke them up too.

“Sorry you two.” I said. “Didn’t mean to wake you guys up either.”

Watson just half-heartedly grumbled and curled up next to me, half-complaining as he drifted off back to sleep. Cirrus is actually already asleep.

“Have you ever had one before?” Darin asked, crossing his legs as he sat in front of me.

Honestly, I probably have. It felt a bit too familiar, although it was the first time something like that happened outside of the Constant. I’d assumed it had something to do with the shadow creatures, but evidently it doesn’t.

Or does it?

“I… think so?” I said.

“Huh.” He said. “Did you have a nightmare?”

I nodded.

“What was it about?” He asked.

“It was about—“

My chest is getting tighter again. Do I really want to tell him? No, I don’t. He won’t believe me, and I don’t want to cause another one of those… “panic attacks,” as he calls them.

“You don’t have to tell me!” He said, concern resurfacing in his face. “If you’re not comfortable. I shouldn’t have even asked! I’m so sorry—“

“It’s okay.” I said. “You don’t have to apologize.”

I’m not entirely sure why he’s apologizing. It was just a question, after all.

“Still, it wasn’t right to ask.” He said.

“It’s alright.”

A chill ran up my spine, thanks to how drenched in sweat I am.

“So!” Darin said, clapping his hands together. “Is there anything you want me to do next time?”

“Next time?”

He expects it to happen again? That’s… disheartening, although not too surprising.

Actually, now that I think about it, I may have had one before this one, and after the Constant. Usually it precedes a projection.

“If this happens again. I’m not saying it will, but I just want to be… prepared.” He said, fidgeting with his hands.

Why is he so nervous? Is he that worried he’ll hurt me somehow? Well, it might just be because it’s an awkward question. Questions like this usually only happen between… er, I have no clue. Normally if I were to ever have a talk like this, or have an episode, I’d be labeled hysterical and thrown in an asylum. Do they have those here?

“I’m not sure.” I said. “Just… don’t touch me, I suppose?”

Not touching me seems like the best thing to tell him. I’m not really sure what would help with a panic attack, but touching me certainly doesn’t help.

“Alright!” He said, grinning. “No touching, Got it!”

He stood up, then offered a hand to help me get up as well. Normally I’d just use the bedpost to pull myself up, but it feels rude to ignore his offer...

“Watch your leg!” He said, pulling me up.

“Thank you.” I said. “You didn’t have to help me.”

“I wasn’t just going to leave you on the floor!” He said. “Besides, you’re not that heavy.”

Right. I keep forgetting I’m underweight. I don’t feel underweight, but according to the doctor I am.

Speaking of, I forgot to take my supplements yesterday at dinner. I’ll have to remember to take them with breakfast.

“Is your leg okay?” He asked, helping me to a sitting position on the bed.

“I’m sure it will be fine.” I said. “I fell over before too much weight was put on it.”

Darin winced.

“That probably hurt.” He said.

I just nodded, shifting.

“...You want me to leave so you can get some sleep?” He asked.

“Yes, please.” I said.

“Alright. See you in a few hours. Holler if you need anything!”

-

Sleep never came. Every time I was about to fall asleep, I would jolt awake, plagued by shadows and nightmares. The slightest movement or pain in my leg would cause me to have a short but vivid projection. It was like my entire nervous system was on high alert, and I couldn’t relax.

Actually, I still can’t relax, despite how utterly exhausted I am. Even here, eating breakfast (Darin makes delicious bread rolls), I can’t quite tear my thoughts from the constant. It’s like a broken gramophone; constantly skipping or repeating songs. It’s a bit annoying, to be honest.

The nightmare is what’s keeping me on edge. While I was in the constant, I’d have nightmares that would leave me uneasy all day. Of course, those nightmares had a definite cause, or some sort of explanation as to why they keep happening. It was because of Them.

But the nightmares here don’t seem to have a cause, occurring seemingly randomly. I’m out of the Constant, so the nightmares should have stoppe. So unless the shadow creatures followed me here...

What if they did? What then? I haven’t seen any become solid (if I exclude the projections), but then again—

“Wilson?”

My fork fell onto the plate.

“What!?” I said, startled. “I mean, yes?”

“Are you doing okay? You’ve hardly touched your breakfast…”

My plate is rather full compared to the other’s plates, still having a bread roll and full serving of fruit-filled onigiri (is that how you say it?). It’s delicious, judging from the little I’ve eaten, but…

“Yes, I’m just…” I said.

“Do you not like it?” He asked. “The fruit was canned—“

“No no! Not at all! It’s delicious!” I said, trying to reassure him. “It’s just… I think the supplements are making me lose my appetite.”

“Ah.” He said. “I can wrap up your plate for later, if you’d like.”

“That would be great, actually.”

Of course, when I actually remember to take the supplements, it ruins my appetite. Doesn’t help that I’m not used to eating this much in such a short amount of time either. I still feel a little full from the soup yesterday.

Strange, while I was in the constant, the idea of three meals a day sounded divine, but now I can barely stomach one.

“Oh! Wilson!”

I glanced up at him. He had a pretty bright smile on his face, like he just realized something absolutely wonderful.

“I need to head to the store to get some squash! Would you like to come?”

Not particularly, but staying in his house alone would be more than a little awkward. Plus, Watson’s getting a restless look in his eyes, and I’d rather not have to try and stop him from chewing on the electrical cables.

“Sure.” I said, getting up from the table. “I can come.”

“Great! Come on!”

Why is he so excited?

-

The store was small and fairly empty, with the only other person beside me and Darin being here is a cashier.

What is he here for again? Some sort of… thing? That’s not very descriptive…

Oh, I remember now; it was a squash he was looking for. Although, I don’t think he told me the type. Not that I'd be able to help even if he told me. With the colorful array of vegetables lining the produce aisle, I doubt I’d be able to find it without knowing what it looked like.

Actually, for such a small town, there’s a surprising amount of veggies. I know some can probably take the place of a lot of meats, given how sentient Pokémon are (I wouldn’t be comfortable eating them either), but still. Although they could all just be part of a few species that have a lot of variations, sort of like grapes. Wonder if they all taste the same—

Something hard collided with me, nearly knocking me over. Something clattered to the floor.

“Sorry!” A voice said, picking up something they dropped on the floor. Whatever it was, it had a large capital G on it. Is it a company logo? Why do I feel like I’ve seen it before?

“It’s alright.” I said, steadying myself. “I’m okay.”

The man who had bumped into me has dark-blue hair, which somehow had two curved points. Odd, not how I would style my hair, but I’ve seen weirder.

Wish I got to see more of him though, but he vanished down the aisle, leaving only an unsettling feeling of unease.

Hold on, this isn’t the sort of unease that one would expect from nearly being knocked over. That would be gone before you could even call it unease. This one is lingering, squeezing my throat like a vice.

Is it happening again? A panic attack? What event caused this one?! No, not here. Not in the middle of a market. That would be embarrassing.

It’s too familiar, this feeling. It shouldn’t be happening, but it is, and I can’t stop it. I need— I need to get away. Now.

Where’s Darin? He wandered off somewhere. Watson? Cirrus? Anyone? No, nobody’s here.

Why now, of all times?! It doesn’t make any sense! There’s no projection, no nightmare, not even any sort of shadow creatures! There’s nothing! Stop it!

There’s nowhere to go! I can’t even breathe—

A latrine! I can hide there until this stops. They’re private aren’t they?

It’s empty in the small public bathroom, and the stalls are private enough for me to hide here without anyone seeing me.

God, why does this keep happening. The other times it sort of made sense, a nightmare or projection followed by residual anxiety seems like a logical progression, but this came out of nowhere.

Is this how panic attacks work? Do they just strike at random times without warning? Even if I can stop the projections and nightmares, I’d still be plagued by these.

How do I make it stop? It’s not as bad as last time, since I’m aware, but it’s still… annoying. Do I just stop thinking about it? It’s difficult...

I can’t breathe. Well, I can, but not comfortably. This shirt feels far too tight now, and I’m dripping with sweat.

Staying in here forever isn’t an option. I’ll have to leave eventually, but it’s probably not a good idea now.

I can wait for a little bit. I’m sure Darin will take a while, with how easily distracted he is.

-

Darin started out with a small basket, intending to only get some squash. By the time I found him, he'd managed to accrue a cart full of… things, ranging from cans, to butter, to the squash that we actually came here for, to some sort of canned drink.

“Ready to go?” Darin asked, grinning.

“I thought we came here for squash!” I said.

“Well I got the squash, but then I realized I was missing a few things!”

“...A few you say?”

He nodded, still smiling brightly. I’ll have to remember not to send him to the store for me if I ever need to.

I feel bad for the person working at the register. I’m sure sorting through this mess of food and drinks isn’t worth whatever he’s getting paid to do.

It’s also a bit awkward to stand here while Darin pays for everything. Reminds me of the shopping trips my mother would drag me to when I was little. Then the poor cashier would have to count the items by hand, rather than scanning a strange pattern with a… is that a laser?!

It’s a lower-power one certainly. How a machine can get anything useful from a black-and-white pattern and a laser is… amazing actually. Wonder how it works. A camera with the laser acting as the flashbulb? Possibly.

“Ready to head home Wilson?” Darin said.

I nodded. Next time I’ll have to ask how this laser-pattern scanner works. It’s certainly interesting, that’s for sure.

-

Whatever Darin’s making smells heavenly. He says he’s just an okay cook, but so far everything I’ve eaten has been delicious. Maybe it’s just because I’m not used to full meals like this, but his cooking skills are certainly well-tuned. Better than mine anyway.

Speaking of, I can hear him calling for dinner from the kitchen. Watson ran past me,

The photo with the abandoned Team Galactic made me pause. The large G mounted on the front of the building bears a striking resemblance to the one that man with the strange hair dropped in the market. Is it just a product they made that he had kept after they went under? Or is it something more? Maybe it’s just a coincidence.

“Darin?” I asked, sitting down at the table.

“Hm?” He said, about to take a bite. “What’s wrong?”

“Team Galactic disbanded right?”

He nodded, although he looked pretty confused.

“Yes. Why?”

“No reason. I just… bumped into someone who had a product of theirs is all. Or at least, it looked like their insignia on whatever he dropped.”

Darin took another bite, tilting his head slightly.

“They didn’t… sell products. At least, not ones you’d be able to carry around.”

“Oh. I suppose it was an old employee?”

“I hope so.” He said. “Or maybe they reformed.”

Watson’s ears are perked up in interest, while Cirrus is poking at his half-eaten food. Still a mystery as to how exactly he eats. At least Darin’s Umbreon eats normally.

“Maybe.” I said. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Could be.” Darin said. “Although they might’ve turned over a new leaf.”

Darin’s awfully optimistic, isn’t he? Although, it might be justified. I don’t really know what Team Galactic was up too, so it’s possible whatever they did wasn’t that bad.

It’s also possible the man in the store just had an old product of theirs, or was an old employee that just kept some of the equipment.

Of course, there’s only one way to find out. I’ll have to wait until my leg heals, but when it does, I can go investigate the building, perhaps find some clues. There’s a possibility they have another building they use now, but at least I’ll be able to find out what they did.

Speaking of healing, I forgot to take my supplements again. This is starting to become a bad habit…

-

Darkness.

Oppressive darkness.

Apparently, the power went out in the dead of night. All of the light fixtures no longer work, and whatever climate control keeping the house a comfortable temperature Darin used went out as well.

The silence is suffocating. The background noises from the lights and other machines have gone silent, leaving the house quiet. Funny, I hadn’t even noticed the noise was there to begin with.

What’s worse; I’m the only one awake. Darin went to bed hours ago, while Watson and Cirrus were sleeping soundly. I’d be asleep, but I had a nightmare.

They’re becoming frequent, and seem to be getting more… intense as well. What used to be quick flashes are now entire scenes playing out like a warped record.

I wish I knew how to stop them. Unfortunately, dreams can’t really be controlled.

It’s still silent, and I can feel my stomach starting to tighten. Should I wake Darin up? I’m not sure if this power outage is connected to anything life-sustaining, or if it’s dangerous. It certainly seems like it would be dangerous, but I don’t know. Maybe I should go check on things, just to be safe.

Thankfully, I no longer need my crutches. While I certainly wouldn’t be able to do anything strenuous, I can put some pressure on my leg. Walking’s still rather slow though.

Admittedly, walking the hallways feels very invasive. I know Darin invited me to stay, but sneaking around like this at night still feels like I’m not supposed to be here.

Everything seems so still and untouched. A light film of dust is settled on the less-used area of the household, illuminated by what little moonlight can filter through the curtains. The photographs no longer have any color thanks to the low-lighting, and their eyes seem to follow me as I walk past.

Nothing seems strange, despite what my gut is screaming at me. Everything is in its proper place, there’s no tell-tale signs of fire or an electrical blowout (they don’t smell pleasant), so I’m not really sure what happened.

Maybe it’s something scheduled? Or maybe it’s just another thing I don’t understand about this world.

Funny, in my home I was a failure as an inventor and scientist, and here I’m a failure as a trainer. So many things have changed, yet so much has changed. The list of things I don’t know is constantly growing, and will grow forever.

Maxwell has promised that list of knowledge. He had promised to fill that list, to give me all I’d ever want to know. All the knowledge I could have ever dreamed of and more could have been mine, they said. I would have known everything, solved every problem! From world hunger, to peace, to (possibly) space travel! Perhaps I could have gone to the moon, or at least developed the methods of getting there. I would have Wörld-renown as the greatest scientist, possibly the greatest man, to have ever lived.

But no. Instead of that, instead of infinite knowledge, I got the knowledge to make a portal to hell. And, I didn’t even get to keep that…

I’m such a failure. Why Darin, Watson, or even Cirrus put up with me is… beyond my understanding. Watson and Cirrus could easily go find a more competent trainer, and Darin could have a far better guest. Between my ignorance and nightmares keeping them awake, I’m sure I’m causing far more trouble than I’m worth.

Perhaps I should have just accepted my fate on the throne. It would have been… better, perhaps. I’d certainly be less bothersome to everybody.

Perhaps, if I didn’t have these nightmares it wouldn’t be so bad. Darin and Cirrus seem pretty patient (Watson isn’t patient at all), so my lack of knowledge wouldn’t be as… glaring.

How do I fix those? Can I even stop them, or am I just stuck with them for the rest of my life? Maybe it’s pointless—

Hold on, I hear footsteps.

“Who’s there—“

Claws dug their way into my shoulder before I could turn around. I tore them off and stepped backwards, tumbling over a felled tree behind me, and landing in the dirt. Is it a shadow creature? The Gru? I reached for my spear—

“Wilson?”

Darin?

Oh, it happened again. Turns out, rather than stumbling over a log, I had tripped over a chair.

“Are you okay?” He asked, reaching out his hand to help me up.

“I’m alright.” I said, using the chair to help me to my feet. “You just startled me is all.”

“Are you sure?” He said, lowering his hand. “You look a bit… shaky.”

He’s right, I’m shaking, badly.

“I’m just cold—“ I started to say.

“Did you have another nightmare?” He asked.

Great, it’s obvious. Why can’t I stop shaking? I’m not even cold! Why does this happen?

“I didn’t—“ I sighed. “Yes. I didn’t wake you up did I?”

He shook his head.

“No no! I’m usually awake this early anyway!” He said, yawning and giving me a forced half-smile through his tired face.

I get the feeling he’s lying and trying to be polite, which doesn’t make me feel better at all.

“I’m sure you are.” I said, sounding a bit more sarcastic than intended to sound, but only a little bit.

His grin faltered.

No, this isn’t right. I should not be this rude towards the man who’s housing me while my leg heals. He doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to let me use his shower, his food, or his house for that matter. He could have just left me out in the streets to wallow in my own filth.

“Er, I didn’t mean to sound so… abrasive.” I said. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine!” He said, taking a seat at the table.

“...alright.” I said, turning to go back to my room. Maybe I’ll be able to get some sleep—

“Wilson? Is there… any way I can help you?”

“Help?” I said.

He nodded, folding his hand and waiting all-too patiently for my answer.

Help? Why does he feel the need to help me so much? I suppose he wants a full night of sleep for once, but even then I’m only going to be here for another day or two at most. Maybe he’s just trying to be nice. After all, it’s cruel to see someone in need and then just turn a blind eye.

Although, I wish I didn’t need help. I do, as much as it pains me to admit it. These nightmares and projections are beginning to get out of control, and are starting to negatively impact… everything. They don’t even have a clear cause! Why do they keep happening?! I’m free! They shouldn’t keep happening!

But they do. And I don’t know how to stop them.

Problem is, I don’t know how Darin can help, if he even can. I know my nightmares, projections, and fear barrages are related. Most likely, they’re related to the shadow creatures and the Constant, two things that will never really go away, and two things I’m definitely not willing to discuss, or I’ll seem even crazier than I already seem.

Plus, I doubt anyone can really help with this. It’s not like they can train people to help with this sort of thing, it’s far too… brainy. Brain-related.

“No.” I said. “Thank you though, I appreciate your concern.”

He just nodded, looking dejected. I’m sure he’s disappointed he won’t be able to have a good night’s sleep, but there isn’t anything he can do. I doubt there is anything anyone can do about this… whatever the Constant did to me.

-

Morning came all too slowly.

I didn’t sleep. Or, if I did, I don’t remember. My brain currently has the thinking power of rot, so it’s not going to be too useful today. Problem is, I am my brain, so I’m also going to be useless today.

Watson and Cirrus are still asleep. Watson’s curled up at my side, while Cirrus is floating next to the bedpost. They seem pretty content just staying here.

Should I even bother getting up? I’m all warm underneath the blanket, and the pillow is so soft and heavenly...

Maybe I should just stay here and try to go back to sleep—

“Good morning!” Darin said, slamming open my door, his cheerful voice grating on my ears.

“GAH!” I shouted, sitting up. Watson fell out of the bed, while Cirrus just jumped. “G-good morning!”

“Are you hungry? I made—“ his grin faded. “Are you okay?! You look awful!”

I squinted at him through the blinding sunlight filtering through the blinds. Watson’s grumbling from the floor.

“I’m fine.” I said, getting out of bed.

He didn’t believe me, but I really don’t care right now. Shadows are beginning to dance at the edges of my vision again, and the headache that’s building as a result of fatigue and insanity is beginning to become annoying.

I’m so tired. This is getting out of hand. They’re… more frequent now. I see more of Them. I can’t keep doing this.

Insanity. I’m going insane, and this time a garland won’t help.

Oh, that’s what’s wrong with me; I’m just insane. That’s all, an easy fix with a lobotomy, maybe. I’m too much of a coward to risk it though. Plenty of things could go wrong, plenty of things likely will.

Do they even do lobotomies here? If they do, they probably have a better way of going about it.

Now, that doesn’t mean I want one. In fact, I’d do anything to not have to get one. But it’s… becoming difficult.

Would they force me to get one if I get bad enough? What if it kills me and I wake up back at the Constant? What if it just doesn’t work at all and I still see them (which is a likely possibility)?

What if it does work, but I change? The brain is everything you are; your conscious, your memories, your desires and fears, it’s you! The fact you could change so easily with just a bit to the head or an ice pick is… unnerving.

I don’t like it.

Is that what They did? Is that how I can still see them? They changed my mind? Can I even get them out? I want them out—

“Wilson? Are you okay?” Darin said. “You’re not eating.”

I’m not eating? He’s right, there’s a delicious looking omelette with veggies in it that’s growing cold in front of me. Watson and Cirrus are already done with their plates, and yet I can barely muster up the energy to move.

“I…I’m not hungry.” I said.

Darin gave me a worried look as I got up, as did Watson and Cirrus.

What time is it anyways? It feels like noon, but my watch is saying 9:00am.

“Wilson?” Darin asked. “Would you like to do something today?”

Do something? Why? I mean, I’d live too, since staying inside all day would drive me crazy, but that doesn’t really explain why Darin’s asking.

Perhaps, I’m being too paranoid. He’s just asking a question, probably trying to keep my stay enjoyable as a good host would. Despite knowing this, I still feel on edge.

You know what? Sure. We’ll do something today. I’m not sure what, but we will.

“...Yes.” I said. “Do you have something in mind?”

Darin grinned, peeking up almost immediately.

“I do, actually.” He said, smiling. “The Old Chateau”

That sounds very boring actually. Not sure if I’d enjoy walking around an old mansion. Not sure why Darin would either.

“The Old Chateau?” I asked. “That doesn’t sound very… interesting.”

“Trust me, it is!” He said. “It’s just north of here! It has ghosts!”

Ghosts you say? Those don’t exist. Then again, Cirrus is basically a sentient balloon, so perhaps…

“Ghosts?” I said, not hiding the skepticism in my voice. “You‘ve seen them?”

“Well… no.” He admitted. “But I’ve heard a lot of stories about that old mansion.”

He’s piqued my curiosity for sure. I guess we could go check it out. Couldn’t hurt after all.

“Alright.” I said. “We can go.”

“Yes!” He said, practically jumping out of his chair and dragging me and my Pokémon out the door.

Chapter Text

The Old Chateau. An enormous, secluded mansion north of Fluorma Town that was once owned by a wealthy man and his family decades ago (according to Darin) that still stands in defiance of the passage of time.

Of course, it’s more than a little worse for wear. No amount of defiance or will from an inanimate building can stop time’s arrow from piercing the foundations after all.

I mean that literally. The foundation on this building is falling apart, if the vines that are crawling up the sides and the cracks towards the bottom are any indication. The paint’s peeling, the massive garden’s unkempt and overgrown, and the heavy wooden door is about to fall off of its hinges. The windows are darkened with dust and grime, and the whole place screams unstable.

“Pretty scary isn’t it?” Darin said.

“I suppose so.” I said.

Scary? If I were a repairman, it would be. But standing here on the broken sidewalk and just staring up at it? No, not really. Although, I’m sure it will be a different story once we get inside.

As for any signs of ghosts, there doesn’t seem to be any. It mostly just looks like an abandoned mansion from the outside. Although, if ghosts were real, they’d definitely live in a place like this.

Actually, it sort of reminds me of my own house. My house was worn down and pretty secluded. The plumbing only worked half the time, and the roof would always leak during heavy rains. But the wood furnace on the first floor always warmed the house in the winter, and the house was almost always better than living on the street.

Except for that one time during a really bad storm where everything flooded, including the furnace. That was a nightmare to clean up. Curse Mother Nature and her contempt towards science and machines and not-wet anything!

“You guys ready to go inside?” Darin asked.

Watson bolted past us, going onto the house via a hole in the door, knocking out a few splinters of wood as he ran past the doorway.

“Well Watson was ready.” Darin said, smiling.

“I can see that.” I said, walking towards the door. Why he’s so eager is… unknown. Maybe he smelled or heard something? Who knows.

It took some effort, but I managed to force one of the twin doors open by punching it. Unfortunately, I nearly broke my hand in the process. Why can’t doorknobs be more weather-resistant?

There’s an ungodly amount of dust inside. I know this place is old, but a simple feather duster would have done wonders for the centimeter layer of dust on the mansions’ innards.

There’s also a surprising amount of furnishings. Couches, chairs, and even an old piano decorated the Chateau's first floor. They’re old and tattered, with broken legs and splintering hand-carved wood. It’s a shame too, some of the craftsmanship on the chairs would have been impressive if it had been taken care of properly. Now it just looks like a broken pottery set, with patterns and carvings cut in half.

Oddly, a lot of the furniture isn’t in the place you’d expect it to be. The chairs are sort of tossed about, rather than being near a table, and the couches are flipped over. I suppose people came here looking for money or valuables that were left behind. Wonder if they had any luck.

Speaking of finding, where’s Watson? He seems to have disappeared, along with Cirrus. They couldn’t have gone far, so where are they?

“Did you see where my Pokémon ran off too?” I asked.

“I haven’t seen Watson since he ran through the door.” Darin said, looking around. “And Cirrus is… gone.”

Cirrus is gone too? When did he leave? Why did he leave? He’s not as adventurous as Watson is, so he wouldn’t have left because of curiosity alone.

“Oh.”

So, even if I wanted to leave, I can’t. Not without Watson and Cirrus. Not that I want to leave, far from it. I’m still interested in these “ghosts” that Darin’s been going on about after all.

Wait, isn’t there a ghost-related Pokémon type? A ghost type? Are those just Pokémon who’ve died, or are they born like that? I hope it’s the latter, because that would be cruel.

I’m honestly surprised there isn’t a population of grass-type pokemon here. With the tangled mess outside, you’d think at least a few would live there, but I didn’t see any.

Strange.

-

Cirrus and Watson are still missing, and it’s becoming concerning. This place isn’t very structurally sound, so it’s not like—

What was that noise? A crash? It sounded big!

My heartrate spiked. I’m ready to dust-fight whatever just made that noise. Why is it behind us?! Why can’t bad things ever happen in front of us—

Oh. It’s just a couch. A couch had wedged itself into the doorway, locking us out of the main hall and away from the exit. Wonderful.

“I… suppose we’ll have to find another way to leave.” I said.

“Yea.” Darin said, clinging to my arm.

“Wonder what moved the couch. A Pokémon?”

“A ghost!”

I doubt it. I’ve seen plenty of Pokémon that would be able to throw around a couch like it was made of cardboard. Although, I probably would have heard something other than the crash if it had been one of those Pokémon, as they tend to be rather large.

“I don’t think so.” I said. “It was probably some sort of Pokémon. Plenty of them are strong enough to lift a couch, I’m sure.”

Darin doesn’t seem too convinced, if his expression is anything to go off of.

“Well—“ he paused, then let go of my arm. “—sorry. Forgot about that.”

“It’s alright.” I said. “Let’s just… keep going.”

There’s something very off about this place. At first, I thought it was just the normal amount of readiness I usually have, but it’s increased as we’ve gone further in. It’s similar to the feeling I’d get in the ruins or around the night creatures, but isn’t as… malicious. I don’t have that splitting headache I’d usually have in this situation.

The fear remains, of course, despite the fact that it’s not related to Them. I’m on edge, ready to fight or flee at any second, coiled like a spring.

Wonder if Darin can tell how scared I am. He’s pretty on-edge himself, and he’s walking a lot closer to me than he usually does. He probably wants to grab my arm for comfort, but respects me enough not to, or he’s just embarrassed about earlier. Later on, I’ll have to thank him for that, because I’m currently panicking a bit too, and I’d rather not trigger a projection right now. It’s kind of him, even if he is doing it out of embarrassment.

Despite how I usually am, I wouldn’t really mind if he grabbed my arm, or my hand for that matter. Not sure why, since physical contact isn’t very appealing to me. Is it because of how little I had in the Constant? Must be. Darin’s warm, caring nature is probably why I even agreed to stay at his place after all, it wouldn’t be to much of a stretch to say I’d enjoy physical comforting from him.

Speaking of Darin, why isn’t he walking? He’s just standing in the dead center of the hallway, with his mouth agape. I’d laugh, but that’s not very nice.

“Darin— oh.” I said.

At the end of the hallway stood a little girl, around eight years or so. She was staring at us with a curious expression, possibly too shy to approach us, given that we’re strangers.

Of course, finding a little girl in a place like this would normally be cause for alarm. After all, it is dangerous here, and certainly no place to be romping around in (like we are). But that’s not what’s so unsettling. It’s not her tattered clothing (which is bad), it’s not her slightly downcast expression (which is also bad), it’s not even that she’s standing on a beam that’s supposed to be hidden under the floor.

No, it’s the fact that she’s translucent.

The hairs on the back of my neck are standing in end. She’s translucent?! How? Is it a trick of the eyes? Am I hallucinating? Is it a projection? What on earth is going on?!

“Wilson?” Darin said, his voice a whisper. “I think that’s a ghost.”

“It… can’t be!” I said, also whispering. “I don’t believe it…”

But it is. Clear as day, the evidence of ghosts is standing in front of me, a ten-second walk down the destroyed hallway.

I feel very unwelcome now, like I’m intruding in someone's house. Which, I suppose, I technically am.

“Should we talk to her?” I asked.

“What?!” Darin said. “No!”

“But we’ll never have this opportunity again.” I said, taking a step towards her. “Besides, it can’t do any harm.”

“Yes it can! What if she gets angry?”

“A simple hello can’t hurt.”

Taking a few steps forward, I stopped about halfway to the phantom, to give her some space. I’m not sure how temperamental ghosts are, but some distance can’t hurt, just in case.

“Hello!” I said, half-shouting. “How are you doing today?”

She tilted her head a bit, still curious but unmoving.

“Erm, I’m Wilson!” I motioned behind me. “And that’s Darin!”

She’s still just standing there, staring at me. She took a step backwards, then walked out of sight.

“Wait!” I said.

Carefully, I stepped into the beam. It’s… stable. Stable enough anyway. The hallway just led to another room.

She’s gone. I suppose she just disappeared, as ghosts tend to do.

I sighed.

“Is she gone?” Darin asked.

I nodded. “She’s gone.”

Silence.

“Well, we saw a ghost.” I said. “Despite my skepticism, you proved that they’re real.”

“I told you.” Darin said. “Now can we get out of here?”

“Not without Watson and Cirrus. Also wasn’t this entire thing your idea? Why are you so insistent on leaving already?”

“I wasn’t going to leave them behind— wait this was your idea!”

“No, I recall that it was yours.”

“...Was it?”

“I think so.”

It doesn’t really matter who’s idea this was. While it was nice to see a ghost, I will admit that this was probably a bad idea. Wandering around a haunted, dilapidated mansion probably isn’t safe.

We need to keep going.

-

I have no idea how long we’ve been here, but still no sign of Watson or Cirrus. Not even an angry bark from when Watson inevitably gets first rated or annoyed by something.

Worse, ghost-type Pokémon have started to attack us. Darin’s umbreon (I think it’s name was Luna? Moon?) has a type advantage against ghosts, so it’s not terrible, but it’s still a little bit awkward to need protection. I’d fend off the ghost-types myself but they can float (and are ghosts), and I can’t. It’s unfair if you ask me.

Oddly, despite how independent his Pokémon is, he still keeps it inside of its capsule. Noticeably, nearly everyone does. Only smaller Pokémon seem to be allowed outside of their capsules. Do they live there forever, only coming out for battles? What is it like in there? Do they like being in there? Are there laws against having a larger Pokémon outside it’s Pokeball?

“Darin? Why do people keep their Pokémon in their capsules?”

“You mean Pokeballs?” He said, fanning dust away from his face. “Mostly for convince, Pokemon can’t fit everywhere after all. Also keeps them from running off or getting hurt outside of battle—”

Mild realization hit his face.

“—Sort of like the situation we’re in right now actually.”

“...Ah.” I said. “Sorry.”

Maybe I should start to keep my Pokémon in their Pokeballs, so this doesn’t happen again. Although Watson really doesn’t seem to like his pokeball...not that I’d blame him. Being trapped is never fun.

“It’s alright!” He said, with an all-to-cheerful tone. “Not all Pokémon like the pokeballs. Electric-types in particular seem to dislike them for some reason.”

“Really?”

“Yes! It’s quite strange honestly. Although I haven’t met too many electric types, so it might not be very common.”

“How many have you met?”

“Two.”

That’s… too small of a sample size. Far too small to be drawing conclusions like that from.

We’ll figure out if electric types have a natural disdain for poke-capsules later. Right now we still have to find—

That light fixture just flickered.

“...Did you see that just now?” I asked.

“The light? I did.”

So I didn’t imagine it. It flickered, despite there being no reason for it too. I doubt this mansion is still connected to any sort of electrical grid, and even if it was, I doubt the wires would be able to carry anything with all the water damage.

Then what caused it? A ghost? It’s a possibility. Can ghosts control electricity?

“I think they want us gone.” I said.

“Could have been Watson.” Darin suggested.

“No. He doesn’t know any sort of electrical move that would cause—“

“Wait, your shinx doesn’t know any electrical moves?!” Darin said, sounding exasperated.

I keep forgetting Watson’s an electric-type. I guess him not being able to do an electric move is cause for alarm...

“No— I mean he does, he just… has difficulties using it.”

Difficulties is an understatement. Even in situations where it would have been beneficial to have a mid-range move, he didn’t do it. He’s done it before, when I found him in the woods, but I don’t really remember that very well, and I’m sure it was out of desperation. If only I knew the name of the move...

“That’s not good.” Darin said, scolding me slightly.

“I’m aware. I’m not entirely sure why he’s having difficulties, but I am aware.”

“Usually moves that match a Pokémon’s type are the easiest for it to do.” Darin said, holding his chin as he thought.

Actually, I don’t know what any of Cirrus’ moves are. Hopefully he’s not having the same difficulties Watson is.

“So it’s a ghost then?” I asked, ignoring his last statement.

“Maybe.” He said. “Unless Watson suddenly figured out how to do… whatever move he’s having trouble with.”

It would be nice if we had some sort of wiring map, then maybe we’d be able to find the source, although that’s not how electricity works. Unless a large part of the wires were broken, of course. Ghosts probably don’t follow the same laws and rules that we do though, so anything’s possible.

I hate it when anything’s possible. So many ways to solve a problem, so many ways it can go horrifically wrong.

Rounding another corner, we came across a large room. It probably used to be a bedroom, perhaps even the master bedroom, if the size and the floor-length curtains are any clue.

“The master bedroom?” Darin asked. “This is bigger than my house!”

Although, I suppose it’s just a room now, since the only remains of a bed is the indentations in the carpet from the legs, and some stray pillows near a corner.

“Just a room now. The bed is long g—“

Darin grabbed my shoulder before I could go any further.

“—gone? What’s wrong Darin?”

“Found the bed.” He said, pointing up at the ceiling.

Entombed within a crater of broken beams and drywall, the bed hung from the rafters, coated in dust and held up only by beams and bed curtains.

“Oh.” I said. “Let’s go back into the hallway—“

Something’s flying at us from the corner of my eye. Quickly.

Gripping Darin’s shoulder, I tugged him away from the door, just as a small couch from the side of the room flew at us and blocked the door.

Darin let out a startled yelp.

“Sorry.” I said. “You were standing a bit close.”

“No no!” He said, shaken. “It’s fine.”

Neither of us are hurt, which is good. Problem is, I hear… a noise.

A ghost-type Pokémon is standing across the room, a mischievous smile on its face. Well, more mischievous than they usually have anyway.

“A Pokémon?” I said.

“A gengar!” Darin said, taking out his Pokeball. “Not surprised they’re here.”

There isn’t really much I can do other than watch. It’s… annoying to feel this helpless, but intervening would just cause more problems. Besides, I’m not sure I’d be able to do anything against a ghost-type anyway.

Darin’s umbreon came out of its Pokeball, standing calmly in front of Darin.

“Let’s finish this quickly. Use bite!”

His umbreon nodded, then lunged, razor-sharp fangs gleaming with a dark energy that sends chills down my spine.

The gengar didn’t seem too fazed, despite having a type disadvantage. It stepped to the side, dodging the attack. Moon spun around in a dime and managed to bite the gengar’s foot.

“Got him!” Darin said, looking pleased.

Moon let go, then quickly stepped back to avoid retaliation.

The gengar sort of just stared at us, deep in thought. It’s cheshire grin returned as it melted into the shadows at its feet.

“What—?!” I said. “How did—“

“It’s gone.” Darin said, returning Moon to it’s Pokeball.

They can do that? It melted like one of Them would have when it lost interest.

“Can they always do that?!”

“Gengars can!” Darin said. “A lot of ghost-types can, actually. And a few dark types…”

That’s terrifying. Where they always are to do that? Is that new? I’d ask but… there’s a lightbulb on. In any other circumstance it would just be annoying, but right now it’s terrifying.

A lightbulb attached to a fixture on the ceiling was glowing faintly. The lampshade around it was shattered, and with the wiring in the condition it’s in, it shouldn’t be able to turn on. It’s impossible!

Yet, here it was, getting brighter with each passing second, a faint humming noise emoting from it.

“...Guess the wires do work.” Darin said, raising an eyebrow.

“They shouldn’t be working.” I said.

“Maybe they’re still connected?”

No. They can’t be. If they were still connected, this place would have burned down a long time ago from an electrical fire. Either the building was struck with lightning, or there’s something very peculiar going on here.

I squinted my eyes. “Hold on. Maybe I can get a better look—“

It shattered. I raised my arm to block the glass raining down on my face.

“—Never mind.”

“Are you okay?” Darin said, walking over.

“I’m fine.” I said, brushing glass off of my arm. “But that’s still strange. Lights normally don’t do that on their own, do they?”

Darin shrugged.

“If they’re solar-powered, maybe.”

Solar-powered? You can get power from the sun? How is that even possible? I mean, with enough you can generate enough heat for a steam turbine, but the amount you’d need wouldn’t be very efficient. Not efficient enough for a house, even one formerly owned by (presumably) one of the richest people in Sinnoh.

I’ll have to ask later. Right now, we’ll have to find a way out of the bedroom.

“You know, Moon knows tackle.” Darin said, looking at the couch blocking the doorway.

“Does it?”

He nodded, taking out his pokeball. “Let’s see what a few tackles can do!”

He’s very excited about the possibility of smashing the door open. After all, it’s not like we have any other way to open it...

-

God, I hate nighttime. I didn’t even realize we’d been here that long until I noticed the moon through one of the windows.

Unfortunately, the moon isn’t nearly as bright as the sun is. What used to be a passable level of light that managed to force its way through the filter of dust and grime was now a pitiful whimper that badly made marks on the floor.

Not surprisingly, I’m on edge, even so than usual. I shouldn’t be surprised, given how dark it is.

Finding Watson and Cirrus is going to be even more difficult now. Hopefully, they’re okay. God, I hope they’re okay.

Elongated shadows meld with the walls and floors easily. What used to be very intricately colored rugs and carpets were now masses of greys and blacks. Curtains dropped down from the ceiling like blood would drip off of a log, blending in with the inky blackness of one of the many hallways in this labyrinth.

Hold on, are the shadows moving? I know it could just be the wind coming in through broken windows but—

Is… is that a Terror Beak? How?! I’m not—

A familiar choking sensation took control of my throat, squeezing like a vice.
Is it Them? A ghost? A Pokémon? A—

Oh, it’s just a panic attack. Wait no that’s still really bad. Still can’t see two feet in front of me.

I can’t breathe. Why, of all times this could possibly happen, would this be happening now?! Honestly, with how dark and ominous the chateau is, I’m surprised this didn’t happen sooner.

Still, this is a bad time. I know I shouldn’t have come here. Ghost hunting? What I’m God’s name was I thinking!?

“Wilson? Are you— oh.”

Great, Darin knows now too.

Something wrapped around my arm. It’s not Darin either.

“Do you need—“

“No!” I said. “I’ll be— I’ll be fine! Let’s just keep looking.”

Darin’s giving me a worried look, but we don’t have time for this right now. We need to find Watson and Cirrus. After all, what if they’re hurt?

What if they’re hurt… it’s pretty likely they are. It’s likely they’re dead even. They probably are dead, probably impaled on some beams, or eaten alive by the shadows. Maybe not the shadows, but certainly something here would eat them. The ghosts?

Something cold dropped onto my arm. It’s blood, and it’s not mine.

I’m going to be physically ill—

Oh wait, it’s just… it’s just water, probably from a leak or something above us.

I need to stop panicking. I could try what Darin did that one night, but I don’t really want to pay special attention to anything here. All of it is dusty, dark, and unnerving to look at.

Maybe I’ll just have to… ignore it. Maybe it’ll go away. Maybe I can push it down deep enough. Maybe I can just stop shaking for a single moment please.

Watson and Cirrus. Just focus on those two. If I break down now, I’ll never find them. They’ll be killed, and it’ll be my fault. I’ll be alone again, alone in a strange new place. Maybe if I wasn’t such a failure I’d be able to find them! Maybe if I wasn’t such a pile of garbage and an idiot, I’d be able to find them and protect them.

This isn’t hard! All I have to do is ignore it and it’ll go away. Normal people don’t get these… panic attacks. Normal people don’t have projections.
Normal people wouldn’t be having a breakdown in the middle of a haunted chateau. It’s not… hard!

And yet, for some reason, it’s hard for me. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I control this? In the Constant I could understand, but here?

Why did I let them run past me. I could be halfway to Eterna City by now. But I failed. Again.

How did I even survive the Constant? How did I fend them off there? Where the flower garlands I made that effective? Was I just desperate?

Did I even leave?

No, I’m not going down that rabbit hole again. I did leave, and I did escape. That much was accomplished.

And yet, I can’t force my legs to move. It’s too much like the dark caves, forests, and ruins I endured. It’s too much like those only black nights where They and the Gru stalked me just outside the light of my fire. It’s just… too much.

I can’t do this. Not again.

“Wilson? Are you coming?”

Darin’s standing in the mouth of the hallway, halfway covered by darkness. He has a worried expression on his face, an expression that’s starting to become his default look. Whether it’s worry over me or my Pokémon isn’t known, but it’s certainly… worry.

“Yes just give me a second.” I blurted out.

Forcing myself to leave the little ray of moonlight is impossible. It’s just impossible. Every single muscle is frozen in place, and my brain is screaming at me. Screaming at me to say “no” and stay in my little bubble of light and comfort. Light cannot hurt me after all, only darkness can.

No isn’t an option. I’m not going to just leave Cirrus and Watson here because of cowardice. I’m not that weak or pathetic. I’m not some five year old afraid of the dark or it’s monsters.

Yet, my legs still won’t move. I keep getting brought back to my camp in the Constant. “It’s suicide,” I can hear myself saying. And, if I was still in the Constant, I’d be right.

But I’m not in the Constant. I’m here. Yet, that mental block, that little alarm bell is still there, and fighting it has left me paralyzed in the thin sliver of light from the windows. What would I do if this thin sliver of light vanished? Would I break down? Would I scream?

“Wilson!” Darin said, tearing me out of my thoughts. “Are you coming?”

I opened my mouth to say something, but my words are caught in my throat, so I just nodded.

Moving toward him is still impossible. My legs won’t let me, it seems. Like a child who’s too scared to go to the bathroom at night because of a monster under his head or in his closet. It’s stupid, there’s no monsters here. There’s nothing here—

Hands are reaching out of the hallway, reaching towards Darin’s face. How does—- how does he not see them?!

It doesn’t matter. They’re probably not even there. It’s probably just a projection again.

But what if it isn’t? Am I going to take the risk? Am I going to lose the only person I know in this strange new world to darkness?

No, not while I still stand.

“Wilson, if you’re not—Ah!”

I grabbed his hand and yanked him away from the hallway. The hands receded, their chosen victim gone.

“Did you see something?” Darin asked, panicking himself.

“I did—“ he wouldn’t believe me if I told him, would he? He’ll think I’m insane. “—not. Did not.”

“Are you sure? You seem a bit… spooked.”

“I am, and that’s the problem. We can’t just go in there blindly. We could step somewhere we shouldn’t, or get attacked by a Pokémon.

“That’s true,” he said, raising a concerned eyebrow at me. “Can you let go of my arm please?”

His arm? Oh. I didn’t realize I still had an iron grip on his forearm.

“Sorry.” I said, letting go.

“Thank you.” Darin said, rubbing his wrist. “You have a very strong grip.”

Hopefully his wrist won’t bruise, although we have more pressing matters at hand.

The hallway in front of us leads to a rather large portion of the mansion it seems, so we’ll have to go through it eventually, whether I want to or not.

Darin could drag me through, although I doubt that would go well. I’d probably panic and end up hurting him.

If only we had a light, then maybe we’d be able to navigate it. We could wait for the sun, but I don’t know how much time we have. We could have days or seconds...

Wait, with enough materials I could possibly make a makeshift torch. There’s some curtains as kindling, a chair leg for a handle… yes! Everything’s here!

“Wilson? What are you doing?”

“I’m making a torch.”

“A… torch?” He said, peering over my shoulder. “Why? And where did you learn how to make one?”

I’m not answering that second part. I’d say I learned it from Boy Scouts, but I doubt they have that here.

“For light. I’d make a lantern, but I don’t think there’s any oil nearby. Er, not that I have anything to light the torch with either. Never mind.”

There isn’t even flint nearby! I can’t really blame the former owner though. Why use fire when you could use electricity?

“You know I have a light on my phone…”

What? Phone? How can a telephone have a light?

“What? You do? How does—“

The room was illuminated by a small, but intense bulb on the back of his phone. It’s range was surprisingly large, I’ll give it that.

“Did...Did you have this the entire time?!”

“Yea.” He said. “I kind of forgot about it…”

“How do you forget about a tiny lanturn on the back of your phone!?”

“Hey! It’s on a different screen okay! Usually the only time I ever use the light is for a flash!”

“A…flash? Like for a photograph?”

He nodded.

“You can take pictures with your telephone?!”

“Yes!” He said, exasperated. “How did you not know that?! Actually, I think I’ve told you before—“

“How did you forget about the light on the back of your phone?!”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

Well, regardless of how useful it would have been earlier, we have a light now. A strong one at that, although I’m sure it isn’t going to last forever. Unless his phone is somehow solar-powered.

Wait, can you get solar power from the moon? It’s just redirecting light from the sun anyway, so maybe solar power would still work? It wouldn’t be very efficient, since there’s less light overall...

I’m getting distracted. Either way, the hallway can be safely traversed now. We’re not going to be stumbling blindly.

And yet, the unease remains. Like a cold, heavy winter coat I can’t take off.

Why won’t it go away? The danger is gone, the darkness is dispelled. Is it because Watson and Cirrus are still missing? It must be.

Turns out, waiting for a light was a good idea. The hallway is riddled with holes, and you can see the beams that support the floor, as well as the torn carpet on the first floor. We’re above the great hall, if the fancy furnishings and paintings are any indication of anything.

The floor creaked at our feet.

“Don’t move.” I said, freezing in place.

Darin froze next to me, mid-step.

The floor is bending ever so slightly, and cracking.

“Move!” I shouted, grabbing Darin’s arm again.

“Moving!” He said.

The floor broke apart where we were just standing, sending shards of wood raining down in the great hall below us. Problem is, the floor is still cracking below us. The entire hallway is collapsing.

“Moving again!” Darin said, obviously worried, and pulling on my arm this time.

We managed to get across the hall, making it through the doorway at the end. Although, we’re certainly not going to go back the way we came.

“This place is falling apart.” He said, stating the obvious.

“It is.” I said. “We’re going to need to speed this up somehow—“

Wait, what is that noise? It sounds like growling. Echoed, loud growling, halfway to a roar. Is it the Chateau? I doubt creaking wood makes a noise like that.

“—Do… Do you hear that?”

“No?” Darin said. “I don’t hear anything.”

The noise stopped, replaced by a cracking noise and the rhythmic sound of footsteps on creaking wood.

“Oh now I hear it.” Darin said, sounding worried. “Is it bad?”

“It can’t be good.”

No weapon. Sort of wish I kept that chair leg from earlier, then I’d at least have a club of sorts. Not that it would do much against a ghost.

“Get ready!” I said, getting into a fighting stance. Maybe if I’m desperate enough, punching ghosts would be possible.

Hold on, that’s barking. Hounds? No, they don’t sound like that. But if it’s not hounds, then what is it? It sounds familiar.

Wait, is that Watson?

“Watson?” I said. “Watson!”

Another bark.

“Is that Watson?” Darin asked from behind me.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certain. He’s pretty close too, probably just past this corner—“

Watson slammed head-first into my legs, staggering me.

“Ow!”

I steadied myself. Watson is here, rubbing a bruise off of his forehead with his paw. Other than that and a few other scratches and scuffs, he’s fine. He’s okay!

He’s alive!

“Watson! You’re… you’re okay!”

Not sure why I’m so surprised he’s okay. Maybe I’m just really relieved? Either way, I’m glad he’s okay.

Funny, he looks pretty surprised that I’m hugging him.

“Aww.” Darin said.

Watson nuzzled me, which is a sign of affection. I think.

Wait, where’s Cirrus?

“Watson? Where’s Cirrus?”

Watson stopped nuzzling me and barked.

“Want us to follow you?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Alright, lead the way—“

A loud crash came from behind. The floor from the hallway we had come from had caved in completely. The gengar and Cirrus seemed to be fighting over the few remaining beams.

He’s too far away. He’s floating in the middle of the hallway, trying to avoid the gengar’s attacks. Despite the gengar’s rather large body, it seems to be pretty agile, with the way it’s balancing on the beams.

Cirrus doesn’t look too good. He’s battered and bruised, and looks a bit deflated, both literally and emotionally.

“Cirrus!” I yelled.

Cirrus turned around, looking relieved to see me. The gengar looked pretty irritated though, it’s wide grin faltering a bit as it realized it was outnumbered.

“Hold on, we might be able to help!” Darin said, letting Moon out of its Pokeball.

Moon stood next to me, ready for a fight. Cirrus floated over to me.

“You’re okay too.” I said. “That’s good.”

The gengar stood on a beam, glaring in our direction. Whatever plan it had was foiled, although I’m not really sure why it’s so hostile to begin with. Malice? Anger? I suppose we are in its territory.

No isn’t the time to be wondering. The gengar is smiling again, and it’s… unnerving. Why is it so cold all of a sudden?

The gengar’s hand is glowing a rust color. It leaped off of the beam and karate-chopped Moon with surprising speed. The floor below us splintered from the sheer force of the attack, sending us plummeting.

At least the great hall isn’t too tall. We’ll all be sore tomorrow but—

Wait, it’s breaking too? This place has a basement?

We’re falling again, although this time the ground is a bit closer—

Ow.

Moon landed on its side, out cold. I can’t blame him, that was a powerful move. Now, where are we?

Well, we’re in a room, that much is obvious. If I had to guess the purpose, I’d say it’s a boiler room, if the broken machinery is any clue.

Although, it doesn’t really look like a boiler, and it has the team galactic insignia on it. The machine is dusty, and has a few broken screens and bent metal plating. Whatever it was for, it won’t work now.

“Is everyone okay?” Darin asked.

“I think so—“ pain shot up my leg. “Although I think my leg’s progress has just regressed.”

“Can you walk?” He said, sounding worried.

“Yes.” I said.

“That goo— Moon!”

Moon is still laying on his side. Watson had gone over to sniff him.

“Moon? Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

Moon shifted a bit, opening an eye.

“You are!” Darin said, smiling.

That’s good, but something is still off. First of all, where’s Cirrus?

Oh, he’s just floating down. I keep forgetting he can fly.

“There you are Cirrus.”

Watson barked. It seems everyone is okay and accounted for, save for the gengar. Although I’m sure it managed to escape somehow.

“Wilson? Do you see a way out?” Darin asked, kneeling by Moon.

Actually, I don’t. There’s no door, and aside from the remains of a ladder nearby, there doesn’t seem like there was ever a way out. All there is are cold, grey walls made of concrete. Everything else is either not a door or swamped in shadows.

“I don’t. The ladder used to be a way out, but it’s broken now.” I said.

“Oh.” Darin muttered. “Then how do we get out?”

“No idea.”

How do we get out? The ceiling is too far up for us to jump, the walls are too slick to climb, and Cirrus isn’t strong enough to pick us up and carry us out.

A chill ran down my spine. We’re not alone down here.

“Maybe we can use the broken machine parts and build a way out?” Darin asked.

“Maybe.”

That’s not my concern right now. There’s something else with us. Something is hiding in the shadows. Is it the gengar? The ghosts? Something else entirely?

“—not really a builder myself though. Do you know how to build things— Wilson? Are you okay?”

Something is here, and I don’t have any weapons.

Problem is, I can’t see. The only thing visible is a smallish orange… creature. It looks like it has lightning bolts for arms, and is wearing a rather familiar grin on its face.

“What… is that?” I asked.

“What’s what?” Darin asked, still kneeling next to Moon.

“That!” I said, pointing at the strange orange thing, now accompanied by the gengar from earlier and a few haunters and ghastlys.

”What’s what?” Darin blinked,
turning to look. “Oh it’s a rotom! that's probably what happened to the light earlier!”

A… rotom? What do they have to do with lights?

“What is a rotom?” I asked.

“A ghost-electric type!” Darin said. “They’re usually pretty strong too.”

Oh. It’s a ghost and electric type. That would probably explain the lightbulb from earlier; the rotom was probably causing the wire to overload. Good thing I’m not a contractor, since it’s probably difficult, frustrating, and expensive to rotom-proof a house.

“How strong?” I asked. It’s pretty small, so it might not be too powerful. At least not physically.

The rotom grinned, then shot a bolt of lightning at Cirrus, sending him flying backwards.

“Cirrus!” I yelled. “Are you—“

Cirrus floated up from the floor, and for a split second it looked like he was going to attack, but he then fell back down, out cold. I suppose he was already weakened from earlier.

Watson barked in alarm.

“Oh. That strong.” I said.

The rotom’s laughing, standing next to the gengar from earlier, as well as a few haunters and ghastlys. I’m surprised that ghost girl from earlier isn’t making an appearance as well.

We’re trapped here. There’s no windows, no unbarred doors, not even a second floor we can break into through the floor. It’s just… a box.

I swallowed, trying to push those… projections of similar situations out of my head, positioning myself in front of Cirrus, getting into a fighting stance. I’m not going to let him get any more injured than he already is. Not to these hounds— er, ghosts.

“Wilson.” Darin said. “You can’t just— you can’t just fight Pokémon with your fists!”

“I can at least try.”

Watson stood in front of me, staring down the mass of ghosts at the other side of the room. He’s not ready to go down without a fight either it seems.

“Watson? Are you ready?”

He nodded, barking with determination. I hope he’s ready, since Moon and Cirrus are both incapacitated. Although, Watson himself isn’t too healthy himself. He’s battered, bruised, and clearly exhausted.

“Watson, use—“

An electric bolt from the rotom sent him backwards a few feet. He got up.

“Watson!” I said.

It happened again.

“Watson!”

And again.

“Watson…”

And again. Every time I’d try to say something, he’d get electrocuted. The only reason he isn’t out cold (or possibly dead) is because he’s also an electric type and has a resistance.

Still, it’s painful to watch. He can’t really move anymore. He can only stand on his shaking legs, a look of fear on his face as the rotom laughed at his pitiful efforts to move. It’s awful to watch.

Maybe I should just put him back into his Pokeball. He won’t like it, but he’ll be safe at least—

Hold on. He’s… glowing?

He’s glowing a brilliant luminous color, illuminating the entire, previously nearly pitch-black room. His size is increasing, and his shape is changing ever so slightly.

Is he evolving? Is that what this is?

“He’s evolving!” Darin said from behind me, sounding pretty happy.

So he is. Judging from Darin’s tone, it’s a good thing.

Watson’s not glowing anymore. He’s a bit bigger, and now has a mane of dark hair around his head..

“Watson! You… evolved?”

The rotom wasn’t smiling anymore, and neither was it’s band of goons. Cirrus made a curious sound from somewhere behind me as well.

Watson took a step forward with newfound confidence, sparks flashing around him. With a growl, he released the most powerful electrical shock I had ever seen.

The door behind us splintered with the sheer force of it, and the room filled with dust. Splinters are raining from the ceiling.

The dust settled. The rotom’s the only one of his posse who’s still standing, looking a bit frazzled.

He did it. He finally did it!

“Watson you did it!” I said

The rotom shook itself off, then vanished into some exposed wires nearby, fleeing.

I know I should be a bit more concerned as to where it’s going, but right now I couldn’t care less.

Watson gave one last bark of triumph, then started to lean sideways, going limp. Is he fainting?

“Watson!”

I caught him before he could hit the ground, then picked him up. He’s… a lot heavier than he used to be. A lot heavier.

“You’re exhausted.” I said, hugging him. “You did good.”

Cirrus let out a questioning noise as Watson gave me a tired smile.

“You did good too Cirrus.” I said.

Cirrus let out a happy noise.

“Aw.” Darin said. “That’s adorable.”

It is, but I’m going to have to cut this tender moment short. We still need to find a way out.

“We still have to find a way— what?”

The previously broken ladder was now fixed and leaning against the wall, leading up and out of this basement thing. It looks surprisingly stable, having no cracks or splinters. Actually, I don’t even see that much dust on it either.

“How—?!”

“I have no idea.” Darin said. “Ghosts?”

“It’s not— you know what, you’re probably right.”

I wish I could carry Watson and Cirrus up the ladder rather than put them in their Pokeballs, but I’m feeling rather ill and weak right now, so into the capsules they go. Watson isn’t too pleased, but he can deal with it. Besides, he needs to rest anyway.

Now, as for the ladder, It looks stable, but looks can be very deceiving. For all I know it could crumble to dust if I do much as sneeze on it.

Of course, it’s not like there’s any other way out, which is why I’m currently halfway up the ladder already.

“Is it safe?” Darin called from below.

“Yes!” I shouted back. “As safe as a ladder can be anyways.”

Ladders aren’t very safe if they're unsecured. Many adventures to the roof of my house taught me that.

I never did fix that leak now did I? My attic must be thoroughly soaked and mildewed.

Gross.

-

Sunrise. It’s already sunrise.

We were in the mansion for hours it seems.

I’m exhausted, and Darin’s house is still over an hour’s walk away from the courtyard. Plus, my stomach isn’t agreeing with me. Not sure why, since I haven’t even eaten anything yet. Actually, that might be why.

Complaint isn’t really warranted though. We’re out and alive. We saw a ghost and ghost-type Pokémon, and we’re mostly unscathed. Watson even evolved while we were inside!

And yet, I still feel unsettled.

“Ready to head home?” Darin asked, as though it’s a question that needed to be asked.

“Yes.”

In a dusty window on the second floor, the ghost girl from earlier is staring down at us, next to a taller one that looks like a butler. They don’t seem hostile, but they’re certainly watching.

The taller one placed a hand on the girl’s head affectionately, while the girl just waved.

If they had faces, it would have been less uncomfortable. I waved back.

-

Home. I’m home. Well, technically it’s Darin’s home, but still. It’s nice to be here, in his very inviting house.

Watson’s curled up on the bed already (taking up a large portion of the bed, might I add), while Cirrus ties himself to the bedpost. They were healed at a Pokecenter earlier, so they should be okay.

I’m so tired. My stomach still isn’t very happy, unsettled both by nerves and hunger, but I don’t think I’d be able to bring myself to eat. Besides, I had a big breakfast, so I should be okay.

Not that I’d be able to leave a bed this comfortable anyway.

Chapter Text

Cold.

God, it’s so cold. I can’t even move away from my campfire without becoming a popsicle.

It’s not just me either. Everything around me is frozen solid, and the ground is covered in a thick layer of powdery snow. Trees and ponds are eerily still, and save for the wind, it’s silent.

My farms are frozen over too. They’re not going to work until spring time, so I can’t rely on them for food anymore. Thankfully, I have an abundance of jerky this time around, so I won’t starve.

Problem is, I don’t have any firewood. There’s a little bit, but it won’t be enough for the winter, and it certainly won't be enough if there’s a blizzard of any severity.

My hands won’t move. They’re pale, numb, and a little red at the fingertips. Frostbite is starting to set in, unfortunately.

I could, perhaps, leave the safety of my fire for a few minutes and go get some firewood from a tree over there. It would last a few days, and give me some more time to warm my thermal stone some more. Then I could go off and get a larger supply for the winter, and just camp out here until spring. It’s a good strategy, if the deerclops decides to not show up this time. But, I need my hands to hold my axe.

They still won’t move. Not even an inch. My fingers refuse to bend. Are they that frozen? Maybe they’re… stuck?

My fire’s going—

It’s out. The warm glow of my camp is gone, replaced by a bitter grey coldness that’s settling into my bones rather quickly. Normally this wouldn’t be too much of a problem, since I’d normally just throw another log in and start another fire, but I can’t do that now. My fingers still won’t move.

It’s spreading. Soon, I won’t be able to move anything, and I’ll die of hypothermia.

No, I’m not dying like that. Not again.

How do I get my hands to move? Would pain make them move? Pain normally makes things move.

Couldn’t hurt to try. Well, it could, but that’s the whole point Isn’t it?

I bit my left hand first, since it’s a bit more expendable should something go wrong. There’s no pain, only pressure, and it still won’t move.

Am I not biting hard enough? Maybe just a little bit more force.

Still not working. A bit more, maybe?

No?

No. This has to work! I don’t care how sore my jaw is, I’m going to get my hand to move.

Maybe it’s pointless.

It is pointless, isn’t it?

-

Blood. I smell blood. That would be worrying enough on its own, but I also taste it. The penny-ish taste is rather gut-wrenching, and not because of how gross it tastes.

My hand is moving at least, although it didn’t need to be bitten. I’m in a bed after all, not some desolate camp in the dead of winter.

Sort of wish I woke up from that dream a little sooner, since now I have a wound on my left hand. A teeth imprint, which was bleeding and beginning the buise. Looks pretty deep as well...

Funny. Usually when I have a nightmare, I wake up screaming and panicking. This time I’m just left with resignation. Cold, unshakable resignation mixed with dread and a realization of how pointless doing anything is, and inevitable death is. Er, how inevitable it was at that time.

I’d rather be panicking. At least then I'd be feeling something other than a crushing emptiness and hopelessness. Just the thought of not being able to do anything to fix something is… I don’t even know.

It’s starting to make a mess on the floor. I’d clean it up, but my hands still won’t move. I suppose they’re still stuck in the dream. That, or the way my glove tore somehow trapped them.

I could go get Darin and get him to clean it up, but I’m sure he’d be mad at me. Especially since I’m dripping onto an expensive-looking rug.

Cupping my left with my right, I looked around for something to stop the bleeding. It isn’t severe enough to worry, but it’s… bothering me.

Oh, it’s probably going to get infected. People’s mouths aren’t exactly the cleanest of the animal kingdom.

Wonder what animal has the cleanest mouth. Dogs? Some people brush their dog’s teeth, so it might be likely, although I’d still rather not get bitten by them.

Actually, the shadow creatures might have the cleanest mouth. After all, germs can’t grow on you if you’re made of shadows.

My hand hurts. A dull, throbbing pain is pulsing up my arm. I shouldn’t have bit my hand.

Why did I even do that? It wouldn’t have worked. Was I that desperate?

Suppose I was. Funny thing is, I remember managing to gather enough sticks to get my thermal stone warm enough, so it worked at least a little bit. Pointless now, but back then…

Back then. I’m saying that like it was years ago, but I only escaped the Constant a week or two ago. It’s not like it’s been that long. Yet, it feels so distant.

How long was I in there anyway? A day? A week? A year? It couldn’t have been more than a year, could it? A few years? Time didn’t really flow correctly while I was there...

Doesn’t matter. I’m out now, so it’s okay. At least, it should be. I shouldn’t still be thinking about it, it’s been over a week. Why won’t it just stop?

There was a knock on the door.

“Hello?” I said.

“Hello!” Darin said, opening the door. “I made breakfast—“

His face went pale rather quickly.

“Your hand!” He exclaimed. “It’s bleeding!”

“I know.” I said. It should probably bother me more, but for some reason it doesn’t.

He stared at me for a few extra seconds.

“I’ll go get some...bandages!” He said, rushing down the hallway and leaving the door wide open.

Watson’s still dead asleep. Not surprised, since he was pretty tired, and I didn’t wake up screaming. What is surprising is that Cirrus is awake, staring at me with a concerned look in his eyes.

“Good morning Cirrus.” I said. “Did you sleep well?”

He nodded, but he didn’t seem any less worried.

“I’m okay, don’t worry.”

He’s worried, for obvious reasons. Although I’m sure he’s even more worried thanks to his own experiences.

Darin’s back with a medical kit, looking winded.

“I’m back!” He said, placing the kit on the nightstand and opening it. “Is your hand still bleeding?”

I nodded. He pulled out some gauze and ointment, examining my hand.

“Did you… bite your hand?” He asked as he rubbed the ointment onto the back of my hand.

“Yes.” I said. I have the urge to pull my hand away in defense, despite… a lot of things. Despite the fact that I trust him, despite the fact I’m safe, despite the fact—

“Why?!” He asked. “You can’t just… bite your hand! It would be one thing if you bit your fingers while you were eating, but this doesn’t really look like… that.”

He wrapped some gauze around my hand, securing it with a strip of tape.

“I didn’t… realize…”

I swallowed. That cold, empty feeling is starting to get me all choked up, and I don’t even know why.

“Did you have a nightmare?” He asked, finishing wrapping my hand.

Nodding, I focused my attention to the floor. Darin shouldn’t have to keep finding me like this. It’s, frankly, rather embarrassing, and I’m sure he isn’t too fond of the fact that every time he walks into the guest bedroom I’m in distress.

“Do you want to—“

“No.” I said, interrupting him. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

Darin nodded, moving to the center of the room.

“I’ll go make you a plate.” He said,moving towards the doorway. “Unless you want me to stay?”

Stay? I’d honestly love for him to stay, but I’d rather not talk about what just happened. Even if we managed to avoid the conversation, it would still be pretty awkward, just sitting in silence.

“No.” I said. “Leave.”

Darin slinked out, giving me one last glance of concern before closing the door. I probably shouldn’t have said that so coldly. He was only trying to help after all. There was no need to be so… rude.

Maybe I can make amends at breakfast.

-

Darin’s picking at his food, shoving it to the side rather than eat it.

“Is something bothering you?” I asked.

“Hm? Oh no. Well, actually yes…”

“What is it?”

He glanced up at me, then looked back down at his plate.

“The… machine.” He said, avoiding eye-contact. “The one in the basement? Do you remember?”

The machine? That’s what’s got him worried? Not how I’d acted earlier? I suppose It was a bit of a peculiar sight, since I doubt an energy company would have any business in a haunted house.

Unless of course, they were looking for something.

What could they have possibly been looking for? Something involving ghosts? There wasn’t anything there but Pokémon and Ghosts. Nothing really invoking energy.

Actually, I’m surprised I didn’t find anything but ghosts there. I, personally, sort of hoped I’d find the nightmare fuel there.

“The one with the galactic symbol? I do remember it.” I said. “Why?”

“Well…” he said. “I saw someone leave out of a side door while we were walking away. I would have said something but I, uh, thought they were a ghost at first.”

Someone else was there with us? Who? Did we just not notice them?

“Did you see what they looked like?”

Darin shook his head.

“They had blue hair but… that’s all I remember.”

Blue hair? Normally that would be a pretty significant indicator, but a lot of people around here seem to have colored hair. Honestly, I always thought I stood out thanks to my hair, but I fit right in.

“Hm. I suppose we could go back and examine the machine. I didn’t really get a good look at it while we were there—“

“No!” Darin said, dropping his fork. “We shouldn’t go back!”

“Why?” I asked. “Are you scared? You don’t have to come with me—“

“No! I mean, I’m terrified, but— but aren’t you scared too?”

Yes? I’m always scared, that’s not really anything new. I’m not sure what the point he’s trying to make is.

“Of course I am, but this could be important.” I said. “You were the one who’s so worried about team Galactic. Besides, I said you don’t have to come—“

“I know!” He said. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go though!”

“Why? You’re not giving me a clear answer!”

He has a funny expression on his face, halfway between worried and irritated. Am I missing something obvious? Is that why he’s so annoyed?

“I don’t…” he sighed, placing his fork neatly on his half-finished plate and clasping his hands together. “Okay, I’m about to be very blunt with you.”

Oh no. Am I that stupid?

“Alright.” I said, braving myself.

“Okay, here it goes.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want you to have another panic attack.”

“...that’s it?”

He nodded. Not sure why he’s so concerned about my episodes. They’re not as bad as they seem in the moment. As long as I go during the day I should be okay.

“Ah. I thought you were worried about something important—“

“That is important!” He lectured. “It’s not good for your mental health to willingly go somewhere that triggers—“

“I’ll be fine.” I said, gritting my teeth. “I’m well aware of the… hazards to my mental health. It wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve gone through.”

“Wilson, just because it’s not the worse thing doesn’t mean—“

Darin let out a long sigh, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Okay, hear me out, maybe I can convince you.” He said, sounding a little bit desperate.

“Fine. I’ll listen.” I said.

Why is he trying so hard? Is he that worried about me? Are my panic attacks that worrying? They happen often enough to where you’d think he would be used to it by now.

“Okay, so you woke up this morning biting your hand, right?” He said. “From a nightmare?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have called it a ‘nightmare’ per say, but yes. Go on.” I said, folding my hands across my chest.

“Do you normally wake up hurting yourself like that?”

“...no.”

Where is he going with this?

“So don’t you think the Chateau had something to do with it?”

He might have a point. That dream certainly was different than my others. It wasn’t as fast-paced, but it was equally as terrifying.

Of course, this could be a case of correlation not equaling causation. I may have had that dream without the visit to the Chateau, and the only way to test it would be to go back there a few times and keep track of my dreams. All the more reason to go, if anything.

“Possibly, but it could have simply been a coincidence. Only way to test it would be to go back a few times and keep track—“

“Wilson! This isn’t an experiment!”

“It could be. It would help isolate—“

“No! Just… Why would you hurt yourself like that? Is whatever you might find there really worth putting your mental health at risk?”

Of course it is! Since when is knowledge not worth it?

“Yes! It is! I’m not going to just sit by while potential knowledge passes me by! This could be an oppor—“

An opportunity. I’ve been in this situation before, where there was an opportunity for knowledge to be gained. More potential knowledge was offered then than now, but it’s still the same. Am I really going to repeat the same mistake that put me in this situation in the first place? Who’s to say it would even be worth it? Who’s to say I’d even be able to find the mystery man, or decipher the machine?

Is it worth the price? The sinking feeling in my stomach says no.

“Wilson? Are you okay—“

I swallowed, my gut clenching “You’re right.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I am?”

“Yes. It’s… it’s not worth it. I probably wouldn’t be able to figure the machine out anyway…”

And there it goes, the potential knowledge is gone. Swept away like dust in the wind, leaving behind a tomb of buried secrets forever buried.

Silence filled the room. Even Watson had stopped eating in the awkwardness in order to see what was wrong.

Perhaps there’s another way? If Team Galactic was snooping around in the chateau, then they might be snooping around other places as well.

Don’t they have their abandoned headquarters nearby? Maybe we can check there. If they’re active again, they probably have some things in there that they’d want to move if they’re not using the building itself anymore. If they aren’t active, then we can at least find out what they were doing there.

“We could check their former headquarters? They might have some information on the machine there, and we’ll probably be able to find out what they were doing in the past.”

“Wouldn’t that be trespassing?” Darin said.

“And us going to the old chateau wasn’t?”

“That’s different! It’s abandoned!”

“Mostly.” I corrected.

“Mostly…”

“So we can go today. After we finish eating of course.”

Darin sighed again. I get the feeling there’s something he wants to say, but isn’t sure he is.

“...You don’t look convinced?”

“I think I need a break from trespassing.” He said, rubbing his face.

“Ah. I’ll go alone then—“

“You probably need a break too.”

“What? No I don’t!”

“Aren’t you tired? You look tired. Really tired.”

I mean, I am exhausted. Really, really exhausted. Physically and mentally fatigued, but the things I can learn—

No. He’s right. It’s not like the headquarters will disappear overnight after all. A day’s rest couldn’t hurt, and may even be beneficial.

“Okay.” I said. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” He said, taking a sip of tea.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll go, but what will we do today? He seems like he has something in mind.

“Then… what do we do today?” I asked. “Did you have something planned?

“Relaxing.” He said, finishing his tea. “Unless you had something in mind.”

“I… don’t.”

Relaxing it is then. I suppose it would be nice to finally have a day of rest. I’m sure Watson and Cirrus will appreciate it too.

Well, maybe not Watson, but he’ll get over it. Arguably, he’s the one who needs the rest the most.

-

Relaxing is impossible, despite how comfortable my bed is.

I’m not used to having nothing to do. I was always either working on machinery, gathering supplies, or trying to figure something out.

But now there… isn’t. There’s nothing to do but think. That wouldn’t be a bad thing if I was thinking about something to work on, some sort of scientific discovery to think about, but I’m not.

What I am thinking about is the nightmare fuel. Honestly, I’m rather disappointed with myself that I keep forgetting about it. It’s a dangerous substance that should be kept track of, yet it somehow slipped between my fingers.

What even happened to it anyway? It was in my bag one moment and gone the next—

I dumped it out, didn’t I? Goddamn it!

How could I haven been so stupid?! I dumped it out along with the rot! Some Pokémon probably ate it thanks to my neglect.

Why would I do that? Was I that impaired? Was it the blood loss? Head trauma? Drunkenness?

No. It was none of those. It was sheer, unfiltered stupidity that’s caused this. I might as well be lobotomized with how useful my brain is right now.

God, why did I do that?!

Well, now I know why it disappeared, but I still don’t know where it is, or what it’s doing. Maybe I should go looking for it? It’s probably pretty far away by now if something took it, so searching would be pointless…

Suppose all I can do now is attempt to relax and stare out of the window.

Watson nuzzled my hand out of concern, barking at me.

“I’m alright, Watson.” I said, scratching behind his ear. “Just thinking is all.”

Two men are standing by a tree outside, a fair distance from the window. Wonder what they’re up to. Looks like they’re talking…

Actually, one of them looks familiar. I think that’s the man I bumped into in the market. His blue hair-horns are rather distinct after all.

Looks like they’re still talking. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were members of a speakeasy, since alcohol is illegal now. Er, at least it was in my world. Not that it stopped anyone from drinking, people just had to be more sneaky about it. Wonder if my stash of moonshine is still hidden under my floorboards…

Hold on, he’s holding something. It looks like a vial? I can’t see what’s in it from here, they’re too far away and obscured by some branches.

Watson barked at the window, peering over the windowsill.

“Suspicious, isn’t it?” I said.

Watson nodded. Cirrus floated over, curious.

“Wonder what’s in the vial.”

Perhaps I could sneak out and go look—

“Wilson?” Darin said, knocking for once.

“Yes?” I said, leaving the window and walking over to the door.

He opened it right as I grabbed the handle.

“I just found out the Fluorma Pokémon Center has a small psychology program!” Darin said, sounding excited.

“Er… were you planning on becoming a psychologist?” I asked, not entirely sure why he’s so excited.

“No silly! It’s for you!”

“...I’m not interested in studying Psychology.”

Frued has basically saturated the field of Psychology anyway. Plus, I’d rather not pay for classes.

“No, I mean they have a therapy thing!” He said, still excited.

“...And?”

His enthusiasm deflated a bit.

“You can go to therapy!” He said. “You might be able to get some help for your panic attacks!”

That would be nice, although I’m not sure how someone would be able to help with that.

Of course, there’s high likelihood I’ll be admitted to an insane asylum if I’m too abnormal, so I’ll have to keep things… closed off.

“I… suppose it couldn’t hurt—“

Darin grabbed my arm and pulled me out the door.

“Come on— oh, sorry.”

He let go of my arm.

“It’s alright.” I said.

“No, no it’s not.” He said, sighing. “I always do that.”

“It doesn’t really bother me too much.”

He nodded, probably not believing me. It’s true though, for some reason him grabbing my arm doesn’t bother me as much. Of course, if I’m having one of my episodes it doesn’t bother me, but if in a situation like this, it’s fine.

Maybe I’m just desperate for human contact. That’s probably it…

-

So how exactly is this going to help anyway? Talking can’t possibly solve that many problems, and if it’s anything like Frued’s “talk therapy,” then it won’t be helpful.

How long will it take? I mean, I literally have all day, but I’d still rather not sit in a room for too long. Is this just a one-time thing? Is it like a doctor’s appointment where I’ll need a follow-up if they find something wrong? How “wrong” do I have to be for that to happen? Will it even work?

Actually, what will they do if there’s something really wrong with me? My first guess would be either shock therapy or a lobotomy, but this place might have… other methods. Other methods that I’d rather not think about.

I hope they don’t throw me into an asylum. I’d rather not have to have Darin take care of Watson and Cirrus. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

“...Are you nervous?” Darin asked from the chair beside me, sounding concerned.

“...no.” I said. “Well, a little bit.”

“Why? Nothing bad is going to happen!”

“I don’t want to get diagnosed with hysteria and need a lobotomy.”

“...What?”

“Hysteria is a disorder characterized by intense feelings and expression of emotions, lashing out, and sometimes hallucinations. A lobotomy is the severing—“

“I know what those are! You don’t have to—“ he put whatever he was reading back onto the table next to the waiting room chairs. “Where did you get the idea that’s how they treat people?!”

“Is that… not what they do to fix your brain?”

“No!”

Then what do they do? Something better? Something worse? Something far worse? This may have been a mistake then.

“Ah. I had no idea.”

Darin looked at me with a great deal of concern and confusion. “Wilson, I’m serious. Where did you—“

“Is Mr. Wilson here?” A nurse said, poking her head through the door.

“I am.” Insaid, standing up.

She smiled. “Come with me!”

-

I’m alone. Apparently, there’s a Psychologist getting ready to see me, but she wasn’t quite ready yet when the nurse called me in.

What was Darin so worried about anyway? He shouldn’t be so surprised that I don’t know how they treat things. After all, I’m not a Psychologist.

Or, it’s just another horrific gap in my knowledge that disturbed him. Honestly, I’m not sure why he puts up with me and my ignorance. I’m sure it would be easier to—

The door opened, and a woman wearing a sort of work dress walked in, closing the door gently behind her. Her brown hair was tied into a bun, and her dress was some sort of blue color. Neptune? Actually I think that’s a shade of red.

“Hello Wilson.” She said, walking over and sitting down in the chair in front of me, pulling out a notepad. “My name is Dr. Jones.”

“Hello Dr. Jones.” I said, shifting in my chair. It’s surprisingly comfortable.

“So,” she said. “What brings you here?”

Straight to the point? That’s good, I’m not in the mood for small talk anyway.

“Panic barrages.” I said. “Er, panic attacks, I mean.”

“Panic attacks?” She said, writing something down. “Have you been to a therapist before?”

“No.” I responded. “This is my first time.”

She nodded, writing some things down on her notepad in a loopy handwriting somewhere between cursive and print.

“I see. I’ll try to make sure your first time is pleasant.” She said in a cheery voice. “Have you ever had any sort of counseling?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m not even entirely sure how this is supposed to… work.”

“Well.” She said, holding her arms across her lap and leaning forward a bit. “Normally what happens Is I ask a few questions to see what exactly is wrong, and we work together to find a solution.”

“Sounds… hopeful. Worth trying at the very least.”

She seems nice enough. Maybe this will work out after all.

“Glad you’re looking forward to it.” She said. “The first couple of questions I’m going to ask are you help me get to know you better. Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Alright. Feel free to interrupt if you ever need to.”

“Ok.”

“So, what brings you here in the first place? It takes a lot of courage to take the first step, so you must be pretty brave to manage to come here.”

“Brave” is one way to put it. I’d call it “easily manipulated,” but I get she’s trying to be encouraging.

“I wouldn’t really call myself ‘brave,’ since I needed some convincing from a… friend.”

It feels odd to call Darin a friend. Acquaintance doesn’t seem to fit, and coworker wouldn’t make any sense.

“A friend?” She questioned. “He must care about you a lot if he convinced you to come here.”

I nodded. Darin does seem to care a lot, for some reason. Pity? Possibly pity. Although, he’s doing a lot for me out of just pity, so it might be something… more.

“I suppose he does.” I said.

She wrote a few more things down on her notepad again. Wonder if I could trouble her for a copy of the notes afterwards. Not for anything important or anything, just for curiosity’s sake. It would be nice to see what she thinks is wrong with me, and she thinks I need to be admitted to an asylum.

“Alright, now for the more pressing questions. Would you like a glass of water?”

“Not very pressing, but yes… please.” I said, accepting the glass of water.

“Now for the actual pressing questions.” She said, waiting until I finished drinking some of my water before continuing. “What brings you here today?”

“Panic b—“ wait that is not right. “—Panic attacks, I mean.”

“Panic attacks?” She said. “Are they frequent?”

They’re nearly daily, so yes, but should I tell her that? Overreacting is a sign of hysteria, and I’d rather not… admit that I probably have it.

“Er, not really. Once or twice a… month, I’d say.”

She nodded, writing.

“And how do they make you feel?”

“Before, during, or after?” I asked for clarification.

“After.”

“Fatigued more than anything. Maybe a touch… vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable? Could you elaborate a bit?”

Elaborate? How? I’m not really sure how to. Not without going into far too much detail.

“Er, I’m not really sure how.”

“That’s alright.” She said. “Do it the best way you—“

Her watch beeped.

“Oh.” She said, sounding disappointed. “We’re out of time.”

She wrote some more notes down, flipped the page, then wrote something else down.

“If you’d like, I have an open slot tomorrow afternoon.” She said, handing me a slip of paper. “You can come back then.”

So this isn’t a one-time thing after all. I might not be able to come, since I plan on exploring team Galactic's HQ tomorrow.

“I’ll see if I’m able to.” I said, folding the paper and putting it into my pocket. “Thank you for your time.”

“Thank you for coming.”

-

“So, how did it go?” Darin asked, walking next to me.

“Well, I suppose.” I said. “We didn’t really… accomplish much. I have to go back tomorrow, where we’ll continue.”

“Well it was only the first session.” He said. “It usually takes a couple before things get rolling.”

“Ah.”

He seems pretty knowledgeable about all of this. Is it common knowledge? Or does he just have experience with it? I’m curious, but I don’t want to pry.

“Did she ask about your hand?”

“Hm? No.” I said. “I think she was going to, but didn’t want to scare me off.”

Darin chuckled.

“Honestly, that would be the first thing I’d ask.” He said, grinning. “It’s hard to miss, especially since your arm-length gloves really make the gauze stand out.”

“I’m sure it does.”

His smile faded a bit.

“How is your hand anyway? Does it still hurt? Is it warm?”

“It’s not infected, if that’s what you’re worried about. A bit sore, but that’s expected since it’s bruising more than bleeding…”

Darin nodded, glancing at my hand.

“Right, right.” He said. “Do you think it needs to be re-bandages?”

“No. It should be fine for tonight.”

He nodded, continuing to walk next to me.

“So when do you plan on going back?” He asked.

“I don’t plan on it.” I responded.

“What? Why?” He asked, stopping in his tracks.

“We have to go explore the old headquarters tomorrow.” I said. “There isn’t any time.”

“What about the day after then?”

“No.”

Admittedly, the main reason I don’t want to go back is that I don’t want to be thrown into an asylum. I’m sure if I had told her any more, I would have been locked away. The thought of me getting trapped in some dark building, strapped to a table and injected with God knows what gives me a stomach ache. Worse, the thought of losing a part of my brain, part of me, is more than a little unnerving.

Of course, it’s not the only reason, but it’s the main one. Besides, the panic attacks really aren’t that bad, just… annoying. Same with the projections.

“No??” Darin said, staring at me. “Why? It could help you!”

“Darin, I’m not planning on staying in your house for too much longer. I’ve already overstayed my welcome, and if I were to go to the pokecenter I’d have to stay with you.”

“I don’t mind—“

“I do. You’re a good man, Darin. I won’t take advantage of your kindness any longer. Once we explore the HQ, I’ll be taking my leave.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, probably about how he doesn’t mind, even though I know he does. A man cannot just live with my nightmares and not be at least a little bit annoyed, after all. I certainly wouldn’t put up with a nightmare-ridden homeless man. Why he does is a mystery.

Besides, Fluorma Town is beginning to feel like a cage. It was pleasant at first, but now it’s just… I hate it. I don’t know why, I just do. Maybe it’s the fields and how they remind me of the ones in the constant. Maybe the smell is starting to bother my nose. Maybe it’s just too boring of a place. Whatever the reason is, I can’t stay.

“Okay.” Darin said, sounding a bit somber. “We’ll explore the old HQ tomorrow, then you’ll… leave.”

Chapter Text

Morning came far too quickly.

I didn’t sleep so well last night (a nightmare, of course, kept me awake), and the sun is looking particularly extinguishable.

It’s also still pretty early in the morning, although my nerve probably won’t let me go back to sleep. Wonder if Darin’s awake? He’s usually awake at this hour.

Sneaking through his house in the morning is a lot better than doing it at night. It far less… oppressive than it would be. Rather than sharp, warping shadows, there’s a warmth emitting from the still-closed blinds. All the silence of the night, but with the relief and comfort of the sun.

Funny. I used to despise mornings. Back when I was in college, morning was always a sign of another all-nighter coming to an end. It always meant I would be exhausted for the rest of the day. Even when I dropped out, being awoken by the blinding light from my attic window was always unwelcome.

Now, it’s a relief. Ever since my first few days in the Constant, the fact that the dangerous and cold shadows of the night would be washed away by the promise of a new day was always something that kept me going. Another chance to find something new, another chance to escape.

Old habits die hard I suppose. Despite there being significantly less danger at night, mornings still give me a sense of relief, and the mild urge to go berry-picking.

Speaking of, I am sort of hungry. I suppose I’ll be able to make something for myself. Darin probably won’t mind as long as I clean the pan afterwards. This frying-pan should be sufficient for something at least. Now I’ll just need to find something that tastes okay when fried. The fridge probably has an egg—

Wait, do Pokémon lay unfertilized eggs? I’d assume they do, but I don’t know if the eggs are poisonous or not. I’m sure poison type eggs are at least. After all, it’s in the name.

I’ll cook something else then— wow, a lot of ice must have been used for this fridge. How does it stay so cold anyway? It's making a weird humming noise….

Perhaps it’s electrical? Not sure how electricity could keep things cold. In my experience, it usually heats things up. A lot.

Maybe the humming is from a pump that’s pumping coolant? That would probably work, as long as the coolant loop is connected to a system that cools it down, although that just brings up the same problem. Law of thermodynamics at work I suppose. Can’t delete heat, you can only move it somewhere else.

Wait? What was I doing before? Oh, food. I was looking for food. That’s what the frying pan is for, food.

Erm, I don’t recognize any of this. Some appear to be some type of fruit or vegetable, while others are containers of unidentifiable juices and mush. What even is “Cherri-Berry-Blast” anyway? It sort of sounds like a cleaning solution… although why would he have that in his fridge? Does it denature if it’s unrefrigerated? I don’t think Darin is scatterbrained enough to put a cleaner in here by mistake.

Ah, at least I recognize this. It’s milk from a miltank, which is a sort of cow Pokémon. Does it have the same properties as cow’s milk? Is there miltank butter? Yogurt? Can you get milk from other types of Pokémon? Do all female Pokémon make milk? Why do they need milk if they lay egg?!

Wait, do the human women here lay eggs? I feel like I’d get slapped if I asked. Plus, there’s no way a woman would be able to lay an egg that size and not have severe hip problems. God, imagine watching someone lay an egg. That sounds disgusting and horrific.

Well, I’m certainly not hungry anymore. Not that I’d be able to cook anything anyway. None of the labels make sense, the ingredients all look strange, and I’m pretty sure I don’t know how to work the stove.

Wonderful. I can’t even cook for myself. This is actually pretty embarrassing. Wonder if Darin has some sort of cookbook I can borrow.

Oh, I haven’t taken my supplements for the past few days either. Wonder if I’m getting better? Less malnourished? I can’t really tell. I can still see my ribs clearly if I pull up my shirt, and my face is still boney. Wonder if I was supposed to do a follow-up so they could check on that sort of thing.

Wonder if it’ll have any lasting effects. I’ve heard malnourishment and starvation can have severe consequences, ranging from hair and teeth loss to death. I haven’t noticed any hair or teeth loss, so maybe it wasn’t that bad? I’m sure if I’d stayed in the hospital longer, they would have found more problems aside from slow healing. Wonder how nutritional those red berries were—

The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. Something’s behind me.

I grabbed the frying pan.

“Wilson—“

Darin?

“H-hello.” I said, putting the frying pan down. “Good morning.”

“Good morning!” He said, as cheerful as ever. “Were you going to make breakfast?”

“I… thought about it.” I said. “Although I didn’t really recognize any of the ingredients in your fridge.”

“Oh. They have different foods in Alola?”

Ah, I’d forgotten I’d said I was from the Alola region.

“Yes.” I said.

“Want me to help you then? I can show you a few of the ingredients!”

“That… would be nice actually.” I said. “Thank you.”

He rummaged around in the fridge.

“Feel like anything special?” He asked, moving some containers aside.

“Not… really.” I said, peeking over his shoulder.

“How about poffins?” He asked.

I have no idea what those are. They sound like a type of bird, honestly. Actually, I think I’ve seen them somewhere before? Did Darin make them for me before? I can’t remember.

“Sure?” I said.

“Alright!” He said, grabbing a bag of berries. “We’ll make some poffins! Your Pokémon will love ‘em too.”

-

Turns out, poffins are some sort of… bread? They’re a lot softer than you’d expect bread to be. Not mushy, but certainly soft. The batter is more wet than you’d expect from a bread.

There’s also a surprising amount of puréed berries in it as well. Most of the sugar and flavor seems to come from berries.

“Now what?” I asked, holding the bowl of batter.

“We bake them!” Darin said, smiling warmly.

So we bake them, but in what? Anything too big and the poffins will scald since the batter is mostly fruit-based. Oh, he’s getting a muffin pan. That will probably work.

Wait, is a poffin really just a poke-muffin? Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be. It’s not like “poké” isn’t the most common suffix in this world.

“How long do they bake for?” I asked, sliding the now-filled muffin pan.

“About thirty minutes, although it might be a bit longer with my old oven.” He said, leaning against the counter. “Forty-five minutes?”

“Your oven is old? It looks fairly advanced to me…”

“It really isn’t. I need to get a new one.”

“Ah.”

Small talk. The bane of my existence, among other things. Although, I get the feeling Darin is a bit of a fan of small talk, since silence seems to make him uncomfortable. Anything to fill the void I suppose.

Darin put the bowl we used for the batter into the sink, filling it with water so the leftover batter wouldn’t harden.

“So! Where do you plan on going?” He asked, turning the tap off.

To be honest, I haven’t really thought it through that much. I just know I need to get out of here soon.

“Eterna City?” I said. “I think that’s what it’s called.”

“Eterna City? That’s… pretty far from here.” He said. “I can see why you didn’t want to make the journey.”

According to my poke-tech, it’s not… that far. A bit of a walk, but we can make it there in a day if we leave early.

“Not really.” I said. “Just a day’s walk.”

Darin didn’t seem too convinced. Honestly, he still looks pretty worried, staring at me with poorly-hidden concern.

“How’s your leg? You stopped wearing your cast so…”

“Honestly, I’ve entirely forgotten about my leg. It doesn’t hurt anymore, if that’s what you were worried about.”

A small bit of relief washed over this face, leaving a majority behind.

“That’s good.” He said, smiling.

Why is he still so worried? Does he not believe me? Or is he still upset about the fact that I’m leaving? It is a bit rude to just… quit therapy after only one short session, especially after he went through all of the trouble to get me the session in the first place. Although, you’d think he’d be more angry than worried.

Or maybe he’s still worried about the fact that I woke up biting my hand. That is a reasonable cause for concern, I’d say.

But I can’t stay. I just can’t. I feel trapped here, despite how calm and pleasant the town is. There’s a… darkness here. Maybe it’s from the Chateau, maybe it’s just me. Either way, it’s choking me slowly.

“So, do you want to go to the HQ after we eat?” He asked, string out of a window absent-mindely.

“Well, I doubt it would be a good idea to leave the poffins unattended.”

He grinned.

“You’re right, you’re right.” He said, chuckling at what was apparently funny. “We’ll leave after we eat.”

I nodded. Oh, I should probably go wake up Watson and Cirrus so they have time to eat. I have a feeling I’m going to need them, for one reason or another.

-

Well, the abandoned Galactic Headquarters is certainly abandoned. Quite a few of the windows are shattered, the concrete is cracked, and there’s some exposed wiring on the outside. Not nearly as overgrown and unstable as the Old Chateau, but just as desolate.

The large G that’s plastered above the entranceway still stands strong against the wear and tear of time. The paint isn’t as worn down, there aren’t any large cracks, and it still sort of looks like it light function if it had power.

Actually, it looks significantly better than the rest of the building, so it might have been specifically made to last long. Or they just replaced it pretty often, which might be the case.

“Well, we’re here.” Darin said, looking at the top of the building. “Do we just… walk in?”

“I don’t see why not. It is abandoned, right?”

“Hopefully.”

The inside isn’t much better than the outside. Meticulously organized for an abandoned building, but still abandoned.

“So was this really their HQ?” I asked Darin, passing by a box that had a flat typewriter in front of it.

“Sort of.” He said. “They used this one to conduct research in Fluorma Town, and try to take over the Valley Windworks. Their real HQ is in Veilstone City.”

“So this was more of a… research outpost?”

He nodded. That explains the size of the building (it’s not that big), and the myriad amount of flasks, bunsen burners, and vials scattered about. Not really what you would normally find in business HQ, that’s for sure.

There’s also an unsurprising amount of paper everywhere. Some are blank, while others have research notes about… things that I unfortunately don’t understand.

I wish I could decipher more of this. It looks like some sort of… chain? Made of three different gems from three two-tailed Pokémon, but other than that I don’t have the slightest clue as to what it is. Is it important? Outdated? Dangerous?

“Darin?” I asked. “Do you know what these are for?”

He walked over and took a look, raising an eyebrow as he looked over the paper I just handed to him. Watson hopped up on a desk to get a look as well, while Cirrus floated next to me.

“Well, it looks like it involves the three lake spirits, but I don’t know what it’s for…”

“Lake spirits?”

“Uxie, Mespsirit, and Azelf.” He said, handing the paper back to me. “They’re Pokemon said to embody the knowledge, emotion, and willpower of people.”

Odd. Is it just people or do they embody the knowledge, emotion, and willpower of Pokémon too? And why do they live in lakes? That’s not where I’d imagine them living.

Furthermore, what would they have to do with chains? What sort of machine would require Pokémon like that?

“Interesting.” I said. “Why is there a machine designed around them?”

“Team Galactic captured them a while ago, so this might be the blueprints for whatever they planned on doing with them.”

“So it’s outdated then?”

“Probably.”

So none of this is new, unfortunately. There’s no information about what they could be doing in the room, but maybe—

Watson nudged my leg, while Cirrus wrapped around my arm.

“What’s wrong you two? Do you hear some—“

Footsteps and voices, from down the hallway. They’re getting closer.

“What’s wrong Wilson—“

“Hide!” I whispered shoving Darin under a desk

Grabbing Cirrus and Watson, I scrambled underneath a desk. The door clicked open, and a blue-haired man I ran into at the supermarket walked in, talking to a plum-haired woman. Well, they were more arguing rather than simply discussing.

“—I told you already, I can’t find him! It’s like he dropped off the face of the planet!” The woman said, clearly irritated.

“Well then tell Mars to keep looking!” He said, grabbing the stack of documents and crumpling them in his hands. “I need Charon’s technical knowledge.”

“For once.” She added, teasing him a bit.

“For once.” He repeated, sighing.

Darin’s looking very uncomfortable, hidden under the desk with a death grip on his Pokeball. Probably because they were discussing everything over the desk he was hiding under. Thankfully it was one of those office desks that was basically a box turned on it’s side, so they couldn’t see him from where they were.

Watson and Cirrus are smushed up behind me, under a desk across from Darin’s. Watson doesn’t look pleased at all, if his annoyed expression is anything to go off of. Thankfully, we’re pretty hidden as well.

“So Saturn,” she said, leaning on the desk. “You really think this place has anything that can help us?”

“Veilstone HQ isn’t remote enough for us.” He said. “So we have to work here. At least until we can get the basement sound-proofed.”

“Would be great if we could clean this place up a bit.” She muttered, using her finger to draw a line through the dust. “But I guess it’s better than nothing.”

The man nodded, taking out the vial I saw him with earlier. Inside was a viscous black liquid that resembled gelatinous smoke. It made my stomach lurch.

“...Why do you still have that stuff?” She asked, wrinkling her nose a hit at it.

“It could be useful.” He said, swirling the liquid in the vial like a glass of wine. “It seems to have some… interesting properties. Plus we can use it to convince Charon to come work with us again. He’s always hungry for an opportunity to examine something.”

She sighed. “You got that right. Where did Mars say she found it? Near Twinleaf?”

He nodded, putting it away into a shirt pocket.

Twinleaf? Isn’t that the really small town I was teleported near? Why were they there? What’s in the vial—

Hold on. It’s a black, viscous liquid with strange properties? Found near Twinleaf, where I stupidly dumped out my bag?

It’s Nightmare Fuel isn’t it. They have the nightmare fuel!

My chest tightened. What are they even going to do with it?! They can’t just—- how could I have been so stupid?!

This is bad. This is really bad. Horrible even.

“Of course, we could always just feed it to a Grimer if it turns out to be useless.” She said, grabbing some of the old blueprints we were looking at a few minutes ago. “Now these on the other hand…”

No, do not feed that to a Pokémon!

“Those are certainly useful.” He said. “We should—“

Did he notice us? Wait, no he just yawned.

“Tired?”

“Yes.” He muttered, stuffing the papers into a manila folder. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“Once we get back you can take a nap.” She said. “You probably need it.”

He nodded, brushing the dust off of himself.

“Let’s get going.”

They walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind themselves, disturbing the dust and dirt on the floor, and sending an echo throughout the building.

“That was close.” Darin said, sighing with relief. “Imagine the trouble we would have been if they had found us— Wilson?”

I need to get the vial. Problem is, he put it in his shirt pocket, so the only way I’d be able to get it is if he was attacked.

Honestly, that might be the best course of action. “Saturn,” as he’s called, doesn’t seem too physically strong, so maybe if I could just take him by surprise—

Wait, what if the vial breaks and the fuel vanishes again? What then?

Plus, I’m not sure I would be able to take them both on by myself. Pokémon aren’t really allowed to hit humans, and I doubt Darin can help in a fight.

So, for now, I have to let them go. It’s painful, but… necessary.

“Wilson? Are you okay? You’re turning pale…”

No, I’m not okay. Not at all. I can’t really… breathe correctly right now. A panic attack? Probably.

I don’t know what they’re planning, but they have the nightmare fuel, which is bad. Very bad. Good God this can’t get much worse.

“Wilson? You need too—“

“They’re planning something!” I said, turning around to face him. “What are they planning?!”

“They’re planning on bringing the team back together?” Darin asked, taking a step towards me. “That’s not bad in of itself as long as they don’t do anything—“

He doesn’t get it. They have nightmare fuel, the very essence of nightmare at their disposal. Problem is, I can’t really explain what it is or what it does without sounding like a complete lunatic. He doesn’t know where it comes from, he doesn’t know it’s properties or what it does to your mind.

But they have it, and if they’re bringing in someone to analyze what it does…

A chill ran down my spine. They’re trying to improve the secrecy of their base in Veilstone right? Soundproofing? I could follow them there.

Our stop in Eterna City will be very short, won’t it?

“Y-you’re right.” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “They haven’t done anything.”

Yet. They haven’t done anything yet. But when they do…

Well, I might be panicking a bit too much. They don’t seem to be all that interested in it, at least beyond mild curiosity. With some luck they might get distracted by whatever they’re trying to do in Veilstone, so I might have some more time. Of course, there’s always the possibility…

What could they even do with the Nightmare Fuel? I don’t know how it behaves in this world, and I don’t have any to run tests on.

Darin took a step towards me. “Wilson? Would you like to—“

“I need to leave today.” I said. “Right now.”

“Leave the building? We can go if you w—“

I shook my head. “No, I mean Fluorma.”

Darin’s eyes widened a bit, and Watson cocked his head while Cirrus floated in between them.Worry and confusion were on all three of their faces.

“Now? Right now?” Darin asked.

“Yes. Now.”

“You’re not planning on following them to Veilstone are you?”

I am. That’s exactly what I was planning to do. Honestly, if they didn’t have the nightmare fuel I wouldn’t follow them at all.

“Wilson, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

A good idea? What does Darin know? Nothing. He knows absolutely nothing about how dangerous this has just gotten. Why is he trying to keep me from leaving?!

“What do you know?! You were the one who was worried about them coming back in the first place!” I said, pointing a finger at him. “Once I get my bag from your house, I’m leaving. Are we clear?”

Darin’s a bit startled, flinching at my sharp tone.

“...Alright.” He said, looking at me with sadness. Not anger, not fear, just… sadness. “We’re clear.”

Watson and Cirrus are looking at me with sadness as well. They tailed with a bit more distance as we left the building, with the rustling leaves and wind being the only noise I could hear.

Chapter Text

My bag feels heavier. A lot heavier.

Maybe I’m just tired, and my physical strength is starting to be exhausted. Either way, it’s too early to set up camp now. Plus, I can’t sleep if the sun is still out.

Watson and Cirrus are still trailing behind me, keeping about a more meter of distance than they usually would.

Usually, Watson would lead the way, his confidence in his path-finding skills, while pointless at the moment, leading him to our destination. Cirrus, on the other hand, would trail behind, much less alert than Watson is, and taking his time to enjoy the scenery. He is a literal drifter after all, so his carefree nature is… expected despite what it resulted in.

Not anymore. Watson’s behind me, ears flattened, preoccupied with his own feet. Cirrus is further behind than he usually is, seemingly anxious, focused more on what’s ahead rather than the flora around him.

I understand why, my curt tone and anger was… unprecedented and uncalled for. They’re probably expecting me to lash out at them as well.

God, why did I do that? I don’t normally lash out like that at people. I understand I was frustrated, but that was inexcusable. No wonder he stopped trying to convince me to stay.

This needs to stop.

Thinking back, I treated him rather badly. Between my nightmares and stubbornness, I probably caused him a lot of grief. At least he won’t have to deal with me now, since I’m already halfway up the route.

Still, I wish I’d thanked him for helping me. I’m not sure what I would have done without his help, nor do I want to think about it.

Maybe, someday, I’ll go back and thank him. It’s the least I can do, after all he’s done.

The sun is setting, and a cold air is starting the brew. Despite my haste, we still left far later than I would have liked to, so we’re behind schedule.

What’s worse, I can see storm clouds beginning to pile up in the distance, and they’re slowly making their way over to where we are.

Maybe setting up camp would be a good idea, since it’s about to rain and all. Although I don’t exactly have the luxury of time. The longer I take to get the Veilstone, the longer they have the Nightmare fuel, and longer they’ll have time to figure out what it does, what it could do.

Watson barked, probably to alert me about the storm, as though I wouldn’t notice it. To be fair, I wouldn’t have much faith in myself either.

“We’re not setting up camp tonight.”

Watson tilted his head, pausing. Cirrus stopped as well, looking concerned.

“We don’t have time Watson.”

Watson frowned, barking again.

“Watch your tongue.”

He barked in defiance one final time. Cirrus floated between us, raising his heart-tipped string.

“Cirrus—“

Thunder boomed above us. A flash of light split the sky as a bolt of lightning streamed through the clouds.

“...I have an idea.”

Watson’s tail raised up in interest, although he frowned again once I pulled out their Pokeballs.

“It’s only for a little while, until the rain stops. That way, you two aren’t tired.”

Watson barked at me, irritated. Cirrus just sort of looks sad, staring at me with a defeated look, not even trying to argue.

I clicked the button on their capsules.

“Just a little while.” I said.

They’re inside their capsules now, which is good, since it’s starting to rain. Eterna City isn’t too far, so I should be there by morning if I walk fast enough and avoid taking breaks.

-

Did I say rain? I meant a downpour.

A downpour that has made it nearly impossible to see, outside the frequent flashes of lightning that streamed across the sky.

Unfortunately, my clothes are very water-permeable. They’re more than wet or soggy, they’re drenched. Absolutely water-logged with water, sweat, and mud.

Wet clothes I can deal with. What I can’t deal with is the mud; it’s caked all over my legs and shoes, and the mud on the ground makes what would normally be a straightforward pathway a minefield of small pits and puddles. Coupled with the darkness, it makes traversing the route more than a little difficult.

A cold chill ran down my spine after I stepped into yet another puddle. Despite how pleasantly warm it was earlier, it’s now rather cold. The drop In temperature could be because of how wet I am, could be because of the seasons changing. Either way, I’m shivering.

This is awful. It’s nothing new, of course. I’ve traveled through storms, monsoons, and even blizzards before without proper clothing and I was fine. Well, maybe not after that blizzard, since I only managed to get halfway to my destination in that case…

Another chill ran down my spine. I wish I had an umbrella, one that won’t make me a lighting rod. And eyebrella would work too…

God, I hate the rain. Why did I think this was a good idea? Oh, the Nightmare fuel. That’s why.

I still can’t believe I managed to dump out the fuel. How did my brain miss that little lapse in logic? Was I that exhausted? That stupid?

Why didn’t I notice it was gone before? Why didn’t I realize—

Oh, there was a hole there. Great, now there’s mud on more than just my legs and shoes. And the strap on my backpack just broke too.

Maybe I should just stay here and let the ground reclaim my miserable existence. There’s no way I’d be able to get to Veilstone in time. I’m not even in Eterna City yet, and Veilstone is on the other side of the region. I still have to pass through the mountain that divides the region...

Hopeless. It’s hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.

Even if I do get there in time, what will I even do? Demand they hand it over? Have a Pokémon battle over it that I would certainly lose? Try and pull a stealth operation and steal it? I doubt any of those would work.

Besides, what would I even do with the fuel if I got it? Keep it? Destroy it somehow? I don’t even know if it can be destroyed—

Something grabbed my leg, digging it’s claws into my calf.

It’s pulling me away from my fire and towards the impenetrable veil of darkness, away from the safety and warmth and into the cold danger.

Worse, I can’t shake it off. My throat’s starting to tighten again, and breathing is difficult...

There’s more grabbing me, digging their claws into my legs and hands. Blood’s dripping into the dirt as they tear through my flesh, and struggling only brings more pain.

They won’t get off. Why won’t They get off?!

I can’t get it off! It’s imp—

Hold on. That’s not— that’s not one of Them. That’s a vine. A dead, thorny vine, but a vine nonetheless. Why is it growing in the middle of the path?!

Another projection, it seems. As usual, my throat and chest still feel tight, and my breathing is a little bit shaky.

I don’t have the time to calm myself down though. I’m already running out of time.

A boom of thunder made me jump to my feet. Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

It’s too late to turn around now.

-

I’m so tired. I don’t even know how close I am to Eterna City, let alone Veilstone. Am I even still on the route? The rain and darkness is making it impossible to see.

It’s still raining. My legs are exhausted, having to travel through mud and plant matter on the uneven pathway. Everything in my backpack is probably soaked as well.

Why does the rain bother me so much? Is it because I’m all wet? I’ve dealt with rain before, both in the Constant and at home, so it’s not new. Although, it is stirring up some unpleasant memories.

Turns out, hounds can smell better after it rains thanks to the moisture in the air doing something to the chemical receptors in their nose.

They can also climb trees, much to my surprise and dismay. Wonder if they ever managed to get down, or if they just starved up there. If I went back, would they be gone? Would they be skeletons? Would they be re-animated like on that hellish island I found off the coast?

Do I even want to know?

No. I don’t. Not at all.

God, I’m so tired. A short rest probably couldn’t hurt. After all it’s not like—

No, I don’t have the time. Sleep can wait, I need to get that Nightmare Fuel.

Problem is, I didn’t sleep well last night, so I was already sort of exhausted. Couple that with the mud and rain, and you have a recipe for… sleepiness.

Maybe, I can walk for just a little longer, and the tiredness will pass.

-

Loneliness. That’s what I’m feeling as I lay here, in the mud. A crushing sense of isolation and helplessness. The same kind that haunted those long days and nights in the Constant. There’s nobody for miles it seems. If I were to scream, nobody would hear me, and whatever was attacking would enjoy gnawing on my bones later.

Not that I’d want anyone to find me. I look rather miserable here, with mud caked all over me, and a dirty bandage wrap on my hand that I have yet to remove.

I’m too tired to move. Apparently my legs have decided to protest how I’ve been treating them. Maybe I should have been more vigilant with those supplements...

Normally it would have taken a few more days of walking to do that, but I suppose the elements and fatigue exacerbated everything.

There’s nobody nearby. Hopefully, there’s no Pokémon either. Either of those finding me would be bad, one because of sheer embarrassment and the other because of danger.

I’m never going to make it to Eterna City, am I?

-

Ah, another nightmare.

Just once, I’d like to close my eyes and find something other than terror. I’d blame my brain, but it’s probably trying to punish me for falling asleep in a puddle of mud.

At least it’s not raining anymore. Instead, the cold rains and night have been replaced by an uncomfortably warm sun, and a stickiness that can only come from a mixture of sweat, mud, and water.

My clothes and backpack, heavy with water, dripped as I forced myself to my feet, nearly toppling over from the weight. Hopefully, there isn’t anything in there that’ll be ruined by the water.

There shouldn’t be anything water-damaged. The tent is waterproof, as is all of the other camping gear. The only things that wouldn’t be is a trail kix, which is long gone anyway.

Another restless night. At least I managed to sleep a little bit, I think. Honestly, last night and my dream sort of… blended together into a haze of running and shadows. These trees look remarkably like a tall bird to a projecting brain in the middle of the night.

My Poketech says I’m still only two-thirds of the way to Eterna City. If I keep walking, I should be able to make it before the sun goes down again. Or at least, get close enough to see at night.

Everything’s still waterlogged. Puddles full of dirt and leaves litter the pathway. A cold breeze blows through the trees, causing me to shiver in response despite the warmth from the sun.

Is it getting colder? Or is it just the wetness of everything making it feel that way? What season is it anyway? Do they have seasons here?

I hope not. I’d rather not have to deal with winter. Not again. Never again. If there is a winter, I pray to God that it isn’t too cold. I don’t have any winter clothing, and freezing isn’t… something I want to experience again.

That uneasy feeling… it’s back again.

If there is a winter, I wouldn’t even be able to buy any clothing. I don’t have any money, or any way to get any money, since this route seems rather empty of people… and Pokémon for that matter.

Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I haven’t even encountered any wild Pokémon, even when I was in the taller grass. Did something scare them off?

What would be threatening enough to scare off a whole route’s worth of territorial, wild Pokémon?

I’m tempted to investigate, but I don’t have the time. Besides, I have a sinking feeling that I don’t want to know what it is.

-

This is Eterna City? It’s far too small to be considered a city. A town at best.

I mean, it’s certainly not small. Despite being nestled in the beginnings of a mountain, there’s still a surprising amount of houses and buildings. There’s no Skyscrapers like in Jubilife, unless you want to count the mountain’s summit in the distance.

Of course, there’s a shop and a few other profit-based buildings. And a Gym, decorated in green paint and a floral theme.

There’s also a rather odd statue up on a small hill. There’s a plaque on the front of it— wait, no. There used to be a plaque there, but it seemed to have been torn off. An odd instance of vandalism or theft, since I doubt a metal plate had a lot of value.

That statue, or statues, seem to depict two Pokémon. One is quadrupedal, decorated with fan-like spikes and with a large gem on its chest. The second, bipedal, has a large gem on each upper arm, and is decorated with… fins? I’m not sure how else I’d describe them.

Either way, they clearly aren’t your every-day Pokémon. Normal Pokémon don’t have giant statues dedicated to them. Normal Pokémon don’t look this… otherworldly.

“Strange huh?” A voice said.

Good God where did they come from?!

“Oh sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you!”

Hold on, that voice is familiar… Gardenia?

It is. I haven’t seen her in a while. She’s dressed in a… crop top? I’m not entirely sure what to call it. It’s a sort of shawl, but she isn’t wearing anything under it, as far as I can tell. Hopefully she has the decency to wear a bra.

“Gardenia?” I asked.

“Yea! Surprised you remembered my name! You’re Wilson right?” She said, a bright smile on her face.

I nodded.

“I knew I recognized that hair of yours! Glad you finally made it to Eterna City! You like it so far?”

She looked me over, her grin fading a bit as she looked at my sorry appearance. I look rather grisly, I’m sure.

“Other than the mud, obviously.”

“Yes.” I said. “For the thirty minutes I’ve been here, it’s been pleasant.”

She smiled at me, then turned her attention up to the statues, placing a hand on her hip.

“Pretty cool statues right?” She said.

I nodded. “What happened to the plate? Or is that just the paint…?”

“There used to be a plate there. Team Galactic gore it off a long time ago, and nobody’s been able to find them or find the money to make more.”

“Oh.”

She knows about Team Galactic? Has she seen them? Does she know if they’re still here? Would she tell me if she did?

“Have you… seen any members recently?” I asked her.

“Nah. They disbanded a while ago. Haven’t seen them since.”

Ah. I’d hoped she’d seen them, but I suppose they are pretty stealthy. Granted, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of them left...

Concern is starting to crawl across her face as she thought. Apparently, something concerning her.

“...Why are you asking?” She asked, concern in her voice.

“No reason.” I said, lying through my teeth. “I was just curious if they were still around.”

She’d probably think I’m crazy if I told her the real reason, especially since I don’t have any proof that they’re up to anything. Besides, there isn’t much she can do anyway.

Not that I’d even want the help. I’d rather not have anyone else come into contact with the Nightmare Fuel. It never ends well, if the statue sun the ruins are anything to go off of.

“Oh, okay.” She said, believing me entirely. “Yea they’re not around anymore.”

She tapped her foot.

“So, did you come here to battle me in the Gym?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. I’m just passing through.”

“Wait, really?” She said, sounding disappointed. “I’m sure you’re strong enough by now to battle—“

“Just passing through.” I said, a bit firmer this time.

“C’mon, a short battle wouldn’t hurt! What’s the rush anyway?”

The rush is for the fact that Team Galactic has Nightmare Fuel! What about that do you not understand?!

All of it. She doesn’t understand any of it. She knows less about it than Darin did, and that’s saying a lot.

Should I tell her? No, that’s not… wise. There isn’t anything she can do. I’m not even entirely sure if there is anything I can do.

“I already told you I’m just—“

Wait, I earn money from battles right? I remember her saying she matches the level of my Pokémon with hers, so that isn’t the problem.

Should I take the risk? I desperately need the money for supplies and food and… everything. On the other hand, I don’t know how much time I have. For all I know, they could have already discovered a use for the Nightmare Fuel…

I feel sick. What if they already found a use? What will they do with it? What can they do with it? What—

Oh, she’s still waiting for me to finish.

“—You know what? I could… use the money right now.” I muttered.

“Yes!” She said, grinning. “Meet you at the Gym! ...After you get cleaned up of course.”

Cleaned up? Why? Am I dirty? Oh, the mud. I almost forgot about that.

“Right. Wait, why can’t we—“

Before I could even ask why we can’t just battle here, she was already halfway down the sidewalk. More time lost. Wonderful.

Why did I agree to this? Truthfully, I could just leave without battling, but that would be rude.

Maybe it will be a fast battle. Maybe I’ll actually have a chance at winning.

-

Gardenia stood across the room from me, tossing and catching one of her Pokeballs.

“I see ya got two Pokémon now.” She said, grinning. “That should be enough, although I am warning you, I have to use three. Standard procedure and all that.”

“That’s alright.” I said. “I don’t think Watson will mind.”

Watson is standing in front of me, tail waving. He was rather upset once I let him out of his Pokeball, but he calmed down once he realized he was going to battle. I’d say I’m forgiven, despite the fact he still seems annoyed.

As for Cirrus, he hasn’t come out yet. He doesn’t mind being in his Pokeball as much as Watson does, so he shouldn’t be too angry. Hopefully.

“Good.” She said, grinning. “Let’s get on with our battle! C’mon out, turtwig!”

She let out a turtle-looking Pokémon that had a sprout on its head. Actually, it looks more like a tortoise, but I doubt Pokémon follow the classifications that I know, so I’ll just let it slide.

“Are you ready Watson?” I asked.

Watson nodded, crouching down and grinning, his tail waving in anticipation. He’s ready, so maybe we can finish this quickly.

“Alright. Watson, use bite!” I said.

Watson ran at the turtwig, teeth bared, trying to close the rather large gap between us.

“Turtwig! Use razor leaf!”

The tortoise Pokémon let loose a short flurry of leaf-shaped projectiles. Watson managed to dodge them all except for the last one, which threw him off just enough to kiss.

“Our turn!” She said, smiling. “Use razor leaf again!”

“Fine. We’ll use a long-range move as well.” I said. “Use Thunder...Shock?”

Is that what it’s called? I suppose he understands what I was saying, since he’s already fired his bolt. It didn’t have any time to dodge, and was sent flying backwards, landing in its back.

“While it’s down, use tackle!” I yelled.

“Hey!” Garden is shouted. “Turtwig, use grass knot!”

Her Pokémon stopped struggling and nodded, a look of determination flashed across its face as it focused. A few strands of tall grass sprouted right in front of Watson, tying themselves together and tripping him, sending him face-first into the dirt.

“Watson? Are you okay?”

Watson picked himself back up, which is a relief. For some reason, watching the grass sprout up like that gave me a pang of anxiety. I guess I expected it to do more—

“Wait look out—“

I wasn’t paying enough attention, and Watson received a barrage of leaves to the face as a result.

“Hah!” She said, in pure glee as her newly-uprighted turtwig smiled with her. “Just in time!”

Watson shook his head, trying to get the remainder of dirt off.

“Watson?” I yelled. “Are you okay?”

Watson nodded, then barked, getting back into a fighting stance.

“Alright, then use thunder shock once more!”

Watson charged some electricity, his hair standing on edge, his body low. He then let loose a power, fast-moving bolt of lightning at the turtwig.

It didn’t have time to move. It badly had enough time to process the fact it was being attacked before it was thrown backwards.

“Turtwig!”

It landed with a thud at her feet, out cold.

“...Dang.” She said, returning it to its Pokeball and taking out another. “Good job in that thunder shock there.”

Watson’s beaming with pride, despite how battered he looks. Actually, it might be a good idea for him to switch out and take a break.

“Watson? Would you like to swap out with Cirrus?”

Watson shook his head, standing his ground. Of course, I didn’t really expect him to listen to reason. He’s pretty stubborn in that regard.

“No? Are you sure?”

He nodded, panting.

“Stubborn Poké you got there.” She said, catching and tossing a Pokeball in her hand. “Let’s see how he manages against my favorite!”

She released a flower-looking Pokémon. It sort of looks like it’s wearing a green mask of some sort, and had arms that ended in flowers. How this Pokémon managed to grab anything is a mystery. I suppose they could just be sort of like sleeve ruffles that some people wore in the Victorian era.

“Your favorite—“ I said.

“Roserade use poison jab!” She shouted, grinning.

The roserade lunged, a purple spike appearing in the middle of the bouquets on each arm. Watson badly had time to react.

He jumped to the side, dodging the attack my throat hairs on his tail.

“Watson use bite!” I shouted.

Watson turned in a dime and bit the roserade’s leg.

“Yes!”

The roserade jabbed him in the side, the poison spears still active.

Watson landed at my feet from the force of impact.

“Watson? Can you get up?”

He can’t. The most he can do right now is look up at me with shame. Not sure what he’s upset about, since he managed to take out the turtle earlier.

“You did very good.” I said, trying to reassure him. “Very good.”

He gave me a slightly surprised look, then smiled. I returned him to the Pokeball.

“Alright. Cirrus? You want to try?”

Cirrus floated in front of me, ready for a battle.

“Oh great a ghost-type.” Gardenia said, her smile getting wiped off of her face. “I hate ghosts!”

“Really? Wait, you’re a ghost type?!”

Cirrus nodded. I honestly didn’t know Cirrus was a ghost type. I would have figured flying at least, but not ghost. Although now that I look at him, I don’t know how I missed it.

“Yea? You didn’t know? Driftblim are ghost-flying types.” She said, crossing her arms.

“Ah. Interesting.”

“Yep. Ready to go?”

“Go? Oh, right. The battle.”

Cirrus got into a fighting stance, his remaining string waving in the breeze gently.

“Alright, let’s get this back on track! Roserade, use poison jab!” She said.

The roserade readied itself, then lunged.

“Cirrus! Use—“

Wait, I don’t know his moves! What would a flying-ghost Pokémon know?!

Doesn’t matter. He was just knocked backwards by the poison jab before I had a chance to speak.

“Cirrus!”

He looked back at me, a bit confused.

“I don’t know your moves!”

Panic spread across his face.

“That sucks doesn’t it?” Gardenia said.

Wait? The battle won’t stop? I don’t know his moves! How can we battle?

“Hope you trust your Pokémon!” She said.

Cirrus got ready, realizing that I can’t help him in this situation. He dodged the roserade’s attack (yet another poison jab), and floated upwards, out of its reach.

He’s still floating up there as well, thinking in its short break. A ball of purple energy formed in front of his face as he thought.

Is that a ranged attack? A ball? A purple ball?

He fired, hitting the roserade with a powerful ball of shadows.

“Whoa!” GardenI said, wincing as her roserade was knocked back a bit.

Cirrus seemed pretty happy that it was clever enough to get out of range of her roserade’s poison jab.

“Good thinking Cirrus!” I exclaimed. I’d like to think I would have thought of that, but I… forgot Cirrus can fly that high.

Wait, does he have a flight height limit? I wouldn’t think so, although he is a balloon, but also a ghost…

I’ll ask later.

“Well fine then!” She said, irritated. “Roserade, use power whip!”

From the center of the flowers on each of its hands a tendril, glowing with energy, shot out. Wielding them like long, flexible blades, her roserade lashed out at Cirrus.

“Cirrus—“

He dodged one lash, then another, and then another, ducking and weaving between the barbed tendrils of the roserade.

One clipped his face, sending Cirrus flying to the side. Another hit him from the other side, sending him flying in another direction.

This is really hard to watch. While the roserade isn’t insanely agile (unlike that old woman’s scyther), it’s attacks were swift and powerful. Cirrus doesn’t have the speed or defense to handle the attack. He’s just getting knocked around by… tendrils.

My throat feels like it’s closing up. Is it how injured Cirrus looks? I could always just take him to the Pokecenter if we lose, so it’s not that.

No, it’s the tendrils. Those lashing, shadowy tendrils that the roserade is wielding. The relentless, coiling, barbed, shadowy tendrils that are dripping with a darkness indescribable. The same ones from the throne, it seems.

This needs to stop. Now.

It stood in front of Cirrus, raising my arm to block one of the lashes.

A shadowy tendril tore my arm open as I blocked it. It would have hit my face had I not blocked it with my forearm. Unfortunately, I don’t have anything to— wait why is it leaving? Is it morning? No? Then why—

“Oh my Arceus are you okay?” Gardenia said, running up to me. “Why did you even do that?!”

The glove on my right arm was torn open, although I wasn’t bleeding too much. I suppose the roserade must have held back at the last second, sparing me from the worst outcome.

Speaking of, the roserade looks pretty mortified. I keep forgetting trained Pokémon aren’t allowed to attack people. Hopefully, they’re able to do it for self-defense at least.

“I’m… I’m fine.” I said, straightening my posture back to normal from my defensive stance.

Why am I so hesitant to return my stance to normal? It’s like my entire body is still on defense, despite the danger passing.

“Are you sure?” She asked, her roserade peeking out from her side. “You look pretty pale. You weren’t using any poison where you?”

The roserade shook its head, an apologetic look in its face.

“I’m sure.” I said. “And it’s okay. It’s not your fault. I just had a… temporary lapse in judgment.”

My chest feels tight. Gardenia grabbed my arm to get a better look. I didn’t see her hand though, I just saw one of those shadow hands that would put out my fire at night.

I jerked my arm away, another spike of fear tearing its way up my spine.

“I’m fine.” I said. “I just…”

A phantom memory. A tendril wrapping around my throat and squeezing. Teeth digging their way into the flesh of my forearm.

I need to get out of here. Now. I can’t just— I need to go.

“I have to go.” I said, returning Cirrus to his Pokeball, despite his worried looks.

“Wait—“ Gardenia said, reaching out from where she was standing. Despite her close proximity, she still seems so far away. A distance beyond the physical plane, it seems.

I’m already leaving. I can’t stay here. I just can’t. There’s something wrong with this place. There’s something wrong with me.

After a short stop at the pokecenter I’m continuing to Vielstone, this time without stopping.

-

I’m still anxious.

It’s been hours, the false danger has passed. My Pokémon are healed. There’s literally nothing wrong right now.

I need to stop feeling so scared. I’m a grown man, not a child. I shouldn’t feel so scared over shadows. They’re not here, and I know this.

And yet… my chest still feels tight. I’m still borderline panting, despite my efforts to calm my nerves.

Watson’s angry. For various reasons, including him fainting and me quitting the battle. We would have lost anyway, but for some reason quitting is always a sore spot for him.

He barked at me, irritated and angry. He’s probably asking why I quit, but I don’t even have a good answer for him.

“We don’t have the time Watson.” I say, despite not moving from the waiting-room chair. I don’t think I have the will to live right now.

Cirrus seems a bit more understanding, his string wrapping around my upper arm affectionately. Although, he’s just as confused as Watson is, so it isn’t much better.

“We don’t have the time…” I repeated, in case Cirrus didn’t hear me the first time.

Watson barked again, angrier.

This is a mess. Everything is a mess. I can’t even get through a battle without a projection happening. I’ve cost us a chance at money, and wasted our precious time.

Worse, I’m lashing out at people. I’d expect, thanks to the light of time that I was isolated, I would be so relieved and thankful to see people again. Instead, I find myself either annoyed or distant from people. Despite their concern, I can’t help feeling vulnerable. Everything seems like it’s behind an impenetrable barrier. Even Watson and Cirrus seem so far away at times, and it’s becoming more frequent.

It’s getting worse, not better. The passage of time is supposed to heal all wounds, no? Why isn’t it working for the brain?

I’m unwelcome it seems. Either because of my hysteria or my ignorance. Worse, I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to fix any of this! Is it even fixable? Am I worth fixing? I’ve been to a therapist once but… she frightened me.

It wouldn’t have ended well anyway. I would have ended up in an asylum, locked away forever thanks to hysteria.

Oh God, maybe that’s… a good thing? I’m obviously not fit for society, so an asylum would be a logical place for me to go. Maybe If I go willingly, I would get better accommodations.

But I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be strapped to a table for hours on end, I don’t want to be injected with God knows what.

Is it selfish for me to not want that? It’s not like there’s any other options other than a lobotomy, but those are… unsuccessful most of the time.

I’m doomed, aren’t I? Short of either asylum or lobotomy, there doesn’t seem to be any other options. I’m stuck with this...problem of mind, and I’ll just have to adapt to it.

My stomach is in knots again.

“Are you okay?” A voice said.

“Hm?” I asked, straightening my posture in my chair.

A woman is sitting next to me (has she been there the whole time?), holding a baby in her arms. She’s nursing from what little I can see, although I don’t want to make her uncomfortable so I’ll just… stop looking. Great, now I’m even more uncomfortable.

It is a bit odd that she’s nursing in public. I’m obviously not a mother (or father for that matter), but most women would go somewhere more private for that sort of thing, unless they were using a bottle. Quite a few men in my world would take great offense to what she was doing, even if it is a hospital. Something about modesty and unladylike behavior, even though nursing is arguably the most ladylike thing a woman could possibly do, aside from giving birth. Last I checked, men can’t do either of those things.

The people around me don’t seem to mind as much as they would have in my world though. I’d expect the doctors and nurses to be indifferent, since they see far worse things in their day-to-day job, but not everyone else. It’s a bit… odd.

Personally, I’m not really too offended by it, despite how uncomfortable it makes me feel. Maybe it’s because of how… exposed her chest is while she’s nursing, or maybe it’s just because of how vulnerable she and her baby are at the moment. Either way, I’m uncomfortable. More so than I usually am in hospitals.

“I asked if you were okay.” She said, with a soft, somewhat motherly tone in her voice.

She’s talking as though I’m a child. As comforting as it is, I’m a thirty year old man! She doesn’t have to treat me like I’m some sort of child! It’s embarrassing.

Although, she does remind me of my own mother. They both have that… warmth to them. A tender, loving warmth that only family can provide.

I miss her dearly.

“I’m alright.” I said, leaning back in my chair.

“Are you sure? You look so pale…”

“I just need to get more sun is all.”

She doesn’t seem too reassured. Maybe I can redirect this small talk onto something else. Her baby seems important enough to warrant a conversation.

“How old is your baby?” I asked.

She shifted a bit so I could get a better look at her child (who is still nursing, might I add). It looks healthy, and completely preoccupied at the moment.

“Three months.” She said, seemingly not bothered by how… exposed she is at the moment. “She’s three months old.”

My face feels like it’s beginning to get warm. She isn’t… completely exposed, but I think it’s more of the thought that’s bothering me than what I actually see.

“She looks very healthy.” I said, blinking and leaning back in my chair, directing my eyes away from her chest and at my hands. “Very healthy.”

I feel disgusted. I shouldn’t be… this bothered. It’s a completely natural process after all, every mammal does it. Every woman needs to do it in order to feed their children. Well, unless they use formula, but that isn’t as effective from what I understand.

“Thank you!” She said, smiling. “Would you like to hold her?”

Wait what? No! No no no don’t give me the baby—

She gave me the baby, seemingly relieved to have a break.

“There we go! Look how happy she is!” She said, enjoying her short break given to her by a complete stranger.

I, on the other hand, have never held a baby in my life. What if it starts crying? What if I hold it wrong? What if I drop it?

I suppose I could try and mimic how she held the baby, with my elbow supporting the head, but I doubt my bony, scar-riddled arms with scratchy gloves covering them are comfortable.

“Ma’am, I’m not very good at reading facial expressions, but I can assure you she is not happy.” I said, the baby still awkwardly cradled in my arms.

The baby certainly isn’t happy. It’s face, through that short little comment, twisted from blank confusion to a scowl accompanied by a fist.

It seems we are both equally uncomfortable, for different reasons. She’s currently trying to figure out where her mother went, while I’m struggling to properly hold her.

It’s like she’s made of glass! What if I drop her? Dear God what if I drop her? What then? How do I even hold a baby? Why would she give a random stranger her baby?!

Oh no, she’s about to cry. I mean, I would too. Being torn from the warm, safe, and comforting arms of your mother and into the cold, boney arms of a distressed stranger would be jarring at best.

“See! You’re doing great!” She said, in that same motherly voice. “Don’t worry sweety, mom’s right here.”

It started to fuss, making sounds that sounded like the beginnings of a cry.

Watson looked just as worried as the baby, probably not too happy with the sounds it’s making. Oddly, Cirrus seemed more curious than worried, hovering over my shoulder and staring at the baby with slight wonder.

“Please take the baby back.” I said. “I don’t think either of us like this situation.”

She grinned and took her baby back, cradling it one more in her arms. It calmed down nearly instantly, looking back up at her mother with relief and regained wonder.

Strange. Despite coming back from a rather distressing situation, her baby seems to be fine. It’s happy and healthy, despite being rather helpless.

Why couldn’t I do that?

“You know, you did a better job than a lot of people.” She said, nursing her baby once more. “Do you have experience?”

“Er, no.” I said. “I just tried to copy you if I’m going to be honest.”

“Well, you copied well.”

I suppose that could be a compliment, since I’ve never had any experience with children.

Do I want to have children? Would I even be a good father? I doubt it, given how uncomfortable I was holding a baby. I don’t think I’d be able to give that… warm, physical affection that mothers are able to give to their children. Even without my hysteria, it would still be difficult. I’m not a very… warm person. My mother certainly was, but I am not.

Darin would probably be a good father, if he ever chose to have children. He’s certainly warm and affectionate enough to have children. I’m not sure if he wants any children however, so it might just remain a mystery.

…

Ah, I think it’s time to leave. Before I start getting too comfortable in this chair.

“Have a nice night ma’am.” I said, standing.

“You too.” She said, smiling at me.

I smiled back before heading towards the door.

-

The air is rather brisk. It’s certainly getting colder every night, isn’t it?

That’s not good. I don’t think I’d be able to survive winter with just a tent if it keeps getting colder at this rate. I’ll have to find somewhere… warmer.

How is a baby able to get over something that quickly, yet I can’t?! I understand that it was a few minutes versus… what seemed like forever, but still. Surly, by now, I should be over it. I wasn’t even trapped there that long! It should be over it! Why can’t I just get over it?

No, my hysteria-ridden brain just has to drag it out. Can’t leave it’s shoes at the door it seems, No. it has to stomp around the house, leaving memories caked in mud and blood all over my nice carpets.

It’s disheartening. What on earth is wrong with me?

I’ll have to find out later on though. According to my Poketech, the route to Veilstone is long and winding.

Thankfully, there’s a small town that we can stop at if we need to. We might have to stop and get the supplies I didn’t get while we were in Eterna.

Still, we’re still far from Vielstone. I can only hope we get there in time.

Chapter Text

Mt. Cornet seems nigh impenetrable. Between the sheer cliffs and rivers, getting through is going to be difficult to put it lightly. At least there’s bridges everywhere, so I won’t need to do some unassisted rock climbing for a second time.

Apparently there’s a sort of crossroad somewhere in the middle of the mountain that splits off into different routes. All we have to do is go straight once we hit it, although I doubt a mountain full of caves would be, in any way, straightforward. It’s just not how caves work unfortunately. Unless they managed to carve a tunnel through a mountain, which is...actually not too out of the realm of possibilities now that I think about it.

The route seems pretty well-traveled, despite how rough the terrain is compared to other routes. Hiking is pretty popular around here (according to the route description at least), so I’m sure it’s mostly safe, if a bit physically taxing, to travel along, even inside the mountain. Provided you have provisions, of course.

Which reminds me, I’ll have to stock up on some berries before we go into the caves. That way, if something happens, we won’t starve to death in the caverns. At least, not for a while. It should give us time to figure something out at least.

I hope.

We still could get lost, of course. Everything from a cave-in to us getting injured could extend our time from beyond what berries could possibly sustain. Hopefully I can stuff enough into my bag that it won’t come to that.

“Cirrus?” I asked. “Would you be okay with flying up and seeing if you can spot any berry hushed nearby? Preferably the pink berries?”

Cirrus nodded and floated upwards, disappearing through the foliage, noticeably keeping his remaining string very close to his body, as opposed to letting it dangle and sway like he usually does. Probably to keep it from getting tangled in the branches.

“See anything?” I yelled, cupping my hands around my mouth to ensure he heard.

No answer. Either he didn’t hear me, or he got attacked by something. For the sake of my nerves, I’ll say he just didn’t hear me.

Although, he could have been attacked by one of those bird Pokémon. They’re powerful, territorial, and fast. With Cirrus’ relatively low speed and agility, he’d never be able to fend one of them off—

Oh, he’s back already.

“Did you find anything?”

Cirrus nodded, pointing to his left with the yellow heart at the tip of his string.

“Was it far?”

Cirrus shook his head, floating ahead of me to lead us to the berries.

They turned out to be some red berries. They’re smaller and harder than the pink ones where, but they won’t bruise or squish as easily as the other berries did. Hopefully, they’re not poisonous.

“Are they poisonous?”

Cirrus shook his head, happily eating one. I suppose a previously wild Pokémon would know a thing or two about edible berries. Experience and whatnot.

Is it… difficult to be a wild Pokémon? Trained Pokémon have their needs met by their trainers, but wild Pokémon have the advantage of forming small groups of their own, as well as the freedom to go wherever. Trained Pokémon live in comfort, while wild Pokémon live free.

Although, I’m sure being a wild Pokémon isn’t as nice as I’m imagining it, actually, I’m certain it isn’t. Between the constant battle for food and shelter, other, more hostile Pokémon, and disease, I can see why some Pokémon seem quite happy with a trainer.

Am I a good trainer? I don’t mean in battles (I’m fairly certain I will always be bad at those), but in other areas. Are they getting proper nutrition? Proper care? Do they need grooming?

I’ll admit, it’s very selfish of me to drag them around like this. While pushing myself to exhaustion isn’t new and is sometimes necessary, pushing Watson and Cirrus to the same extremes seems… abusive.

One we get the vial, I’ll make sure they get some proper rest. Maybe I’ll even sign up for a tournament to make it up to Watson. Not quite sure what I’ll do for Cirrus, but I’ll figure something out for him. Even though I can never quite relax, I can at least help keep them safe and happy.

“You guys ready?” I asked, stuffing my backpack with enough berries to fill a bathtub.

They nodded, which is good. We can’t afford to waste any more time.

-

The mouth of the cave is… rather imposing. The light from the afternoon sun stops a short distance inside, giving way to a nearly pitch-black darkness full of odd shapes and shadows that danced with seemingly no provocation.

Watson walked past the threshold without hesitation, his tail waving with anticipation, sort of like a cat’s would. There wasn’t a single shred of fear on his face, not that he’s usually afraid of situations like this.

On either of their faces, actually. Cirrus seems just as confident, although not as eager. Not out of fear (although I doubt he’s a fan of ceilings), just out of a mellowness he has. Unlike Watson’s eager haste, Cirrus sort of just floated inside as though it were just another path to take, like another stepping stone on a walkway, another wooden plank on a boardwalk.

Despite the need for haste, I seem to be unable to bring myself to move. My legs are frozen in place, and my feet feel like lead. An all-too familiar feeling is brewing in my stomach; slithering up my throat and into my brain. A feeling of danger, of fear. A feeling of sheer, undiluted terror that made my blood run cold, and made my brain short-circuit and focus on ways to get away rather than move forward.

A panic attack? At the very least the beginnings of one.

I don’t have the time for this. My legs need to move, and they need to move now.

Time is slipping through my fingers like grains of sand, and I’m running out of sand.

I can’t move.

Watson and Cirrus have stopped. They’re staring at me, in confusion and worry, half-consumed by the darkness they so eagerly walk towards.

How are they so brave? And why can’t I do that so easily? I reacted far better when I was in the Constant, either fighting or fleeing without a second.

Why am I even afraid? It’s just the dark! Whatever is in there can easily be dealt with, either by fighting or fleeing. This fear is stupid. It’s irrational! It shouldn’t exist! Why won’t it just go away?

It’s just like the mansion. I wasted time in the mansion because I was afraid of the dark. I’m a thirty-three-year-old (I think) man, not a small child!

Watson and Cirrus almost died because of my fear.

It needs to stop. Move Wilson. Move.

Despite both my subconscious (now conscious) and body screaming not too, I forced myself to take a step. Then another. Then another. One by one I dragged myself past the cave’s entrance and into the darkness.

Well, partial darkness. I can see a fair amount, considering how closed-off the cave is. Doesn’t do much to put me at ease, but at least I’m not entirely blind.

Now, which direction do we go?

-

We took a wrong turn, I’m sure of it. We’ve been traveling for far too long, and we’ve passed by the same stalactite at least three times. Wait, is it the same one? Honestly, it’s pretty hard to see anything other than similar-looking rocks, rock formations, and even more rocks.

It’s maddening. Perhaps I should have taken more of an interest in geology, then I would be able to identify some of the rocks and estimate how deep we are, based on the formations and layers. Not that the geology of my world would help here, since I’m sure the science of rocks is different here. For all I know, rocks help rock type Pokémon evolve. It would make some semblance of sense if that were the case, wouldn’t it?

“I don’t suppose either of you know where we are?”

Watson grumbled, shooting me an annoyed look.

“What? You think I’m a better navigator than you?”

He barked, annoyed.

“Thank you Watson. That’s very helpful.”

Am I being sarcastic enough? His disapproving look says yes.

“Do you know where we are Cirrus?”

Cirrus shook his head, looking sad.

So we’re officially lost. We’ve been lost for a while, but now it’s been said out loud. Honestly, I should have been making a map and tracking where we’ve been, so we’d at least be able to get out. Even a rudimentary one would have sufficed.

But I didn’t, like an idiot.

“I suppose we should keep going fo—“

Watson’s ears are perked up, twitching and swiveling. He froze in the middle of the path, eyes locked on the darkness ahead.

“Do you hear something?” I whispered, freezing in place.

Watson nodded, flattening his ears.

“What is—“

Hold on, I hear something too. A noise that is echoing through the caverns, a noise that doesn’t sound anything like a Pokémon.

I suppose it’s worth perusing. After all, it doesn’t sound very dangerous, and if it is, we can identify whatever’s making the noise and avoid it.

Staying low to the ground, we crept up towards the noise. It led us to a larger cavern, which contained a few odd-looking machines in various stages of functionality. Unfortunately, I can’t identify them at all. The only thing I can gather is that they’re electricity and possibly magnet based.

Two humanoid figures stand talking to each other. One with blue hair, and another with fins of green hair, who’s working on one of the machines and writing things down.

Actually, the blue hair seems familiar. Very familiar...

It’s that man from the old Galactic HQ. His name was Saturn if I’m remembering correctly. Or maybe it was Mars? Either way, he’s here, talking to an old, roundish man about something that I can’t quite hear.

I’ll need to get closer. Whatever they’re talking about can’t be good.

Sneaking around some rocks and using stalagmites to hide myself, I drew closer to them, with Watson’s and Cirrus following as silently as they could.

Why are they here? Conducting research? Is there something important in this mountain? It doesn’t seem to have anything odd about it, other than it’s sheer size.

Wait, does he still have the fuel with him? Can I get it?

“Why are you following me?” The man said, frowning. “Can’t you see I’m busy researching nosepass?”

“Charon, we need your help.” Saturn said, taking a step closer. “We’re bringing the team back together—“

Charon’s frown deepened. “Why?”

“We’re trying to open a portal to the distortion world—“

Booming laughter filled the cavern as Charon laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. Apparently, opening portals to the “Distortion world” is hilarious for some reason. Maybe it’s an inside joke?

“Again? It went well the first time so I’m sure it’s worth repeating.” He said, still chucking. “Why would you ever want to try that again?”

Again? Have they done this thing before? There’s even more worlds to go to? Was it successful? What is the Distortion world?

Honestly, I’m half-tempted to ask them to help me find a way home, although I doubt that would end well. Of course, there’s always the chance...

Saturn looked at him with a sort of sadness, his shoulders beginning to fall slack. Charon’s expression, in turn, softened a bit, going from a sarcastic, mocking smile to a more sorrowful yet composed look; a less intense frown I suppose would be a better way to describe it.

“You’re trying to bring Cyrus back aren’t you?” Charon asked, avoiding direct eye-contact by looking at some nearby stalagmites with faux interest.

Saturn nodded, rubbing his arm. “Yes. He had… some good ideas. I think that if we bring him back and maybe convince him to—“

“Saturn,” Charon sighed, rubbing his face. “Did it ever occur to you that he might not want to come back? He wanted a world without human spirit after all, and he found it.”

“But—“

“Even if we manage to re-capture the lake trio and summon then contain Dialga and Palkia, how would we stop Giratina’s interference again?”

“We could… use the red chains to stop Giratina as well?”

“No.” Charon said. “That wouldn’t work. We would need something that can survive Giratina’s distortion effects. The red chain won’t work.”

He sighed.

“I know you want to figure out a way to make an immense, even infinite amount of energy. It would solve a lot of the world’s problems. But with the existence of Giratina, we can’t bring Cyrus back for his ideas.”

“That’s why we need you!” Saturn said, regaining some confidence. “You’re one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever met. I’m sure you would figure it out.”

“Why would I want to?”

Saturn pulled something out of his pockets, then outstretched his hand to show Charon, smiling with confidence.

It’s the vial of nightmare fuel. He attempted to swirl it like a glass of wine, but because of how viscous it was, it just sort of crawled around the inner wall of the vial, it’s adhesion and cohesion causing it to crawl up the sides ever so slightly.

“This,” Saturn said, with newfound confidence. “Is a mysterious substance that Mars found outside of Twinleaf.”

“Outside of Twinleaf you say.” Charon said, reaching for it, enraptured by curiosity.

Saturn yanked the vial away as Charon reached for it. “Not so fast. You want it, you have to re-join Team Galactic, and help me bring Cyrus back.”

Saturn crossed his arms, waiting for an answer from the older man. Charon raised an eyebrow, considering the offer. I can only pray he refuses, although I have a sinking feeling he’s going to accept. The call of the unknown is rather powerful after all, and isn’t easily ignored by those who are interested in science, no matter the world.

“...What have you told the others?” Charon asked.

“I’ve told them I’m trying to figure out how to create infinite energy using your old tech. Nothing about any sort of portals.”

“Good.” Charon said. “Don’t tell them about Cyrus, or the portal.”

“I won’t. Are you in?”

“I am. However, if the substance proves to be grimer tar, or something equally as useless, I’m leaving unless the project is going well. Are we clear?”

Saturn handed over the vial with a grin, which Charon happily accepted, unfortunately. “We’re clear.”

“So who else is here? Is it just you and Mars?” Charon asked, pocketing his vial.

“Jupiter.” Saturn said. “She’s back, along with a few grunts that need some money.”

“Good.” Charon said. “I’ll meet you in Veilstone then?”

I need to stop this, before they get away. Now.

“I’ll see you there—“

“Stop!” I barked, stepping out from behind the rock.

They both froze in place, slowly turning around to face me.

“You were followed?” Charon said, sounding irritated.

“I suppose I was.” Saturn said, narrowing his eyes. “Wait, you’re the one from the market?”

“Yes!” I said, taking a step forward.

“We’re not stopping.” Charon said. “Saturn, you go ahead, I’ll meet you in Veilstone.”

Saturn nodded, running down the cave, presumably towards the exit.

“Now to deal with you.” Charon said, holding a Pokeball in his hand. “And to make sure you won’t intervene like this again.”

A threat? We’ll see just how capable he is at carrying it out.

He threw it onto the ground, releasing a Pokémon with a rather large, red nose. It’s levitating, despite being made out of rocks.

“We don’t have to battle.” I said. “You can just hand over the vial.”

“The vial?” He said, raising an eyebrow. “Why? Is it important?”

“Yes! I mean, it’s important to me!” I sputtered back.

If he were to think it’s special in some way, then he’ll be less inclined to give it back. I’d be more valuable in his eyes, more noteworthy. More worth studying.

“What is it?” He said, clutching a Pokeball in one hand. “Is it important?”

Yes! Yes it is!

“No.” I said, gritting my teeth. “Not to you.”

He gave me a cold, sly grin. “I think I’ll hold onto it then, since it’s so unimportant.”

I swear to God I’d this man doesn’t give me the fuel right now—

“I need it.” I said, nearly growling.

“I don’t think you do. Come on nosepass, let’s finish this.”

Ah, so his Pokémon is called a nosepass. Doesn’t explain anything.

Watson stood in front of me, lowering himself to the ground, ready to battle.

“Watson! Use thunder shock!”

Watson charged up some energy, then released it, electrocuting his nosepass. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem very effective. Charon’s nosepass shook off the attack with ease for some reason. Is it a ground type? No, then it wouldn’t have done any damage.

“Poor choice of attack.” Charon said, raising a rather mocking eyebrow at my mistake. “Nosepass, use rock blast.”

The nosepass formed a rock in front of itself, then launched it at an incredible speed towards Watson. He jumped to the side, dodging.

“Watson!” I said, ducking under a stray rock that nearly collided with my face. “Use tackle!”

Watson, after dodging another rock, charged towards Charon’s nosepass. Hopefully, this attack will do more damage.

“Use power gem.” Charon said.

Despite seeming sluggish, the nosepass managed to form a reddish gem in front of itself that Watson charged into.

A shockwave emitted from the collision. Watson was thrown backwards, landing on his feet. The nosepass didn’t even flinch, and remained firmly standing on the ground.

“Watson? Are you okay?” I asked. Currently, he has a rather large bruise on the top of his forehead that looks rather painful.

Watson looked at me and nodded, grinning through the pain. Stubborn as always, it seems.

This isn’t working. His nosepass is either too high of a level, or our attacks aren’t effective enough. We’ll have to try something else.

“Cirrus!” I called.

Cirrus poked his head out from behind our former hiding space, looking a bit frightened for some reason.

“Get the vial! It’s in his shirt pocket!”

Cirrus nodded, floating up, then towards Charon.

“Watson, keep the nosepass occupied!”

Watson nodded, running towards the nosepass again, who was standing guard in front of his trainer.

“Hold on—“ Charon said, his face showing mild fear. “This isn’t how—“

“Don’t care.” I said, running towards him to help Cirrus get the vial. “Now, give me the vial!”

Charon took a step back, fear on his face. Maybe we can get the vial after all. Cirrus is getting closer, and Watson is biting the nosepass—

Wait, he’s smiling?

“Nosepass! Rock blast!” He said.

The nosepass fired a rock. Not at Watson, since that would be predictable. No, the stonewall of a Pokémon decided to fire it at Cirrus.

He didn’t even have time to dodge. He didn’t have time to react.

Cirrus his the wall, then fell to the ground.

“Cirrus!” I said.

I ran over to him, kneeling next to him and picking him up. He has a large bruise in the middle of his face.

Watson has stopped attacking the nosepass, probably trying to see if Cirrus is okay. I wish I had an answer for him.

Is he dead? Do ghost Pokémon die? Was the attack that powerful against him? I don’t see any blood, so maybe he’s okay? Did he have blood? He’s bruising, so possibly.

Oh God, maybe he is dead—

“Next time, play by the rules.” He said, crossing his arms. “Nosepass, use rock slide.”

The nosepass nodded, then hovered a little higher in the air. Rocks began to fall from the ceiling by the dozens.

“Watson! Get back here!” I yelled, hugging Cirrus close to my chest like a bundle and running out of the range of the rocks.

Watson, dodging rocks that fell from the ceiling, managed to catch up with me, shooting the nosepass a glare.

Charon simply stood on the other side of the ever-growing wall of rocks, grinning with satisfaction as the hole closed up.

And just like that, another opportunity slipped through my fingers.

“No!” I said, pounding in the now impenetrable wall of rocks fruitlessly.

I’m too late. The rocks have closed off the pathway, blocking us from following them as well as blocking the only known exit path.

“They’re gone…”

This is terrible. We’re locked in this cave, stuck in a dark maze. Even if we manage to get out, we’ll be delayed by who knows how long, and they’re going to start researching the nightmare fuel…

I might have made it worse by interfering. Charon knows that the vial has some significance, thanks to my poor reaction. If I had just let them go, he might have ignored it for the time being and given me more time to catch up. Instead, I’ve simultaneously shortened how long it will take them to research and lengthened how long it will take us to get to Veilstone.

And Cirrus. He was smart to hide behind cover, since I think flying types are weak to rock. Is that what the nosepass was? A rock type?

Is he going to be okay? Now that I have a better look, the bruise doesn’t seem too bad, although he might have a concussion. A severe one, even. Not that I would know; I have no knowledge of Pokémon health.

I’m an awful trainer, aren’t I?

“Cirrus? Can you hear me?”

No response. My stomach has that knotting feeling again, and my throat is starting to form a lump.

He’s going to die isn’t he? He’s going to die in this god-forsaken mountain, from a rock of all things.

Watson sat at my feet, looking up at me with worry.

“I think he’ll be… okay.”

We need to find a pokecenter. Problem is, with the wall of rocks there, we can’t leave that way.

“...I suppose we’ll have to find another way then.”

We essentially have two choices: we can try and find another way through the mountain and risk getting hopelessly lost, or we can leave the way we came and go around the mountain and lose valuable time. Both ideas are terrible and have rather dire downsides, but the safest option seems to the the latter one.

Of course, there is a third option. We could head south rather than going the way we came, and find the southern exit on route 208. There we can head to Hearthstone, and go to a pokecenter. If all is well with Cirrus, we can then find our way to Veilstone that way.

While that seems like the best option, it will still take some more time and we still have a chance of getting lost. Although, it might be our best option, as long as our food reserves don’t run out, and Cirrus doesn’t die.

I suppose we don’t have any other choice.

-

I hate caves. I despise them and their confusing, twisting forms and sharp rocks that pierce through the well-own soles of my shoes. These shoes have lasted me through the Constant and the constant barrage of traveling! If a cave is what finally renders them useless, I’m going to be disappointed.

What’s worse than the sharp rocks is the dampness. Small, stage two puddles with a film of bacteria littered the floor. If I had any sort of open wounds on my feet, they’d probably get infected a few times over with… botulism or cellulitis or some other body-horror that would lead to gangrene, then necrosses, then amputation. Amputation didn’t work too well in the constant (it was useless at best and hindering at worse, although dying from a fever was never pleasurable), and it would work even less so here.

Then there’s the darkness. It’s reminiscent of the caves in the constant, although with far less bioluminescence or bunnymen to help me. Actually, I might prefer those caves. While I’d always need a light source, and nightmare fissures were frustrating to try and quarantine, there was always a reason to go into the caves. A promise of valuable materials or carrots or something to make it worthwhile. The caves here have none of rewards and all the dangers. It’s just dark and lifeless. It’s terrifying.

It could be worse I suppose. The caverns are very large as opposed to small, so at the very least we can travel comfortably and without developing claustrophobia. Doesn’t make it any less daunting however. If anything, the large caverns make it difficult to see other pathways that might be hidden behind rock formations, furthering our lack of directions.

Wait, I think I remember that rock.

“We’ve passed by this rock a few times haven’t we?” I said, sighing.

Watson nodded. I’m sure Cirrus would have nodded had he not been hit with a rock, but he’s currently in his Pokeball, safe from harm. At least, as safe as a Pokémon can be. I’d insisted on putting Watson in his as well, but he refused, despite his bruises.

“That’s not good.”

This is hopeless. We’re lost, despite my best efforts, we have no way of knowing north from south, up from down, right or wrong. It’s all one big tangled mess.

Amore helpful map would be a godsend, but the one on the Poketech just highlights what route we’re on, not our exact location. As amazed As I am of this world’s technological advances in medicine (and everything else) I’m disappointed in this particular device.

“We’re lost.” I said, my throat beginning to clench as though I’m about to cry.

Watson frowned, pacing back and forth in front of me, presumably trying to think.

Think Higgsbury, what did you do when you were lost in the caves of the Constant? Well, normally I would have made a map so I wouldn’t get lost, in a rare instance of planning ahead. That would be enough, since situations where I couldn’t read the map were always death sentences for me. Always.

I suppose we’ll have to find another—

Something hit my face. As cold chill ran up my spine as I peeled it off of my cheek.

It’s a leaf. How exciting.

Although, it is a bit odd. I haven’t seen any plants or any plant-type Pokémon here, so there isn’t really any reason for it to be here. Unless, of course, it was blown in by a gust of wind.

A gust of wind from, say, an exit.

“Watson, I think I’ve found a way out.”

Watson perked up immediately, then barked.

“Follow me.”

Following the path from where the leaf blew in, I could see a light up ahead. A warm, glowing beacon of hope from the sun.

It’s an exit.

-

We’re out. The sun feels like god himself decided to hug me.

We’re on route 207 according to the Poketech, on the exact opposite side of the mountain that we need to be on.

I can worry about that in a minute. Orenburg city is south of here. They probably have a pokecenter.

God, I hope they have a pokecenter. They should, since every town and city has one, but what if it’s broken? Shut down? What if they turn us away for some reason? Are they allowed to do that?

Why did I think that was a good idea? How could I have been so stupid? There was a reason Cirrus was hiding! Why didn’t I listen? He didn’t really complain…

It doesn’t matter. It was a pointless, poorly thought out plan anyway.

There is a silver lining though: this route is pretty short. Hopefully these capsules are good at keeping injured Pokémon safe.

Chapter Text

This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?

By the time we’d gotten to the Oreburgh City pokecenter, it was already nighttime, and colder than it was earlier.

According to the nurse, Cirrus would be fine once he’s healed by that strange machine behind the counter.

I just have to hand them over. That’s all I have to do.

He’ll be healed faster if I give her the capsules now, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to go wrong somehow. Something horrible. Something I can’t predict or define if someone were to ask me, but something that feels real nonetheless.

I’m being illogical again. Hysterical even, although to a much more… subtle degree. I need to stop doing this.

I gave her the capsules, and I’m now just sitting in a chair inside the pokecenter, waiting for them to be healed. It shouldn’t take too long— only two or three minutes, but it’s starting to feel like an eternity as the seconds drag on like a boat on dry land.

I’m so tired. We’re no closer to getting the nightmare fuel back. In fact, after that first stagger forward by sheer circumstance and luck, we’ve taken two steps backwards thanks to poor decision-making.

Worse, it’s all my fault. Not only did I carelessly dump the fuel out of my backpack, I’ve just revealed how important it is to the person who may have simply thrown it away. While the first situation can be hand-waved away by blood loss and injury, the second was just… unusually rash. Desperation got the better of me it seems, unless I usually act like that and just didn’t notice? Hopefully that isn’t the case.

Maybe not desperation alone. Something else was pushing me to act more irrationally. Could have been fear. Fear of this exact situation happening, specifically. Perhaps it was the influence of Them? Do they have power here? They shouldn’t, unless our worlds are more intertwined than I’d assumed. If that’s true, then there’s even more problems at hand, problems that I might not be able to fix.

I lost the nightmare fuel.

How could I have been so careless? I’m usually more careful than that! Was I that hysterical? Did They influence my actions?

Is there even a logical explanation other than sheer stupidity on my part? No, there isn’t.

Nausea is creeping up my throat again. Not that there would be anything coming up but bile. I haven’t had anything to eat since we left Darin’s house.

My hands are shaking.

Cirrus and Watson haven’t eaten anything either. Cirrus ate some of the berries earlier, although I doubt he had enough to curb his hunger. Watson hasn’t eaten at all…

They were probably already weakened by the time we got to Mt. Cornett. Hunger, coupled with how much walking we’ve done the past day (days?) sapped their strength, leaving them vulnerable. Maybe I should keep them in their pokeballs from now on. It’ll keep them safe, at the very least.

I wish I had a ball I could go into, at least temporarily. A place I could be warm and safe, free from hunger, cold and shadows that plague everything. A place where time could stand still, and where I wouldn’t make any stupid decisions.

God, why did I dump out the nightmare fuel?! Everything would have been okay if I hadn’t just—

Oh, I still have my supplements. I keep forgetting about those, given how… useless they seem. They’re supposed to help supply nutrients that my body can’t get from food alone, but I keep forgetting to take them. Half the time I forget to eat anyway, a problem that has extended to my Pokémon. A careless nature that’s caused literally all of my problems at the moment.

This is going to be a very long night isn’t it—

“Your Pokémon are ready!”

Do people not know how to knock?! Well, there’s no door, and it’s a waiting room, so… I can’t tell.

A nurse is standing in front of me, holding the capsules in her outstretched hands. She’s very happy for some reason, staring at me with a bright smile. I suppose giving trainers back their healthy Pokémon is the best part of her day. After all, it’s better than the alternative...

“They’re healed?” I asked, taking the capsules. I’m still not sure how the machine manages to heal so quickly.

She nodded, smiling. “Fully!”

“Thank you.”

Her smile widened before she went back to her station behind the counter, seemingly oblivious to my low mood. It’s honestly a relief; I’m not in any sort of mood to talk to anyone anyway.

Although, as of late, I’ve noticed that wall I often feel between me and everyone else has... thickened. Everyone seems so far away and distant, like a dream. I can’t read their faces very well, even if I try very hard too. They sort of drift in and out of my line of sight like ghosts, making noises that sound like gibberish unless I pay attention. Only then is it coherent.

Maybe it’s just a cultural difference. After all, the people here are a lot warmer and more inviting and accepting than the people in my world, so I might be having trouble adjusting to their openness and acceptance did my weirder actions. Of course, the people here also seem far less genuine, and their happiness fake.

Are they hiding something? Are they genuinely just that happy? Where the people in my world that openly happy, and I just didn’t notice?

I want to go home. Well, not as much as I did in the Constant, I’ll admit. since everything is better than the Constant, it could’ve argued that I was just desperate. While I’ll certainly miss the few friends and family I kept in contact with, I wasn’t particularly close to them, and they’ll forget me within a decade.

Would they forget me? My family wasn’t too proud of the fact that I decided to become a scientist rather than a doctor or lawyer, and I had a habit of locking myself with my poorly-constructed machines for days on end. Not much time for a social life, not that I’d dated one then. I suppose I took for granted that I could always show up at a friends house if I ever felt lonely.

Now I can’t. Even if I wanted to, I don’t have any friends to speak of, save for perhaps Darin, although I’m certain I overstayed my welcome by a fair margin with him. Lashing out in anger isn’t the best way to keep friends, even if the anger was ever so slightly subdued by what little remained if your manners in the heat of the moment.

Perhaps, once I get the fuel back, I’ll pay him a visit. A short one, as to not overstay my welcome, but a visit nonetheless.

Yes, that’s it. I’ll visit him, and apologize profusely for being so rude to him. Perhaps I’ll even bring him a gift once I get enough money to do so.

-

It’s colder than it was a few days ago. Clusters of leaves on some of the trees are starting to turn shades of yellow, signaling a turn in the seasons. I suppose the lukewarm summer is giving way to a cold autumn at last.

At least, I think it was summer? It was honestly hard to tell. It didn’t feel warm enough to be summer, but the leaves were still a healthy green when I first got here. I hope the winters aren’t too harsh.

Thankfully, the black glove-sleeves I’m wearing are keeping my arms warm enough, and the beard that I’ve neglected to shave has been growing quite nicely, so I won’t freeze to death as quickly. I will need to find some warmer clothing however, or I’ll be forced to jump from campfire to campfire. Again.

Problem is, I don’t have enough money to buy clothing. Or any money, for that matter. Perhaps I should have swallowed my pride and done that little competition in Fluorma. Watson wouldn’t have been happy, but we’d have some cash that we can use for… everything.

Money is going to have to wait though. I still have to get the nightmare fuel back before I can even think about comforts such as money or new clothing.

Speaking of comforts, should I let them out of their capsules? They would be happier like that, and Watson would have some choice words to say to me once I finally let him out to battle, but on the other hand, they are a lot safer like this. They won’t get lost or rock-blasted in the face. Besides, this place is a mining town (if the large cranes, quarries, and coal carts lining the town are any indication), so it’s not safe for pokemon to just be out and about like that. Especially Pokémon with strings or tails.

Although, they do need to eat eventually. I don’t think the capsules slow their metabolism down enough for them to not need any sustenance.

Of course, there’s the more selfish reason to let them out: loneliness. Just the thought of having to drag myself through the woods completely alone is bringing me some dread, and is eerily reminiscent of my time in the Constant.

I might be exaggerating though. After all, there isn’t anything bad about trees. Trees that line the walkways and passages, dropping dry leaves that are kindling for either a comforting campfire or a raging wildfire that breed destruction. Trees that could easily uproot themselves and attack should I happen to need their wood at the moment. Trees that, in the dead of winter, become a ghostly white as time covers the trunks and leaves. Trees that hide danger under the shadows of the foliage and branches. Trees that hide Them.

Maybe I’ll let Cirrus and Watson out after all. Just so they can get some fresh air.

“Are you two feeling better?”

Watson barked sharply, giving me an all-too-familiar look of disappointment. Cirrus nodded, floating neutrally next to Watson, his string waving in the wind as a cold breeze blew through the down. He doesn’t seem nearly as upset, thankfully.

“Are you two hungry?” I asked, ignoring Watson’s anger.

They nodded.

We sat down near a large boulder, and I opened the bag. Red berries buried everything else like packing paper would bury an item. Thankfully, none of them had ruptured, otherwise I might have to clean my bag.

“Here you go.” I said, giving them each a handful of berries.

Cirrus happily ate his portion, while Watson seemed a bit underwhelmed with the flavor, looking up at me with an even more disappointed look. Not disgusted, just very mildly disappointed.

I’m not hungry, surprisingly. I don’t normally turn down food, but right now my stomach is twisting itself into nauseating knots. A combination of recent events, stress, and the fact that it’s a cold autumn night have probably killed my appetite and replaced it with… a feeling somewhere between fear and anxiety.

Although Cirrus seems to be greatly enjoying his portion, and they do seem to be pretty delicious, if their bright red skin is anything to go off of. I suppose I could stomach a few—

Oh.

Oh.

Dear God it’s like a firecracker just went off in my mouth! How can Cirrus and Watson even eat these?! My stomach can hardly handle a chili pepper, let alone that! Ttrying to eat this would result in severe inflammation!

And my bag is completely full of them. Wonderful. Fantastic. Maybe I’ll just starve to death for the upteenth time. Or, maybe, my stomach will figure out how to convert dirt into something worth the calories spent on chewing it.

Blegh. At least they are going to be well-fed. I’ll have to find something else though, and I doubt dirt and rocks have any nutritional value.

That something else has to wait though. Right now, I need to find a way to get to Veilstone without going through the mountain. Or at least, get some sort of map.

I suppose we could try going into the caverns again, and I can make a map as we go. That way, we can eventually find our way through eventually, and we can reuse the map later on if we ever have to pass through again.

Problem is, we’ll need a light source, otherwise I might miss other passages and routes hidden by darkness.

Maybe I could make a few torches? There’s no shortage of grass or trees, so it would be easy, if only a bit time-consuming. Perhaps I could even figure out how to make a lantern out of wood.

That probably won’t work, wood is far too flammable to make a lantern out of. It would be an interesting sight to see, though. Quite the spectacle.

I’m really not looking forward to going into the caves again.

-

Ergh, we’ve been traveling for so long. Well, it probably hasn’t been that long, a few hours at most, but it certainly feels even longer than the first time. I think it’s because we’re actually writing down the routes we took, and it’s starting to become a mess of pencil markings (charcoal I borrowed from an old campfire) and notes.

Interestingly, a lot of caves and caverns are actually interconnected, although not all areas are traversable. One particular tunnel looked like it used to have a natural bridge of some sort, but it’s long since collapsed. Then, of course, there was that cavern we met Charon and Saturn in, which actually connected to several other tunnels I didn’t notice before. Most of which were blocked, including the one we fought Charon in.

I hope that wasn’t the only way to the other side of the mountain, although with my luck it probably was.

Speaking of luck, my torch is beginning to go out. I’ll just have to grab another—

Hold on. There’s something in here I didn’t notice before. Did I just not see it? It’s not that big...

Halfway buried in berries and under the tent is a small plastic bag with a cookie in it, as well as a note.

Did a nurse put it in there? Or maybe it was someone else? It wasn’t there before, although I don’t usually search my backpack as thoroughly as I probably should.

Watson barked.

“It’s just a bag.” I said, taking it out. “And no, I’m not sharing the cookie. You have an entire bag full of berries you can eat.”

Watson frowned, undeterred. He sniffed the little baggie as I pulled it out and opened it.

The note itself is covered in cookie crumbs, and written in print, with a few pen smudges on the page, as well as a coffee cup stain in the top right corner. It reads as follows:

“Dear Wilson,

Hello! I see you’ve found the cookie I snuck into your bag! It’s chocolate chip, not raisin, so you don’t have to worry about that. Unless you like raisins and not chocolate, then I’m sorry.”

Is this from Darin? He’s the only person I know that would be able to imagine someone liking raisins over chocolate-chip. Well, aside from my grandmother, but she was very senile the last time I saw her.

Wonder how she’s doing. Last I heard she was under the care of my grandfather, a notoriously un-caring caretaker. Was never a very pleasant man to be around, if the stories from my father are anything to go off of.

Right, the note.

“Moving on from the cookie, I’d like to wish you good luck on whatever you needed to do in Veilstone so urgently.”

I’d forgotten about my little episode in the old galactic HQ. Honestly, he must have been terrified as well, although for different reasons.

“Warm regards,

-Darin.”

So it is from Darin. A short note and a cookie, a sweet little moment from an acquaintance— no, a friend, is all it is. It’s just a note. Just a cookie.

So why am I crying?

It’s just a note, not even a letter. It’s just a short note that you’d often find in a child’s lunchbox from their mothers, wishing them good luck in school. It’s not special, it’s just a note he was so compelled to write after all. So compelled to write in fact, that he invaded my privacy and went through my belongings just to plant a cookie and a childish note.

I should be furious that my privacy was betrayed, that what little I had was rummaged through. I should be mad at how messy the note is, given the crumbs, coffee stain, and ink smudges. I should be annoyed that he placed it deep into my backpack, so some time would pass before I find it. I should be confused as to why he thought this was a good idea. I shouldn’t, however, be crying in the middle of a cave.

When was the last time I received a letter? A note? A sign that anyone cares about me in the slightest?

Years.

Fucking Years.

Even discounting my time in the constant, it’s been years (possibly a decade) since I’d ever get a hand-written note, or even a God-damned phone call from anyone. The only time I ever got any acknowledgment that I existed was when I got the bill for the electric or water. Even then, that was a printed framework. A mass-produced letter, with the only thing changing is the charged amount and the date payment was due. A cold, machined copy with fill-in-the-blanks details.

Nobody cared that I left did they? They don’t care that I’m gone. My entire family shunned me after I moved out for being a scientist rather than something “sensible” (as my oh-so-caring father put it) and the few acquaintances I’d had completely forgot about me.

I never had any visitors in my house. At first, I’d just thought they were busy. Maybe I’d pushed too much with the whole “too busy with science” spiel I’d always give them as an excuse to avoid going to some social event. Maybe there was some other good reason I couldn’t think of back then.

But they didn’t actually care, did they? Not even a little bit. They didn’t even bother to write a letter, and all that costs is a minute and a stamp.

Why? Why didn’t they care? Was I too distant? Too passionate about science? Too… weird? I’ve always been a bit of an outcast, ever since primary school.

No wonder my father was ashamed of me. I was a failure, a broken musket that would never fire. A fluke, a flop. A… I can’t even think of another word to describe myself.

I couldn’t even succeed in science. My lifelong passion has slipped through my fingers.

If I had become a doctor, would things have been different? Or a lawyer? Would things have changed then? Would I have still been a failure? Would I have even been able to become a lawyer or doctor? I don’t have the magical healing hands a doctor does, or the level-headedness of a lawyer, so I doubt it.

Maybe I could have forced myself to be one of those. A sort of fake-it-until-you-make-it situation. Would I have accepted Maxwell’s offer? Would I have gone to the constant? Would I still have… whatever the male version of hysteria is?

Would they have cared? Or would I have still been an outcast?

It’s too late to find out now. Even if I go back, I doubt any of them would care. If anything, I’d probably be out in a mental asylum for my panic attacks and other irrational mannerisms.

I’m stuck here then. Trapped in a strange world with different laws and different, dangerous creatures.

It’s like the Constant all over again. God, it’s exactly like the constant, except this time an entire group of creatures can shoot fireballs instead of just the dragonfly.

And the isolation. The soul-crushing isolation that eats away at my very psyche. Makes it hard to get off of the ground sometimes.

Like right now. I don’t want to get up. I can, physically, but just the thought of having to move, of having to exist at all, is impossible to bear.

Maybe I can just lay here and let the ground reclaim whatever I have left on my bones. I’m sure my father would be very happy about th—

“Gah! Watson your nose!” I yelped.

Watson had nuzzled my hand, which still has a death grip on the note Darin gave me.

“What’s wrong Watson?”

He looked up at me, concerned. I’m not sure why—

Oh. I’m still crying. That’s probably why. God, I’m so pathetic. It’s just a note, Wilson. No use in getting all worked up over it.

I need to stop crying. I’m not usually this emotional, and for good reason; it concerns people. Watson probably thinks I’m hysterical.

“Ah. Don’t worry, I’m fine. I just needed to rest for a moment.”

I still can’t bring myself to get up. I should, given the whole nightmare fuel situation, but I can’t. It’s like my limbs are made of lead.

Maybe just a few more minutes. Just a few more so I can get my bearings.

-

More caves. I’d managed to peel myself off the floor, only to find more caves.

As irritating as it is, I will say that I’m becoming more and more impressed with this mountain. Many people have clearly walked through here, if the discarded ropes and burnt-out lanterns are any indication. People have been through here, many times.

People have probably died here as well.

I haven’t found any bones, so they might have died somewhere outside of the path. Or a Pokémon are their bones, although I don’t know what sort of Pokémon would even be able to eat bones.

Can Watson eat bones? I doubt it; his teeth are meant for meat (and berries), not bones. Cirrus doesn’t have any teeth as far as I can tell, so he can’t eat bones.

They can eat bones, quite easily. Their jaws can snap even a femur like a toothpick, and their teeth are sharp enough to cut through bones rather easily.

I can remember one time when I was still in the constant. I was running from one of Them in the middle of the night. I’d tripped over a branch or a rock or something. Didn’t even have any time to turn around before They got a hold of my leg and bit my thigh.

I didn’t even have any time to scream before they snapped my femur in half. Honestly, I’m surprised they didn’t tear off my leg. Usually, they would have, but they didn’t. Not that time.

They just… bit me and stared.

Ergh, I feel sick again. I shouldn’t have thought about it, because now the thought won’t leave. I can still feel my femur snapping, and the sickening sound that cracking bones make.

Blood. There was a lot of blood, possibly because they punctured a vein of some sort. Although, I’m certain They didn’t give me time to bleed out. After all, that would have been far too merciful. They just had to inflict even more pain.

Why? They won. They could have easily eaten me or something, or gotten whatever it is that they wanted from me, but they didn’t. They just… tore me apart.

Why?

I need to stop thinking about it before I give myself a panic attack.

No, it’s too late already. I can feel it swelling up in my chest.

God, why do I even bother? It’s not like I can not think about the Constant. It’s like a broken record, a skipping gramophone, a machine without an off button. The one thought I don’t want to remember gets forcibly shoved to the front stage of my brain and repeated over and over until I can feel it. It would be an impressive play if it wasn’t just in my head, that’s for sure.

I can’t breathe, unsurprisingly. I mean, I can, but it’s difficult. Far too difficult for my comfort.

Everything hurts. My chest hurts, my head hurts, my leg is starting to hurt, everything just… hurts.

If I keep walking, it’ll be over eventually. Right? This will pass? It worked before, although my episode earlier wasn’t as intense.

Or maybe it was. Looking back, they don’t seem as bad as they do in the moment. It’s possible that I’m simply over-reacting, a common symptom of hysteria.

Hysteria. I’m hysterical. I need to stop, but I can’t. I can’t stop my hands from shaking, or prevent my breathing from becoming labored. I can’t stop these thoughts of mine from causing undue panic and fear that a stronger-willed person could resist.

This shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. Many people have come back from war and it’s unimaginable suffering, pain, and horrors and seemed fine. In fact, a few came back better than they went in, with stronger bodies and minds, as well as a new sense of comradery thanks to the friends they gained in their platoons.. The weaker-minded suffered from shell-shock, but that wasn’t as bad as… whatever this is.

Wait, yes it was. Those returning from the Great War often flinched at loud or sudden movements, and were documented to have higher instances of violence towards their wives and fellow men. I remember once instance that was in the news were a former soldier murdered his family for some twisted reason.

They were put into asylums (by kin or by authorities), where they would spend the rest of their days. Locked in cages, barred from seeing friends or family, and only interacting with the cold, stern staff of the asylum. Heavily medicated and restrained so they aren’t a danger. Isolated and forgotten.

They went from one hell to another, it seems. Nobody wanted to even look at them, they were such a shame. Even their own families often shunned them, refusing to acknowledge their very existence.

It wasn’t just Soldiers either. Women who were hysterical (or strong-willed) were admitted and afforded the same level of shame. Those with odd mannerisms, hysteria, hallucinations, murderous intent, and more were all shoved into a building to wait for death. I don’t even know exactly what they do to them while they’re in there, but if it’s anything like I’ve heard...

Is that what would happen to me if I find a way home? Would I be locked up with them? The isolation wouldn’t be new, but the strange chemicals and restraints would be tourture.

I don’t have shell shock (I was never in the war after all), but I seem to have hysteria. A woman having hysteria as… noticeable as mine would be thrown into an asylum by force nearly instantly. A man such as myself having hysteria would be a spectacle. I would be plastered in every newspaper from the East to West coast. My family would know. The few friends I have would know. Everyone would know.

I can’t go home. I can never go home.

-

There’s a light up ahead, most likely from an exit. Which exit this is isn’t going to be known until we go through it, but at least we’ll be out of these god-forsaken caves.

I hope we never have to go through here again, even with this map I made. The caverns are far too dark for my liking. Far too long, far too lonely.

“We’re almost out Watson.” I said, picking up speed. “Almost.”

I stepped out of the cave and into the light. There’s grass to my left and right, and a well-kept path in front of me, leading away from the mountain and down a hill.

According to my poketech, we’re on route 211 East, with Celestials town being a short walk away.

We did it. We’re out! We managed to get through the mountain. I’m not as happy as I normally would be, but that’s okay. The important thing is that we’re out, and closer to Veilstone than ever.

The air is a bit colder than I remember it being. A lot colder actually. Despite the sun still being up, I find myself shivering at the slightest breeze.

The night isn’t going to be fun, is it?

Watson seems fine. I’m sure his fur is giving him some insulation against the cold, so I won’t have to worry about him for a while. Worse comes to worse, I could always just put him in the pokeball.

Hopefully my sleeping bag is warm enough for the upcoming nights.

-

This is an odd town. It’s very small, shaped like a circle and having a rather steep pit in the middle of it (that thankfully has a stairway), and it is surrounded by a forest of oak-like trees, a stark contrast with the thinner trees I’ve seen through the region.

The cave has some sort of support network at the entrance, possibly keeping it from collapsing. Why they don’t just close it off if it’s that hazardous…

Actually, why don’t they just close it up? Is there something important in there? If so, you’d think it would be better guarded, right? Unless whatever’s inside is meant to be seen.

Perhaps I should check it out. It couldn’t hurt, after all— wait yes it can! I don’t have time for this! It’s probably some sort of cave that has some sort of religious artifact or something. No, I have to keep going.

Although, team Galactic could be in there investigating something. This town is small and isolated, so it would be easy for them to be hidden. They don’t really have any sort of reason to be in the cave though. Unless, of course, there’s something in there worth seeing.

I’ll go into the cave. Even if there’s nothing of note in there, it will be knowledge gained, which is almost always worthwhile.

Almost.

“Watson? Would you like to check out the cave?”

Watson looked up like me with utter contempt and annoyance, grumbling a response. I don’t understand his words, but his message is quite clear.

“No need to be so rude.” I muttered.

His only response was an eye roll and a flick of his tail.

“Fine then. Be that way. We’re checking out the cave whether you want to or not.”

Thankfully, the cave is shallow, being more cave than cavern as I had feared. The inside is well-supported by carved stone pillars. A healthy layer of moss and vines covered the intricately carved walls of the cave, and grass creeped in from the entrance, stopping at the edge of the sunlight.

There’s something on the far wall. A painting depicted three figures (a pink, blue, and yellow one respectively) circling around an orb. There also a sizable crack running through the artwork, although I doubt that was part of the original vision of the artist. Actually, there’s a lot of cracks in the walls. Not enough to be of concern, but enough to be noticed.

This place radiates a faint… power that I can’t quite grasp. It feels so familiar, like I’ve felt it before. It’s not hostile, just rather intense for how faint it feels. It feels almost… human?

Wait, I hear something. Footsteps, breathing, and other things I should have noticed before, but didn’t.

Someone else is in here with me that I hadn’t noticed before. A woman, dressed in all black, is staring up at the carvings that decorated the farthest part of the cave. Her arms are crossed as she’s examining the carvings, her face an expression of mild interest and melancholy.

Have I seen her before? I feel like I have, although not recently. Watson’s definitely seen her before, if his grin and starry-eyed expression is any indication. Whoever she is, she must be a very impressive individual if even Watson is enamored by her.

“Hello?” I said. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Hm?” She said, turning around and letting her arms drop. “Oh, I didn’t hear you walk in.”

She took a few steps towards me, smiling.

“Have I seen you somewhere before?” She asked, a playful grin on her face.

“I was about to ask you the same question.”

She thought for a moment, placing a hand on her chin.

“I’m not surprised you’ve heard of me. I am the Champion after all.”

Champion? That just raises more questions than answers.

“Champion?” I asked for clarification.

“Champion Cynthia.” She said, her smile widening a bit. “And you’re that fellow who rescued that drifloon from the windmill aren’t you?”

Ah, of course she knows me from that. Why do people always remember my stupidest mistakes? Why can’t they remember the things I actually want them to remember?

“Yes.” I sighed. “Not my brightest idea, I know.”

“No, I’d say it was a pretty bright idea. You saved the drifloon after all, that’s pretty admirable.”

“If you say so.”

She turned back to the carvings on the wall, a sort of melancholy expression spreading across her face again.

“So what brings you here?”

“I’m just passing through.” I said, looking up at the carvings. “For the cave specifically, it was curiosity.”

“Just passing through? Where are you heading?”

“Veilstone.”

She hummed to herself, getting a grin on her face and a sparkle in her eye as she looked me over, inspecting by body language with a critical eye.

I wish she’d stop. It’s rude to stare, after all! And I’m not entirely sure what she’s looking for. Does she know I’m not telling the full truth? Can she see my scars? Can she see there’s obviously something wrong with me? If she does, would she report it?

No. She wouldn’t. Stop… thinking like this. It’s not… productive. She wouldn’t do that.

I mean, maybe she would? I just met her, so perhaps—

“Hmm… I wish I’d brought some lower-level Pokémon. I would have loved to battle you.”

Is that how people compliment people here? By asking them to battle? It still doesn’t make any sense, and I’m starting to think it never will.

“Why?” I asked. “I’m not a very good trainer, it would be a waste of your time—“

Watson barked sharply, scowling at me and flicking his tail.

“Hush! You know it’s true.”

“No, I think it would be rather revealing. You seem like an interesting person, so I’m sure the battle would have been equally as interesting.”

She’s an odd fellow. Not sure why she’s taken such an interest in me. Is it my hair? It’s probably my hair. Or my face. Or how thin I am. Or any number of things, really.

It could be the fact I (stupidly) decided to rescue Cirrus from the windmill. Apparently, not many people do that sort of thing, despite how common drifloon get stuck up there and perish thanks to the gears.

Wait, I think I remember where I saw her. It was a Pokémon battle on the television. A championship battle, specifically. She was fighting off a trainer with a red hat...

She’s the Sinnoh region champion, isn’t she? Makes sense that she would want to battle me so badly. Although, it seems as though everyone wants to battle everyone here.

“...You’re the Sinnoh region champion.” I said.

“You didn’t realize it until now?” She asked, tilting her head a bit.

“Yes.”

Watson looked very disappointed in me, as usual.

“You don’t seem too enthusiastic.”

Am I supposed to be? She’s just the champion, it’s not really that special. I mean, she doesn’t look too upset that I didn’t recognize her, although she might just be hiding it.

“I’m not a very enthusiastic person.” I muttered. “It’s an honor to meet you?”

She giggled, although she tried to stop herself by covering her mouth.

“No, no. It’s okay.” She said, smiling. “It’s a nice change of pace, actually.”

I suppose it would be a nice change of pace for her. No doubt as soon as anyone recognizes her they either demand a battle or want her to sign something. She’s essentially a celebrity, a famous actress.

Wait, what time is it? How long have I been in here? Wasting my time as Team Galactic gets closer to realizing exactly what they have.

“I need to get going.” I said.

“So soon?”

I nodded. “It’s urgent.”

She nodded, the smile fading from her face once she realized I was serious.

“Where are you going anyway?” She asked, half-following me.

“Team Galactic HQ.”

I shouldn’t have said that. Why did I say that?! She doesn’t need to know this!

“What? Why?” She asked, a worry surfacing in her voice that I didn’t expect to hear from someone like her.

“They have something of mine.”

She wants to say more, I’m sure. But I need to go. It’s rude to leave so suddenly, I’m sure, but I can’t stay any longer. Not while they still have the fuel. Suppose it’s a good thing Veilstone is close by.

I also suppose it’s a good thing I can walk much faster than she can.

Chapter Text

Okay, this route isn’t as short as I thought it was. In fact, it’s much longer. Or maybe it just seems longer than other routes of similar lengths. Or, and perhaps most likely, I’m just really tired. I don’t think I’ve slept at all the past few days. At least, I don’t remember sleeping, although it could have just slipped my mind. Lots of things have been slipping my mind recently...

Worse, the air is very… wet. There’s a layer of heavy fog over everything, obscuring all but the most basic of shapes. Dark, blurry images of mountains and trees lined the path ahead like ink smudges on waterlogged paper.

Thankfully, there isn’t really any sort of open space or other routes I can take, so all I have to do is keep going. Until I hit that fork in the road that my poketech is telling me exists.

I’m sure I’ll see it. It’s hard to miss a splitting path, unless I somehow become blinded. If that happened I’ll… panic probably. Not much else I can do about it. I’d just panic about how my main sense was just torn away from me, probably by one of those shadow hands digging their claws into my eye sockets—

…

...

That’s terrifying.

Almost as terrifying as the rock nearly tripped over. Of course, Watson already knew it was there. He always knows when things are there.

“You have very good vision.”

Watson looked back at me, ears perked up a bit.

“I mean, I doubt it’s perfect, but you seem to be able to see things that I can’t. You seem to have night vision at the very least.”

He continued walking forward.

“And fog… vision.”

There has to be a better way to say it than “fog vision.” Weather sight? Sky seeing? Those are equally as stupid, although night vision doesn’t sound as sophisticated either, now that I think about it—

Watson barked.

“No, I wasn’t complaining.”

He barked again, a smirk on his face.

“No, I’m not jealous… okay maybe a little bit.”

He grinned, looking back at the road in front of us.

“Hush.”

He’s so smug about the fact he can see better than I can. It’s not like it’s my fault, his eyes are just better evolved to deal with lower light levels than mine!

Wish I could see in the dark. Then, perhaps, it wouldn’t be as… imposing or unwelcoming.

We’re getting distracted. I need to focus. We’re almost in Veilstone, we just need to keep going.

God I’m so tired.

-

Ugh, rain.

Rain and fog, a horrible combination brought to us by Mother Nature and her nurturing hands. The same hands that made poison ivy and hounds, mind you. Very nurturing indeed.

It wouldn’t be so bad if I could actually see more than amorphous shapes and light grey. Watson, of course, can see just fine, probably having some sort of night vision. He’s probably used to this sort of weather, given that he was a wild animal at some point. I think.

Veilstone should be closer. There’s no reason for towns and cities to be this spread out. How do people here even move so quickly across the region? Cars? They have roads, sure, but not everywhere. Maybe they fly somehow...

I’m getting distracted again.

None of this would have happened if I hadn’t dumped out the fuel! I still can’t believe I was that stupid. If I hadn’t done that, none of this would have happened!

No wonder I’m such a disappointment. No respectable English gentlemen would have let this happen, at least not one with a functioning brain.

Perhaps that’s another symptom of hysteria. Memory lapses and stupidity. It almost makes sense, given how some hysterical women act at times...

Urgh, my stomach is in knots again. Not sure why, I’m not in any sort of danger. Unless hysteria now counts as “danger” to me.

Speaking of, what exactly is my plan once I find the HQ? I mean, I doubt I could just walk through the front doors. Perhaps I could break in through a window?

I’ll have to figure it out once I get there and see the outside of the building. Then I can—

What was that?

It sounded like a snapping twig. Am I imagining things? No, Watson’s alert, so he probably heard it as well.

…

…

...I don’t hear anything else.

Maybe it was just a Pokemon? I’m sure they’re pretty abundant around here, and known for their twig-snapping tendencies. Of course, there’s also the possibility it wasn’t a Pokémon.

Team Galactic? I’m sure they would have guessed I’d survive the cave-in, and possibly sent people to get rid of me since I heard a portion of their plan. Or at least, Saturn’s plan.

He wants to re-open a portal to the distortion world, If I heard them correctly. He wants to bring someone back to help create infinite energy.

Impossible? I’d say yes, if the law of conservation of energy applies to this place, although it wouldn’t surprise me if it doesn’t apply here. Still, it’s a noble quest, and I’d honestly be on board with their endeavors if they didn’t have the nightmare fuel in their grasp. Actually, I’d consider helping them, although with how everyone seems to be reacting to their return.

What did they do? It involved portals, that’s all I really know. As well as someplace called the distortion world. It doesn’t sound like a pleasant place at all, so opening a portal there could be dangerous. I can see it being dangerous.

Maybe I should just stay out of it. I don’t know enough to determine if they’re trying to do good or not. Once I get the fuel back, I’ll leave them alone. That sounds like a good idea.

Speaking of sounds, I don’t hear any other twigs. Whatever made the sound earlier is probably gone.

Or stalking us. That’s another possibility. A much more terrifying possibility. A possibility that I’m actually prepared to handle, at least if it’s an animal of some sort.

At least we’re already at the crossroad. We’ll be in Veilstone within a few hours, assuming we don’t stop. If we’re lucky, we’ll be done with this whole mess before nighttime, and I can finally get some sleep. Maybe even find some berries that don’t burn my mouth and have a nice meal. Er, more of a glorified snack if anything, since I don’t feel like experimenting with any of the other plants.

Blegh. Those red berries were awful. How can Cirrus and Watson stand them?! They must have an affinity for spicy foods, or are less sensitive to them.

Once this is over, I’ll have to find a book with all the berry types in it so I can identify them. It would be nice to find some sweet or tart berries for myself.

Maybe this whole thing will be over fast.

Veilstone is looming in the distance, obscured by dense fog and autumn-colored trees. No sign of any sort of skyscrapers like the one in Jubilife, so it might not be as difficult to find the Galactic HQ as I’m imagining. Although, you never know…

Point is, we’re almost there, and I can feel an all-too familiar feeling of dread creeping up on me.

Wonderful.

-

Veilstone. A large, bustling city full of—

Hold on, I don’t have time for this, I need to find the headquarters. No distractions, no detours. I need to focus and find the building!

Problem is, all of the buildings look the same. I suppose I could look into finding a run-down building, one that resembles what a business would use for a headquarters.

That one over there looks like it would be the headquarters. Despite the broken windows and side panels, the building seems pretty stable. Best part is there’s no way it can be anything other than the HQ, since the infamous logo of Team Galactic is plastered above the entrance with a sun-faded sign.

Speaking of, I need to find a way inside, preferably without being noticed. Although, stealth isn’t my strong suit, so perhaps I could always just brute-force my way through. Watson could easily help with that, and Cirrus could help from afar.

A sound plan, if a bit dangerous. Although, all plans involving this building are going to be risky, that’s just a fact I need to accept.

Brute force it is. All I have to do is check how strong the lock on the door is. I’m sure it isn’t that strong—

Oh? The door isn’t locked? They must really be struggling if they can’t even bother to lock the front door. Of course, they might not have anything here worth keeping safe. Yet.

Dust and rubble fell from above the doorway when I pushed the doors open. The tiled floor is cracked, with weeds beginning to climb up through the cracks. The floor-to-ceiling windows are caked with dirt, with a lot of them being broken or cracked. The walls are full of holes, putting the skeletal structure of steel support beams and wires on full display of everyone visiting.

Surprisingly (and unlike the Chateau), this place seems structurally sound. It was built to last, that’s for sure. So far, it’s stood the test of time.

Where is everybody anyway? Other than me and Watson, there doesn’t seem to be anybody here.

“Watson? Can you hear anyone?”

He paused, his ears peeking up. Swiveling, they picked up on every little sound in the area. Wonder exactly how accurate his ears are.

Oh, he nodded. We’re not alone here.

“Do you know where they are? And how many?”

He shook his head.

“Ah. Thank you anyways.”

So there’s people, almost certainly other members of Team Galactic. I suspect they're going to put up a fight, given I’m invading their base and all. I mean, I’d put up a fight.

Perhaps I should have brought some help. I’m not a very strong trainer, and while Watson is a strong Pokémon, he’ll get tired after a while. And Cirrus and I still don’t… battle correctly.

Actually, I don’t even know all of his moves. He knows some sort of wind attack, but that’s all I know.

Poor planning. Again. I’m usually better than this. Usually, I’m not this reckless. This scatterbrained. This…

…

I don’t have the right word. My vocabulary isn’t big enough, despite it being expansive. It’s mostly full of scientific terms, along with proper-ish grammar and politeness. Describing words, I’ll admit, is a bit of an empty spot.

We need to keep going. I can worry about my vocabulary once this is over.

...

It’s awfully drafty in here, isn’t it? Must be all the broken windows.

Or maybe they’re messing with the nightmare fuel, and the cold claws of whatever attacks in the night will finally put out the lights.

…

We need to look around, and possibly find some sort of stairway or something so we can go up, since that's probably where they’re keeping the fuel.

Well, now that I think about it, they’d probably have the fuel in a laboratory, which should be in ground level. Carrying samples and chemicals up flights of stairs would be dangerous after all, and they could always keep the records of the experiments and research on a higher floor if they need the secrecy that badly.

A chill is running up my spine. I think we’re being watched. Or maybe my hysteria is acting up again. At the worst time, no less.

Either way, we need to move quickly. This would be a bad place to have one of those panic attacks or projections.

-

This place is a lot bigger than it looked on the outside. I suppose they needed the space for… whatever it is they did here.

Strange how I haven’t run into anybody, not even a guard or some sort. This far, the place is a ghost town, devoid of people and pokemon.

Are we in the wrong place? I know they probably have a limited staff, but surely I should have come across someone by now.

But we haven’t. I’ve certainly heard people (faint footsteps at the ends of hallways, just out of sight), but I’ve never seen them.

Perhaps this place is just a sham—-

Oh? I didn’t notice this door before.

I pushed it open, having to use a considerable amount of force.

It led a large, tall room reinforced with metal playing along the walls. Large, broken spheres made of glass sat on top of machines on the far wall, attached to them by torn pipes and frayed wires. The floor is covered in thin shards of glass, scattered around like fallen leaves, collecting especially around the desk and machinery.

The machines themselves don’t seem active, with the screens cracked and screws and buttons falling off of the side, but they were certainly active at some point. Not entirely sure what they used to do though. The glass domes look like they held something? I doubt those tube connections are waterproof, so it was probably something.

Why does this room feel so… off? There’s a sort of melancholy feeling about the place, a miasma of confinement and… desperation. Other than how dilapidated the machinery is (broken machines are always a sad sight to see), there shouldn’t be anything causing it.

Worryingly, it’s reminding me an awful lot like the feeling nightmare fuel gives me. Not quite, as fuel gives me a feeling of despair and anxiety, while this room only gives me a feeling of sorrow. Sorrow and desperation.

I’m not the only one experiencing this distress either. Watson seems stressed as well, his ears pinned and a look of deep concern in his face. It’s… strange to see that look on his face.

At least I know it’s not just me. Whatever they did in this room probably wasn’t pleasant, and I have a sinking feeling that something or someone living was involved with this mess.

“We’ll be done here soon Watson.” I said, hoping to ease his worrying. “Do you see the vial?”

No sign of the vial, despite the myriad of vials and containers strewn about the place. Suppose they had the sense to stow it in a more secure place.

On the bright side, there’s no sign of any experimentation with nightmare fuel either (other than that odd feeling that’s similar to but not quite like the one you get from nightmare fuel), so I might not be too late after all. There could still be time.

Although, some of these machines look strange. Strange and familiar, like the ones in the ruins. Made with less rocks of course. The odd feeling they’re giving off isn’t helping either.

What even happened to the civilization of the ruins? They left behind such… marvels. It would be impressive if it wasn’t used for nightmare fuel.

They went mad. What used to be a thriving civilization of bug-like people crumbled once they started messing with the nightmare fuel. I suspect they have something to do with Them, but I don’t have enough evidence to prove it.

Either way, the less people know about the fuel, the better. Sorry Darin…

Perhaps it’s just a coincidence. The technology used for using nightmare fuel may be similar to whatever was needed for whatever they did.

Perhaps my tired, hysteria-stricken mind is just trying to find connections to fuel its unfounded anxieties. Well, mostly unfounded. The machines do look similar, if you tilt your head a certain way and squint. There’s similar roundnesses to them, and they share a similar base structure.

...

We need to find the fuel soon, before I start making connections where there are none. Before I completely lose my mind.

“Watson? Do you see any sign of the vial?”

Watson (who’s in the middle of sniffing a machine) shook his head, eager to leave.

“Let’s go then—“

There’s a man standing in the doorway, wearing some sort of grey jacket with a Galactic pin on the left side of his chest. Judging from his terrified expression, I don’t think he expected to find anybody here.

“Could you move please?” I asked, trying to see if he would heed my plea and avoid a confrontation.

His mouth opened a bit in shock, taking a step back and pulling out a small device.

“Hey we got an intruder in the lab!” He shouted, pulling out a Pokeball from seemingly nowhere.

“An intruder?” A voice over the device said. “What do they—“

“Watson! Get the device!”

Watson lunged. The man, gritting his teeth, released a bat-like Pokémon. I think it’s called a Zubat? Maybe it’s the second evolution of that?

“Golbat use bite!” He yelled, still blocking the doorway with his body, seemingly willing to die for the path behind him.

The golbat flew forward, getting thrown out of the way by Watson grabbing its wing with his mouth.

The two scrambled to fight the other off, having become tangled in their own limbs and teeth.

“...fuck.” The man muttered, looking at me and grimacing. “I’m still not letting you get by!”

“Move.” I said flatly.

“No.” He’s standing his ground apparently.

I’m really not in the mood for this. I’m honestly half tempted to grab one of these machines and throw it at him, but that would be rather barbaric. Physical violence is supposed to be reserved for Pokémon—-

The golbat flew into the wall beside the door frame, falling to the ground with a dull thud.

“Golbat!”

It’s out cold, not even trying to move. Watson seems pretty triumphant, despite the bite marks.

“Shit.” The man muttered, returning his Golbat to his Pokeball. “You’re not going to get out of here so easily!”

I took a step forward, and he took a step back. I guess he wasn’t bright enough to bring two Pokémon.

“I’m aware. Move.”

He stepped aside, nearly tripping over his wall-less telephone as he scrambled to get out of my way.

“Thank you.” I said. “You don’t happen to—“

Oh. He’s already running down the hallway. Rude, leaving while someone is talking to you. Er, not that I was being very polite to him. Either way, he could have at least waited for me to finish!

Not sure why I’d expect him to tell me where the fuel is, but it was worth the shot. The shot I technically didn’t even take.

Whatever. We need to get going. Actually, before we do, I should see if Watson’s okay. The fight didn’t last long, and he’s sturdy, but I don’t want him to over-exert himself.

“Watson? Are you doing okay?”

He nodded, still on the adrenaline rush from the short battle. I’m sure he’ll think differently when it wears off though.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded again, grinning at me. He looks pretty battered, but I suppose he knows his limits.

“Alright, if you say so. Let’s get going, we can’t dawdle here any longer.”

-

This place is starting to remind me of the caves.

I mean, I have a rough idea of where we are (floor 2, I think. Unless we’ve somehow gone up or down a level without a stairwell), but I don’t have any specifics. The signs that supposedly tell you where certain rooms are located are too faded or broken to be legible. The doors and hallways all look the same.

Worse, we’re encountering people now. Thankfully, they usually run away, and even if they don’t, their Pokémon are pretty weak.

Watson’s strength is waning though. He’s exhausted, and pretty badly bruised, despite his insistence that he’s fine. He’s also denying assistance from Cirrus, despite me offering to let him out and help. Stubborn as always it seems.

I really wish he wouldn’t push himself this much, it’s not healthy.

Perhaps a short break could help? I’m sure he’s hungry, and I have a whole bag full of berries that I can’t eat.

“Would you like to take a break Watson?” I asked, stopping in some sort of break room.

He barked, which is probably a no.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

His ears perked up.

I offered him a large portion of berries, placing them in the ground in front of him. He grumbled, staring at them with irritation before beginning to devour them like a savage beast.

“So you were hungry.”

He glared at me.

“Alright, I won’t pester you anymore.”

I seated myself in one of the plastic chairs that aren’t broken while Watson continued to eat.

Perhaps there’s some sort of logic to this place. I’d assume the least important things would be on the bottom floor, since it’s more vulnerable to theft. The vial, if they realized its importance, is probably somewhere on the middle or top floors, but that doesn’t narrow it down enough. We’re wasting precious time by just meandering around like this, and Watson can only take so much more before he’ll collapse out of exhaustion.

I know Cirrus could probably handle himself here, but he’s a bit more fragile in terms of defense, and Watson has that powerful thundershock move that seems to do extra damage against those Golbats. What do they call that? A super-strong move? That doesn’t sound right—

“You!” A sharp voice said.

Saturn is standing in the doorway of the break room, blocking our exit.

“You!” I said back, standing up immediately. I have the urge to reach for a weapon to defend myself, but there isn’t any.

“So you’re the intruder.” He said, stepping inside and clapping his hands behind his back. “You’re bolder than I thought you were.”

I’d expected him to call me stupid, but he’s still an unwelcome suprise!

“Watson, are you ready?”

Watson was already standing in front of me, ready to pounce, with berry juice dripping from his mouth. Looks unnervingly similar to blood, although it’s a bit more of a neon red than the darker red that blood often is.

He’s ready at least.

“Stay out of our way, Wilson.” He said, tossing a Pokeball out and releasing a large, bell-looking Pokémon.

It looks… metallic? Is it made of metal?

Watson didn’t seem as concerned. He lunged at the Pokémon, his fangs covered in shadows.

“Bronzong, use heavy slam!” Saturn shouted.

The bronzong raised its metal arm and slammed Watson into the ground with tremendous force, cracking the tiles on the floor.

That’s… not good. How is a floating bell so powerful?!

“Watson!” I shouted. “Can you move?”

Watson struggled, eventually managing to get up onto shaking legs, stubbornly glaring at the bronzong.

He’s not going to be able to survive another heavy slam. And, if his grin is any guess, Saturn knows it well. He’s mocking us.

I could switch Watson out with Cirrus, but his defense is so low, he’ll have to always be out of range in order to survive a single attack.

Wait, why is Watson attacking again?!

“Watson wait—“

Too late. He’s already running towards the bronzong again, this time using tackle.

“Bronzong, heavy slam.”

The bronzong raised its arm up once more, poised to deliver a finishing blow to Watson. Given how high of a level it is, it might actually kill Watson.

Watson’s scared. He’s terrified. He’s realizing that he’s probably going to have his bones splintered, and his organs ruptured. He’s too small, too low of a level.

He’s going to die.

...

No. He’s not. Not as long as I’m still standing.

I stepped in front of him, raising my arms to block the heavy slam currently hurtling towards my face.

…

…

...why didn’t I feel anything?

A loud crash is the answer to my question. The bronzong had been launched into a wall by a well-placed attack from a dragon-like pokemon.

“Cynthia?!” Saturn said, looking a bit pale.

Cynthia was standing in the doorway, patting her garchomp with pride, not looking the least bit nervous.

“Yep.” She said. “Heard from the grape vine that you guys were coming back. Guess the old habit of picking on trainers with lower-level Pokémon dies hard, huh?”

“Why are you here?!” Saturn demanded.

“Why are you here. You guys disbanded years ago.”

She’s approaching me, with her very powerful garchomp following me as well.

Now she’s staring at me. Why is she staring at me? What does she want?

“You really were about to block a heavy slam, weren’t you?”

“I—“ I swallowed. The adrenaline currently flowing through me isn’t helping matters. “Yes.”

“...You’re an interesting man, Wilson.”

Interesting? That’s how she describes me? Not “idiotic” or “stupid” for trying to take on a Pokémon made of metal that could crush me in an instant.

She’s probably just trying to be nice.

Furthermore, why is she even here? Was she that curious about Team Galactic? She seems to know them, so she might know where the vial is?

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.” She crossed her arms, turning her attention to Saturn. “So, what are you up to this time?”

“We’re just rebuilding!” He said, narrowing his eyes. “We just want to find a way to make infinite energy—“

Cynthia raised an eyebrow. “You mean like last time?”

“Cyrus isn’t here this time.”

“We have blueprints of his old machines.”

Cynthia shook her head.

“No. You’re not doing this.”

“Yes, we are.”

He grabbed another Pokeball, and a few grunts walked in through the doorway, blocking the exit.

“You have no proof that we’re doing anything else, Cynthia.” He said, his confidence returning. “Neither do you.”

He let out a frog-looking Pokémon, while the grunts let out a few golbats. Watson growled from his position behind me.

“Stay down Watson.”

He growled again, this time directed at me. I should probably put him in his Pokeball. He’s far too weak to do anything else.

“Okay, let’s switch you out for Cirrus.”

They switched. Cirrus came out, ready for a fight.

“Ready Wilson?” Cynthia asked, her machop raising its arms.

“Yes.”

“Let’s do this—“

“What’s going on here?”

Charon pushed the grunts aside, forcing his way into the room.

“Oh. It’s you two.” He said, scowling.

“Charon.” Cynthia growled.

“Cynthia.”

He looked over the room, frowning as he saw the damage done to the break room.

“You do realize this is supposed to be a break room right? Not a breaking room?”

The pun would be a lot funnier if it weren’t for our current predicament and my near-death experience.

“Charon, they’re intruders—“

“What are you two here for?” He snapped, interrupting Saturn’s question rather abruptly.

“We want to know what you’re up to.” Cynthia said calmly, taking a step towards him.

“I want the vial back!” I snapped.

There’s no way he’s going to give it up so easily. Not something that important. Not something that… enticing to a scientist.

“That’s… all you want? The Vial of… sludge?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

I gritted my teeth. It’s not sludge, it a dangerous substance, I would have assumed they’d figured it out by now.

Wait, have they? Do they know about it’s properties? He seems more confused than defensive, so it’s possible he may have been preoccupied.

“Yes.” I said. “That’s all I’m here for.”

“Fine.” Charon said, walking into a room nearby.

Is he actually just going to give it to me? Or is this some sort of trap?

Charon came back out, hunched over and frowning as always.

“Here.” He said, handing the vial to me. “Here’s your… useless grimer sludge.”

“Thank you.” I said coldly, tucking the vial into my pocket.

“What are you up to, Charon?” Cynthia demanded, taking another step forward. He stepped back.

“We’re just trying to find a way to make infinite energy.” He said. “Seems impossible, I know, but—“

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? Do you have any proof, Cynthia? Other than ideas? People deserve second chances, you know.”

He’s right, about both aspects. People deserve second chances, and we don’t really have proof of anything. We should… leave, I think.

Saturn nodded in agreement. Cynthia just frowned.

“Now get out. Both of you.”

I returned Cirrus to his Pokeball (he looks a bit disappointed that he didn’t get to battle) and turned to leave.

Cynthia grabbed my shoulder. I’m glad I have the self-control to not jump quite as much as I could have.

“You’re not just going to leave are you?” She asked, almost angry with me.

“Why would we stay? There’s no reason to, they aren’t really doing anything other than following the impossible.”

Plus, I have the fuel. They can’t do too much damage now, at least not using the nightmare fuel.

I don’t need or want to be here anymore. I’m done. My Pokémon are exhausted, I’m exhausted.

“...You don’t know that. They could be lying, and most likely are lying given their track record.”

“They could possibly be lying, but I have what I came for, and we don’t have any proof they’re up to anything malicious other than past actions. Now could you please let me go?”

She let go of my shoulder, giving me a mildly irritated look of acceptance. “Fine.”

“You should leave too, Cynthia. After all, you’re trespassing.” Charon said, clasping his hands behind his back.

She shot him a cold glare, then started to follow me, her footsteps being halfway to stomping.

We silently passed through a few hallways, looking for the exit. She walked next to me, irritated and deep in thought.

Why is Team Galactic met with such hostility? What did they do? I was caught up a bit in a panic earlier once I realized they had the nightmare fuel, but they didn’t even get the chance to investigate it. I know they’ve done something with portals… although it would be hypocritical me to fault them for that.

They opened portals, and possibly want to bring someone back? Did they really even open a portal? They said they did back at the cave, so they could feasibly do it again. And then there’s this Cyrus fellow…

Problem is, I don’t have a whole lot of evidence. Other than a (possibly misheard) conversation and old machines that haven’t even been used in a while, there isn’t anything we can turn into authorities. Nothing involving anything illegal or harmful at least.

They’re trying to make infinite energy. Worse case scenario, they fail.

“I need you to promise me something.” She said, picking up speed as we neared the exit, passing by a very confused-looking grunt.

“What’s that?”

“If I find out later they’re up to something dangerous, you’ll help me bring them down.”

Why does she want my help? I’m not the strongest trainer, and it seems like she’s had to deal with them before. Surely she has the experience and to deal with them on her own? She certainly has the power...

“I promise?” I said. There’s no telling where I’ll be when she needs me, so I’m not sure how this promise of mine will pan out.

She nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “I’ll hold you up on that, by the way.”

“I’m aware.”

“Good.” She muttered. “This was way too easy.”

She has a point. They didn’t put up much of a fight did they?

They are re-building however, so it’s not like they could put up much of a fight, even if they wanted to—-

She opened the front doors, holding the door open for me.

“Thank you.”

She paused, standing in the doorway, impeding but not quite blocking my path. Her clothing is half-illuminated by the light from the full moon, giving her outline a sort of ethereal, silvery glow. It’s actually rather unnerving; she looks like a ghost, and I’ve dealt with enough ghosts for a lifetime.

“You promise you’ll help?” She asked again.

I nodded. “I promise. If you can find me, and show me proof they’re up to something, I will help you however I can. Gentleman's promise.”

Why is she so insistent on my help? Does she know something I don’t? Do I have some sort of special ability that she might need? I’d say it’s because she isn’t confidential, but that’s certainly not the case...

“...Alright. See you later, Wilson.”

“Goodbye.”

She turned, walking down the sidewalk and towards the inner part of Veilstone, disappearing into the lights of the city.

An interesting woman for sure. Wonder what sort of ties she had to Team Galactic. A former member? Is she in law enforcement? That seems to be a thing a woman can do here.

I need to find a Pokémon center. I think there was one on the way here? I honestly can’t remember. Everything looks so different at night…

And it’s colder. Much colder. So cold, in fact, that I can see my breath condensing in the air before my eyes. Once I get some money, I’ll have to get a jacket. And food, I can’t forget food.

Ah, there’s the Pokémon center. Hopefully it’s warmer on the inside.

Chapter Text

It’s a good thing the pokecenter is mostly vacant (save for the staff) at this time of night, otherwise I might have to actually interact with people, and I’m not in the mood for any sort of conversation, let alone a conversation with complete strangers. I’m done dealing with people for now. In fact, if I never have to deal with people again, I think I’d be okay with that.

…

Well, maybe not never. I’d like to have pleasant conversations with people again at some point, just so I don’t just fade into a cloud of loneliness and despair. Talk about things like... Pokemon and such. Perhaps I could even ask about…those strange typewriters that work without paper.

I also could ask why they have lanterns on the back of their portable telephones, and how they are able to get color photographs. I’d get odd looks for sure, and I doubt they’d ask me anything, but still. It would be nice to have a conversation where I either understand or learn something for once, instead of nodding along as though I understand a word people are saying.

Just… just not right now. I’m too tired.

I’m always tired, but this feels like a… deep sort of exhaustion that’s ebbing into my very soul. A dull, radiating tiredness that’s radiating through my body like waves, replacing the adrenaline rush I had earlier with a dull, throbbing pain that’s sinking into my joints and limbs. The pounding headache isn’t helping either.

This entire ordeal was an absolute mess. It went better than expected, but it was still draining.

So many things could have gone wrong. Watson could have died. I could have died. All it would have taken was Cynthia showing up just a little bit later, or Saturn being a smudge faster in his discovery.

At least it’s over now. I can relax now.

…

I can’t relax. Not at all. I don’t know why, this isn’t the first time I’ve slid past the reaper, and it probably won’t be the last. Actually, by all accounts, this shouldn’t faze me at all. I’ve survived far more horrific things after all.

Maybe it’s because I won’t revive. I mean, I could (I think I have an effigy up somewhere), but it might not work this far out. Maybe if I made an effigy here? Would it even work?

No. I’m not going to kill a Pokémon to make a meat effigy, nor will I carve off a chunk of my own flesh to test. Not unless I have definitive proof it would work. Even then… it’s not worth it.

God, I’m so tired. Wonder if they’d let me sleep here? I doubt they’d mind, but you can never be too careful. Especially since I look like a madman— with my poorly-trimmed beard and skinny complexion. Madness isn’t often met with kindness, from what I’ve heard. It certainly wasn’t met with any sort of kindness where I’m from. What they do to the people in those places, especially what they do to the women, was horrific.

Although, they seem a bit kinder here, and a bit more accepting of oddities. Women seem far less… controlled, and people aren’t shunning people for trivial reasons. At least, not what I’ve seen so far. I’m sure it still happens— it’s just human nature— but it’s nice to not see it… everywhere.

They’ll probably let me sleep in this chair for a night. Hopefully, they’ll also stop people from stealing from me, not that I have anything valuable enough to be taken. Other than Watson and Cirrus, of course. They’re quite valuable, at least to me.

And the Vial...

It’s safe, wrapped in fabric torn from my backpack, and hung from my neck like a lead medallion. Although, it’s not nearly as pleasant-looking as a medallion would be.

No matter. I have it now, and as long as I can protect it, the fuel won’t be used for… things. The people here are safe.

Everything’s okay. Cirrus and Watson are healthy now, and happy (mostly), and I don’t have any sort of injuries that need treatment. Everything is as okay as it possibly could be at the moment, given the circumstances.

…

So why don’t I feel okay? I have the via! There’s nothing wrong at the moment. And yet, I still have this bubble of worry that’s settled in my chest. Is it my hysteria acting up? Is that what this is? Because it’s rather troubling and persistent. It’s illogical, that’s what it is. It shouldn’t be there, but it is.

No, there is… something. Winter is coming, and I’m woefully unprepared for it. That’s the problem that’s haunting me now.

…

Maybe I can fix that.

-

The fog is still here, still covering everything, still saturating the air with an excessive amount of moisture. It doesn’t help that there’s a cold breeze blowing through here, making the fog feel more like cold mist.

So what do we do now? Getting some money to buy warmer clothing and food for the winter is probably a smart idea. Perhaps getting some more sleep would be wise as well. I managed to get a few hours at the Pokémon center, but those chairs really aren’t meant for sleeping.

Ergh, that cold is really settling in isn’t it? I might actually have to build a fire to keep warm tonight. Just like the Constant.

The Constant.

Why does everything remind me of… that place? Is it because of how many different environments there were? It did have a pretty varied topography, including forests, deserts, and even an island formation in the south that had far too many snakes. Actually, it would probably be just another unknown continent if it weren’t for the strange animals and… Them.

Unfortunately, because the Constant is fairly plain-looking (ruins aside), it means that every environment that isn’t an urban sprawl is going to remind me of the Constant.

I wish the Constant had more… surreal environments. The moon island and the ruins were close, but it’s not enough. The rest of the landscape is too similar to the places here.

Like this route! It’s trees, some sort of evergreen, are very similar to the ones in the constant. They have similar needles, similar bark, even a similar height. The biggest difference being that the ones here don’t have a chance of trying to kill me. At least, I hope they don’t.

It’s like I never even left. They and the Constant still have a strong grip it seems, as though I never truly left…

...

At least the animals here are different. Pokémon are very different from the creatures I encountered in the Constant. Although, some come a little too close for comfort. Like those ghost-type Pokémon from the Chateau, or that freakishly powerful bronzong. I wasn’t aware pokemon could be that powerful… well, I was, but I didn’t quite internalize it until I was nearly crushed by one.

Urgh. Maybe I just need to stop thinking about the Constant. It’s not like it’s helping me, constantly worrying about what’s already happened. I need to stop.

I need to stop a lot of things. I need to stop worrying, I need to stop worrying about worrying, I need to stop worrying about…other things.

Maybe I just need some sleep.

“Say, Watson?”

Watson’s ears perked up, swiveling to face me so he didn’t have to turn his head to hear me.

“Want to set up camp here for the night? I’m sure you’re tired…”

He stopped walking and doesn’t seem annoyed, which I’m assuming is a yes.

We’ll set up camp here then. Just for the night.

-

Cold.

So unbelievably cold. Cold, like an ice-covered blanket, has settled over the area surrounding my camp, freezing any and all moisture in the air into a thick time that coated the trees. Cold, like hammered nails, has long since. pierced into my fingertips, freezing them a bluish color, removing all sensation and leaving my digits heavy with frozen flesh. Cold, like a barbed-wire fence, has left me trapped; confined within the walls of warmth and light from my campfire.

There’s shadows dancing at the edge of the campfire’s glow; growing and shrinking not with the light, but with my own breath, crawling like water does across a glass table, with every single breath I take is drawing them closer. Whatever it is, it’s feeding on my very psyche, merged and connected by some unsettling force with my very body and being.

I’d run, but outside of the warmth is a pitch-black blizzard that’s tearing the ground into ribbons, leaving me on a thin sliver of ground that drips with ice and shadows.

My throat is tight. I can’t breathe; something’s choking me, wrapping around my neck with a thin line of blood-stained gossamer that’s starting to bruise my shoulders and draw blood as it presses against my neck.

What do They want? They’re choking me surely, it can’t be anything else but them, but they haven’t told me what they wanted.

Do they want the vial? It’s the only thing they could possibly want.

But it’s broken. The vial is broken, with the shattered splinters of glass scattered about the fire, and the fuel within forming a web-like connection with the shadows, ignoring the fire’s glow and forming a matrix across my camp.

What is it doing? The fuel itself isn’t supposed to be alive, and the fire should have stopped them. Why—

It’s got my face!

-

My face! It’s got my face! It’s got—

Wait, no it doesn’t. My face is fine. I’m fine.

Good thing there’s nobody around. Otherwise they would have heard the scream that just erupted from my throat. Honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t wake Watson up—

Hold on, why is my neck so painful? It’s like somebody cut it with a knife.

Oh. That’s blood, isn’t it?

Apparently I’d been tugging on the vial in my sleep. The old fishing line I’d been using to hang the vial around my neck had cut my neck like a blade, leaving what feels like a long, shallow cut and bruises on my neck. Wonderful, another thing people can question me about. Maybe I can just say it got caught on something...

At least the vial isn’t broken. Actually, the string is fine as well. Stained red now, but it didn’t snap. Suppose the fishing line is a bit stronger than I’d anticipated.

That’s a relief, as sad as it is. The nightmare fuel by itself isn’t harmful, as far as I know. Although, there’s the possibility that maybe I just don’t know enough about it to properly use it. In fact, it might even be influencing me somehow, seeping into my brain—

No! No, it’s safe. The bugs in the ruins only went insane because they did something with it. I’m just… tired.

So, so tired.

Funny, before the Constant, if I was ever this tired, it’s because I was bleeding to death or starving. For some reason, sleep wasn’t needed in the Constant. It certainly helped, and kept Them at bay, but it wasn’t a requirement. More of a luxury I’d say.

But no. Right now, I’m wide awake. Every time I shut my eyes I get a jolt of adrenaline from the beginnings of a nightmare or panic attack. It’s… okay. I’m okay with this. I don’t need sleep.

Although, I haven’t slept much in the past well, save for the short nap in the pokecenter.

Maybe it’s a good thing. I seem to have a habit of hurting myself in my sleep by mistake, so staying awake can… stop that.

At least the fire is warm. One of the few things I’d say I wouldn’t mind remembering about the Constant is how much I liked the fires. It was like camping, except by yourself, in the middle of nowhere, while darkness was trying to kill you.

Okay maybe it wasn’t that pleasant, but Chester made it all okay. Sitting with him, roasting some rabbit haunch in the middle of winter while he was curled up next to me was… comforting. As comforting as anything could be at the time, anyway. He was loyal to the bitter, bitter end.

I hope he’s okay. The hounds were always fond of trying to eat him, and poor Chester didn’t have a violent bone in his body. In fact, he wouldn’t even run away from the hounds (he was a little dull in that regard), so I’d always have to fight them off.

He’s probably dead. He’s a sitting duck back at the camp, which has no traps, no walls, no protection.

He’s certainly dead. He’ll revive, sure, but then he’ll die again. And again. And again. Stuck in an endless loop of pain and misery, with no way of escaping the horrific hellscape of the Constant.

…

...Maybe it’s a good thing he’s not very intelligent. Otherwise he wouldn’t be as cheerful as he always was. Maybe he’ll be okay, if only because of his own ignorance and cheerful disposition.

I wish I’d brought him with me. He would have fit right in here, and he and Cirrus would have gotten along quite well. As for Watson, I’m not so sure if they would have gotten along. Watson’s a bit fickle when it comes to new things. He warmed up rather quickly to Cirrus though, so maybe I’m not giving him enough credit.

Wonder where he came from. I mean, he obviously came from an egg (Chester came from his… bone?) that much I’m sure of. But before we met, what happened?

I found him in his Pokeball. A dented, dirty Pokeball that was abandoned in some desolate place near Twinleaf town. There wasn’t any sign of camping or anything like that nearby, so he might have been there for a while, trapped in his Pokeball, unable to get out.

That’s horrible.

Was it done on purpose? He can be quite difficult at times, being stubborn and mouthy, but that’s no reason to abandon him in the woods.

How cruel. I’m half-tempted to find his owner and demand an explanation, but I doubt that’s possible. He could be in an entirely different region for all I know, and there’s still the distinct possibility that Watson doesn’t want to find his old trainer, for one reason or another. There’s also the large possibility that his abandonment was accidental, and he’d honestly love to find his trainer somehow.

Perhaps there’s some other way to… fix it? I mean, I’m not even sure what I’m fixing, and I can’t exactly ask Watson what he’d like me to do.

At the very least, I can make his time as my Pokémon as enjoyable as possible. Getting some actual food other than berries would be enjoyable enough for now, although there’s still the small problem of money. As in, the lack thereof.

Watson’s just sleeping, curled up next to me in front of the fire. He’s exhausted, understandably. We’ve done a lot the past few days or so.

Tomorrow. I might be able to find a solution tomorrow.

-

Pastoria City. A small town in the middle of a forest. I’d examine it more, but I’m exhausted. It’s a city, not nearly as large as Jubilife, with little notable other than its proximity to Lake Valor.

Okay, it’s not that boring. It does have a large marsh somewhere nearby, called “The Great Marsh.” How creative.

I hate marshes. Mud and tentacles are not something I want to deal with again, and I doubt the marsh has anything useful in it.

We won’t be staying long. We’re just passing through, after all, and I doubt this place has anything helpful.

There is a bakery though, which is nice. The smell of bread and pastries cooking reminds me of that little family-owned bakery that I’d buy bread from occasionally. I think I fixed a few wiring issues for them a few times, and they let me try those delicious caramel cookies that, for some reason known only by God, didn’t sell well. I’d kill for the recipe they used to make them! Little chocolate-caramel bundles of joy…

God, I miss those. Maybe they have something like that here? Caramel is just browned sugar isn’t it? Surly that would carry over between worlds. Shame we don’t have any money at the moment. Some of these pastries in the window look really heavenly right now, although none of them seem caramel-based. Although the labels are all in Japanese, so I might just be missing something—

Hold on, is that berry for sale? It’s remarkably similar to the berries I have in my bag, actually It has the same shiny red skin, and the same curly stem. Yep, it’s the same berry.

They sell these awful things? Granted, it’s pretty cheap, and they probably just sell the extra berries they don’t use in pastries (spicy pastries?), but still. You wouldn’t expect a bakery to sell flour would you?

Well, now that I’m thinking about it, it’s not too far-fetched...

I’m getting off track. Apparently, enough people buy these things for it to be worth selling, and enough people like them for the berries to be displayed in the window alongside their precious breads and pastries.

Perhaps I can sell the ones I have for some money? I doubt it’ll be much, and they might not even accept them, but they might. If they do, I can make some money foraging for berries instead of battling. At least, until I get better at battling.

...

Ergh. Why are my only useful skills tangled with memories from the constant? The threat of death is an efficient teacher, and I’m a good student. I just wish the things I learned in the Constant was better suited for here. If I was the one fighting Pokémon it would be better, but commanding animals wasn’t really a thing in the Constant. Sure, the Pigmen and I would sometimes work together, but they wouldn’t listen to any complex orders, and only followed me because of food. Or music, they liked music too.

I’m not looking forward to this. At all. Money is money however, and I unfortunately need money to survive. To survive, I need to forage for berries. Just like the Constant.

…

I am very not okay with this. Unfortunately, I can’t battle well enough to earn an income that way, and any other sort of job would require me settling down in an area, and I’m not comfortable with that.

Either way, the money will help. At they very least, it’ll help Watson and Cirrus.

“Hello!” I said, walking up to the front desk. “Am I able to sell berries here?”

“Gah!” He said, startled and nearly knocked his flat typewriter to the floor. “Oh hey a person.”

He blinked, processing what I’d asked him.

“Berries? Yea, we buy berries. You have some?”

“Yes.”

I put by bag on the counter, and he pulled out a small scale.

“How many do ya have?”

“A small amount.”

I showed him my bag.

“...That’s a pretty big amount.” He said, blinking owlishly again. “A really big amount. Yea, actually hold on lemme go get some help.”

He went into a back room, leaving me at the counter by myself. I suppose he’s going to get a bigger scale? Or maybe more scales? Is this amount of berries really that much? It wouldn’t last me more than a week assuming they didn’t rot.

I suppose when berries are just used as flavoring they can go pretty far. Especially if you make fistfuls of jam out of them. Although ham spoils faster thanks to the sugar content—

The door behind the counter slammed open, rattling the windows.

“—And he has like a lot of Cherri berries and they look pretty good too! They’re ripe! I think.”

The other man that was with him walked closer to the counter, examining the berries. Silently, he opened the register and pulled out a substantial amount of cash, handing it to me.

“Thank… you? Is this for all of the berries?”

He nodded, scooping the berries into a counter.

“Thank you.”

That went well. Got a fair amount of money from one bush as well. I didn’t realize they were worth that much…

Suppose we should get some supplies before we try going… elsewhere. I’m sure there’s some sort of store around here that sells useful things. After all, this wouldn’t be a city without one. Well, it would be a pretty pitiful city without one, not that it’s a wonderful city to begin with.

There’s another store over there that has different things displayed in the windows— mostly coats and hats and such— which should be helpful. Perhaps it’ll be more than a clothing store?

Wonder if they open—

Oh, it’s one of those sliding door that open on their own. Wonder how it’s able to detect me approaching the door. A sensor of sorts? What type? What—

Why didn’t it open this time? Of all the embarrassing things I’ve done, I didn’t want to add “can’t open a self-opening door” to the list!

Oh, okay it’s open now. Good. Hopefully nobody saw that.

“Are you okay?” A lady, who had been patiently waiting her turn, asked.

“I’m alright.” I said. My face’s a bit warm now.

I’m just going to leave before I do something else stupid.

Other than the door, this place is pleasant. A bit cold, given how cold it is outside, but nothing else to complain about.

I still have no idea what half of this food is. Some look familiar(on signs and such), but others are completely alien. Although these fruit drinks look pretty appetizing, although I’mnnot sure what “sake” is. The label says something about rice wine—

Wait Is this alcohol? I haven’t seen anything alcoholic on shelves since the prohibition, aside from medicinal whisky sold in pharmacies. I mean, I still drank of course, even made my own liquor a few times (far too strong for my tastes, one batch burned a hole in the cask), but it hasn’t been openly sold in stores for a while. Wonder how it tastes.

Er, I better not. My funds are too low to buy anything unneeded, and alcohol isn’t exactly a requirement for a living. That coat over there, however, might be.

It’s a bluish color with a plaid pattern, and has some sort of really soft fleece on the inside. It’ll certainly be warm, and it isn’t too expensive, so I might get it.

Or, I could just buy some more matches. That way I could just make a fire whenever I’m cold. Although, a fire might not always be feasible depending on the area. There might not be enough kindling or wood, the wind could be blowing in an unfavorable area, I could run out of matches…

I could always get both. That way, I can have both warmth and emergency warmth, but then I’d have no find left over for food.

A difficult decision for sure. One I’ve had to make many times before, with varying results. Most of the time, I’d already have a ration of food stowed away, so it became a question of armor or supplies.

...

...I’ll get the coat and forgo the matches. I can always start a fire by other means(I was smart enough to bring a chunk of flint with me for once), and the coat will keep me warm. Plus, I’ll still have enough money for a large amount of food if I leave the matches behind.

Now what sort of food should I get? Something non-perishable would be nice. Trail mix? Watson and Cirrus like trail mix. Plus, I could always supplement it with fresh berries.

Trail mix it is. I might even be able to get some medical supplies depending on how expensive the bags are.

-

This coat is a little too big on me. It’s not too long, thankfully, but it’s still a little… lose. It could probably fit two people in it if they didn’t mind being uncomfortably squished. The buttons make sure no cold air gets in though, so it’ll be fine. Plus, it came with gloves! And they’re the fuzzy, not-for-driving kind, so they’ll be warm.

Not sure why I’m so happy about fuzzy gloves. After all, my face and ears are still pretty exposed, and my legs aren’t exactly the warmest right now. Maybe it’s because my hands won’t freeze? That’s pretty comforting; I won’t have to bite them to try to get them to move. Again.

Speaking of comfort, I don’t think Watson’s been out of his Pokeball for quite some time. Maybe I should let him out? He’ll enjoy some freedom. Although, it is pretty cold, and I don’t want him to freeze. Knowing him, he won’t tell me when he’s cold until his ears start to turn black from frostbite.

Then again, if I don’t let him out I’ll get an earful from him when I eventually do release him from the capsule. At least Cirrus isn’t as harsh whenever I let him out, although it’s far too cold for him. Watson has some fur that can keep him warm, at least.

You know what? I’ll Watson him out.

“Hello Watson—“

He barked in irritation, scowling at me and flicking his tail.

“Nice to see you too.”

His scowl deepened, and he barked again, more curtly.

“I was busy, Watson. Besides, you would have been bored out of your mind anyway.”

He still doesn’t seem too happy about it, but the prospect of being bored seems to have lessened his sourness towards me a bit.

“If it makes you feel better,” I said, sitting down on the nearby bench (metal benches are cold!) next to him. “I got some trail mix.”

Well, that certainly got him to perk up. I mean, I get excited about food as well—

Oh, he’s shaking already. I would have hoped his fur would’ve kept him warm for longer...

“Cold?”

He nodded, wrapping his tail around himself.

“I can put you back into—“

He doesn’t like that idea. I mean, he did just get out not even five minutes ago. I’d be upset as well.

“So you’d rather freeze?”

Of course he’s okay with freezing. I’m not even sure why I bothered asking.

“Hm… well I can’t just leave you exposed like this.”

Wait, I have an idea. This coat might really be big enough for two people.

There we go! He’s now in my coat, pressed up against my shirt. Sort of reminds me of those baby carriers they were selling in the store— the ones that wrap around your torso and leave the baby on the front. Not sure how comfortable they’d be for either party, but the baby always looks happy on the box.

Watson just seems confused. He’s not voicing his displeasure at me, so the position isn’t uncomfortable at least. Also, Watson’s head is very comfortable to rest my chin on, although it feels a bit… strange.

Not sure how this will work when I eventually need to move from the bench though.

Which might be soon, since my rear is beginning to freeze. As funny as that is, it’s still rather concerning that it’s only early evening— not even night. The temperature is going to drop even further.

I’m not even sure if it’s even winter yet. If it is, it’s only the beginning, and it’s certainly going to get colder. Much colder.

“Do winters get cold here? Very cold?”

He nodded, shifting to get more comfortable.

Okay, I’ll stop resting my chin on his head. He doesn’t mind, but it’s… bothering me for some reason. I feel like I shouldn’t be doing this. Is it wrong? I feel wrong.

Everything is wrong.

Maybe it’s just my hysteria acting up again. Yes, that’s it. It’s just my… problem, rearing its ugly head again. My problem that won’t go away any time soon. My hysteria, that will probably cause me to get thrown into an insane asylum at some point in the near future, where they’ll do those things to me. Where I’ll be trapped again, and won’t be able to escape. My… Hysteria.

I need to stop. Before I have a panic attack. Before Watson notices my heart rate just spiked.

“Mmm.”

So it does get cold here. Very cold. Very, very, very cold. Cold and frigid. Frigid and blisteringly cold.

Just like the Constant— No! Stop! Just stop thinking about it you absolute buffoon! It’s not that hard…

“Are you sure?”

Watson nodded, looking at me with concern. Not with irritation or confirmation, but concern. He probably noticed my heart rate and shaking.

Oh no.

But he did agree that it would get even colder. That’s… concerning. This coat isn’t going to be warm enough on its own. With a fire it’ll be enough for even the nights, but if it ever gets cold enough during the day, I might not be able to make a fire. After all, you can’t just start a fire in the middle of a city without problems.

If I find shelter, it might not be as bad. It would protect against the windchill at least, as well as the snow. A cave would work, and I’d be able to make a fire if I stay near the entrance.

Although, it would be nice to have a room rather than a cold cave full of territorial pokemon. Perhaps a comfortable bed with blankets and a cozy pillow. Sort of like my bed.

I miss my bed. I miss my machines. I miss my machines and notebooks full of scientific knowledge I’d gathered or thought of. I even miss my leaky roof, and it’s missing tiles and poorly-constructed beams. I just… miss my house.

But I can’t go back. I can never go back. Not that it’s possible for me to go back anyway, but even if it was, I can’t go back. Not with my hysteria. No, never.

I can’t go back. The people I knew; my father, the librarian I’d visit, the man that would chat with me at work, they’re all essentially dead now. They’re literal worlds away, and I’ll never see or hear from them again. I’d give… quite a bit just to hear their voice again.

But it’s impossible. I’m alone.

…

Well, not entirely. I have Watson and Cirrus at the very least. They’re friends, I’d say. We can’t really communicate well, but we understand each other enough to get by.

Do they feel the same way? How do they see me? Friends? Just acquaintances? Am I just a trainer to them?

Then there’s Darin. Did he consider me a friend? No, he probably only saw me as an acquaintance. Nothing more.

He gave me a note. A note that gave me an… emotional episode (I’ll chalk that up more to hysteria and the influence of the caves than the note itself), but it’s still a note. A note that I still have, tucked away safely in my backpack.

Maybe…

“Watson?”

His ears perked up.

“Do you consider me a friend? I know we’ve only known each other for a short while…”

He’s not really responding. I don’t think even he knows. Perhaps he had a complex answer that he can’t quite articulate which would be understandable. It’s a short question that can have many answers, ranging from a short and simple “yes” to a short yet simultaneously complex “maybe.”

Whatever his answer is, I’m not alone. I lack the… emotional connection I want with other people, but at least I’m not entirely alone. If I were to scream, it wouldn’t fall on the deaf ears of the uncaring wilderness, it would fall on Watson’s and Cirrus’.

Comforting. Sadly, I remember someone telling me that feeling intense emotions, particularly loneliness and sadness, are signs of hysteria. Not that I needed any more signs, as I’m already painfully aware of my problem.

...I’m so tired. After this panic attack is over, I might try to get some sleep.

-

It’s cold tonight. Very cold.

I have a fire going, which is nice. What isn’t nice is that Watson’s back in his Pokeball. He’s not happy about it, but I couldn’t risk him freezing.

They’ll be okay. The pokeballs are pretty insulated (I put them in my coat pockets to be sure), so they’ll be fine for the night. Problem is, I’m stuck in the aura of warmth and light that’s centered on the fire. Thankfully, If I need to get fuel, I’ll be able to see (and I won’t get attacked by the Gru), but that doesn’t mean I want to.

At least the stars are pretty. Thanks to the nearby light of Veilstone, I can’t really see a lot of them though. A shame really, the stars are the only thing I like about nighttime.

Funny. The stars themselves look the same, but they’re in different spots than in the Constant and home. I’m sure the people here have their own constellations and legends that go with them, as they did in my home.

I wish I could remember some constellations. My parents and I used to do some stargazing, as I went through a short astronomy phase, one of the few scientific interests that my father somewhat supported.

My mother, who’s a bit too sentimental at times, gave me an astrology book (I found out later that astrology and astronomy are two very different things), that her mother apparently gave to her. I think she was saving it for a daughter, but I was their only child, so it was passed onto me instead.

I want to say I didn’t like the book, since astrology is nothing more than fairy tales and superstitions, but I quite liked the book. Not sure why though— it wasn’t a particularly well-written book. My father called it “a maiden’s book,” and ended up throwing it away when I refused to do so myself.

Of course, I was a bit distraught. I actually remember crying into my pillow at night, and my father telling me not too. Men aren’t really supposed to cry like that after all, and it was upsetting my mother. He said something about hysteria…

...

Did I… always have hysteria? I don’t… recall. It’s only become a problem after the Constant, although that doesn’t necessarily mean the Constant caused it. There’s a distinct possibility that the hysteria was already present, and my time in the Constant simply exacerbated my hysteria.

I mean, I was always a bit emotional, even if you ignore my reaction to losing my book. I’d fight with peers over petty things, couldn’t bring myself to talk to women during puberty. And, of course, I refused to listen to a word my parents said when it came to my career choices, choosing to go for the ludicrous career of science rather than something sensible like a lawyer or doctor.

Well, that could be considered normal. Anyone growing up should have some differences with their parents— it shows they’re becoming their own person after all. So why is mine a problem?

I don’t remember a time where my father ever showed any sort of emotions like I do. Like all good English gentlemen, he had an air of confidence and clarity of mind that I certainly lack. He always had things under control, and wanted me to grow up to be the same.

Well, no. There is one time that I can remember where he wasn’t as stoic and level-headed. It was shortly after my mom had died of tuberculosis. We had just gotten home from the hospital. Me, being nine or ten years of age, was crying. Father had tried to console me the best he could (normally it would have been my mother doing that sort of thing) saying that men do not cry, and sent me off to bed, in the hopes that sleep would make me better.

Later that night, I got thirsty and went to get a glass of Waterford myself. Rather than refreshment, I found my father sitting on the floor outside of the master bedroom’s door. It was too dark to see what he was doing, but I certainly heard the loud cry of anguish, followed by muffled sobbing, that came shortly after I saw him.

Never in all my life had I seen him anywhere close to that. Even when his own parents had died he remained stoic. But my mother’s passing, for some reason, had him in hysterics. For five, agonizing minutes, I watched the man sob like a small child, then pull himself back together and go back into their… his bedroom.

Men aren’t supposed to… do that. With women, it’s almost expected. They’re a lot more tender-hearted and emotional, so having an episode about losing a spouse would upset them. I mean, a man would certainly be bothered by the loss of a spouse, but they wouldn’t… do that.

It was only one time though. Both before and after that, he was an upstanding gentleman, completely normal to outsiders.

Well, almost. He was a lot… colder after my mother died. After that one moment of raw emotion he became far stricter with me, possibly not wanting me to do… whatever that was. He was probably afraid of having to put me into an asylum or give me a lobotomy.

I remember a harrowing conversation where he was talking to a friend of his. He mentioned how sad I was after my mother’s death, and his friend recommended a lobotomy to my father.

My father rejected it of course, but for a split second I was filled with an unpleasant dread that never quite left. Instead, my father just became even stricter about me controlling my emotions and such.

Obviously, it didn’t work. I still turned out like this, overly emotional and hysterical. It’s rather disappointing that the only way to fix this sort of thing would be a lobotomy.

…

I’m not getting a lobotomy. Not willingly, anyway. Er, not that they’re usually given willingly anyway, since I doubt most of the women subjected to them wanted to be lobotomized.

Is there another way to fix my hysteria? One that is less terrifying? And less likely to put me in an asylum?

There might be, although I’m not sure what it would be. The… therapy that Darin took me to might help, so long as I go for more than one session.

Although, that would require me staying in one place for an extended period of time, specifically Fluorma town (since I don’t know any other place that offers those therapy sessions).

Then again, my nightmares and panic attacks haven’t been that bad, barring my time in Mt. Cornet.

Besides, I don’t think Darin would accept me back into his house after I acted. And, since I can’t really afford any sort of housing at the moment, there's no point in traveling that far for a simple interrogation. Especially since I’d have to go through the mountain again. Even with a map, that place is a nightmare to traverse, and I don’t know if I can bring myself to do that again.

Perhaps, now that I don’t have any stressors, the hysteria will simply fade on its own.

…

Wonder how Darin is doing. He was the first person who didn’t demand a battle from me as soon as we met. I know that’s a… customary greeting between two trainers in this world, but it was still nice for someone to... ignore that and treat me as someone other than an opponent.

He let me live with him for a short while as well, despite me constantly interrupting his sleep, as well as being an overall terrible roommate. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t kick me out after the first night.

...Actually he seemed a bit sad that I was leaving, as though he enjoyed my company. His company is rather enjoyable. He’s kind, thoughtful, and has extraordinary emotional intelligence, rivaling even some of the mothers I know. I think anybody would enjoy his company.

Yet, he seemed sad that I was leaving.

…

Why? Did he… enjoy my company? Or is he just that cordial? I think he said he enjoyed my company one time. It feels like it was so long ago...

Maybe I will visit him. Once I can find a way to get to Fluoruma without having to go through the mountains again.

Chapter Text

How am I going to get around? Walking is working, yes, but it’s rather slow and monotonous, and certainly won’t work in the long run. It leaves us exposed and vulnerable to the elements, and while I do have a (rather warm) coat, it would be nice to be able to travel between pokecenters should Cirrus or Watson get hurt. Plus, I hate stepping in mud.

Honestly, I’m half-tempted to construct some sort of flying machine to carry us around, but I’m not sure how plausible that would be, with the lack of materials that could support the weight in the immediate area, and the need for a motor of some sort that would be powerful enough to propel us. We don’t have either of those things. Plus, the rotary blades would probably injure flying-type pokemon, and I’d rather not put Corrus through another rotary-blade related injury. It would be quite traumatic.

Speaking of, did they ever fix that? I don’t remember hearing anything about it. Once I get back to Fluorma I’ll have to check and see if they put a cover on the motor. If not, I’ll put one up there myself. Still can’t believe they let that design become a reality! Did the first drifloon that got caught not tell anyone that maybe it was a bad design—

Wait, Cirrus is a drifloon isn’t he? Could he carry us? It’s not too outside of the realm of possibility, if he’s willing to at least. Although I’m not sure how strong his flying is. Plus, he’s rather small...

It’s strong enough to carry himself at least, along with perhaps a light object such as an apple or backpack. I mean, he was able to grab my backpack before, wasn’t he? Or was that Watson? Is Cirrus even solid enough to carry things?

I could always find out by testing it. No harm done in running a test or two, right? I’m sure he’ll appreciate the fresh air (once I manage to get his Pokeball out of my bag) either way.

“Hello Cirrus.” I said taking a few steps towards him. “Feeling well?”

Watson barked a greeting. Cirrus waved his string at us, floating gently in front of us, his string waving in the cold breeze.

“So, Cirrus…” I said, walking towards him.

He tilted his head. He’s probably already confused that there isn’t a battle going on.

“You’re a flying-type, correct?”

He nodded.

“Which means you can fly?”

He blinked with confusion, then nodded again, intrigued with my questioning.

“Do you think you’re strong enough to carry us?”

Watson gave me a look of disbelief and absurdity, not hiding how stupid he thinks this idea is. Cirrus, on the other hand, was actually thinking about it rather than just staring at me like I’m an idiot. I mean, I probably am an idiot, but he could at least give me the benefit of doubt. Just this once.

“Would you like to try?” I asked.

Watson snorted, shaking his head in amusement.

“Hush, you! I’m sure you’d rather not have to walk everywhere!”

Cirrus nodded though, so at least he’s confident in himself.

He wrapped his string around my upper arm, then tried to float upwards, stopping once his string was taut.

“Now pull!”

He’s pulling, but nothing is happening, despite his efforts. Watson was correct in his assumptions it seems.

“....too heavy?”

He nodded, looking a little… defeated.

“Hmm… I suppose you are far too small to be able to carry me.”

Watson barked, giving me a told-you-so look.

“Hush.”

So he’s too weak to carry me. I’m not surprised. As nice as it would have been for him to carry us, it was rather unlikely, given my weight and size. It’s still a bit disappointing.

We’ll have to continue traveling on foot, unless we can find some other way to get to Fluorma.

I could possibly capture another, stronger flying-type Pokémon, but capturing a Pokémon for the sole purpose of convenience seems… wrong. Ripping away its freedom for my (reasonable but selfish) need for travel. Plus, I don’t know if I have any spare capsules anyway...

We’ll just have to walk. For now.

“Alright Cirrus.” I said. “Do you want to stay out of your capsule for now?”

He nodded.

“Alright.”

-

So, there’s the distinct possibility that we can still use—- er, that Cirrus can carry us around, if he chooses of course. Problem is, he’s too small and weak to support our weight at the moment. Besides, he only has one string to carry things in, so Watson would have to go into his Pokeball if we’re to travel by air.

I do remember hearing something about evolving from somewhere. Certain Pokémon, after certain conditions are met, can grow into a stronger form and gain strength. There was also something about a temporary evolution, but I didn’t read too far into it.

Actually I think I might have fallen asleep while I was reading it. I think I’d found it at a pokecenter? It was one of those pamphlets they keep by the front desk that they hand out for free. Er, I found out they were free afterwards. Honestly I thought I had to return them—

I’m getting off track again. I need to stop doing that, it’s getting a bit distracting.

Anyways, Cirrus is a drifloon. Drifloons, we’re one of the types of Pokémon that can evolve, specifically by gaining enough levels. Meaning, with enough experience from battles, he’ll evolve.

Hopefully, once he does evolve, he’ll be strong enough to carry us around. At the very least, he’ll be stronger than before, and hopefully not as… fragile.

Problem is, I don’t know what his level is. He could only be a few levels away from evolving, or he could be several. There’s no way to tell.

It could possibly take forever! We’ll never get to Darin house in time for…

...

...There isn’t really any sort of rush, really. We don’t have to hurry this, we can take our time. There’s no starvation looming in the near future, or possible disaster that could cause… problems. We have the time to take this as slowly as we need to… there’s no reason to be this anxious about it.

…

Well there is one reason to rush: the winter.

It’s late fall already, possibly early winter. The winters here are pretty severe (according to a few passerbys), so we can’t dawdle too much. Cirrus having the ability to fly can help us quickly escape a blizzard, or find somewhere I can make a fire. Far faster than we could on foot.

So Cirrus needs to battle. A lot.

I’m not looking forward to this.

“Cirrus? Are you ready to do some battling?”

He nodded eagerly. First, however, we’ll have to find out what moves Cirrus knows.

-

This is going to take far longer than I thought.

Cirrus still hasn’t evolved, despite battling wild Pokémon and being healed at the pokecenter at least a dozen times, not to mention the odd trained Pokémon we’ve battled against. And, while his stamina is restored after each Pokecenter visit, mine isn’t. Despite my only job being to pay attention and shout commands, it’s surprisingly taxing, and my voice is starting to grow hoarse.

On the brighter side, I now have a name for Cirrus’ attacks, thanks to a rather high-strung trainer we battled against. Ominous wind (that purple-wind attack), Shadow orb (more purple than shadowy, but that’s besides the point), and Will-o-wisp (doesn’t do any damage it seems, but it does leave a nasty burn). He might have a fourth move, but I haven’t seen it yet.

A few more battles would probably get him to evolve, preferably trainer battles. I think he gets more experience that way, if his battle prowess is anything to go off of.

This still feels wrong. Animals shouldn’t be made to fight each other, even if they (for some reason) like it. Feels like I’m denying these human-like creatures a fundamental right to decide their own fate for my own selfish needs. It’s wrong and unfair and I’m certainly not a fan.

...But I’m also not a fan of freezing to death.

Battling it is then. Now all we have to do is find a trainer. There has to be at least one in a crowded area like this—

Oh. There’s one. A young man, in his late teens to early twenties, is leaning against a light pole with a smug grin on his face. He has an arrogant posture, and is dressed in bright colors.

This is going to be a terrible battle, isn’t it? I mean, I could find another person to battle, but he’s the most trainer-looking person in the area.

Maybe it won’t be so bad.

“Hello.” I said, walking up to him.

The young man perked up a bit, staring in poorly-hidden disgust at me. As much as I hate it, I can’t say I wouldn’t react the same if a poorly-groomed man smelling of filth approached me. It's expected. A healthy reaction, even. Show they’re aware that not everyone is of… civility.

It still hurts a bit though. Just once I’d like people to not notice how I look. It’s not like I can help it—

—I mean I can, maybe. If I ate more, and actually took the nutritional supplements that were prescribed to me (rather than forget them). Maybe if I groomed myself properly and bathed regularly. Of course, I don’t have access to any way to clean myself.

Because I’m homeless.

Although, it would be nice if he wasn’t so upfront about his disgust. His sneer, combined with his arrogant, better-than-you posture is reminding me of my college days. Specifically, of a certain English professor who described my research essay as “flowery and unprofessional, wrought with poorly-conducted research about an unimportant branch of study.” The puns didn’t excuse the fact that he only gave me a bad mark because he didn’t care about plants or their applied uses.

Er, my train of thought has gotten off track. Heh, train-tracks. Lost track of my— you know what, never mind.

“What do you want?” He said, crossing his arms and taking a step away from me.

“A battle.” I said flatly.

“You want to battle?” He said, raising his eyebrow in surprise. “With that stupid balloon and cat?”

So I was right about how arrogant he is, at least. At least he’s insulting my choice in Pokémon rather than my appearance. It’s still rude however. Very rude.

“Yes.” I said. “Or do you not have any?”

“Oh I have Pokémon all right.” He said, tossing a Pokeball in his hand. “Got a good one right here that’ll blow you out of the park!

We’ll see about that.

“Alright. Ready Cirrus?”

-

Turns out, the Pokémon he was so proud of is a mightyena? Is that what it’s called? It looks like a hybrid of a spotted hyena and a grey wolf, with a badger thrown in there for coloring.

Whatever it is, I don’t like it. It’s teeth are… large, too large for what it’s mouth should have, with the white, blade-like canines being the most prominent teeth visible. Maybe Cirrus will have enough sense to stay far away from it.

Please let Corrus have the sense to stay far away from it. I don’t like the look in its eye.

“Mightyena,”

Right, the battle. I’m in a battle.

“Use tackle!”

His Pokémon charged, barreling towards Cirrus, fur rippling in the wind as it tore across the path, paws leaving small ditches in the dirt.

Cirrus floated to the side, dodging the attack with a surprising swiftness and grace that you’d never be able to accomplish if you had legs.

“Cirrus, retaliate with a shadow ball!”

There. That’ll put more distance between them, and possibly do more damage--

Wait, it didn’t seem as much as it should have. Why?

Ah, ghost-type moves must not be as effective against whatever type this pokemon is as other moves would be. That’s a problem.

The mightyena, shaking off the previous attack like a bug, lunged again, this time trying a bite attack.

Cirrus dodged again. The trainer’s face is beginning to redden with frustration, and he’s balling up his fists in an attempt to keep his cool. He has quite the short fuse, it seems.

I can understand where his frustration is coming from though. After all, we’re at a bit of a stalemate, since Cirrus can always just float, but can’t do enough damage to actually end the battle in a timely manner. It’s a battle of attrition at the moment, and neither of us seem to be winning.

“Cirrus! Use will-o-wisp!” I shouted.

Cirrus floated above and shot flames at the mightyena, burning its back. I’m still not sure what burning does, but it probably does something helpful, I’m sure.

Does it do damage over time? That would quicken the battle at least. Of course, I could always just get Cirrus and Watson to swap places, although that would defeat the purpose of the fight.

“Mightyena! Use bite!”

Bite? With those teeth? As horrific as that would be, I doubt it can jump—

Cirrus just badly managed to dodge the bite, despite being a good twenty feet in the air! Damned thing must have springs instead of muscles in its legs!

Cirrus isn’t as safe as I thought he was.

It tried again, it’s jaws just badly missing snapping shut on Cirrus’ remaining string.

This entire fight was a mistake. Why did I choose the one trainer that has a Pokémon with such harrowing-looking teeth?!

It tried one last time before accepting its place on the ground, snarling and baring its teeth in frustration, mirroring its trainer.

“Use growl!” The trainer shouted, completely livid at his Pokémon’s useless attempts at landing a bite.

His mightyena let out a loud, low growl that made my blood run cold.

Why does it sound so… hauntingly familiar?

Wait.

It’s a hound.

No other thing can make a sound quite like that. It’s a juvenile, given how short it is (and bold, given its alone), but a hound nonetheless. Either way, I’m too far from camp, and it’s already noticed me.

It’s too late. I can’t escape.

I need to think fast—

I grabbed the hound’s face, keeping its mouth closed before it could try and attack me. Without its jaws, the hound can’t really do much, other than scrape and claw and whimper pathetically.

Whimpering. The damned thing is whimpering, as though it’s life is the one that was nearly lost, as though it’s the one who’s alone and afraid, who looks into the dark with a blossoming terror every night, that not even the morning’s light can ever fully wash away. It’s whimpering, as though it’s completely alone, contemplating on eating sticks for sustenance. It has an entire pack, doesn’t it? Why is it suddenly so terrified of me?!

Damned thing. It’s completely helpless, staring at me with fear in its eyes. And for good reason; if I really wanted to, I could kill it. It’s too big for me to snap its neck, but I might be fast enough to gouge it’s eye out with my spear, maybe even my fingers. It would be left to stumble around, blind, completely and utterly useless as it slowly bleeds out or dies of infection.

…

...Why did I… think that? That’s torturous, awful, and wrong! It’s just an animal, trying to survive in this wasteland just like I am. It’s trapped here in this nightmarish hellscape, and it’s only mistake was deciding I would be a good meal.

It’s just… scared. It’s probably mortified, terrified, thinking that this is the end, that this is it. This is how it dies: by a hairless, starving, merciless ape with waning manners thanks to shedding the chains of civilization, and no remorse.

No. I can’t kill it. Not like this. Not while it’s alone. Not while I have this much power over it. It’s not fair, it’s not okay. God, why did I even think—

“What the hell?!”

A voice? Here? What on earth are they doing approaching me?! Do they not realize—

This isn’t the Constant.

Oh God it happened again—

“Let go of my Mightyna!”

I can’t. I can’t. I want to, but I’m paralyzed. The air itself seems to be frozen, and my throat has dried up like a well, replacing what should be words with panic and crushing silence. My own tongue doesn’t seem to want to cooperate either, and my entire body is ridged.

I’m stuck.

“Let go!”

The poor thing’s staring at me with so much discomfort, and it’s ears are pinned back with fear and confusion. It’s tail is tucked between its back legs, and it’s trying to desperately pull itself back without me noticing, but my hands won’t lessen their death grip.

I need to let go, but I can’t. I just can’t bring myself to! Every time I look at it’s face all I see is the hound.

Let go.

But I don’t want to. It has teeth.

Let go.

Teeth that could probably break bones.

Let go.

Teeth that could tear me apart.

Let go.

There’d be so much blood. It’d stain the dirt red if I let go. I can almost see it already—

“I said let go!”

I can’t breathe.

The trainer’s prying my hands off of the poor mightyena’s face, seeing as I’m not moving an inch.

“What the hell’s your problem?!”

What is wrong with me? I’m losing touch with everything, and I can’t breathe. Am I breaking? It feels like something is breaking. I feel like a wound up spring about to tear itself apart from the tension.

“If you didn’t want to lose you shouldn’t have battled me!”

This trainer is so dull he hasn’t even noticed how bad I’m shaking. Which is probably a good thing, since this is a rather embarrassing situation all around. I’d rather avoid garnering any more attention than has already been gathered.

Or maybe he did notice, and just doesn’t care. Would I care if a stranger grabbed Watson’s face like that? An unclean, poorly-groomed stranger trying to do something to my Pokémon.

I’d care. At least a little bit.

The people are watching me with their eyes. I can feel their stares boring into me from every angle, watching a spectacle unfold. I’m a spectacle now, like those in the asylums, getting poked with sticks for visitor’s amusements.

Why is his mightyena still staring at me? It needs to stop, please. It looks so sad, staring at me with those puppy-dog eyes that hounds would give me before I’d split their skulls with an axe.

I’m going to be sick.

“You lost by the way. By touching my Pokémon.”

Figures that you’re not supposed to do that sort of thing. Imagine if people could just walk up to a Pokémon and punch it in the face.

“You have to pay.”

Ah. The money thing. I forgot about that, although I still can’t really move.

“...You know what? Keep your money. Come on Mightyena!”

He stomped off without any sort of goodbye, although his mightyena gave me a nervous glance. I’ve seen that glance before, from wounded animals that were making sure they weren’t being followed. In fact, I’m sure I’ve had that look on my own face before many, many times.

I still can’t breathe. My heart’s pounding like a drum, my throat’s still seized, and my legs suddenly have the ability to run for days.

Have I gone deaf? My hearing is muffled, and what little I can hear is drowned out by the pounding of my heart against my rib cage.

The crowd is still staring at me, probably planning something. Did they call the police? Are they going to lock me up?

In an asylum? Maybe I belong there.

No! I’m not going.

Maybe I could just go… hide. Somewhere, anywhere. I just need to get out of here. Right now. People shouldn’t see me like this; they should never see me like this!

But there’s nowhere to go! It’s all just… trees. Trees and dirt. Trees and dirt and sky and ponds and all the horrible things that have monsters or strange plants or Them hiding, ready to tear me apart.

There’s nowhere to go. I can’t go into the forest; that would be suicide! The water isn’t safe either, and standing here is just leaving me exposed.

I can’t! I just—

I’m running.

-

My chest hurts. So does my head, although that’s not really new. My head’s always hurting for one reason or another, either due to injury or because of Them. Normally, a headache would be a precursor to getting attacked by shadow creatures, but here it’s just a nuisance.

Speaking of nucinces, I wish that… television wasn’t so loud. Well, loud isn’t really a good way to describe it (it’s actually quite muffled). It sounds… sharp, like a dagger going through my ear and piercing my brain. The words the person on the television are muffled, but the pronunciation itself is felt. It’s honestly a bit interesting, I wasn’t so tired right now I’d document it for further research.

What channel is it even on? The news? It’s staying something about a swarm, but I can’t focus enough to really tell.

I still can’t breathe properly, although it’s slowly becoming easier and easier to get air. My throat isn’t as dry, although it is still sore. Everything’s sore.

That poor mightyena. It probably doesn’t even know why I did that, or why I did it so tightly. It’s trainer probably just thought I didn’t want to lose the battle. I mean, I would have greatly preferred a victory over a hysterical breakdown, projection, panic-attack combo that I got instead, but that doesn’t mean I held its mouth shut because I was afraid of losing.

Hopefully, I didn’t cause any lasting damage to its muzzle. I was holding it pretty tightly after all, I’m sure it at least has some bruises, perhaps even scraps from where my nails were digging in.

At least this pokecenter wasn’t that far away. Otherwise, I might not have made it. I would have probably just curled up on the side of the road and cried, praying to God that nobody would see me.

...Am I getting worse? I’ve never… hurt anything during one of my projections. This was the first time something else was harmed.

I am getting worse. It’s not going away, it’s getting worse.

God, this is awful.

How bad is it going to get? Will I be consumed by the projections? Will I lose touch with reality? Will I get trapped in one permanently? Will I even know I’ve left the Constant if I did get trapped?

...I don’t know.

What I do know is that we’re sticking to wild Pokémon battles from now on, that’s for certain. At least for a little while. Watson won’t like that but, if I’m going to be honest with myself, I’m too hysterical for a trainer battle. At least for right now. Wild Pokémon you can run away from, but trainer battles aren’t as to get out of.

Yes, we’re definitely sticking to wild Pokémon battles. Specifically against Pokémon that aren’t a mightyena. Or mightyna-like. Or… anything with sharp teeth.

Ergh, that takes away so many Pokémon. Thankfully, not too many from the surrounding area (maybe only one or two? I honestly can’t remember), but it’s still a… problem that I’ll have to worry about later.

This behavior is unacceptable. I can’t avoid the hound-looking Pokémon forever, even if I avoid areas where there are some. A train could have one, and it’s a taboo to refuse or interrupt a battle when your Pokémon are still able to battle.

How do I fix this? How do I… stop this? Is it even possible to stop? Or am I stuck with it forever? Why didn’t I act like this in the Constant? Was it because I had a weapon, or was it because I got used to it?

Would repeated exposure help then? I’d eventually get used to the feeling of terror, wouldn’t I? I’ve heard it helps with certain phobias, so I could feasibly expose myself repeatedly to those types of Pokémon and eventually get used to them. As a bonus, Cirrus will get some training.

Yes, I’ll try that. It can’t hurt after all, worse case I just have another panic attack. Even then, I’ll get used to it eventually. I’ll have to.

-

Bad idea. Terrible idea. Dear god why did I think I’d be able to do this?! I couldn’t even bring myself to get close enough to the Pokémon, let alone close enough to fight it.

What the hell is wrong with me?! I can’t battle, I can’t focus, I can’t even get a full night’s rest! Cirrus will never evolve at this rate, and I’ll have to go through the mountains again.

I won’t be able to. There’s something in my brain that just won’t let me do that.

I just can’t.

“Cirrus?” I said.

He’s floating next to me, watching over me as I try to catch my breath on this stump I’m sitting on.

“I think… I think you made a mistake deciding to come with me.”

He tilted his head in confusion and worry. Watson’s just laying next to my feet, ears perked up in interest.

“I don’t know if you’re going to be able to evolve. Not anytime soon at least.”

He made a noise, a little “fwoon” sound, similar to the ones he always makes. Although, this one sounded a bit more melancholy. Was it an agreement? It sounded like defeat, if anything.

...I’m not quite ready to accept defeat. Not yet anyway, not today.

One more battle. I can bear one more battle, I’m sure of it. Even if I can’t, I’ll force myself to get through it.

For his sake.

-

There, in the clearing. It’s some sort of cricket-like Pokémon, eating some of the tall grass that it’s hidden itself in.

It doesn’t seem too strong, and it’s alone. The worst case scenario is that we flee.

Why do I feel like I’m being watched? Are we? Or is it just my hysteria acting up again?

No. He needs to evolve. I’m not going to fail him again.

“Cirrus? Are you ready?”

He nodded. Watson did as well, although he won’t be the one battling.

“Good.”

The cricket-Pokémon made a long, droning sound once it noticed us, getting into a fighting position. Cirrus readied himself as well, raising his one string like a fist.

Lunging, the Pokémon used its sharp forelegs to slash at Cirrus.

“Cirrus!” I shouted. “Use shadow ball!”

Cirrus dodged the attack and threw a shadowy ball at the Pokémon. Surprisingly, it managed to do some damage, unlike our situation with the mightyena.

But not enough. We’ll need some fire.

“Cirrus—“

Cirrus dodged a shockwave emitted by the bug.

“—Use will-o-wisp!”

Flames formed in front of Cirrus, which he fired at the wild Pokémon. Didn’t do any damage, but the burn will certainly help—

Or it could just make it angry. At least, it looks angry, given how it’s shaking. What is it even doing?

The Pokémon suddenly emitted a much louder sound, one that sounded distressed. It was a cry to deaf ears though, given that nobody else has come—

I didn’t realize there were more nearby.

I didn’t realize there were this many nearby!

Oh God, there’s so many! It’s a swarm of cricket Pokémon, all of which emerged out of seemingly nowhere.

They’ve lined the trees and underbrush, sitting among the branches like birds, blades raised in defense as they all prepared to attack. A swarm of angry bugs, all ready attack.

This is my fault. I need to fix this!

“Cirrus,” I said, freezing in place. “Back away slowly.”

Once they’re back in their pokeballs, I might be able to run fast enough to get away. All Cirrus has to do is get closer...

He’s not getting closer. In fact, he seems completely stationary— curling his one full string up into a boxing position, as though he actually has any physical moves.

He’s seriously considering fighting them.

“Cirrus, no. You won’t win. Please don’t do this.”

He’s still not listening! Why now, of all times, is he choosing to be stubborn?!

Maybe I can get closer to him, but I have to do it slowly—

The horde of bugs shifted suddenly. Moving isn’t a good idea it seems, given that at least half of them can see me at any given moment.

Watson’s beginning to crackle with electricity, although I don’t think he’ll have enough power to—

They’ve lunged. I’ve raised my arms in futile defense.

…

...Why am I not feeling anything?

They’re getting blown back by a purplish wind, knocking them into the branches of oak.

Where cirrus used to be is a much larger, blimp-like Pokémon, with three ribbons rather than strings.

He evolved. I’m not a complete failure as a trainer after all. He evolved!

“Cirrus! you evolved!”

Watson barked in surprise, releasing a bolt of electricity to take out a few that got too close.

They fled. The few stragglers that remained were taken out by a few well-placed, noticeably stronger-looking, shadow orbs.

“You evolved…”

This is amazing! He’s bigger, and he has more than one arm (although I think he’s supposed to have four? He’s not as symmetrical as I think he’s supposed to be), and he just… feels more powerful.

He’s pretty happy about it too, happily floating in front of me with smiling eyes.

Well, now that he’s evolved (and strong enough to carry us), it’s time to go say hello to Darin.

“Cirrus? You want to try carrying us again?”

He wrapped one of his ribbons around my torso.

For a split second, it wasn’t a ribbon.

“W-wait!” I said, pulling his ribbon off. “Not like that!”

He made a sort of swing-chair out of one of his ribbons, curling it like a fishhook so I can just sit rather than him having to hold me.

“...That’ll work.”

Cirrus wrapped a rubbing around Watson, and our feet left the ground.

Chapter Text

We’re flying.

We’re flying!

This is amazing! I never would have imagined I’d be able to fly in my lifetime! Aviation technology is still a bit new after all, with the aircrafts barley even able to take flight, let alone carry more than the pilot himself.

but here I am, a couple hundred meters off the ground. Granted, it’s not an airplane, but it’s still rather exciting!

Unfortunately, I have also discovered I have a mild phobia of heights.

“AHHHH!” I screamed.

Okay it’s far more than mild. Despite my ability to climb trees, there’s something rather uncanny about my legs dangling like this so high up. Especially since the bird-Pokémon seem to enjoy flying as close as possible to us.

Ow! One of them just pecked my leg!

“Stop that! Shoo!”

Don’t they have somewhere else to be?! The absolute nerve of some Pokémon! I could fall!

Maybe if I hold onto Cirrus tight enough, I won’t die.

...

The trees look like broccoli skeletons from up here. I mean, at least I’m sure that’s what broccoli skeletons would look like if they had skeletons (they don’t last time I checked). They’d probably look more like broccoli if they had their leaves, but they—-

That was a gust of wind. This was a mistake.

“Why does wind exist?” I muttered.

Watson is looking at me in confusion, given that he’s safely cradled in one of Cirrus’ arms. I, on the other hand, am not safely cradled. I am hanging fifty meters in the air (fall that would probably kill me) from a Pokémon that just evolved not an hour ago.

“Don’t look at me like that! This is terrifying!”

He barked again.

“No, I don’t want to go through the caves instead! Why would you even suggest that?!”

Apparently he doesn’t remember the last time we tried going through Mt. Cornet. While this is… equally as terrifying, it’s much faster. Although, there are more environmental factors to deal with, mainly storms. I’d rather not have to deal with getting struck by lightning like the last time I tried this. Plus, I think Cirrus is weak against lightning.

At least we’re flying fast enough to get to Fluoruma within the hour. Er, maybe two, depending on how tall the mountains are.

Wonder how high I can go without passing out from oxygen deprivation. I’m breathing fine now, but I’m not so sure about a mountain’s height. It could be enough for me to lose consciousness due to a lack of oxygen...

I suppose we’ll find out once we get to the ridge. Hopefully, Cirrus has the sense to grab me if I do happen to lose consciousness.

-

There’s Flamora Town, sitting quaintly in the middle of a field of dull-green grass. The flowers don’t look nearly as expansive and grand up here as they did on the ground. They’re a bit more scattered and sparse, collecting in small patches rather than in vast waves like they did the last time. Is it because winter is coming? Or is it because of how small the flowers are? I’d wager it’s both.

The windmills near the power plant are still up and running, although they look a bit more… sleek? I can’t tell what’s different about them from this distance. Either way, Cirrus should stay far away from them.

“Cirrus, I wouldn’t recommend landing near the windmills if you can help it.”

He probably didn’t need to be told, but it couldn’t hurt.

...I wonder if he’s afraid the windmills the way I am about… a lot of things. He doesn’t seem to be, although he is a Pokémon, and he might show fear differently because of that.

I’ll keep him away from the windmills just in case.

“Ready to land?” I said. “Gently of course!”

“Fwooon!”

Please don’t crash. Please don’t crash. Please don’t crash.

Thank God for Fluroma’s vast empty fields of flowers. If there were buildings, then I’m not so sure we’d be able to fit between them. Landing in a busy street would be a nightmare too—

Oof! Well, not as gentle of a landing as I would have liked, but it’s better than plummeting to my death.

“Thank you, Cirrus.”

He let out a happy noise, dropping Watson into the ground. Watson, not happy with his rough treatment, barked in irritation at Cirrus, who just patted his head with one of his ribbons.

“You two be nice.” I said.

Now that we’re here, it’s time to start looking for Darin’s gift. I suppose the market would be a good place to start. They’ve got a bit of everything, so I’m sure I’ll find something worthwhile. At the very least, I’ll have some inspiration.

Unfortunately, because of Cirrus’ larger size, he won’t fit through the door. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

“Cirrus.” I said, taking out his pokeball. “Are you ready?”

He nodded, allowing himself to be put into his capsule without much fuss.

“Alright, let’s go find a gift.”

-

The market’s surprisingly crowded, despite how late it is. Everyone’s bustling around, dodging carts and displays and each other. Seems like everyone had the same idea I did tonight.

It’s also rather colorful. The entire place is decorated with green, red, and gold streamers. Wreaths are placed wherever appropriate (doors mostly, not that there’s many of those), and they seem to be selling a variety of cookies and wrapping paper. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I’ve been transported back to my hometown on Christmas Eve—

Wait, they celebrate Christmas here? Even if it’s just some sort of winter solstice— no, the sign specifically says Christmas. They actually celebrate Christmas!

Odd. I would have expected it to be a sort of winter festival or something like that. The fact they explicitly call it Christmas is… nice actually. Aside from the large, almost feral crowds and socially mandatory gift-giving, I like Christmas.

I… haven’t celebrated Christmas in years. The last time was with my father, a few months after my mother died.

It wasn’t a very… pleasant Christmas. My father was acting far colder than he usually did, and I remember him snapping at me for asking if we would celebrate, receiving a curt “of course we will.”

I also remember us not doing anything for that Christmas, not even baking cookies (despite his insistence that we would). He never was a fan of sweets… aside from certain wines of course, which he drank plenty of that day, prohibition be damned.

He did get me a gift, despite his… bad habit. It was poorly wrapped with newspaper, and left on my bed rather than under a tree (he didn’t get one) like we’d normally do. It was some sort of Morse code learning kit, which ended up being defective, and had a habit of putting a dash where a dot should have been. A problem, certainly, but it’s not like I had anyone to send messages to.

It was still fun to tinker with all things considered, although I was never able to get it working correctly, and ended up shoving it in my attic with all my other useless things.

He also left a note with my gift, which simply said “Merry Christmas.” Didn’t even say it was from him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he knew it was broken and felt ashamed to give it to me. A broken toy for his broken son.

That was the last time we celebrated Christmas. The next year we tried to bake gingerbread as an attempt to rekindle the holiday spirit, but neither of us knew anything about baking, and it ended up tasting like soggy cardboard. We gave up after that, treating Christmas as any other day. Well, he was a bit more drunk in the evening, but that’s all.

It’s… a bit sad, but it’s… what happened. Our enthusiastic celebration of Christmas ended with my mother’s death. A lot of celebrations ended with my mother’s death actually...

…

I need to get Darin a gift.It’s the polite thing to do, since I’ll be showing up to his house unannounced after all. Getting him a gift is the least I can do to make it less… awkward and rude. A little bit less… cold.

Now, what should I get him? Food? It feels a bit cheap to just buy him a random pastry or cake, and everything else would make for a lousy gift. Imagine if someone gave you a squash (I think that orange and yellow thing over there is a squash) for Christmas! It’d be an insult.

Clothing? I have no clue what size he wears, or what he likes to wear. Er, he likes sweaters I think, perhaps I could get him one?

Alcohol? It’s legal where, after all. Does he even drink? He doesn’t seem like the sort, and I didn’t notice any alcohol the last time I went over. Maybe he just didn’t think to buy any? He is a bit scatter-brained.

Maybe I shouldn’t. He’s probably assumed I’d brought it to share, and I’m a bit of a lightweight…

No alcohol. But now what will I get him?

“Watson? Do you have any ideas?”

He looked at me, giving me a look of annoyance.

“What? You know him as well as I do.”

He huffed, looking at the lower shelves as we walked through the crowded aisle. Nothing of interest is down there—

“Pardon me.”

I squeezed between two individuals who where talking about wrapping paper—

Oh. I didn’t see him there.

“Sorry!” I said. “I didn’t notice you!”

“It’s fine.”

Well this is wonderful. This store clearly wasn’t designed for this many people to be in here at once. Why are there so many people anyway?! Is everybody having a gift crisis? Is planning ahead and buying gifts early not a thing in this world?

It honestly wouldn’t be as much of a problem if they would stop touching me. They’re not grabbing me or anything (thank God), but they’re still blocking my path and brushing against me. Is uncomfortable, and I keep thinking it’s… one of Them grabbing me.

“Watson, remind me to never do this again.”

No response. Odd.

“Watson?”

He’s not there. Where he once was is now a swarm of people.

“Oh no.”

Where did he go?!

“Oh no.”

He’s gone. I lost him. He’s gone—

“Watson! Where are you?” I shouted.

A bark at my feet is my answer.

“Oh.”

He was there the whole time, possibly hidden behind a display of some sort.

Or maybe I’m starting to lose it.

“Here.” I said, picking him up and placing him on my shoulder. “Now you won’t get trampled.”

Or lost. Or killed. Or—

“Don’t do that again!”

His claws dug into my shirt as he hung on, nodding with his ears pinned back.

We need to hurry this up. I can feel my heartbeat beginning to pick up again, and not in a good way. There’s just… no place to go!

Nothing is standing out as a worthy gift though. Not that I can see much— the swaths of people and Pokémon are making it very difficult to even begin to look for something.

...Maybe the wine isn’t such a bad idea after all. I could always just say I’m allergic to avoid the awkwardness and expectation to share, that way it’s less… pushy.

Of course, now I have to find out what type of wine would be nice. Of course, grapes don’t exist here, so I’m not even sure what wine is made out of now. Some sort of berry? Probably.

Here’s the wine aisle. Turns out I wasn’t wrong— the wines are made of berries, which are proudly displayed on the label. Including Cherri berries, for some ungodly reason. Wine already burns due to the alcohol content! Why on earth would make a wine out of a spicy berry?! Unless the fermentation process removes the spiciness, but even then…

Oh, this label has those pink sweet berries on it. This one should taste good, if a bit too sweet. Could be used as a dessert wine…

“What do you think, Watson? Pink-berry wine?”

He nodded, with all the certainty and confidence of a wine enthusiast, as though he actually knows anything about wine.

…

Does he? Can Pokémon even drink alcohol? I’m sure it wouldn’t be a good idea, although Watson getting drunk is a hilarious thought that will certainly remain a thought. The last thing he needs is something that inhibits his decision-making capabilities.

He probably just wants to get out of here.

It’s settled then, we’re getting this for Darin. Hopefully, he’s not completely disgusted with me and hates me forever.

...That probably won’t happen, but still. The possibility is there, and I’d rather not garner any more disgust towards me than I already do.

…

Let’s just get to Darin’s house.

-

—-Good God it’s cold out here!

Snow’s starting to fall. Small flecks of white are gently flying down from the black sky, like tiny parcels shreds of paper.

Despite the calm serenity that snow is supposed to bring, I’m feeling a seed of dread beginning to grow in the pit of my stomach. Snow is pretty, yes, but once the wind picks up it’ll be a blizzard. Blizzards bring cold. Cold brings death.

I need to deliver Darin’s gift before I lose my nerve.

-

Darin’s door. I can see it— it’s right across the flower-covered lawn, after all. It’s not hard to miss, even with the light snowfall and the darkening sky.

There’s a warm, orange glow coming from the windows of his house, although the curtains are blocking everything other than the light.

The house is humming with noise. Chatter, laughter, and music is seeping out of the walls of the house. Apparently, he’s hosting a party.

Maybe I should come back another time. Me and parties don’t exactly get along, and it would be rude to just show up uninvited, especially if he has family over.

Besides, I’m not fit for the company of strangers. I’m absolutely filthy, and I’m not dressed for a party. Especially not one this… important.

Watson barked at me.

“What?”

He just stared at me, frowning in disappointment.

“No, I’m not… I don’t think this is a good time, Watson.”

His head tilted.

“...He’s having a party. You can’t just show up uninvited like this. Besides, he most likely has family over, and I…”

I’m not going to complete that out loud. It sounds wrong if I say it out loud, but it’s true— I don’t think Darin would want his family to know he’s… associated with someone like me. I’m homeless, and look like… garbage. Besides, I don’t want to have a panic attack or one of my hysterical fits, so we’ll just come back tomorrow when there aren’t as many people.

Actually, I might be able to just knock on the door and leave the gift on the porch? That might work— wait, the cold would probably just shatter the glass once the wine expands. So I’ll have to come back tomorrow then—

Watson’s blocking the path away from the house, staring at me defiantly.

“Watson…”

No. I’m not… I’ll at least deliver the gift. Just so it won’t be any later than it already is. It’s the least I can do for the kindness he’s shown me.

“...You’re right. I should at least deliver the gift.”

He’s still confused, but that’s okay. He doesn’t have to understand absolutely everything. God knows I can barely understand him.

Here we go. I’m going to knock on the door, and I’m going to give him the gift. He’ll probably hate me and demand I leave, then I’ll leave and find a place to set up camp and a warm fire.

Then I’ll… figure out what comes next.

Chapter Text

There’s an eerie silence behind me. Aside from the music and chatter coming from the house, the area’s completely devoid of sound. The people that used to be walking around outside have all disappeared, and the wild Pokémon have been silenced by the cold night’s arrival. Unsettling, to say the least.

Actually no, it’s terrifying. It should never be this quiet and still There’s always supposed to be a bird or a Pokémon making noise. But now, aside from the music and chatter form inside the house, it’s crushingly silent and still.

...I wonder if there’s something out there? Some sort of thing that scared everything away?

No, it’s probably just my hysteria beginning to act up. Silence at night is completely normal, probably even a good thing. So animals would make sounds that would lead a predator to them. Plus, they have to sleep.

...

Hopefully it won’t be too long before someone opens the door, I don’t want to freeze to death out here. Or have a panic attack. Whichever comes first.

“Do you think they heard me?”

Watson shrugged, sitting down and then wrapping his tail around himself, looking the most polite he’s ever looked.

“I should probably—“

“Coming!” A female voice said. “Hold on!”

Watson ears perked up upon hearing her voice, swiveling towards the door.

“I guess they heard us after all.”

An older woman wearing a Christmas-themed sweater and scarf opened the door. The light, warmth, and music from the house spilled out onto the porch, casting an almost angelic glow.

“Hello! Can I help you?” She said, looking a bit excited and oddly friendly. Quite a bit like Darin actually, but with the added tiredness of age.

I’m surprised she’s not more suspicious as to why I’m here. Most people would reasonably be cautious if a homeless, feral-looking man randomly knocked on their door at night. Some would be downright hostile, and arguably should be. The homeless aren’t famous for their stability, and I’m not an exception.

“Good evening ma’am.” I said, hoping to offset my appearance with politeness. “Is Darin here?”

“Do you need him? I could go get him for you—“

“No no!” I said. “It’s alright. Could you give him this and tell him it’s from Wilson?”

“Sure— wait, you’re Wilson?”

Do I know her? She knows me, apparently. I suppose Darin’s been talking about me, hopefully refraining from mentioning my panic attacks. It’s embarrassing enough as is; don’t need that sort of information spreading.

“Yes.” I said. “Has he been talking about—“

“Hey Darin!” She shouted back into the house, ignoring what I was just saying. “Your friend’s here!”

“I’m coming!” Darin shouted from somewhere in the house. “Is he really?”

“Yes! He’s right over here!”

Was he expecting me? Did he invite me and then I forgot about it? That’s a rather large possibility that I’d rather not think too hard about.

“Wilson!” Darin said, walking up to the doorway with his familiar enthusiasm. “I didn’t know you were coming! How’s the dynamic trio doing?”

“We’re doing alright.” I said. “You?”

“I’m doing great!” He said. He probably means it too, with how he’s smiling.

The woman rolled her eyes, smiling and walking back into the house.

“Would you like to come in? We’re having a family party! Also It’s pretty cold outside… I mean I know you have a coat—“

“No no.” I said, taking a step back. “I’m not here to intrude on your party.”

Watson barked in irritation, as he always does. He probably just wants to get out of the cold, although I can’t really blame him. It’s beginning to get rather frigid out here, and I doubt the snow is going to help.

“Watson I’m not going to intrude on someone’s family party! It’s very rude.” I scolded.

Watson stuck his tongue out at me, like a small, insolent child.

“Watson, do we need to have a talk about manners?”

He frowned, standing on the tables, ready to challenge me.

“It’s fine!” Darin said, smiling at me with joy. “You wouldn’t be intruding! I was actually going to invite you, but I didn’t know where you were!”

Why is he so excited to see me? And why would he want to invite me to a family party? I’m not part of his family, so there’s no need for an invitation. Does his family even want me here? Or are they just being polite?

“You… where?” I asked.

“Yea.” Darin said, smiling. “Come on!”

Well… it would be rude to decline such an… enthusiastic invitation. Plus, Watson’s probably freezing.

“Alright, we’ll stay a little while.” I said.

Darin stepped aside to let me in, holding the door open.

Should Put my coat on the hanger? I’d better not. I don’t want to ruin his party by calling too much attention to my appearance. I already look rather terrible, so the fairly nice-looking coat can hide a lot of that.

I will, however, take off my gloves. It would be impolite to leave them on and smear whatever flight be on them all over the house. Plus, my palms are hidden by my fingerless gloves, so they won’t see anything involving that little mishap.

Nobody can see anything. As far as they know, I’m a completely normal human being with no silly problems such as hysteria or panic attacks. That’s what I am, normal. Completely normal, and nobody can prove I’m not.

Unless, of course, Darin’s been talking ill about me. Not on purpose of course, he’d never spread that sort of private information maliciously, but it’s still a probability. I’m not really in the mood to be interrogated about my… problems.

“Honestly, I’m really glad you’re here!” He said, leading me through the living room and towards the kitchen.

“Really? Why?”

“Because you’re my friend! Why wouldn’t I be glad you’re here?”

“Ah.”

Friend? Me? We haven’t really known each other for very long though. It’s a bit soon to call someone a friend, isn’t it? Acquaintance would probably fit better.

Although, he seems genuine. I’d probably consider him a friend if I was pressed for an answer, as odd as it may seem. He’s an easy person to become friends with. Kind-hearted, easygoing, charitable. Perhaps a bit too charitable.

Speaking of friendship, Let me give him his gift so I’m not carrying something fragile through his house.

“I have a gift for you.” I said. “Er, Merry Christmas? I know it’s pretty poorly wrapped…”

Oh, he’s already unwrapping it.

“...Wine?” He said, looking… disgusted? I can’t quite make out his expression. It looks like confusion and disgust, hidden behind politeness.

He doesn’t like it. I’m not sure what the right gift for him would have been, but wine was the wrong one, that’s for certain.

“I’m not late on the gift am I?”

“No.” he said, putting the wine on a high shelf. “You’re actually early. Christmas isn’t for another two days, we’re just having a party early because of the blizzard that’s coming.”

“Blizzard?”

“Yea, It’s going to be really bad. Snowpoint’s going to be completely shut down, and it won’t be safe to travel, so we’re having the party now.”

Wonderful. A record-breaking blizzard is coming, and I don’t even have a camp set up. I don’t even have a thermal stone!

“Where are you staying by the way?” he asked, leading me through the house.

“Erm…”

Nowhere, really. I’d planned to make a camp in the woods for the winter, but it looks like it’s not going to be possible.

“Wilson.” He said, pausing in the middle of the hallway. “You do have a place to say do you? Because if you don’t--”

“I… do not.” I said. “But you don’t have to--”

“I’m not going to let you freeze to death out there! You can use the guest room!”

“I don’t have money for rent.” I said. “Besides—“

“It’s fine! I wouldn’t have charged you anyway.”

Of course he wasn’t going to charge me rent, he’s far too nice to do that. One day I’m going to pay him back for his kindness, somehow.

It’d be nice if I could refuse his offer at the very least, but I can’t. As much faith as I have in my winter survival skills, I don’t know if I can survive a blizzard without a thermal stone.

Why is he so nice to me? We barely know each other; for all he knows I could be a deranged lunatic! I certainly look enough like one...

He shouldn’t be this nice, it’s going to get him seriously injured one day.

“Alright.” I muttered. “But only until the blizzard passes.”

Darin grinned at me, then nodded in acknowledgment. He probably thinks I’m going to be staying longer.

He’s probably right.

“So!” He said, clapping his hands together. “Want to meet the rest of my family?”

“Do they… want to meet me?” I asked.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t they?”

“Well,” I motioned towards myself. “I don’t think you’d want them to know you associate with someone of my… status.”

“They’re not like that Wilson, I promise. Now come on, dinner’s just about ready!”

We’ll have to see. From my experience, most people don’t react well to a hysterical, homeless man joining them for dinner. They like it even less when they don’t even know the person.

Dinner does sound nice though. Maybe I can stand the judgment long enough to eat something other than trail mix. Or, I could just grab a plate and then leave to somewhere secluded. It would save Darin the trouble of having to introduce me to his family.

“Alright. Come on Watson, let’s go eat.”

-

Darin has a rambunctious family.

There aren't a whole lot of people, maybe seven or eight depending on if you include me and Darin in the count. One of them is a baby (who’s been staring at me for the past five minutes), and another is a ten-year-old (who’s currently using green beans as fangs). The rest are adults of varying ages, ranging from twenty to sixty-seven, all eating and chatting harmoniously.

It’s honestly making me a bit uncomfortable. Not the green bean fangs, but just the sheer amount of people in one room. I feel like I’m being suffocated, since there isn’t a whole lot of room to breathe. They also have a habit of talking a lot with their hands, filling what should be empty air with gestures that supposedly add to whatever it is they’re saying.

At least they’re nice. Actually, aside from the baby, they haven’t really stared at me like I expected them too. There'vs been no comments, no side-glances or rude stares. No passive-aggressive comments about my profession or snide remarks about what a man shouldn’t be doing.

Honestly, I don’t really know what to do now. I’d come to dinner expecting hostility and alienation, but they’re actually being rather pleasant and polite, with my only complaint being a lack of personal space.

If I were to go to a party like this where I’m from, there’d be whispers and rumors about my appearance the moment I walked in. Accusatory questions about my thinness and unkept nature would quickly devolve into unpleasantness.

I’m glad this party is very… casual. People are sort of mingling among themselves in comfortable sweaters and jackets, happily enjoying their home-cooked dinner, chatting about their day. They’re all so jarringly warm and friendly, I’m not really sure what to do in this situation.

Even their Pokémon are playing nicely together, with Watson having fun chatting with them about Pokémon matters. If Cirrus wasn’t so big, I’d let him out so he can socialize as well, but he’d probably break through the ceiling.

Also, it turns out the woman who answered the door is Darin’s mother. She apparently travels for work, although I… forgot what her profession was. Either way, Darin doesn’t get to see her much, meaning their time together is precious.

Meaning I’m probably ruining their reunion. I’m not a member of this family, and it’s becoming more and more blatantly obvious as the night goes on.

“Are you enjoying your stay in Fluorma?” She suddenly asked, eating some of her food.

“Yes ma’am.” I responded, a bit too mechanically.

Darin’s mother is nice, at least. She’s tolerating my presence better than my father would have, even if the conversation is stiff and robotic.

The other people who are here I’m not so sure about their relation to darin. The baby is Darin’s niece(nephew), which implies one of these people is his brother or sister, but he’s been far too excited to really explain who any of these people are. There’s also this teenager that I thought was an adult at first, but I haven’t been able to keep track of them.

I’m not sure who the green-bean-fanged kid is related to either. For all I know he just climbed the backyard fence when he smelled food. The food he just flung at my face.

“Sorry!” He said, looking genuinely upset. “I was aiming for your Pokémon!”

“It’s… alright.” I said, wiping the food off of my face. “Watson, don’t encourage people to throw food at you! You have your own plate!”

He barked.

“Hush! Just eat your food!”

There’s also a lot of Pokémon running around. The only one I can recognize is Moon, who’s Darin’s umbreon. He’s currently eating a bowl of berries, watching me out of the corner of his eye.

It still gives me chills whenever I’m around it. Moon’s too small to be threatening, but it’s still rather unnerving. Maybe it’s their eyes? It’s probably the eyes. They’re rather piercing after all, and they stare into your very soul.

At least nobody here has a mightyena, otherwise there would be problems. Ergh, my stomach is churning just thinking about it.

“Are you okay?” Darin asked.

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re not eating.”

Oh. Right, there’s food. Food I can eat. Food that would be considered rude to not eat.

“Ah, sorry.”

The veggies taste delicious, as do the bread rolls and that mixed-berry cobbler. Notably, there isn’t any sort of meat, or at least none I can see. Usually there’d be a ham or turkey at the feast, although that’s obviously not possible here.

There are, however, these rice balls (Somebody called them “onigiri” at some point), that are absolutely delicious. At least, judging from the few bites I’ve had. Not sure what they’re filled with though. Some sort of paste?

“You don’t have to apologize!” He said, eating a bread roll. “Although I would recommend eating.”

He’s right. I do need to eat something, since I haven’t had a meal since the last time I was at his house, which was at least a few days ago.

Problem is, I’m not… feeling too well right now. Something just feels off, and it’s manifesting in nausea. Perhaps it’s hunger masquerading as stomach problems, or it’s a symptom of hysteria. It could also be the sheer amount of people in the room that’s making me anxious.

Either way, I’m not going to be able to eat much more, despite my body’s desperate need for something of sustenance.

Does starving for a long period of time leave a negative impact? I’d assume so, since long periods of starvation strain the body. I probably have all sorts of physical ailments thanks to my extended stay in the Constant.

Which reminds me: Later I’ll have to start taking my nutritional supplements again. They certainly won’t cure anything wrong with me, but they’ll help get some extra nutrition.

“So Wilson,” Darin’s mother asked, finishing a conversation she was having with someone else. “Were you the one who saved the drifloon?”

“The one that was caught in the windmill?”

She nodded. “Yes. One of the many that get caught there, unfortunately.”

Should I admit to it? She doesn’t seem… accusatory at least, although I can’t really tell. I suppose it couldn’t hurt…

“...Yes.” I said. “It’s string was caught in the gears.”

“Was it okay?” The kid said, wearing half of his dinner.

“It lost one of its strings, but it was okay afterwards.”

“Yay!”

“Is that what you do?” She asked, getting a bit enthusiastic. “You rescue Pokémon?”

No, although that does sound interesting. Admittedly, I don’t really… do anything. I just sort of battle.

“No.” I said. “I mostly do Pokémon battles.”

“Oh.”

Disappointment. A polite version of disappointment, but disappointment nonetheless. Were they expecting anything different? It’s not like there’s anything else to do around here, aside from run stores and gyms.

“...I also enjoy science.” I muttered.

“Science?” Darin asked, peeking up a bit. “What kind?”

“All of it really. I used to study physics and chemistry, although I had a mild interest in plants as well.”

“What about rocks?” The kid asked.

“I’m not really interested in geology. Aside from the beautiful crystal specimens and volcanic activity, it can get kind of… boring. Particularly when you study plate tectonics.”

“Huh.” Darin said. “I didn’t know you studied anything really.”

Thank you, Darin, for making assumptions about my life.

“It was a very long time ago, so most of my knowledge is… gravely outdated, to say the least.”

That’s putting it lightly. From what little I’ve seen, it’s pretty obvious this world has a better grasp on chemistry, the human body, and physics than I do. Even their entertainment is far more advanced than anything I could have even theorized.

“I’m sure you’re not too far behind.” Darin’s mother said, taking a sip of her drink. “You could probably become a scientist—“

She’s recommending I become a scientist? No lectures on how stupid it is? On how everything is already known? Of how it’s a waste of time to study? Of how it’s… impossible?

This is new. New and exciting. New and invigorating. It’s the first time that anyone has ever supported my scientific endeavors! I so wish I had some of my machines to show her, then maybe—

Wait, she’s probably just being polite. I am a guest after all, it would be rude to denounce a guest’s passions, especially if you badly know the person you’re denouncing.

Yes, she’s just being polite. Nobody else cares all that much about science. Aside from other scientists, of course. There aren’t a whole lot of those, aside from that professor fellow. I’m sure he was some sort of Scientist.

Other scientists, I say, as though I’m actually a scientist. I’m a joke. My machines don’t work like they're supposed to, my knowledge is either already known or useless. I’m… wasting time.

I’m always wasting time.

Wait, has she been talking this whole time?

“—Of course there could always be some sort of tree we could use—“

What is she even talking about? I need to stop spacing out during conversations like this. It’s very rude, and—

“What do you think, Wilson?”

Oh no.

“Well,” I said, pretending to be deep in thought. “Perhaps you could try something… else?”

This is just like school.

“Like what?” She asked.

Except the teacher usually knows you weren’t paying attention.

“A… Pokémon?” I said, hoping my lack of confidence is coming off as thoughtfulness rather than uncertainty. “I don’t know a lot of the Pokémon breeds here, but I’m sure one could help with your… problem.”

“Hmm…” she said. “Oh! A chatot could probably help! Thank you, Wilson. I’ll be sure to ask for help if I need you.”

Please never ask me a question again.

“You’re welcome ma’am.”

She went back to chatting with whoever is next to her, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I wasn’t paying attention.

I suppose I can pretend to be a functional member of society after all.

-

Dinner was pleasent. I managed to finish a sizable portion of food for the first time in months.

Most of the people have scattered, clustering in small groups and chatting about things that I can’t decipher without having to rudely eavesdrop.

I sort of wish Darin was nearby. He’s the only person I really know well enough to chat with at all. Even then I’m not sure what we’d talk about—

“You’re all pokey!”

Pokey? What? Who even said that?

It’s the kid from the dinner table. The one that had the green bean fangs.

“Pokey? You mean my hair?”

“No! Everything! It’s like you have really cool armor under your shirt!”

Bones are the armor for organs, so he’s not entirely wrong.

“...Thank you?”

“You’re welcome!”

He then proceeded to walk off as though nothing odd had just happened. An admirable attitude to have, although it’s befuddling to those around you.

Actually, I’m more surprised he didn’t question me more questions about my “armor.” I suppose he just didn’t think to ask, since children aren’t known for their condenses for details. Or his mother just told him not to, which is also a possibility.

Strangely, nobody has asked me about my scars or my weight since I got here. I mean, it’s certainly been noticed, but not in an unpleasant way. It’s more in a concerned-about-your-fellow-man-way. Usually, I would have been questioned and pestered about what was wrong with me, assuming I was let into the house in the first place.

...It is honestly a bit confusing. Why aren’t they questioning me? Why aren’t they more uptight about appearances and clothing? Why is the party so casual and, dare I say, pleasant?

What’s even more confusing is how they’ve treated me. They haven’t thrown me out, or given me glares or disdainful looks as I’d expected. Other than the occasional glance of slight concern or confusion, they haven’t really even acknowledged how out-of-place I probably look, with my boneyness, scars (most are hidden, but I still have one on my cheek), and general messiness. They’re treating me as a member of their family (albeit, a distant one), rather than a disappointment or a freak.

Darin probably hasn’t said anything about my episodes then, otherwise I’m sure they’d be more hostile. No, they’d certainly be more hostile. Any man who breaks down like I do deserves to be shunned.

...it’s nice to almost belong somewhere for once. Maybe carving out a life here won’t be as lonely or unpleasant as I’d thought. In fact, I might even be able to find a family here, maybe even marry someone and have kids of my own. Perhaps I’ll continue my scientific endeavors and—

“You wanna play a game?”

Oh, he’s back already. Not sure why he wants to play with me, given I’m in my thirties. Although I don’t think there are any other children nearby, aside from the baby. Babies aren’t really known for their ability to play games.

“Er, sure?”

“Yay! Nobody else would!”

He grabbed my hand and tugged me towards the television, where he had some sort of device (a remote controller?) in hand.

“We can take turns!”

“... Alright?”

He’s just sitting in the couch next to me, moving little knobs and pressing buttons on the controller. On the television, a rather colorful yet stilted character was moving across the screen seemingly randomly, occasionally jumping in and flattening other creatures that disappeared shortly after.

“...What is this?”

“Jumper Universe!”

“Oh.”

That explains literally nothing. What’s the remote for? Why is he so intensely focused on the animation? What is even going on?

“Your turn!” He said, handing me the controller.

The controller he nearly threw at me is shaped like a deformed banana, and is very awkward to hold. It doesn’t look like any sort of remote I’ve ever seen, that’s for certain.

“How do I… play?”

“You gotta hold it like this!”

He mimicked holding the remote, forming his hands like he was holding a turtle. It’s not really helpful, since turtles aren’t remote-shaped.

“Like this?” I said, trying to mimic how he was holding the remote.

“No! Like this! You gotta put all your fingers on the buttons!”

There’s more buttons than fingers! How did he do it so easily?! And what does this remote have to do with the television anyway? He hasn’t explained that part yet, and I’m beginning to think he never will.

“Now you gotta hit start!”

“...Start?”

“It’s the tiny button above the home button!”

“...Home button?”

He giggled. I’m sure he thinks this whole situation is hilarious, either because he thinks I’m playing dumb as a joke or just… the absurdity that an eight-year-old has to teach an adult how to do something that’s seemingly so simple.

“Jump over it!”

What? Over what? I just hit the start button? What is he even talking about—“

“You died!”

“I did?”

“Yea. Hit start again!”

Okay, so the little character on the screen is somehow under my control. How it’s moving from just buttons is quite interesting. I suppose it’s sort of like a normal remote, with added functionality.

It would be more amazing if things would slow down a bit. I can’t tell what things are harmful and what things aren’t. Everything on the screen is always moving so fast, and I can’t tell what the rest of the buttons even do!

Honestly, I’m a bit embarrassed. Every now and then he’ll take the remote and patiently try to explain what each of the buttons do, what “enemies” I have to kill, what the “power-ups” do, but it’s not really helping. I just can’t press the buttons fast enough to react to anything, and half the time I forget where they are, so I have to pause and look for them.

“How do you know where the buttons are?”

“You just have to kinda feel for them!”

“Feel for them?”

The calluses on my hands aren’t really letting me feel anything other than pressure at the moment.

“I see—“

“You died again!”

This is frustrating. It shouldn’t be this difficult to play a game that a ten-year-old can play with ease.

“...Okay I think I’m done with this game.” I said, handing him the controller.

“Aww. Wanna play another one? We can play Super Racers!”

“Super Racers” sounds like the exact opposite type of game I could play. Just the name alone is already giving me a headache.

“...Maybe another time.”

I’m going to go find Darin. I’ve had enough of hanging out with strangers and playing weird television games.

-

Darin was in the kitchen by himself, checking on what looks like some sort of baked fruit dish, possibly a dessert.

“Hey Wilson!” He said, looking up. “Are you having fun?”

“Yes.” I said. “Thank you for letting me in.”

“I told you I would have invited you anyway!” He said, closing the oven with a bit more force than necessary. “I’m just glad you decided to stay this long!”

I’m still not sure why he’s so happy to see me. I know he considers me a friend, but does that really warrant such a reaction?

He placed his oven mitts next to the stove, and grabbed a few glasses from the cupboard.

“Would you like a drink of water?”

“Yes, please.”

He handed me a glass, setting his own drink down on the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“Thank you.” I said.

He nodded, although his smile is starting to fade a bit.

“Where exactly did you go anyway?”

Oh, he’s beginning to ask questions. Reasonable, considering how I left in such a hurry, and on such a sour note.

“Veilstone.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise.

“...Did you do whatever it was you had to do there?” He asked, giving me a mildly concerned look.

“I… did.” I said.

“Does it have something to do with your new necklace?”

Necklace? Oh, he’s talking about the vial. Hanging it from my neck might not have been the best idea, since it’s starting to attract a lot of attention.

“...yes. And it’s a pendant, not a necklace.”

“Pendant.” He said, correcting himself… “So what did you have to do anyway?”

“I had to get something back.”

He nodded, obviously still curious. He’s not going to get any more out of me though. Telling him would just raise more questions, questions I’m not ready to answer.

Besides, telling him wouldn’t help. There isn’t anything he could do— everything’s already happened. It’s done, it’s over.

“Where’s Cirrus?” He asked, changing the subject. “Is he injured?”

“No.” I said, taking a sip of water. “He just evolved, and would be too big to fit through the door—“

“He evolved?” Darin said, suddenly becoming very excited. “That’s wonderful!”

I recoiled a bit. “It is. He’s quite a bit stronger now.”

“Is he happy with evolving? Some Pokémon don’t handle it very well…”

Not sure why a Pokémon wouldn’t like getting bigger and stronger. I suppose being smaller has some advantages, but still. From what I’ve seen from evolved Pokémon, they’re usually far better off evolved than not.

“He is. At least, he doesn’t seem to mind.”

“That’s good!” Darin said. “At least he’s happy—“

Someone’s calling Darin from across the house.

“Coming!” He yelled back. “I’m coming!”

He’s gone already. For someone who lives a fairly peaceful life, he’s awfully fast at getting to where he needs to go.

Wonder what he’s getting called for. It probably has something to do with—

Hold on, what is that noise? It sounds like footsteps, but it’s a bit too heavy to be a person—

Ow.

What on earth? Why can’t I—

Oh God. Are those teeth?!

An orange, tiger-like Pokémon has me pinned to the ground, it’s front pressing on top of my rib cage. It’s claws are pressing into my shoulders a bit, dangerously close to the arteries in my neck.

It’s massive, built like a cross between a dog, tiger, and lion, with teeth and claws to match.

And it has me pinned.

There’s no weapon. I’m reaching for one, but there’s none. Not even a stick. Not even a rock.

There’s nothing I can do. It’s too big to push off, and my arms are pinned to the floor, so I can’t jab my thumb into its eye—

It just licked me, dragging it’s rough tongue across my cheek, like a cat would to scrape the last bit of meat off of bones.

God, It’s going to eat me.

“Oh my Arceus I’m so sorry!”

Someone pulled the beast off of me.

“He just gets really excited when he meets new people! Are you okay?”

I can’t breathe. My throat refuses to open up and let air into my lungs.

I need to get up.

“He didn’t mean to hurt you! I’m so sorry!” She said, stepping between me and the Pokémon. “Are you okay?”

Get up.

“It’s… it’s fine…” I said, scrambling up to get off of the floor. “I just…”

Get out.

“Are you sure? You look a little… pale? Are you hurt?”

They’re so worried, so genuinely concerned. Why? My reaction is completely unnecessary! It’s illogical, it’s hysterical! It shouldn’t be happening!

God, I can’t even tell her I’m okay, my throat is so unwilling to cooperate. Tongue won’t move, jaws won’t open.

No, I’m not having a panic attack here. Not here, not now, not in front of Darin’s family!

I need to get out of here.

-

Why does this keep happening? It would be more understandable if I was still in the Constant, and my skittishness would be justified by the situation. Any slip-up could result in your death, often a slow, painful, lonely death thanks to an infection or a slow-bleeding wound that can’t heal.

But I’m free. I’m free from the Constant, but things like this are still happening. I think it might actually be getting even worse…

...

...I do look pale. I didn’t realize it was that noticeable, but it is. I look like a walking corpse, scars and poorly-trimmed beginning of a beard not helping my apparence. I’m still rather skeletal-looking as well, and the dark circles under my eyes look like poorly-healed bruises.

Do I always look like this? Or did getting pinned to the ground affect me that much? How pathetic, if that’s the case.

At least the vial wasn’t broken. Otherwise we’d have far bigger problems than my appearance and patheticness.

…

I’m so tired. Even washing my face with cold water didn’t wake me up. All it did was make me even more aware of the nerves pooling in my stomach. And I’m still shaking.

This needs to stop. I’m losing sleep, and I keep ruining everything that could possibly be enjoyable. Any time I find some sort of fleeting happiness, something comes along and causes me to have a panic attack.

I almost wish I stayed in the Constant. It would be better than this, better than constantly being afraid of what isn’t actually there. At least I know what I’m doing in the Constant, and even if I do make a mistake, I could always just revive.

…

I’m going to have to leave the bathroom soon. As much as I would love to stay here forever, I can’t. Sooner or later someone else will have to use it, and having a panic attack isn’t really an excuse to hog the bathroom.

Besides, Darin is probably looking for me. That, or Watson is causing trouble by chewing on the electrical wires.

But I’m still shaking, badly. I’ll have to stop that before I can go out and pretend to be a worthwhile, functional human being.

Wait, the wine I bought… isn’t alcohol a remedy for nervous behaviors? At least, whisky is. It’s how a lot of people managed to get their hands on liquor during the prohibition. Medical whisky, the drug stores called it. It was obviously just a loophole to buy alcohol, but it’s still know to cure anxiety.

Maybe I can… have a few drinks to settle my nerves? Just a few couldn’t hurt. Besides, the children all went home with their parents, so it wouldn’t be too inappropriate. And, on top of that, I don’t think Darin is going to drink it, so he won’t mind too much.

Although, it would be rude to just… drink his gift, so maybe I shouldn’t…

Eh, he didn’t seem too interested in drinking anyway. Hopefully I can pour myself a glass without shaking too much.

-

Okay, I’ve had more than a glass.

Much more than a glass.

Too many glasses.

All the glass.

“Wilson? Are you… drunk?” Darin said from somewhere behind me.

“Noooooo…” I said. “Just tibsy.”

“‘Tibsy’?”

“Titsy!”

He sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Okay let’s get you to bed—“

“I dun wanna hav a nightmare!”

“Wilson—“

The room is spinning. Everything is a blur of color and light.

“Nightmares! Sooo many nightmares… and they move!”

“Wilson—“

Darin needs to shut up and stop interrupting me.

“Shhhh! Dat’s ruude! Lemme talk!”

God my stomach hurts. Why did I eat so much?

“Even awake! I have them, and I dunno why…”

So sick…

“An my stomach is sick.”

“Sick? Darin said, raising his eyebrows. “Okay let’s get you closer to the sink!”

He gently put a hand on my shoulder.

My stomach churned.

“Sick.”

“It’s okay Wilson. Just make sure you throw up—“

“My head is sick.”

Well, there goes dinner.

“...I didn eat a lot food. Why am I sick?”

It’s probably because of the wine. Sweet, syrupy wine.

And the fact that I’m a miserable failure.

“Why am I sick?”

I’m crying, although I don’t really know why.

It’s probably because I’ll have to deal with my hysteria for the rest of my life.

That’s why.

I’m sick. Always sick.

Sick forever.

I’ll never be able to do anything.

And it’s my fault.

I’m a failure as a scientist.

A failure as a person.

Hysterical.

“Here, let’s get you to bed.” He said, trying to get me out of the kitchen.

I see why people get lobotomies now.

It’s to fix things like this.

But I’m so scared...

“Forever.”

Darin slung my arm over his shoulder so I could walk.

“You’ll feel better tomorrow.” He said.

No, I won’t. Don’t lie to me Darin.

I’ll never be better.

“Never.”

“You’ll be better tomorrow.”

No, I won’t.

This will never go away.

It’s just always going to be there.

I should be used to it by now, but I’m not.

I’m stuck. In a box.

Again.

Chapter Text

Cold.

A cold wall of glass is behind me, giving way to a dark void.

Actually, the glass wall is all around me, trapping me in a cylinder of glass, with a cork up top.

I’m sitting in some sort of test tube, a vial. A black, sludge-like liquid is crawling up the walls, slowly engulfing me.

I can’t escape.

Dark claws wrapped around the vial In in, lifting it up and bringing it to the owner’s shrouded face. White, piercing eyes are all I can see through the void.

“Who are you?” I asked.

No reply.

Whatever it is, it’s enormous, easily taller than a skyscraper, towering over me.

Worse, it’s quite humanoid. Normally, these sorts of monsters are animal-shaped, having claws and teeth well beyond what a human could have. But this one seems to be entirely human, even having what looks like a tuft of hair on the top of its head.

It would help if it wasn’t entirely black.

“Do I know you?”

Again, no answer. It tilted the vial back, sliding me into the glass behind me, and causing the liquid in the vial to swell up to my ears, leaving only my face exposed.

“What do you want?!” I yelled, trying to get a grip on the glass to pull myself up above the liquid.

It’s grip tightened on the vial, and the glass shattered, sending crystal shards and black liquid everywhere, like ink in water.

I’m free-falling through the void, wind blowing through my hair.

God, where am I going to land?! There’s no ground! It’s just… black.

Wait, I can feel something—

I’m choking. The creature from before is holding me by a gossamer string tangled around my neck, leaving me dangling in the air.

I can’t breathe. The string is cutting into my neck, and I can feel blood beginning to flow.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t—

-

Oh God—

I can’t breathe!

Wait, no, I can. It’s just very difficult.

I’m shaking so badly, and head’s pounding. It feels like the pain is trying to seep out the back of my eyeballs...

I’m also drenched in cold sweat, which is sort of disgusting, although not surprising. I usually wake up like this anyway, so I’m just glad I didn’t wake up screaming.

Although, I sort of wish I didn’t wake up at all. The sunlight is blinding; filtering through the cracks in the blinds, forming thin lines of light. One of those laser beams of solar power is managing to hit me directly in the eyes, as opposed to literally any other part of my face.

I hate the sun. Maybe if I close my eyes it’ll stop existing and I can go back to sleep.

Wait, where even am I? I don’t remember anything from last night. Er, I remember drinking, and then vomiting into the sink, but nothing else after that.

Currently, I’m in a guest bed. My coat is hung on a hook attached to the door, and my backpack is on the floor in the corner.

Watson’s curled up next to me, safe and underneath the covers.

“Good morning Watson.”

He gave me glare, then crawled deeper under the covers. I suppose he’s still tired from last night as well.

He can stay asleep. I’m going to go wash my face—

...Where’s the vial?

The string is missing from my neck, and I can’t find it in the bedsheets.

Oh God did someone steal it? Was it—

Oh, it wasn’t stolen. Someone just put it on the nightstand. Good, I don’t need a panic attack before I’m even fully awake.

...

Wonder where Darin is. Usually he’s a bit louder in the mornings.

…

Once I calm down, I’ll go and be sociable. After all, it would be rude to ignore the host, wouldn’t it?

-

He’s currently picking at some leftover rice balls and baked fruit, flipping it and twirling it around the plate rather than actually eating.

He has faint circles under his eyes, and he’s holding his head in his hand forcing himself to stay awake and eat something substantial.

“Good morning, Darin.” I greeted.

I sat down at the table across from him.

“Good morning Wilson.” He mumbled back, not taking his eyes off of his food, or even bothering to look up for that matter.

I suppose my behavior last night caused some… problems.

“Darin—“

“Wilson, never bring alcohol into my house again.” He said, looking up at me from his bowl.

He still has that… disgusted, disappointed look on his face. I don’t blame him, my behavior last night wasn’t a very pleasant sight to see. I probably ruined the party to be, and whatever good will his family had towards me is gone.

No more alcohol. It would have been a bad habit to start anyway, if my father was any indication.

“Please.” He added, if only to be polite. It sounded more like a plea if anything.

“Alright.” I said. “I won’t… never again.”

Uncomfortable silence filled the gap between us as we stared at each other from across the table, each of us exhausted in our own right.

A lump formed is forming in my throat. I should say something. An apology, a simple conversation about the weather, anything to take this awkwardness.

“So why did you come back anyway? I sort of figured you were never going to come back…” he asked, breaking the silence with a rather… peculiar question.

What even made him think that? Did I seem that angry with him? Or that I wouldn’t come back for some reason? I don’t even remember why I was upset—

Wait, is he upset with the fact that I came back? I can’t really blame him, I wouldn’t want to see someone like me again either, but it still hurts.

...I’m glad I saw him again, even if he isn’t quite as happy to see me as I am. It’s a relief to see someone I actually know to some degree.

“To apologize.” I muttered. “And to say hello.”

He perked up a bit, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Apologize? For what?”

“Snapping at you.” I said. “When you were trying to convince me to stay here.

“You don’t have to apologize—“

“I do, I really do. For both the party and back then.”

“Oh.”

“So, I’m sorry. In both cases, my behavior was inexcusable, particularly yesterday....”

Silence again. He’s staring at me, possibly expecting me to say more, or to possibly explain why I even started drinking in the first place.

I’m not telling him that. He doesn’t need to know, and it won’t help at all.

“What did… I do, exactly?” I asked. “I don’t really remember much.”

“Well,” he said, pressing his hands together. “You threw up in the sink.”

I remember that well. As it turns out, food doesn’t taste as good coming back up. The wine aftertaste wasn’t very appealing either.

Great, I’m queasy again.

“Mm-hm. I remember that much.”

“And you kept saying you were sick.”

Given that I threw up in the sink, I’d say that was accurate.

“Is that it?”

Thought I did more, with how disgusted Darin seemed earlier.

“Sort of? I thought you meant your stomach since you just threw up, but then you started saying something about your head and—“

He frowned, pausing for a second to think.

“It was really hard to understand actually. You weren’t really, Uh, coherent.”

Oh. I certainly didn’t need to tell him that. At least I didn’t give him too much information. I’m not sure how I’d react if I told him about the Constant...

“...How much did I drink?” I asked, rubbing the pain from my temples. “Was it very excessive?”

“I don’t know. I threw the bottle away before I could see how much you drank.”

“...So I just sort of…”

Completely lost control, had a hysterical fit, broke; all of those would fit what happened last night. I lost control of myself, it seems.

Perhaps deciding to drink in order to calm myself down wasn’t one of my brighter ideas…

“Sorry.” I muttered. “I just…”

I’ve been having a lot of not-so-bright ideas lately, it seems. Not really sure how to fix that without—

No. Not even going to think about it. Not now at least, maybe later. Later I’ll… weigh my options. I’ll have to, or this will continue to fester like an infected wound of the mind.

“Lost my mind apparently…” I muttered, resting my head on my arms.

More silence, which is okay. Nothing I say will fix this.

...

I’ll have to get him a better gift. Something that actually means something.

“It’s alright!” He suddenly spat out. “Sorry I thought you were going to keep talking!”

“Mm.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair and running his fingers through his hair.

“Why did you drink like that anyway? Do you… always drink like?” He asked, wincing a bit. “Because if you do we might be able to work something out.”

He looks like he’s in physical pain.

“No!” I said. “No, no. I usually don’t drink at all, save for the rare glass of wine with a nice dinner. And even then it was only for a dinner party.”

“Then why—“

“I don’t know.” I said. “I think… it was probably something unimportant.”

“Wilson, it’s not unimportant if it made you drink like that. And then the things you said—“

He’s worried about me. Don’t I already worry him enough? With my vocal nightmares and panic attacks, I’m sure I’m already a huge burden on him.

“I can assure you, it probably was.” I said. “The things that… do that… aren’t anything worth getting worked up over.”

“Wilson—“

No. I’m not in the mood for a lecture.

“Why don’t you drink?” I asked, trying to change the subject. “I mean, alcohol is legal here isn’t it?”

He froze.

“I—“ he started. “Wait is alcohol not legal in Alola?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“So are you!” He said.

So I’ve struck a nerve. He could be allergic to alcohol, or just has some sort of aversion to it for whatever reason. Either way, I don’t like that look on his face. It’s not one he wears often, and it’s a bit… unsettling to see him look so… exposed.

“Alright, I have an idea.” I said. “I won’t question you about alcohol, and you won’t question me about my behavior.”

He frowned, seemingly not liking my idea.

“It’s for the sake of civility.” I said. “Clearly, neither of us want to talk about it—“

“I know, I know.” He said, sighing. “It just doesn’t sound healthy.”

“It’s not healthy, but it works.”

Darin didn’t respond. He poked at his own food, his brow furrowed in anxiety and debate. He’s considering it, as much as it goes against his principles— whatever they may be.

“If it puts you at ease, I’m not an alcoholic.”

He doesn’t look convinced. Interested for sure, but not convinced.

“I’ve seen how badly it can destroy people, and it’s not something I’d like to repeat.”

Why is he looking at me like that? It’s worry, mixed in with what looks like realization. He better not be making assumptions about me!

Maybe I should just stop talking.

“You have?” He said, obviously trying to coax more information out of me.

Should I tell him about my familial affairs? It’s not his business, and it would be very rude to speak ill of my father. It would ruin his reputation that he tried so desperately to keep clean and polished.

Of course, it’s not like Darin is ever going to meet my father, or anyone else from my world after all— telling him won’t really hurt anything. It might even put him at ease, depending on how much he trusts me.

Er, maybe I shouldn’t tell him though. It would be… rude.

“I have.” I said. “My father had a bit of a problem with alcohol.”

“Oh.” Darin said, with surprising understanding.. “He never… hit you did he?”

Hit me? Where would he get that idea from? My father was very distant and cold, but he was never a very heavy-handed person. Even when I probably deserved it, he never laid a finger on me, even when the parents of other families would have.

“No.” I said. “He never did.”

“That’s good!” Darin said, looking relieved, and… confused, for some reason.

Where would that sort of question even come from? I’m aware that alcohol can make people violent, but that sort of question only comes from experience—

No, I’m not going to pry into his personal life like that. It’s rude and invasive, and I’m not going to jump to conclusions.

“It is.”

Silence. Silence filled the room, coupled by mutual worry, along with some other emotion I can’t identify. It’s not a bad feeling, per say, but it’s still very strange and unwelcome.

“We’ll do this, uh, agreement temporarily.” He said, looking out of a window. “Just for now.”

“For now.” I repeated.

That’s fair. As morbidly curious as I am about whatever his problem is with alcohol, I am certainly not ready to talk about myself at all. It would be unfair to expect him to open up when I refuse to.

For now, we can agree to simply let it go, and await the winter’s cold reception.

Heh, cold reception. Guess this’ll be another party I’ll have to weather!

…Puns aren’t as funny inside your head, are they?

Darin suddenly perked up, standing up rather quickly, startling Watson.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my heart rate spiking.

“I never gave you your gift yesterday!” He said. “Wait, did I?”

Oh, that’s what he’s so worried about? A gift?

“I honestly can’t remember.” I muttered, putting my head back down.

“I’ll go get it then!”

“Wait you didn’t have to—“

He’s already gone, with an empty chair in his place.

God, I wish I had his energy. What sort of coffee does he drink? Is it even coffee, or is it something stronger?

Doesn’t matter what he’s drinking. What does matter is that he’s banging things around somewhere in the house, and it’s worsening my headache.

Watson’s looking at me with confusion. I actually forgot he was still here. I thought he would have gotten bored and went off to go pester Moon.

“I don’t know what he’s doing.” I said. “He’s certainly making a lot of noise though.”

Watson barked.

“Don’t add to the noise please.”

Darin’s probably looking for the gift that he’s almost certainly misplaced. Or, he put it in a bad spot—

...That was an awfully loud crash.

“Darin?” I called. “Are you alright? What are you even doing?”

“Hold on!” He shouted back. “Stay there and close your eyes!”

Close my eyes? Why? Is it not wrapped?

As uncomfortable as I am with darkness, I’ll honor his request. It’s the least I can do after ruining his party yesterday.

...

His family probably hates me. Or, at the very least, is very disappointed in me, although I think disappointment is worse.

Disappointment is much worse. You can’t fight disappointment. Anger and hatred are fueled by something— something that can be alleviated or solved.

Disappointed, by contrast, is rooted in acceptance. Acceptance that somebody will never be able to be fixed. And there’s nothing you can do but stubbornly share your disapproval. You can’t fight acceptance— it’s an inaction, a null.

Maybe, I’ll leave whenever Darin decides to host a party again, especially if his family is there. Just for the day of course, it would be silly to leave permanently because of a party.

I hear footsteps. Probably Darin. God I hope it’s Darin.

“Okay! Give me a second!” He said, rustling around the kitchen, moving things around.

Silence.

“Okay, okay!” He said, panting and excited. “Try guessing what it is!”

“Can I get a clue?” I asked.

I’m half-tempted to peek, but that would be rude. I don’t want to ruin his fun, after all. Besides, he’s very excited about this for some reason.

“Give me a second to think of one!” He said.

Watson barked.

“Don’t tell him what it is!” Darin said.

Watson barked again, this time a bit louder. Darin sighed.

“Okay, it’s… uh…” Darin trailed off. “You know what? Just open your eyes!”

He’s holding a book. A large, heavy-looking book titled The Pokémon Encyclopedia. It looks like a college textbook, complete with a fairly abstract and mundane cover.

“Do you like it?” He said, handing it to me.

It’s heavy. Heavy with the knowledge of more than a handful of scientists and researchers who poured their very heart and souls into this book.

This book, who’s table of contents contains entire chapters on evolutions, has every Pokémon ever seen documented and sorted by region, and has a section on types and their strengths and weaknesses.

This book gives each Pokémon at least three pages of its own, detailing its diet, basic anatomy, location, region, and evolutionary tract. It even has a small section on the personality of the Pokémon, as well as its height and footprint.

“Oh my God…” I muttered.

It’s amazing. This is the greatest thing I’ve ever received, without contest. It’s the best thing he could have possibly given me, aside from shelter from the winter of course.

“You like it?”

“I love it.” I said, holding onto the book tightly. “This is… wonderful. Thank you.”

Darin grinned, showing his teeth. “You’re welcome!”

This seems like it’ll be very useful for my quest for knowledge.

…

It also seems very expensive.

“Where did… this wasn’t too expensive was it?” I asked, trying to find a price marker on it.

“Well…” he started. “One of the nearby libraries was modernizing their encyclopedia section. They replaced the reference books with computers.”

I’m still not sure what a “computer” is, and I’m a bit too afraid to ask at this point. From my understanding, they’re books attached to those flat typewriters that I see everywhere.

“...And they just gave this to you?!”

“Yep! I mean, it’s a bit outdated, and websites are easier to update information on than a book. They were going to throw it away—“

Throw it away?! Why on earth would you ever throw this away? It’s a bastion of knowledge! Outdated, maybe, but it still has some uses!

I’m ever so slightly more disappointed in people now.

“—And it’s also missing a few pages. Weirdly, it’s mostly the legendary Pokémon’s pages from Sinnoh that are missing.”

Odd. It was like that in another library I visited, where the so-called legendary Pokémon were missing from the reference book. Could mean something, could just be a coincidence, I can’t really prove it either way.

I suspect there was some sort of censorship issue involving whatever legendary Pokémon are, causing some people to tear the pages out. That sort of makes sense, especially if it’s only the older books.

Or someone just really hated the book. That’s also quite likely. Actually, it’s probably more likely, especially if it’s a college textbook like I think it is. I know there were more than a few times where I wanted to tear apart my textbooks in the dead of night.

“...I suppose someone had to do a report?” I asked.

Darin just shrugged.

“It’s an old book. The pages could have just fallen out at some point.”

It does seem rather ancient. As important as it probably was to the library, the spine is still frayed at the edges, and some of the pages are stained with god knows what. Honestly, the missing pages probably just fell out in their own.

“...Thank you very much Darin.” I said, tucking the book under my arm. “I’ll have to get you a better gift once the blizzard passes.”

“You don’t have to!” Darin said. “Really!”

“Nonsense.”

This is the sort of gift that needs to be matched in quality and in care.

Problem is, with a blizzard on the way, I might have to wait a while before I’m able to get him a gift.

…

Or, perhaps, I could get him a gift before the blizzard hits.

Of course! I’ll just go grab my coat—

“Wilson? Where are you going?”

“To get my coat.” I said, already in the middle of putting it on.

“You’re going to get my gift now?”

“Of course! Otherwise I’ll have to wait until after the blizzard—“

A blast of cold hit my face. Outside, a blanket of snow covered everything in a sickening white. Ice covered what snow could not, and it’s just as silent as it was last night.

...

My stomach is churning again.

“Oh.” I said.

Darin gently closed the door.

“It already snowed a lot, so…”

“I can see that. I… suppose your gift will have to wait.”

“It’s alright! You really don’t have to get me a gift!”

I really do. The gift I got him was terrible, and I ruined his party by drinking myself into a stupor. I need to fix this, as much as he says I don’t. He’s already put up with enough of my hysterical outbursts and odd mannerisms, both of which any other man would have shunned or put me in an asylum over.

In all honesty, he probably should do those things. It would make sense after all; you can’t help or cure whatever is wrong with the mind, so the best course of action would be to get rid of them.

Why hasn’t he? Does he want something from me, or is he just that nice?

“Darin, I do.” I said, turning away from the door. “I just do. It’s wrong to get you such a poor gift, and then revive one that was so well-thought—“

“Wilson, really.” He said. “You don’t have to get me a gift! It’s okay!”

He doesn’t get it. Or, he does, but he doesn’t want me to repeat my mistake.

“I won’t get you anything alcoholic.”

“That’s not—“ He stopped himself. “I mean that’s a good thing but you really don’t have to get me a gift!”

He’s really insitistant he doesn’t need a gift. I mean, it’s not like I have any idea what to get him. It’s best to wait for the blizzard to pass

“...Alright.” I relented. “I’ll just wait to get you one.

He nodded, his brows still creased with worry and uncertainty. He strengthened his back a bit.

“Want to help me make lunch?” He asked.

“Alright.” I said. “Just let me out my book in the guest room.”

-

“So, soup?” Darin asked. “It’s easy to make, and it’s good for a while if you freeze it.”

“Soup works.” I said. “Do you want help? I’m not a chef by any stretch of the imagination, but I can chop vegetables.”

“Sure! Here!”

He handed me a few strange-looking tubers, and a knife.

“You don’t have to make them too small.” He said, already rummaging through a cabinet. “They’re going to turn too much either way.”

The tubers are spiral-shaped, having odd blotches of dull color on them.

“...So are they just here to thicken the soup?”

“Yep!” He said, examining a knife. “Ew, this one isn’t clean.”

He continued to rummage around the kitchen like a curious animal, grabbing knives and peelers and bowls and pots at such a speed and haste. If he knew the layout of his own kitchen, he’d probably be even more impressive.

Honestly, it’s sort of nice watching him search for things. He looks so happy, like a little kid that found an interesting-looking frog in a puddle. Especially when he finds something particularly shiny— his eyes light up a bit, even if it’s not going to be used for the soup.

“Oh, are you allergic to anything?” He asked, looking in his pantry and pulling out some potato-looking vegetables.

“No.” I said, aligning my knife parallel to the cutting board. “Do you need the leafy part?”

“Nope! That part is poisonous, I think.”

“Oh.”

Wish I knew what else was poisonous. None of the berries I’ve had so far have been poisonous. Or maybe they were, but another berry cured poison. Is that even how it works? Is there a berry that can cure poisonings?

And how small did he want this chopped? I don’t remember what he said.

Eh, I suppose a medium-chop will work. I can always chop them smaller if need be.

Speaking of chopping, I never realized how skilled Darin is at… chopping. He’s already done with the bowl of veggies he had, while I’m only on my third tuber. His cuts are swift and precise, resulting in neat little cubes of whatever he’s chopping, while I’m basically trying to avoid cutting my fingers off.

Of course, I’m a rather terrible cook. Seasoning eludes me, and the only things I can cook is meat and roasted vegetables. From what I understand, cooking is far more complex than just skewering something and holding it over a fire.

...Those were very good roasted berries though. Wonder if the berries here would taste good roasted.

Wait? What was I doing? Cutting, right.

It would help if I could recognize any of these plants. This one looks vaguely like some sort of potato? But it’s purple, and potatos usually aren’t purple…

Oh, hold on, that’s a tomato! A small, rounded tomato, but a tomato nonetheless.

“Are these going in?” I asked, grabbing one.

“The tomato berries? Yea!” He said, expertly slicing an odd-looking berry. “Just make sure you cut them, they’re kind of big.”

For once, I see a berry I can recognize. I didn’t expect it to actually be called a tomato though.

“Oh! Don’t add too many! They’re pretty strong! I had one earlier—“

It’s a tomato, albeit a small one. It’s probably some sort of smaller variety used in soups and things like that. Not sure how a tomato can taste strong though. Darin must have strange taste buds.

“You want to try a tomato berry before we put it in the soup?” He asked. “They’re pretty g— hey!”

Watson was already in the middle of eating the bowl that was full of them.

“I need those!”

Watson barked at him, not caring the slightest.

“I can’t cook with them if you eat them!” Darin said, placing a hand on his hip. “You want soup don’t you?”

Well at least they’re getting along. Maybe I should snag one before Watson ruins the rest.

…

...

They don’t taste like tomatoes at all.

“I guess Watson really likes spicy food.” Darin said, apparently completely oblivious to my pain. “Do you like— Uh, Wilson?”

This is literally the spiciest thing I’ve ever tasted.

Why does it exist?

Why did I think the tomatoes would actually taste like tomatoes?

Why would I think eating this was a good idea?

I can feel the ulcers forming in my stomach and intestines.

“Wilson, are you okay?” Darin asked.

I’m fine, I’m just doubled over because I enjoy being in this position and in pain in general.

“Everything hates me.” I said, suing the counter to keep from keeling over as my stomach decided to ignite itself.

“Okay, let’s get you some water!”

Darin handed me a glass of water.

Thank God.

“I guess you don’t like spicy food?”

“Not at all. My stomach is… delicate sometimes.”

“I can see that.” Darin said, giving me a concerned look. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine in a few seconds.”

Watson has a cheeky grin on his face.

“Don’t even think about it, Watson.”

His grin widened, going from a smirk to a mischievous taunt, a dare.

“If it makes you feel better, I won’t put any in the soup.” He said.

“That would be grand.” I said. “Thank you.”

Darin stirred the pot, then put a lid over it and lowered the heat, leaving it to simmer down into a thicker soup.

“There we go.” He said. “It’ll be done in an hour or so.”

“That’s good.”

He smiled, proud of his soup before he’s even tasted it. It’s a rare expression to see in someone, but it’s a rather pleasant one to see.

His wife must be very happy, although normally she would be the one cooking, right?

… Is Darin married? He has a sibling at least, given that he has a nephew, and his mother was the one who greeted me first yesterday, but he’s never mentioned anything about a wife or children.

“Are you… married?” I asked, leaning against the opposing counter.

“No.” He said, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I sort of figured you would be.” I said. “You seem like the sort of person that would do that… sort of thing.”

A grin spread across his face. “I’m guessing you’re not married either? You don’t really seem like the kind of person that would be.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that. He means no offense, I’m sure, but it still hurts a bit. I should be married by now, and I should have children. I’m in my thirties for God’s sake! It’s not like having children is… difficult after all, it’s a fairly straightforward process!

“I’m not.” I muttered. “Unfortunately.”

“It’s alright.” He said. “You don’t have to get married.”

...Yes I do. What sort of person doesn’t get married?

“Are you… divorced?” I asked. “Separated?”

Maybe that was too personal of a question.

“I never married.”

Odd. Normally a man of his age would either be married or divorced. Well, he’s a bit young for a divorce, but still. It happens sometimes.

Wait, how old is he? He seems to be in his mid to late twenties, but I can’t really tell.

“How old are you anyway?” I asked, shifting the subject.

He rubbed his chin. “32. I know, I look pretty young without a beard.”

He’s that old? I would have placed him somewhere in his twenties with how energetic he is—

Wait, he can grow a beard? I’ve only ever seen him clean-shaven! Then again, he’s only ever seen me with an unruly, poorly-trimmed beard.

…

I’m curious to see him with a beard now.

“Really? And you’re not married yet?”

“You’re starting to sound like my mother.” He said, sighing. “She’s always bugging me to get married and have grandkids for her.”

“Well, have you tried to find anyone?”

“I just haven’t found the right person yet.” He said, knitting his hands together.

Seriously, why isn’t he married already? He’s a good man, I’m sure any woman would want him to be a father.

“I’m sure you’ll find the right woman eventually.” I said, trying to encourage him.

“I’m gay.” He said flatly.

Not sure why he sounds so unimpressed with the fact. Happiness is generally seen as an attractive trait, at least from what women have told me. Although I never really sought them out either...

“Happiness is very attractive.” I said, hoping to cheer him up.

He snickered, nearly giggling. “That’s not what I mean and you know it!”

“...Pardon?” I said, utterly confused.

The grin faded from his face, replaced with shock. Have I said something I shouldn’t have?

“Wilson, do you really not know—“

“...Does gay mean something else here?”

I really hope I didn’t just insult him by mistake.

“Well,” he took a deep breath, preparing for a lecture. “Most people use it to say they’re attracted to the same sex—“

Oh.

Oh.

I’ve heard about those sorts of people. They usually hung out in secret bars, although after the prohibition they probably moved to speakeasies.

Don’t they also dress like women? Or is that something else? I mean, Darin has some feminine traits— cooking being the main one, along with his tenderness and caring attitude— but he doesn’t dress in dresses.

He’s gay, according to him. The churches hate those sort of people, due to their dogmatic doctrine, and often hunt down people they know and lynch them. Psychologists say it’s an ailment of the mind, and treat them as they would any other insane or hysterical person.

“—So yes, I’m attracted to men.”

Why is he telling me this? He could be murdered! He could be locked away! Does he not understand how dangerous it is? With the way he so casually said it, you’d think it’s just some sort of odd habit or hobby he has!

“Wilson, why do you look so worried? Does it bother you that I’m gay?” He said, giving me a sad look.

“Well, I find it a bit unorthodox and it goes against nature, but that's not what I’m worried about!”

He frowned. “Wilson, I’m not going against—“

“Why would you tell me?! Do you know how dangerous that is?”

Darin recoiled a bit in shock, raising a hand in defense.

“That’s not—“ he paused. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Darin it’s dangerous! You could be arrested, or murdered, or thrown into an asylum, or—“

“Wilson!” Darin said, trying to calm me down, failing to realize the gravity of his situation. “That doesn’t happen!”

“Yes it does! It happens all the time! What—“

Darin took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, as though he was about to lecture a small child about something they did wrong.

“Wilson they don’t do those things.” He said, sighing. “I mean, they used to, but they don’t anymore.”

“...What?” I said.

“They used to murder or throw us into asylums, but that was over a hundred years ago.”

He’s giving me a concerned look, knitting his fingers as he continued to explain some basic history to me.

“I don’t know what it’s like in the Alola region, but in Sinnoh we tend to be pretty accepting of that sort of thing.”

That’s actually pretty wonderful. I never thought I’d see the day where people weren’t murdered for something they couldn’t control.

“Oh…” I said. “I didn’t—… I’m so sorry.”

He has that look on his face, a look of hurt and offense. Not shock, mind you, just… regret.

“...So does it bother you? That I’m gay?”

As much as it sort of unsettles me, it’s not really too big of a deal. As long as Darin won’t get murdered, I’m perfectly fine with it.

“Er, not particularly.” I said. “I was more worried about you getting murdered than my own sensibilities, if I’m being honest.”

He looks so relieved, it’s actually almost sad. Did he expect me to not take it as well?

“That’s good.” He said. “So I’m assuming you’re straight?”

“...What?”

“You like women?” He clarified. “Unless you don’t—“

“Of course I’m attracted to women!” I said. “What sort of man wouldn’t—“

He raised an eyebrow.

“Aside from your… type of course.”

“I was just asking.” He said. “After all, you’re not married yet either—“

My reasons for not being married are very different from his. Aside from the fact that I’m in a completely different world, I was never really interested in marriage. Well, I was, and still am, but I just… haven’t gotten around to it.

Another reason why me and my father didn’t get along. He wasn’t all too concerned about grandchildren, but I suppose he thought it was unhealthy to stay unmarried after a certain age. He’s probably right about that, at least.

“I’m just having difficulties finding the right sort of woman.” I said. “Similar to your problem.”

Wait, hold on a moment, why haven’t I found someone yet? It’s not like I haven’t had people ask. I always just sort of brushed them off, busy with either work or science.

I just can’t seem to muster up the attraction to what to start any sort of romantic relationship. This isn’t new, I struggled with this even in grade school, but it’s more apparent now that I’m older and everyone seems to have coupled off.

I mean, there’s a mild sexual attraction towards women, but i haven’t met anyone I’d actually want to start a relationship with. There’s always something about potential partners that would turn me away, and I can never quite tell what it is.

Why? What is wrong with me? Is it the hysteria again? My non-existent wandering womb that’s ruining my attraction? Am I so broken, that I can’t even muster up the ability to do the thing I’m literally designed by evolution to do?

Am I incapable of love?

“Wilson? Are you okay?” Darin said, obviously concerned.

I blinked. “Hm? Oh, yes. I’m alright.”

“...What’s wrong?”

Everything. I can’t go back home, and I’ll never be able to make a new one here. I’ll be stuck like this forever, so detached and isolated from other people that I can’t even form any sort of intimate relationship.

I should have never left the Constant. At least there, I had no chance of meeting anyone. I truly was alone, so this loneliness would be justified by circumstance. Here, however, there’s no excuse. There’s just… a cold loneliness.

I’m going to die alone, aren’t I?

“Nothing.” I said finally. “Nothing is wrong.”

Darin nodded, reluctantly. He knows I’m lying; I have no doubt about it. He’s perceptive enough to see through my terrible lie.

At least he’s not questioning me about it. He wants to, of course, but he’s not going to. Not now at least, although I’m sure some day he won’t be as accepting.

Or, worse, one day it will be too painfully obvious to hide. I’ll do or say something that will… ruin everything.

That won’t happen. I won’t let it happen.

“Alright.” Darin said. “But if you ever need—“

“I’m aware.” I said. “And thank you for, well, everything. I don’t think Imve ever properly thanked you.”

“You have! Multiple times, in fact.”

Ah, so at least I’ve managed to retain my manners at least—

Hold on, I hear footsteps. They are too heavy to be Watson’s or Moon’s, so they must be something bigger, possibly human.

But Darin’s right there, so it’s not him. But then who—

I’ll just keep this knife nearby, just in case.

“Oh! You’re finally awake!” Darin said, craning his neck to see over my shoulder.

The teenager from the party is in the hallway, still in his skull-patterned pajamas, and wearing a bandana over his mouth.

Honestly, they couldn’t be less threatening if they tried to be.

“Hey Darin.” He said drowsily, dragging himself into the kitchen. “Hey, uh, person.”

“Hello.” I said. “How long have you been here?”

“The whole time?”

“Oh.”

How did I not realize there was a whole other person in the house?!

The teenager looked between me and Darin.

“Wait, is he staying here too?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes!” Darin said, smiling.

“Oh.”

Chapter Text

Darin didn’t tell me anyone else was staying with us. It probably slipped his mind, like a lot of things seem to do.

Unless he forgot someone else was staying with us, which is also a possibility, although not nearly as likely.

Well, I suppose I can at the very least introduce myself properly. After all, this is probably pretty awkward for him, and he seems just as surprised that I’m here as I am that he’s there.

Which means Darin didn’t tell him that I was staying. Although, it was rather last-minute.

“Well then, I suppose we should get acquainted. My name is Wilson.”

I stuck out my hand for him to shake it, and gave him a socially acceptable, polite, and hopefully not unnerving smile.

“...I’m Sam.” He said, awkwardly grabbing my hand and shaking it. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Sam.”

He seems very uncomfortable with this whole situation, staring at me with confusion and mild distrust.

Darin definitely didn’t warn him about me, did he.

“You two are getting along!” Darin said, grinning. “I was worried you two wouldn’t.”

“...We just met like, two seconds ago. Well I mean he was at the party, but we didn’t really, like, interact.“ Sam said, giving Darin a look.

“Still! Getting along is good.”

Not sure why Darin was so worried in the first place. I’m not a particularly argumentative person, so unless Sam’s very irritable we should get along. Or, at least, not argue every other minute.

Of course, Sam could be very irritable. He doesn’t seem to be, but he is a teenager, and if I remember my own formative years...

“Oh! I’m heading to the store to get some supplies. Do you two need anything?”

He’s going to the store now? isn’t there a blizzard coming soon? And is he really going to leave me alone with a teenager? I’m not very good with children.

Well, Sam here isn’t a child, but the point still stands. Darin’s far too trusting of strangers for his own good.

Well, since he’s going, I could use a razor. It’s been a while since I’ve shaved, and I could use a shave. I don’t need the hair for warmth anymore, and it’s not like the beard hairs are of any use here.

“A facial razor?” I asked. “I haven’t shaved in awhile.”

“I’m good.” Sam said.

“Alright! I’ll be back soon! Don’t destroy the house while I’m gone!”

With that and a happy wave, he was gone, off to buy what he needs and more than a little extra.

“He’s gonna be gone a while.” Sam said, staring at the door.

“Knowing how Darin shops… yes, he will be gone for quite some time.”

“Cool. Means we got the TV.”

Sam flopped down on the couch, grabbing one of the television remotes. I sat down next to him, watching as he pressed buttons on the remote which seemed to change the channel. Funnily enough, I can’t see the dial that would normally change the channel on the television itself, meaning that if they lost the remote they wouldn’t be able to change the channel.

“Anything you wanna watch?” He asked. “Because I ain’t really finding much.”

“Not particularly.” I said. “You can choose.”

Watson hopped up onto the couch, wedge of himself between me and Sam, seemingly jealous.

“Oh, the luxio is yours?” Sam said, scooting over to make more room for a Watson.

“Yes.” I said, petting Watson on the head. “Sorry if he caused problems yesterday.”

“Yea, he got into a fight with my pyukumuku.”

Is that a pokemon? It sort of sounds like a stomach disease. Or maybe some sort of material used as insulation.

I blinked. “A what?”

“Here.” he said, taking out a pokeball from his pockets. “Don’t worry, he ain’t too big.”

He released what looks like a cross between a slipper and a cucumber, complete with poisonous-looking spikes and what looks like a rabbit’s tail.

“It looks… interesting.” I said, staring at the thing currently sitting (?) on the floor in front of us. “Did you name it?”

“Duh. Do you have any idea how hard it is to say “pyukumuku” during a battle?”

Sounds like a tongue-twisting nightmare, especially in the quicker fights.

“I named it ‘Pecha’.”

“Pecha?” I asked. “That’s far easier to pronounce.”

It’s a very nice name, and it sort of fits, depending on its temperament. Pecha berries are very sweet after all--

Oh, Watson’s growling.

“Watson,” I said. “Don’t even think about it.”
He continued to growl, ignoring what I said. His hair stood up, making him look far more intimidating than he actually is.

“Do you want to go back to your pokeball?” I threatened.

Watson stopped growling, sitting back down on the couch, still glaring at Pecha.

“Behave.” I said.

Why on earth is Watson so hostile towards the pyu-muku? It hasn’t done anything as far as I know, and whatever scuffles they’ve had were probably Watson’s own fault anyway.

Perhaps he’s just territorial.

“Dang.” Sam muttered. “Didn’t think you’d get it to listen to you.”

“He only listens half the time.”

Watson also only listened because he hates his pokeball for some reason.

“I should probably put Pecha back huh?”

“That would be a good idea.”

Pecha went back into its pokeball, and Watson immediately calmed down, going back to his comfortable position between us.

Sam absentmindedly switched channel after channel, becoming increasingly bored and frustrated with the poor choice in channels.

“So why’d you throw up in the sink anyway?” He suddenly asked, turning off the television.

That’s a rather… intrusive question. Wait, does everyone at the party know I threw up in the sink?

“...I would have assumed Darin told you?” I said.

Unless he was the poor soul that had to clean it up. Honestly, I would have cleaned it up the next day, but you can’t really leave that sort of thing in the sink overnight.

“I mean, he told me you were drunk after drinking a bunch of wine.” Sam said, sinking deeper into the couch.

“Alcohol is a poison. The body’s main way of getting rid of that is vomiting, unfortunately.”

“Yea, but like, why did you drink so much anyway?”

Is everybody going to be asking me these questions?

“...Sometimes people just do things like that.” I said.

“That’s a pretty stupid answer.”

“It was a pretty stupid question.” I snapped.

Oh, I don’t like the tone I just used. He’s just curious after all, he doesn’t know better. He’s just a kid, there’s no need to be so harsh and cold.

He averted his eyes to the table, either out of shame or shyness.

“Erm, Sorry.” I muttered. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s cool.” He muttered back.

Watson shifted a bit, scooting closer to me.

“So you’re from Alola?” He asked, redirecting the conversation away from last night.

I nodded. “...Yes.”

“Really? You’re, like, super pale, and ya don’t really talk like you’re from there either…”

I didn’t expect to meet anyone actually from the region. I also didn’t expect to not look like someone from the Alola region either. I suppose I could say that I just grew up there, and that my parents were from somewhere else...

“Actually you kinda talk like an English teacher.” He said. “Like, the kind you see in those old black and white movies.”

Movies aren’t in monochrome anymore? Wait, they have sound?!

Did the television shows have color and sound too? I wasn’t really paying attention, and he was switching between them far too quickly for me to be able to tell.

I’ll have to look into this later on, along with all of the other things I need to look into.

“I can… still be from an area and not look like it.” I muttered. “Wait, how would you know anyway? Are you from Alola?”

“Yea!” He said, smiling behind his bandana. “Used to be part of Team Skull before we disbanded.”

“Team Skull?”

What on earth is Team Skull? Is it like Team Galactic? Does it have something to do with the bandana?

Why is he wearing a bandana over his face anyway? It’s honestly making it difficult to read his facial expressions and it’s bothering me for some reason. I’d ask him to take it off but I feel like it’s important to him.

Perhaps it’s a cultural garb? Is that what people from Alola wear? I must stand out more than I thought...

“Yea. I ain’t a part of it anymore though. We kinda disbanded, and Big Sis, Guzma, and the other grunts all kinda scattered.”

“I see.”

I’m not sure who any of those people are, but I assume they were close. Parents possibly? Although people don’t usually call their parents by their first names.

He sighed. “I know the group wasn’t exactly the best thing ever, with all the vandalism and stuff, but I still kinda miss them.”

He’s hugging his knees now, and he has a rather sorrowful expression that is clearly visible on his face, even with the bandanna covering half of it.

“If it makes you feel any better, I had to leave behind some family as well.” I said.

“Aren’t you kinda old for family? Like, aren’t they all dead?”

They might as well be dead, with how far away they are. Even if they weren’t so far away, we still wouldn’t be talking to each other. Those bridges burned to the ground a very long time ago, either from neglect or disease.

Why would he even ask a question like this? It’s very disrespectful and rude to ask about someone’s family like that! What if they were all dead? What then?

“I’m only in my thirties!” I said, my voice raising in volume. “Why would you ask that?!”

“Really? You look a lot older.” Sam said, either ignoring or not hearing my question.

I look exactly like a man my age should, thank you very much!

Er, maybe a bit rough around the edges. I could use a clean shave…

“I think it’s the beard.” He said. “Kinda makes you look like a grizzled lumberjack.”

A grizzled lumberjack? Not a feral man from the woods? An improvement, at least, although it’s still a bit insulting.

Although with the amount of trees I’ve had to cut down, I may as well be a lumberjack.

“Like, if you had bigger muscles, you could probably get away with telling everyone you’re a lumberjack—“

“How old are you?” I asked, interrupting his ramble about lumberjacks.

“16.”

“You look… your age.”

He looks exactly like you’d expect a 16 year old to look. Maybe a bit younger because of his height and bandana.

“Hey!” He said, apparently taking offense to that.

“It’s true.” I said. “You look your age. It’s not something to be ashamed of.”

“Yea, but you don’t gotta say it!”

“Alright.”

Okay, we’re getting nowhere. Every time we seem to have something in common, something else drives us apart.

“...Ya Wanna go play something?” He asked, wanting to change the subject.

“...What do you mean? Are you talking about those video games?”

“Yea!” He said, holding up a small, thin box with some artwork on the cover. “I got Dark Destroyer. You can be Calvaneer.”

I’m not entirely sure if I want to go through the frustration of having to figure out the remote again. Also, what is a Calvaneer?

“I’m not very good at these sorts of games…”

“It’s cool.” He said, flopping into the couch. “We can do the easy stages. I gotta farm from them anyway.”

Farming? What does farming have to do with this? Is that what you do in this game?

“Farm?” I asked. “As in planting crops?”

“Nah.” He said. “These guys here drop metal scraps I need to upgrade my weapons.”

“Ah.” I said, pretending I understand.

But I don’t understand. Not at all. Why does he need scraps? He has armor? What is it for?

Oh, he means in the game. I knew that, of course! I was just testing… myself...

“You wanna try the first level?” He asked, offering the controller. “It’s easy!”

“I’m… alright.” I said. “I can just watch.”

“Ya sure?”

I nodded. Honestly, this game looks far more complex. It isn’t a simple game where all you do is jump, and judging from the way his fingers are flying across the remote, it isn’t any slower either.

Wonder what the point of this game is. I mean, it’s entertainment, I understand that part, but—

Blood suddenly splattered across the virtual ground, coating the grass, trees, and rocks with a deep, crimson red.

I hate to say I flinched.

“That was a close call!” Sam said, unbothered by the gore. “He would have killed me.”

“Certainly.” I muttered.

What even happened? Why is there blood? Why would a game need to have blood?

I don’t like this, at all. How is he so okay with this amount of blood?! What sort of game would have this? Why is it bothering me so much?

Why does it look so realistic?

“Dang it!” Sam said, sighing in frustration. “Okay let me—“

The character was fighting some sort of massive, humanoid creature. I don’t know what it is, and I really don’t care. Either way, it’s too much.

The character raised its sword and swung, tearing a hole in the creature’s skull, splitting it open and sending more blood across the grass.

I involuntarily flinched, jerking an arm up in defense.

Deep crimson droplets splattered across the grass and rocks. Pools of blood ran down the path like streams, carrying bits of soil along with it.

“Scare ya?” He asked, grinning at me.

My stomach is all quesy. The sudden noise, along with the sheer amount of blood on screen, is just nauseating. It reminds me of the time in the caves—

No. I’m not going to have a panic attack now. If I just don’t look at the screen, maybe I can stave it off until later.

“You okay dude?” He asked, his grin behind his bandana fading. “You’re all scrunched up and shaky.”

“I’m fine.” I said. “I’m just not a huge fan of… blood.”

“I can play something else—“

No. I’m not going to let my hysteria ruin his fun. It’s not even real blood! It shouldn’t be bothering me as much as it is.

“No, you can enjoy your game. I can always just leave—“

Sam’s looking at me with a concerned expression. He clicked a button on the controller, bringing up a different screen, and put the remote down on the couch.

I should have just excused myself from the room and gif in the bathroom. As much as I hate looking in the mirror, it would have been better than ruining his fun.

“...Do you have like, PTSD or something?” He asked, the screen turning black as he removed one silvery disk and put in another.

I’m not entirely sure what PTSD is. It’s probably an acronym, but I have no idea what it means or stands for. It sounds like it’s related to hysteria, specifically a subset of some kind, but that’s just a guess based on the situation. It could be a bone disorder for all I know.

“No?” I said. “What makes you say that?”

“Darin said you probably have it.” Sam said, sitting back down on the couch. “I mean, you are kinda jumpy, and you don’t like blood—“

So Darin’s been talking about me, and making assumptions about my medical history. Wonderful.

Wait, am I really so skittish? Furthermore, is it that obvious? I’m not hiding it as well as I thought I was…

That’s not good. Does anyone else know about my hysteria? Has Darin told anyone else?

Why didn’t I hide it better? I mean, I’m not surprised Darin knows, but everyone else?

What has Darin been telling them?

“...What else did Darin tell you?” I asked. Hopefully, he didn’t say anything too incriminating.

“He said you get nightmares a lot, and you can get kinda loud.” He paused. “I think he told me that so I didn’t freak out if I heard screaming.”

Ah. I would have liked it if he hadn’t told him about the nightmares, although I suppose it was necessary. Hearing someone scream in the middle of the night isn’t good for a good night’s sleep.

Actually it would probably ruin a person’s sleep schedule for at least a week, especially if you never found the source.

...Am I really that loud? How does Darin get any sleep? Have I been keeping him awake the whole time I was here?

Maybe staying here was a bad idea. I know I’d probably freeze to death during the blizzard, since I didn’t have any time to prepare, but I’m also preventing everyone else from getting sleep.

“Anything else?” I muttered. Honestly, I really don’t want to hear what else Darin has been saying, but knowledge is knowledge, and not knowing this might clear up some confusion down the road.

“You get panic attacks sometimes too.” He added, pressing a button on the controller.

He didn’t have to go around telling people about my hysterical fits! Darin, I swear to God…

Why would he do that? Do I bother him when I have them? Do I bother anyone else? It’s not like I tried to have them.

“Of course he told people about the panic attacks.” I said, burying my face into my hands. “I’ll apologize in advance then—“

“Dude, you don’t have to apologize! I get ‘em sometimes too.”

“...Pardon?”

“I have like… anxiety and stuff.” He said, rubbing his arm in mild discomfort. “It sucks. A lot.”

...Oh. I didn’t expect anyone else to have them. I mean, I knew it was a possibility, but I didn’t realize it could be someone I’d actually meet.

“Oh.” I said.

Are they common? I don’t remember hearing about them a lot back home, although that’s probably because the family would keep that sort of thing private. For obvious reasons of course; Having a family member who has hysterical fits ruins the family’s reputation, and calls into question the rest of the family’s health. To avoid that, they used the asylums to—

...Well that sounds awful now that I’m thinking about it. They didn’t have any other choice, of course, but it’s still awful.

Wait, has Sam been to an asylum? Did he escape? Is that why he’s staying with us?

No, I’m jumping to conclusions. It’s most likely that he never went, and he’s just staying for… reasons.

He probably wouldn’t have been able to escape an asylum anyway. They tend to have very high security, and the inhabitants are usually either tied up or sedated beyond reason.

Wait, what if he has a panic attack? Do I help? Do I just let it pass? I can badly deal with my own fits, let alone someone else’s!

“—You spacing out?” He asked, waving a hand in front of my face.

I flinched. “Erm, Yes.” I muttered. “Sorry.”

“It’s cool.”

He’s awfully understanding for a teenager. I remember being rather… stupid at that age, and quite a bit less accepting of things than I am now. The things I said to that poor old woman from church… I hope I didn’t hurt her sensibilities too much.

“I put in a different game.” He said. “This one isn’t bloody.”

He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t have to change his games just because of my sensibilities. It’s not like I’m in any actual danger, it’s just hysteria. It’s just an irrational reaction to something harmless.

It’s borderline idiotic.

“...Thank you.” I muttered. “Although, you really didn’t have to.”

“I was bored with that one anyway.” He said. “Plus, I’m not gonna trigger your… whatever thing you have just so I can play a game.”

He wasn’t bored with it, with how engrossed he was earlier. Although he was nice enough to change games, which is… embarrassing.

At least he isn’t berating me over this. Er, not that he would. I’m at least a decade his senior, so it would probably be uncomfortable for him to lecture an adult, but still. He’s a lot more understanding than a lot of people would be.

Most people would have been far more rude. They would have said that it’s not that bad, and I need to stop overreacting. They’d be right, I am overreacting (not that I mean to), but it’s still a rude thing to say to someone.

…

…

What is wrong with me?

-

The front door flew open with a powerful kick. Darin, dressed in winter clothing and carrying far more bags than I would have thought possible waddled in, the layers of clothing and plastic restricting his movements.

Wait, how did he even manage to open the door? Did he not lock it? Or did he break the lock with his kick?

“Darin? Do you need help?” I asked, getting up from the couch.

“Yes please.” He said, his voice sounding strained.

Me and Sam helped him with the bags. They were mostly canned and dried foods, although there were certainly a few odd items here.

“Why on earth did you get so much?” I asked.

“I, uh, got a bit distracted.” He said sheepishly. “I did get you a razor though!”

Sam rudely rolled his eyes at Darin’s response, continuing to put things away as Watson curiously sniffed some of the bags.

“A bit distracted?” I repeated.

“Just a little bit.” Darin said, grinning sheepishly.

“Yea he does that sometimes.” Sam said, unloading some bags. “Actually a lot.”

Well, at least she got me a razor. Or, at least, he called it a razor. Honestly it looks a bit like a toy.

Unlike most razors, rather than being a single blade, it has multiple smaller ones, along with some sort of gooey material plastered just above them. Rather than having a wooden handle and a whetstone to sharpen it, this one has a plastic handle and replacement blades.

Wasteful, honestly.

“...Thank you Darin.” I said.

“You’re welcome!” He said, rummaging through the bags. “I got you some shaving cream too!”

He handed me a bottle of shaving cream. This doesn’t look too different from what I used to use, aside from the more brightly-colored packaging and plastic cap.

Oh! It’s pleasantly lavender scented!

“Do you guys need help with the bags?” I asked.

“Nah, we’re good.” Sam said.

“Alright.”

I'll go shave then. It’s not like I’d be of much help with putting anything away. I don’t know where anything goes after all, and I’ll probably end up doing something stupid like putting the milk in the pantry.

Although I’m not sure how I’m going to use this razor. I’ve never seen a razor that has multiple blades, or one with such a flimsy-looking handle that looks like it would snap at the slightest force applied. Plus, with the way the razors are arranged, my beard hairs would probably get lodged between the blades, causing uncomfortable and embarrassing nicks and cuts.

I’m not going to be able to use this. Not without a lot of frustration and misery. Wonder if I have any flint left in my bag to make a crude razor—

Ah! Here we go! I actually have a few pieces here, and this one looks like it should be sharp enough to be able to shave with. If not, I could always sharpen the other pieces.

And, while I can’t use the razor, the shaving cream he got me will work. Plus, it has instructions on the back of the bottle, so I won’t be able to mess that part up at least.

-

It’s been a while since I shaved. Normally I’d wait until spring, but I think I’ll be warm enough to risk shaving early. Besides, it’ll start gathering leaves if I don’t shave it now.

It’s also been a while since I’ve used shaving cream or a mirror while shaving. It’s quite nice actually; the flint glides over my skin, rather than getting stuck on whatever blood or dirt is on my face. The mirror makes it so I can actually see what I’m doing and get all the hairs, rather than finding a patch I missed later on.

...I’m getting hair on my gloves. Oh well, I’ll wash them later in the sink.

“...Dude are you shaving with a rock?”

Sam is standing in the doorway, probably needing to use the restroom. He nearly gave me a heart attack with how suddenly he appeared.

“...Maybe.” I said. “Do you need to use the restroom?”

“No.”

He’s still watching me for some reason. Is it really that weird? It’s just a more primitive version of a straight razor, so it’s not like it’s a new invention.

“You are literally the weirdest person I’ve ever met.” He finally said, leaning in the doorway. “Why are you using a rock?”

“Well, it’s flint.” I said. “It’s sharp enough to get a close shave if you do it correctly.”

And if you flake it every ten minutes. That part can get tedious at times. Unfortunately, it’s necessary for safety. A dull razor can be dangerous, especially when you accidentally slash your face because you put too much pressure on a scab, and misjudged where your cheek bone was.

That one didn’t scar, thankfully.

“Didn’t Darin get you a razor?” Sam questioned, still seemingly not grasping the relation between flint and sharpness.

It’s still a reasonable question though. Darin did get me a razor, so it would be reasonable to assume I’d be using it over, say, a rock.

“I didn’t like it.” I said, shaving off a chunk of hair on my neck. “It felt odd.”

“You know what’s really weird?”

“What?”

“The rock looks like it’s actually working.”

“Well.” I corrected. “And I’ve had practice.”

“You‘ve shaved with a rock before?”

I didn’t mean for that to slip. Although, it’s probably obvious that I’ve done this before. Most people wouldn’t already be nearly halfway done with shaving if it was their first time.

“Yes.” I said. “Many times actually.”

He stared at the hair in the sink.

“You got a lot of beard.”

“Mm-Hmm.” I said. “Puberty was an… interesting time for me.”

“I’ll bet. Probably sucked.”

He’s still watching with interest, for some reason. After a few more minutes, he walked off, either getting bored with the awkward conversation or wanting to go tell someone else about my odd habits.

I hope he just got bored.

-

There we go! A nice, clean shave. Er, as close as you can possibly get with flint. There’s still some fine stubble that I won’t be able to get off without skinning myself, but it’s perfectly serviceable for now. It’s barely noticeable unless you get really close, so it’s really only going to bother me.

Although, my facial bones are even more prominent now than they were before, pushing out from areas that used to be obscured by hair. The dark bags under my eyes aren’t helping anything either.

Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. My face was already rather noticeable. Shaving probably just made whatever scars and bones people could see all that more visible.

Oh well, it’ll grow back soon enough. Worse case scenario I can just bar myself in the guest room until it grows back, which won’t take more than a few days.

Speaking of guests, I should probably go see what the others are up to. They’re probably doing something interesting.

Or they’re just talking about the fact that I just used a rock to shave.

“Hello.” I said, walking into the living room.

They’re both sitting on the couch, each holding one of those gaming remotes, seemingly engrossed in whatever game their playing.

“Hey Wilson!” Darin said, glancing over. “Did you—“

His eyebrows shot up.

“Wilson?” He asked, shocked for whatever reason.

“Yes?”

Is he alright? He nearly dropped the remote, and he looks a bit red. Does he have a fever?

“Okay, now you look like an old-timey professor or something.” Sam said, looking over from the couch. “Like a Victorian English professor. I think it’s your hair?”

I’ll take that as a compliment.

“Thank you, Sam.” I said.

“You’re welcome, professor Wilson.”

Ew. “Professor Wilson” doesn’t sound right, at all.

“Don’t call me a professor.” I muttered.

Darin still looks a bit dumbstruck, he stood up, walking over and standing in front of me, staring at my face. He’s actually making me really uncomfortable.

“Darin? What’s wrong?” I said, taking a step back. “Did I miss a spot?”

“No no!” He said, also taking a step back. “You just look really… different without a beard, that’s all!”

He’s way more surprised about this than he should be. At least Sam’s acting normal. Mostly.

“Hey Darin—“ Sam started, looking suddenly interested.

“Sam, don’t you dare!” Darin said, whirling around.

Sam just grinned, putting his hands behind his head.

“Hey, I wasn’t gonna say anything! Although you’re looking a bit red there—“

“I’m going to go make dinner!” Darin said. “It’ll be fast so no one has to help!”

Darin quickly hurried off into the kitchen, nearly knocking over a table on his way towards the kitchen.

“...Is he alright?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s totally fine.” Sam said, leaning back on the couch and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “Actually, I’d say he’s doing great!”

“Are you sure? He looks ill—“

“He gets like that every now and then.”

Sam looked over at me, his grin fading.

“...He ain’t about to have a panic attack if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Actually, that’s precisely what I was about to ask him. Although, it probably would have been an awkward question.

“Are you certain?”

“Yea.”

Sam knows Darin better than I do, so I’ll trust his judgment.

“Do you know what he’s making for dinner?” I asked.

“Probably soup.” Sam answered, returning to his game. Thankfully, this one doesn’t look like the one from earlier.

Actually, it looks very different from the one earlier. It has a much brighter color pallet, and seems to be more about exploration than combat.

“...What are you playing?”

“Bean Town.” He answered. “I know, the name is really stupid, but it’s fun.”

He offered me the second controller.

“You wanna play co-op? Darin didn’t get too far in with his character.”

“...Alright.”

I gently took the controller. I keep forgetting just how light it is. You’d expect an object this size to have some heft to it, but it is unsettlingly light and fragile.

“I am warning you, I’m very bad at games.” I said, awkwardly fumbling with the controller.

“It’s cool.” He said. “It ain’t too hard.”

“So you say.”

We’ll have to see about that. His definition of difficult is vastly different from mine, so there’s a rather high chance that this game will still be too difficult for me.

But that’s alright. I don’t really mind. It’s colorful and pleasant enough to just watch him play, and the couch is comfortable enough to not be bothered by the lack of activity. Plus, whatever Darin is cooking is starting to waft into the living room, and it smells absolutely delicious.

Maybe the winter won’t be so bad after all.

Chapter Text

Flint.

It’s always flint for some reason.

I have plenty of rocks and gold, but for some reason I always run out of flint. Unfortunately, it’s needed for a variety of everyday tools and devices necessary for survival.

Oh well. At least I have a thermal stone, so I won’t freeze to death in the cold. It’s temporary warmth, but still warmth.

Besides, Chester’s with me, happily following me through the forest. That always makes things better, even if only slightly. Despite his smell and inability to defend himself, he’s quite the companion. Maybe, when I escape from here, I’ll try to bring him with me.

Although, that might not be possible. Actually, it’s most likely a terrible idea, even if I actually can escape with him. Even if I manage to get out, I most likely won’t be able to bring him with me. Not that he’d enjoy my house anyway. Not much around other than forest and a cobble road.

Plus, I doubt the town would react kindly to him. I could, perhaps, pass him off as a sort of exotic dog breed, if people only see him briefly, but that’s assuming he’ll behave. He certainly won’t—-

What was that noise?

Somewhere, among the evergreens and snow, a twig snapped, breaking the silence with a sickening cracking noise. I can feel eyes boring into me from somewhere, watching us as we travel.

We’re being stalked.

...Or, maybe, I’m just beginning to lose my mind. I get a bit paranoid as my mental state deteriorates, so maybe the cold is starting to mess with my head and make me hear things that may or may not actually be there.

And Them. I’m beginning to see Them as well. That’s not a good sign. Maybe they’ll leave me alone for a little while.

…

I don’t hear anything else. Whatever was following us must not have noticed us, or it did and decided we weren’t worth it’s time.

We should still get going, it’s going to be night soon, and I only have enough to make a single torch, which won’t last very long at all.

At the very least, the day was productive. I have some berries and seeds, as well as a small morsel of meat from a stray rabbit I managed to slay. Of course, Chester doesn’t need food, so--

Another twig snapped, this time a bit louder than the last.

It sounded like it came from the coniferous trees to our left, but it’s a bit hard to tell.

…

Maybe it was a gobbler. Or, perhaps, a spider. They often build nests in forests, so it wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary for a spider or two to be wandering around.

Ah! There’s one, skittering around trees a fair distance away. As long as we keep our distance, it shouldn’t bother us. In fact, I might have to come back eventually, as I’m running low on spider glands.

Problem is, it’s not dusk. Spiders only come out around dusk, unless something disterbed their web.

What could have disterbed a spider’s nest and escaped? A pigman is strong enough to kill a few spiders by itself, although there would be sounds of combat nearby if that was the case. A hound could also escape mostly unharmed, although they’re quite a bit louder than a few twig snaps. I’d be hearing howling and barking, and there’d almost certainly be more than just one. No, whatever this thing is, it’s silent. Silent and powerful.

Trees rustled in the wind. A small branch broke right beside us.

What is this thing? I don’t see anything! Is it the Gru? It’s not quite nighttime yet, so it shouldn’t be.

I suppose it would be a good idea to get my spear ready, wouldn’t it? I don’t really feel like wasting a meat effigy over this--

Another twig snapped. It sounds like it’s right behind us-- dangerous close, but there’s nothing there. The path behind us is empty, and the trees are beginning to thin out.

My heart’s pounding. Where is this thing? Is it invisible? Why is it so silent? Is it one of Them?

Whatever it is, it’s obviously not too keen on revealing itself so easily.

“Show yourself!” I said, brandishing my spear. “Now!”

I don’t expect it to listen to me, but maybe I’ll get some sort of reaction. Something other than another goddamn twig snap.

To the left, a twig snapped.

Then to the right.

Then above.

I think it really is invisible. Surely something can’t move that fast without making more noise! What on earth is it?

Maybe there’s nothing there. Maybe I’m just paranoid, imagining danger where there is none.

Maybe I’m just completely insane.

“Chester?” I muttered. “Do you see it?”

He’s just panting like a dog, oblivious as ever. Not sure why I even bothered to ask. He’s too blind, stupid, and oblivious to be of any real help.

“Nevermind.”

Maybe I’m just going insane. It has been a while since I’ve done anything enjoyable, so I might just be beginning to… break down.

That’s it, I’m just--

Something placed it’s hand on my shoulder, digging its claws ever so slightly into my shirt.

-

I’m sweating. It’s not a cold sweat either, it’s a warm, sticky sweat that sticks to the warm blankets and Watson’s body heat.

This isn’t the Constant, it’s my bed. My uncomfortably warm and messy bed. I must have been thrashing around in my sleep.

At least I’m safe. It was just a dream, albeit a rather vivid one. Not quite as terrifying as the others I’ve had, but still quite unnerving.

...Although, I can’t quite shake the feeling of being watched. There’s predatory eyes on me from somewhere, but I can’t quite figure out exactly where.

Eugh, I need to remind myself to never sleep again. Can’t have nightmares if you don’t sleep.

At least it wasn’t a bad one this time. Other than the very end, it was rather tame. Not nearly as horrific as some of the others I’ve had at least, which is a good sign.

Why am I so uncomfortable? It feels like there’s something hard underneath me. Did I break the bed somehow? Or did Watson put something there?

Watson grumbled in irritation when I moved, disturbing the warm pocket he made for himself in the blanket.

“Sorry Watson.” I said.

He grumbled, going deeper under the covers, not accepting my apology in the slightest.

Oh well. At least I found the source of my discomfort, which turned out to be the vial. Somehow, I had managed to wedge it underneath myself during the night.

The fabric around it is starting to unravel a bit. That needs to be fixed, before someone sees it.

The nightmare fuel slid around the inside of the vial as I lifted it off the bed and started to read-wrap it. It’s leaving behind small droplets of black that stained the glass as the main drop slid by, sort of like how a water drop would leave behind smaller drops as it slides down a window.

...that’s not how it normally behaves—

“Wilson? Are you awake?” Darin asked from beyond my door, knocking rhythmically.

“Yes.” I said, re-wrapping the vial and hanging it back around my neck, tucking the glass tube itself back into my shirt. “Good morning.”

“Good morning!” He said, opening the door enthus d red. “I made breakfast!”

“I’ll be there in a moment.”

Darin closed the door. Watson peeked his nose out from under the covers, enticed by the promise of food.

“Hungry?” I asked, lifting up the blankets.

Watson nodded, although he’s still not too keen on leaving the bed.

“Come on then. Let’s go eat.”

-

Darin and Sam are already at the table. Darin, being the cheerful morning person he is, is trying to have a conversation with Sam who, by contrast, looks about as awake as a dead man. With how tired he looks, I’m not sure how he’s managing to keep his head up.

Sam’s also wearing a rather puffy sweater. I suppose he’s not a fan of the cold, even though it’s comfortably warm inside the house.

Moon is sitting on the table next to Darin, eating some berries out of a bowl.

“Hello Wilson!” Darin said, waving at me from the table.

“Yo.” Sam muttered, half-asleep.

“Hello you two.” I said, grabbing a chair and sitting down, with Watson hopping up onto the table to greet Moon. “You three, I should say.”

Sam is nursing a cup of coffee, while Darin seems to be on his third cup.

“Would you like some coffee?” Darin asked. “It’s fresh!”

“Gives you life, yo.” Sam said, rubbing his eyes. “Might wanna grab some before Darin drinks the whole pot.”

“I’m not a huge fan of coffee.” I said, sitting down.

“How about tea?” Darin asked, already getting up.

“Tea would be nice.”

Darin went into the kitchen, leaving the four of us alone with our thoughts.

Sam sluggishly took another sip of his coffee, then rested his head on his fist, trying desperately to keep himself awake. He sort of looks like a bored student that a teacher is going to have to smack with a ruler.

It’s also the first time I’ve seen him without a bandana over his mouth. It’s a bit shocking how different he looks, with a bit of fuzz on his chin and a little black ball just under his lip—

Hold on, Is that a lip piercing? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone with that. I’ve seen ear piercing, but nothing this… noticeable.

“Is that a… piercing? On your lip?” I asked.

“Huh?” Sam asked, barely registering what I’d said. “Yea.”

“I’ve never seen anybody with a lip piercing.”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, squinting to see through the fog of grogginess and through the apparent stupidity of my question.

“Dude, did you live under a rock or something? They’re, like, everywhere.” He mumbled, drinking some more coffee.

“Ah. I didn’t notice.”

“Be nice you two!” Darin said, coming in with a plate of toast and some tea.

“Thank you Darin.” I said.

He placed the plate in front of me as well. On it is some toast, eggs, and some berry cobbler from the party.

“I figured you were hungry.” He said, sitting back down in his chair.

I took a bite of the eggs. “Thank you.”

Darin gave me a warm, comforting smile, continuing to drink his coffee.

“So why are you staying with us?” I asked Sam, trying to strike up a conversation and keep him awake. “Er, not that it’s a bad thing—“

“It’s cool.” He took a sip of his coffee, seeming a bit more awake now that he has caffeine in his system. “Mostly because of the blizzard. I’m trying to get all the badges here, but I don’t have any fire-types, and freezing to death doesn’t sound fun, ya know?”

“I see.” I sipped my tea. “Did you get the… stamps in the Alola region already?”

I hope they use stamps there, otherwise I’d seem like an idiot.

“Yea. Beat the Elite Four too.”

The Elite Four are supposed to be the best trainers, correct? How could someone so young beat them? Unless I’m a worse trainer than I thought, and this sort of thing is ordinary.

“Really?” I said.

“Congrats!” Darin said.

“Yea.” He took a bite of his toast. “After Team Skull broke up, I tried the island challenges again, beat them, then went for the elite four. I didn’t expect to win to be honest.”

So in this young man’s short sixteen-year life, he’s already beaten whoever the elite four are and probably has a few badges under his belt.

I couldn’t even do one. Granted, he’s had sixteen years of experience, and I’ve only had little more than a month. So, it’s excusable.

But they don’t know that, do they?

“Yea.” He said. “Still gotta do a few gyms here though, then I can battle the elite four here.”

“...That’s good.” I muttered. “I haven’t even gotten a badge yet—“

“Well you’ve only been here for a little while.” Darin said, trying to assure me.

“Yea! The stamps you got in Alola count for something too!” Sam said. “You have some of those right?”

“I didn’t get any stamps.”

Sam’s eyebrows raised a bit. Darin’s furrowed.

“Wait, seriously? How old are you?” Sam asked.

Darin was trying to signal Sam to stop, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. I suppose it is a bit of a rude thing to ask, but Darin’s overreacting a bit.

“33.” I said flatly. “Er, maybe 34 by now.”

Sam stared at me with confusion, trying to grasp the fact that a man my age doesn’t have a badge or any sort of equivalent. I suppose I’m a bit of an oddity, a man my age should have more accomplishments after all, badges being one of them.

Although, I was close to getting a badge at some point. But I was unable to finish the battle since it was, let’s say, interrupted.

“Why?” Sam asked. “Do you suck at battling—“

“Sam!” Darin said, with an uncharacteristically sharp voice. “Be nice!”

Moon and Watson perked up at the sudden noise, Watson being mildly irritated, while moon seemingly interested.

“I’m just asking!” Sam said. “Because it’s totally okay to suck at—“

“It’s okay. I’m sure you’re a great battler, Wilson!” Darin added, giving me a smile.

It’s not very reassuring.

“Thank you, Darin.” I said. “But Sam is correct. Battle if isn’t one of my strengths.”

“Yea, but everyone has at least one badge—“

“Sam.” Darin warned, trying to shut down the conversation before it gets too far. “That’s enough!”

Sam sunk down into his chair. “Sorry.”

I’m not sure why Darin is so determined to shut this down, unless he saw what I did to the Mightyena. That would explain his behavior.

God I hope he doesn’t know about that.

“Well,” I took a bite of my toast. “There is another reason.”

“Which is…?” Sam said, making a circling motion with his hand to encourage me to continue.

Darin was giving me a concerned look, nervously taking a sip of his drink.

“Battle info makes me a bit… uneasy. I don’t like seeing Pokémon get wounded, and…”

Something in Sam’s brain clicked, and his eyes widened a bit.

“Ooohh is it because you don’t like blood or violence or whatever?” Sam said, making some connections.

“That’s half of it, yes.”

“Yea I probably should have guessed.” Sam said. “Guess it kinda makes sense.”

I took another bite of my toast. Like all things Darin makes, it’s delicious. Simple, yet flavorful.

Oh, I forgot to take my supplements again. Maybe I can take them later, assuming they work after meals as well. Probably should have asked the doctor that question before I left.

Actually, getting a follow-up would probably be a smart idea. I’m sure I have some medical malady that needs to be addressed. At the very least, a check-up would ensure that everything is as okay as it can possibly be at the moment.

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed as he thought. “So then why—“

This time Sam cut himself off, before Darin could even give him a look.

“Never mind.” He muttered.

Alright then. Not sure what he was about to ask, but at least I don’t have to answer any more questions.

Sam wordlessly poked at his food, while Watson and Moon continued eating. They’ve switched bowls at some point, apparently getting bored of their food.

“We should totally go camping.” Sam said, breaking the silence with a rather random question.

“We are certainly not going camping.” I said. “Do you see the weather outside?!”

“Well duh.” Sam said. “We can go camping in the spring or summer or something—“

The blizzard is currently battering the house, howling and rattling anything that isn’t securely fastened down.

A lump is forming in my throat. I need to stop looking outside, since it’s not doing me any good.

“We are not going camping.” I repeated.

Oh, they’re both staring at me. Did I say something wrong? I suppose barring them from going camping just because I have an irrational fear of the outdoors is rather… rude, especially since I’m the only one who seems to have a problem with it.

“...Er, you two can go camping if you’d like.” I muttered. “Although I’d advise you two to wait for the winter to be over.”

“Well, duh!” Sam said. “Dude, I’m from Alola! I can’t handle the cold! Why do you think I’m wearing, like, five sweaters right now?”

“...You’re wearing multiple sweaters?”

“Well, yea.” He muttered. “I get cold easily, don’t judge me!”

“I wasn’t?”

Not sure why he’s so defensive. Is it embarrassing to get cold easily? I get cold rather easily, although it might just be due to my weight.

“You don’t like camping?” Darin asked, giving Sam a mildly concerned look.

“I’m… not a fan.” I admitted. “I’m not really an outdoors-y person. I’d rather stay home and read—“

“Nerd.”

“Sam.” Darin said.

“I honestly love the outdoors!” Darin said, smiling. “I love the flowers!”

Flowers are nice, although me and pollen have some disagreements regarding my sinuses.

“I assume that’s why you’re living in Fluorma?” I asked.

Darin nodded. “Exactly!”

He’s excited, as usual. His ability to get excited over the mundane will always amaze me. Where does he get all of his energy from? Does he drink that much coffee?

“I quite like the flowers as well.” I said. “Will the snow kill them?”

“Yes.” Darin said, deflating a bit. “But they come back in the spring! We actually have a festival celebrate it!”

“Festive.”

“Lotta pollen though.” Sam said. “Like, way too much pollen.”

“Pollen is not that bad!” Darin said.

“When it paints your house yellow it is.”

Wonderful. I’ll get to discover if my seasonal allergies are still a problem here.

Although a festival would be nice. Wonder what they celebrate specifically. Is it spring? A Pokémon? A certain type of flower?

Suppose I’ll have to find out.

“...May I have some more tea?” I asked, staring into my empty mug.

“Of course!”

-

This is very good tea. A little on the sweet side for my tastes, but it’s strong. Strong, yet somehow not bitter, and leaves a warm feeling in my stomach.

Normally, whenever I’d be feeling something involving my stomach, it would be hunger. If not hunger, then fear. If not fear, then pain. An endless cycle of discomfort revolving around starvation and injury is finally broken, at least for the time being.

What even causes that sort of fear anyway? The hunger and pain have an external cause, but not anxiety, not fear.

Is it hysteria? Or whatever Sam mentioned I might have? PTSD I think it was? What even is that?

“...So what is PTSD?” I asked.

Darin stopped mid-bite, then gave Sam a questioning look. Sam gave him an awkward shrug in response.

I feel I’ve just made a grave mistake.

“It stands for post-traumatic stress disorder.” Darin said, putting his food down. “It’s a mental illness.”

So it’s some sort of disorder of the mind, possibly some sort of branch or subset of hysteria. Actually, it might be the male version of hysteria.

“So is it the male version of hysteria?” I asked.

Darin’s cringing a bit, like what I just said had given him physical pain. Sam’s just confused, staring at me like I just said something stupid.

“Not quite.” Darin said. “Not at all actually.”

“Yea hysteria hasn’t been a thing since, like, the fifties.” Sam said, looking at me with confusion and suspicion.

Oh. That’s nice to know. Wonder what they call it now.

“Ah.” I muttered. “What does it… do?”

“Okay so it’s kinda like… uh… hold on let me think.” Sam said, trying to figure out how to explain it to me.

Sam thought for a moment, then suddenly got an idea.

“Okay, you know when you step in a puddle with socks on?” He said.

“Yes?” I said. “It’s very unpleasant.”

“Okay, so imagine that after that you suddenly don’t want to ever do that again. Like, just the thought of it makes you all anxious and stuff.”

This isn’t really explaining much. A lot of things that I’ve done I wouldn’t want to do again. Is there a distinction between trauma and that?

“...Go on.”

“So it’s like that! Instead you just gotta think of the whole stepping-in-water thing as the traumatic event!”

“Alright?” I said. “Is… is that it?”

Sam nodded. “Yep! I mean, the actual trauma stuff is a lot worse.”

“Oh.”

Sam’s grin faded, getting replaced with discomfort and self-awareness.

“That wasn’t a very good explanation was it?” He said, shifting a bit in his chair, clearly uncomfortable.

“Sort of.” Darin said, giving him a reassuring smile. “You’re half-right, although stepping in a puddle isn’t really a good stand-in for trauma.”

Sam crossed his arms, although not in anger, just out of habit. “Yea, truama’s way more intense.”

They’re still not explaining exactly what it is. Something about trauma? They keep throwing that word around, but I’m not sure what it is exactly.

“What is trauma?” I asked. “Is it… bad?”

“Well duh.” Sam said.

“Sam!” Darin said. “Be nice!”

Sam sunk down into his chair. “Sorry.”

Darin took another bite of food before continuing.

“Trauma is a deeply depressing or distressing situation or event.” Darin said, wiping crumbs off of his face. “It can also mean an injury but that’s not the kind we’re talking about.”

A deeply distressing event? Is that what causes PTSD?

“Is that what causes PTSD?” I asked.

“Yea!” Sam said. “I mean, not everyone who goes through shit—“

“Language.” I said.

“—goes through stuff” he corrected, “gets PTSD.”

Oh. Wonderful. So if I do have it, it means I was unlucky and weak enough to be susceptible to it.

Because of course I am.

“Oh.” I said. “Thank you for the explanation.”

Do I have it? Are there symptoms?

“What are the symptoms?” I asked. “Since you two seem to know a lot about this sort of thing.”

“Flashbacks are a big one.” Sam said. “And—“

“Flashbacks?”

“It’s when you think you’re back when the trauma happened. Like a nightmare, but awake.”

That sort of sounds like my projections, which is… unnerving that enough people experience them for it to have a name.

“Go on.” I muttered.

“And you get a lot of nightmares, unwanted memories, depression, anxiety, sense of isolation, and isolation! Sounds fun right?”

No. That is literally the least fun-sounding thing I could ever think of, save for the nightmare of trying to write a thesis on rocks for a class.

Unfortunately, the nightmares, isolation, and unwanted memories are all things I seem to experience, which means I might have PTSD.

“No.” I said. “It sounds awful, actually.”

“Yea it probably sucks.” Sam said, eating.

Does it go away? Can it be cured? Although, since it’s probably a disorder of the mind.

“How would someone go about getting rid of it?”

Darin and Sam both exchanged a look.

“You kinda don’t.” Sam said.

“Oh.” I muttered.

So I’m stuck with it. It’s going to be a part of me forever. I’ll never not have nightmares, or flashbacks, or that awful sense of anxiety and isolation that comes with it.

I’m going to be broken forever.

“It can get better though.” Darin said, probably trying to make me feel better after he saw the look I had in my face. “With therapy and some time the symptoms can become a lot more manageable.”

Manageable, but never cured. What’s the point of managing something if it will never go away? How do you manage it anyway? With therapy?

God, I should have never asked. If only I had never built that god-damned portal, I wouldn’t have gone to the Constant. I wouldn’t be so lost. I wouldn’t be stuck having nightmares and feeling so disconnected from everyone.

“Uh, Wilson?” Sam asked. “You okay?”

Both Sam and Darin are looking at me with concern.

Honestly, I’m glad they’re here. Even if they weren’t as knowledgeable on this subject as they are, just the fact that they both seem to care about me (despite Sam just meeting me, and everything I’ve put Darin through), is very touching.

“I’m… alright.” I said.

“...Why were you asking anyway?” Darin asked, clearly trying to coax something out of me.

“I was just curious.” I muttered. “Sam mentioned it earlier, and I didn’t quite realize what it was.”

“Oh.” He said quietly, seeming a bit disappointed. Well, maybe not disappointed, but he did just lose a little hope in something.

Sam just looks really uncomfortable, although he always seems ever so slightly uncomfortable in any given situation.

-

I hate nighttime.

Mostly because— aside from the obvious connection to Them and the Constant— it’s rather boring. There isn’t a whole lot you can do, thanks to the cold, shadows, and God-knows-what lurking outside of the campfire.

Er, not anymore. Now it’s mostly boring because everyone else is probably asleep, and I can’t really do anything productive (such as letting Cirrus out or train Watson) without making too much noise.

Perhaps I should take the time to read and study. After all, this sort of peace is hard to come by. Besides, it’ll be the first time I’ve had the chance to actually sit down and read it.

...Although I may have to close the curtains first. You can’t study if you’re constantly reminded of being half-frozen to death—

Oh. Watson wants something.

“What’s wrong Watson?” I asked, turning around in my chair.

Watson’s sitting in the middle of the floor, looking up at me with a mixture of annoyance and stubbornness.

In other words, nothing seems out of the ordinary, other than the curt bark he used to grab my attention.

“Are you alright?”

He barked again, getting up on all fours.

“...You’re not really explaining anything, you know.”

He frowned, walking over to me and jumping up onto the table, getting between me and the book.

He’s jealous. Of the book.

“Oh, you just want some attention, is that it?” I said, stroking his head.

He smiled, sitting down on the table and letting me pet him.

It’s honestly a bit odd. He’s normally not this physically affectionate. He’ll tolerate it on occasion (this morning notwithstanding), but he rarely seeks it out.

“I didn’t realize you were the affectionate type.”

I’m getting fur all over my gloves now. While the black fur blends in, the blue fur really stands out on the fabric.

I should take them off.

Well, maybe only one. I’m just Watson, after all. It’s not like petting takes two hands.

I took off my glove. Scars, ranging from bites to burns to slashes crawled up and down my arms, condensing around my forearm and hand, yet gradually thinning out the higher on my arms they got.

It’s actually quite impressive how varied these scars are. Some are from hounds, others are from Deerclops or Bearager encounters that went sour.

And, of course, there’s quite a few from Them. The wounds from them are always eerily clean and deep, yet just as, if not more, painful than a hound’s. Especially from those terror beaks.

Ergh.

I wonder what would have happened if I had never gone into the Constant. I never would have these scars, I wouldn’t have contracted PTSD, I wouldn’t be here.

Maybe I would have had a family by now. A few children who go to school, a wife who would take care of them. I’d be a father, working… whatever job I would have had to support them. Perhaps I could introduce them to science, and let them explore the wonders of the world with new eyes.

They’d love me. Every day I would home to a loving wife and children. Every day I would be greeted with open arms and a warm, bright house rather than the cold emptiness of my room. Every day I would, despite my oddities, be welcomed home and valued. I wouldn’t be shunned or cast aside just because I decided to become a scientist rather than a doctor.

I think that’s what I want. A home. A family, if possible. A place that I can feel welcomed and comfortable around—

The door opened, and Darin rushed in. He froze in place once he realized my glove was off.

“Sorry! I should have knocked!” Darin said, cringing.

“You should have!” I said, quickly scrambling to get my glove back on. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I just wanted to say hello.”

“Oh…”

Silence.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, then walked over to where I was.

“Wilson, what’s wrong?” Darin asked, sitting down in my desk chair, carefully pushing the Pokémon encyclopedia away from the edge.

Arguably, everything. Not sure how he knows though.

Well, I suppose I can humor him just this once. It can’t hurt, after all, and it’s not like he’s going to somehow use whatever I tell him against me. He’s far too kind to do that.

I sighed. “If I’m being honest, I think I just don’t know what I want to… do.”

“Do?” He asked. “Do what?”

“With my life, I mean.” I clarified. “I used to want to be a scientist of sorts, but circumstance crushed any hope I had of that dream. I had to stop my education, and now what little I know is horrendously outdated.”

“I’m sure you’re not too far behind. You could still become a scientist, or even a Pokémon professor!”

“Maybe.” I said. “But...”

Darin nodded, listening with care. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to get into a more comfortable position.

“I’m estranged from most of my family, and then I had to leave a lot of them behind…”

“Is that why you’re here instead of Alola?”

He’s missing a rather large chunk of time and information, but he’s close to the truth.

“Yes.” I muttered. “I just don’t know if that’s… possible anymore.”

Darin moved from the desk chair to my bed, causing it to creak with the added weight.

He’s actually sitting rather close to me, causing a small dent in the mattress that pushed us just a bit closer. So close, in fact, that our shoulders are practically touching.

Normally, I would hate this sort of contact. Normally, anyone touching me would give me a projection— er, flashback. Normally, I would push him away.

But, for some inexplicable reason, I don’t mind.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Darin said, lifting a hand up as he talked. “You have a fresh start. Whatever was so bad there that made you come here isn’t here.”

True. My father isn’t here, and I don’t have to listen to him judge my career choices anymore. The people here are far more accepting of oddities and expression, so I’m not as restrained or shunned.

This place also isn’t the Constant, which has its own wonderful little obstacles and challenges regarding trying to rebuild your life.

It’s honestly quite nice—

I flinched. Darin had put his hand on my shoulder. I think he tried to do it slowly but—

“Sorry!” Darin said, quickly moving his hand. “I forgot you didn’t—“

“No, it’s okay.” I said. “It was… okay.”

Darin looked confused for a moment, then cautiously put his hand back on my shoulder. I had to force myself not to flinch again, instead tensing up at the contact that’s a bit too close to my neck.

…

It’s not as bad as it normally is.

...

This is nice, actually.

Actually, no, this is a bit more than nice. This is amazing! I’m not so sure why I’m so excited about this, but I am!

Maybe it’s because I’m finally… comfortable. I’m comfortable right now. I’m okay. There’s nothing attacking me, nothing trying to eat me. Nothing is trying to tear the flesh off of my shoulder.

…

I’m… comfortable, mostly. The wind howling outside isn’t settling my nerves any, but…

Why am I so comfortable? I wasn’t this comfortable around anyone else, even before the constant, aside from perhaps my mother. Even the women I’ve dated didn’t make me feel this… comfortable and welcome.

Why Darin of all people? Is it because he’s so unthreatening? Is it because he’s so kind? Is it because he put up with a lot of my problems yet doesn’t berate or shun me?

Why does he seem to care so much about me anyway? We’re essentially strangers to each other! We know next to nothing about each other!

…

Why am I not as bothered by this as I should be?

Chapter Text

Where… am I?

In a hallway. Specifically, a hallway that’s lined with iron-wrought lanterns and black-and-white photographs, although all of the faces are blurry, torn and unrecognizable. Unrecognizable, aside from my own face in a few of them. Strange to see how young I was when these were taken. In some of these, I couldn’t even grow a full beard yet.

There’s other photographs as well. The largest (and most recognizable) one is of a young man in some sort of military uniform, holding a rapier while standing proudly on a pile of rubble. He looks like me, aside from his eyes and nose, and has a small smile on his face. Odd, considering how long it takes for photographs to capture an image. It would be painful to hold a smile for that long. And that position can’t be comfortable either, especially with those pants.

His picture is also rather… massive. It’s taking up a rather large portion of the wall, towering over me and overshadowing a lot of the other photographs.

He seems rather familiar too. Since he looks so much like me, I’m sure we’re related in some way. Is he my grandfather? Uncle?

...Father?

“Coming to dinner Wilson?”

That voice. It’s gruff, and holds little friendliness towards me, despite the statement being an invite to dinner.

“Dinner?” I said, turning to face the man who startled me. “Now?”

An older version of the photographed military man was standing at my side, giving me a calm, stern look (he seems to have a resting stern face), looking me over with a critical eye. His left leg was shaking from the weight of his body, and he was using an oak cane to keep himself upright.

He shouldn’t need a cane. He’s only in his fifties after all, not old enough for his bones to start breaking down. His hip’s to blame— it’s been torn apart thanks to some sort of ailment the doctors couldn’t find.

The smell on his breath is unmistakably alcohol, probably some sort of whisky or moonshine. It’s probably what destroyed his hip, in all honesty.

“Yes, now.” He said, walking forward with heavy steps. “We’re all waiting for you.”

I pushed myself against the wall to give him some space to walk past.

“I’ll be there soon.” I said.

He turned his head, nodding in affirmation before heading into the bright whiteness at the far end of the hallway.

Apparently, people are waiting for me. I don’t remember agreeing to a dinner party, although I can be forgetful at times. Wonder who’s going to be there.

Do I follow him? Is he going to dinner? It’s not like there’s anywhere else he can go. After all, the other end of the hallway is pitch black, so I doubt anyone would set up a dinner party in that direction.

Even if they did, I certainly don’t want to go in that direction. Something about how dark it is makes me uneasy.

I’ll follow him then. Not like there’s anywhere else to go. After all, that black void isn’t giving me any comfort. Actually, it’s giving me a great deal of anxiety for some reason.

Hold on, a few more of these photographs seem familiar. I think a few of them are my uncles? Cousins? Siblings? They’re too blurry and damaged to make out. Not sure why anyone would even bother hanging those up, with how—

Ow! What even—?!

Oh, it’s just a chair. A chair next to a table. A long, intricately carved table, line with guests from the photographs. Most of the guests had blurry, featureless faces.

“Have a seat.” The man from the hallway said, now sitting at the far end of the rectangular-shaped table.

I sat down, staring at the empty plate in front of me. It’s fine China, and very clean. I think the silverware may be actual silver as well.

“Hello Wilson.” A much kinder, warmer voice said. “How are you today?”

The person speaking is sitting next to the man from earlier, holding his hand with a gentle tenderness that few could match. I can’t make out her face through the blur, but she sounds so familiar…

“I’m doing alright.” I said, shifting in the chair.

This chair isn’t very comfortable. Despite the cushion, it’s rather hard and stiff, laden with odd bends and splintery carvings.

“That’s good.” The man grumbled, scowling at a thin, black crack that ran down the middle of the table. “At least something pleasant is coming out of this blasted dinner party.”

“Don’t be like that dear.” She said, kissing him on the cheek. “We finally got to see our son! It’s been so long.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He said, his expression softening. “Welcome home, son.”

I’m home? I’m actually home? These are my parents?

I’m close to tears, but I doubt my father would be happy if I cried in front of him. It’s a sign of weakness. Too “womanly” he’d call it.

“I missed you two.” I said, holding back tears. “Quite a bit.”

“We missed you too, sweetie.” My mother said. “Who’s your friend?”

Friend? I don’t remember anyone accompanying me. In fact. I distinctly remember being alone here.

“Friend?”

I turned. A tall man with a pale complexion was sitting next to me on my left side, rapping his claw-like fingers on the table impatiently.

Maxwell.

“Maxwell.” I said, through gritted teeth.

“Hello, Maxwell!” My mother said, all-too cheery to see a monster.

A grin spread across Maxwell’s face “Hello, Mrs. Higgsbury.”

Why is he here? He’s dead! He turned to dust! Why was he even invited in? I certainly didn’t invite him.

“Why are you here.” I said, leaning over and whispering as low as I could while still maintaining my disdain. “You’re dead!”

“You should be asking yourself the same thing.” He said, staring at the crack on the table that had widened slightly, picking splinters of wood off of the table. “Last I checked, you were on the throne.”

Nobody else seemed to mind the crack in the table. They were all happily chatting away with other, even more blurry people in the other chairs. That is, of course, aside from my father, who is actively staring at the crack as it widened ever so slightly. His scowl turned into mild worry, and he took a rather large sip of wine.

“What sort of answer is that?!” I demanded, still trying to keep my voice low.

Maxwell didn’t respond. He just continued to pick at the table, tearing some splinters up from around the crack. He looks ever so slightly worried, although he’s probably just making the situation worse just by existing.

“I’m not staying here with you.” I said, getting up from my chair.

“Wilson, sit back down.” My father said, tearing his attention away from the crack and up to me, his all-too-common look of disappointment glaring back at me like a mirror.

“I’ll be leaving.” I said, giving him a glare of my own. “And I won’t be coming back as long as he’s—“

Pitch blackness. That’s all I turned around to. The hallway that had been there was gone, replaced with an endless chasm of darkness that stared back at me like a hungry beast.

Good God, was that always there? What’s going on? Why do I feel so… small? It feels like it’s going to consume my very soul if I look at it for too long.

“Oh.” I muttered, sitting back down in the chair.

“That’s what I thought.” My father said, straightening his back a bit and wincing as his bones protested.

“Dear, be nice.” My mother said.

“Quiet you.” He growled back, not in the mood for dealing with her today.

She nodded, resigning herself to picking at her food in silence as usual.

Everyone seemed to have fallen into a silence. Tension you could carve like an ice sculpture filled the air. I suppose my attempt to leave must have upset everyone, somehow, and for some reason.

Why does everyone seem so… stressed out? Even Maxwell and my father keep staring at the crack on the table, like they expect it to do something terrible. Maxwell’s picking at it with an increasingly nightmarish hand, while my father simply covered it up with his plate and napkins.

Somethings behind me. I can feel its presence like a bad omen. It’s cold, and causing my stomach to churn.

It’s gotten closer, whatever it is.

Rather than being at the beginning of the hallway, the void was now right behind me, and was slowly spreading along the baseboard and looking at my Father’s end of the table.

He took another nervous sip of his wine, having finished an entire bottle of wine and is reaching for another from a compartment in the table.

“Wilson?” He said, his voice slightly slurred. “How is your schooling fairing?”

“Well.” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged, drinking some more. “Well, I just wanted to make sure you chose something—“

My mother perked up a bit, then grabbed his forearm, whispering something to him. He gave her a stern look in return, electing to ignore her words.

“—something reasonable, for once.”

“Reasonable?” I said. “Such as?”

“Such as a doctor or lawyer. Have you grown out of this science phase yet?” He finished, yanking his arm away from my mother and turning his full attention towards me.

No. We’ve had this discussion before, and we’re not having it again. Especially not at the dinner table.

“Father.” I said, in warning. “My answer hasn’t changed.”

“I didn’t expect it to.” He said, taking another swig and finishing off a second bottle. “I didn’t expect much from you anyway.”

That hurt. Quite a bit.

“I beg your pardon?” I growled.

“All I’m saying is I didn’t expect much from you anyway.” He said, narrowing his eyes. “Did you want me to?”

“Yes!” I said. “After what you’ve said before—“

“I’ve said you were a failure before.” He said. Pointing his fork in an accusatory manner at me as he slurred through his accusatory spiel. “Now I’m just disappointed.”

I swear to God. Coming here was a mistake. Not that I had a choice in the matter; familial obligations and whatnot.

“I’m not a failure.” I said through gritted teeth.

“You are.” He said. “You’re weak, and a failure. You have the brains to be something productive like a lawyer or doctor, but you chose science. You can’t do anything productive with science.”

“Yes you can!” I said, slamming my fist down on the table for emphasis. “And I’ll prove it!”

My mother flinched. Maxwell looked very uncomfortable.

“Sure you will.” He growled, returning to his food.

“I will, you absolute—“

“Watch your tongue, young man.” He said, glaring daggers at me.

Manners. He cares about manners right now?! I swear to God—

Hold on, is my mother shaking?

“Mother? Are you alright?” I asked. “You look—“

My mother suddenly grabbed his arm again, tighter this time, her nails digging into his arm.

“Woman, what do you w—“ he said.

She’s shaking, and clutching his arm like a lifeline. She coughed a few times, dropping an alarming amount of blood onto her plate full of food. She tried to cover her mouth. But it continued to flow through her fingers.

What’s wrong with her? Is it some sort of throat ailment? Is it tuberculosis? I so dearly wish I could help her, but I’m too far away. Even if I was closer, there’s nothing I can do.

My father’s closer, but he’s completely clueless. He can’t help, and isn’t doing a good job at comforting her. He’s just sort of awkwardly patting her back like you would a baby, trying desperately to get her to speak, although she’s far past that point.

What do we do? Should we call a doctor? What can they do for her? It seems like it’s far too late…

The crack on the tables has widened substantially, being nearly two inches thick.

“Maxwell, I don’t suppose you have—“

Maxwell isn’t there anymore. What’s in his place is one of Them, specifically a terror beak. It’s only response was an unholy growl as it tore open the crack in the table more, causing it to ooze a black liquid that pooled onto the table.

God, They’re here. How’d they even find me?

“Father, we need to get out of here—“

He looked up, pausing from his futile attempts to rouse my mother.

“I can’t just… leave her…” he said, the void behind him shifting and writhing like a pile of maggots.

My mother’s laying face-down on the table, a steady stream of red and black pooling around her face, dripping onto the floor and staining the wood.

“There’s nothing that can be done.” I said.

He nodded. He let go of her, and stood up to follow me. He grabbed his cane—

He stumbled, grabbing onto the table to keep himself steady.

Cracks formed where he was gripping the table, and they began to leak a black fluid that animated itself and tangled around his wrists, trapping him to the table.

“Father?” I said.

I tried to get up, but something dug into my arms and pulled me back down. The terrorbeak next to me was smiling, along with a few others of Them who were sitting in a few of the other chairs at the table.

“Father!” I yelled, trying desperately to escape the chair.

But I can’t. The chair has me bound, and has morphed into a spitting image of the nightmare throne, shadow hands and all.

Hands came out of the void behind me as well as the table and dug into my flesh, drawing blood.

I screamed, a hand clawing across my face. Through its fingers I can see my father, still clinging to the table with that frightened look on his face. Tendrils from the void behind him rested on his shoulders and wrapped tightly around his throat and chin. One even wrapped around his eyes and mouth, slowly pulling the void closer to him.

“Father—“

A hand covered my mouth, digging into my cheek.

The void engulfed him. The table split and shattered like glass. Everything else was being absorbed by the endless darkness, including the other guests. Including my mother.

I’m alone. They’re gone. The darkness ate them alive, it seems.

There’s no one that can help me. They’re all gone, either because they ran or because they were absorbed.

Hands covered my eyes. Other hands dig into my limbs, pinning me as the darkness swallowed me whole.

I can’t see anything. I’m stuck under a mass of writhing and clawing darkness.

I’m stuck.

-

My face is wet, as is my pillow. My eyes hurt, and my chest is tight.

I’m crying, for some reason. Not out of fear, but just out of… sadness.

Emptiness.

What an awful dream. Not terrifying until then end, but certainly rather… realistic. That dinner party in particular seemed unsettlingly familiar.

Watson nuzzled my hand.

“Hm? What’s wrong Watson?” I asked, moving my hand away from his face.

He’s giving me a worried look.

“I’m alright.” I said, rubbing my face with my glove. “It was just a dream, nothing more.”

He doesn’t believe me.

At least the blizzard is over. No more howling wind or endless snow. Hopefully we won’t get another blizzard for a while.

…Where’s Darin? Usually, by now, he’d be knocking on my door, asking if I’m awake.

Is he okay? Does he not feel well? Is he ill?

I should go check on him.

“Darin?” I asked, knocking on the door to his room.

“You can come in!” He called back, his voice sounding hoarse.

Moon is curled up next to him in the head, raising its head once it hears the door open, staring at me with those curious, unsettling eyes.

“Are you alright?” I asked, standing respectfully in his doorway. I don’t want to go into his room without his permission. “You sound rather terrible.”

“I’m fine!” He said, coughing a bit. “I just have a bit of a cold.”

I don’t have enough medical knowledge to tell exactly what’s wrong with him, but that wet cough isn’t doing him any favors. It’s more than a cold, certainly.

“You don’t sound fine.” I said. “You actually sound rather ill.”

“I’m okay, Wilson.” He said. Trying to assure me.

He’s not okay. He’s pale, his voice is hoarse, and he’s coughing.

What if it’s tuberculosis? Or something similar? My mother had that same wet cough at the beginning of her illness, and while I don’t remember anything else, I do distinctly remember having to burn everything she touched because it was so contagious.

We had to burn everything. Absolutely everything.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, rubbing his eyes and peeking into the doorway. “Oh you look like shit.”

“Language.” Darin said. “And… yes. I think I have a cold.”

“That sucks. Uh, ya want me to make you some soup? We got veggies.”

“You don’t have to do that—“

“Yea I’m definitely making some soup. Hey Wilson, ya wanna help?”

Of course I want to help! I’m not going to let Darin be both hungry and sick! That’s just cruel.

“Yes.”

-

Darin is sick. Symptoms include paleness, wet coughing, and loss of energy. I’d examine him a bit more, but I’m in the middle of slicing vegetables for a soup. It would also be an invasion of privacy.

He says it’s a cold, although a cold probably wouldn’t leave him in bed all day. Most likely, it’s something a bit more serious, such as the flu or scarlet fever...

Or tuberculosis.

What if it is tuberculosis? He could end up coughing up blood like my mother and—

“Dude, are you okay?” Sam asked, pausing from cutting vegetables. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m just… cold.” I muttered, a lump forming in my throat. “Very, very cold.”

The image of Darin coughing up blood is unsettling.

Deeply unsettling.

Unfortunately, despite it being completely imaginary, it’s refusing to lead my brain.

God, what if he really does have tuberculosis? Or something similar? What if he never recovers?

What if he dies?

“Ya want a sweater? Darin’s got a bunch.” Sam offered. “He only wears like three of them.”

“No thank you.”

I think I’m going to be sick. Just the thought is making me queasy.

Oh no. I think this is the beginning of a panic attack. How do I stop it? Can I stop? I could go hide in the bathroom until—

“You’re worried about Darin aren’t you?” Sam asked, interrupting my train of thought.

“Of course! Aren’t you?” I said.

“Well, I mean yea. I kinda always am, but still. It’s just a cold. I know it’s kinda hard to just chill, but… chill.”

“What if it’s not just a cold?” I asked. “What if it‘s the flu, or tuberculosis?”

“Tubercu- what?” He said, tilting his head slightly. “You gotta use smaller words, man.”

“It’s a lung infection, a very dangerous and infectious one. People who have it start off with a wet cough that eventually evolved into coughing up blood as the infection damages the blood vessels in their lungs.”

Sam wrinkled his nose.

“That sounds really gross.” He said, scratching his chin behind his mask. “And painful.”

“It is.”

“And kinda scary.”

“It is. It claimed my mother when I was really little and—“

I shouldn’t have said that.

Why did I say that?

Sam’s looking at me like I’m a lunatic now.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t need to hear that.” I muttered. “Just forget you heard that—“

“Oh that’s why you’re freaking out so much!” Sam said. “Okay that makes a lot of sense. I was wondering why you looked all… scared.”

Wonderful. Why do people have such good hearing when you don’t want them to hear something? It’s honestly extremely annoying.

I suppose it is rather silly. Just because my mother died from it doesn’t mean Darin has it. It’s quite unlikely that two people I know would die from the same disease.

“So was she and alcoholic like your dad or what—“

I damn near cut my finger off. Why is he asking me so many questions?! Who in God’s name told him about my father’s alcohol problem?

Darin. Darin probably told him. As a matter of fact, I’m certain he told Sam, because he can’t keep anything private to save his life.

“Whoa. Okay, yea, that was a stupid question. Sorry, sorry.” He said, probably seeing the look on my face. “Sorry.”

“For your information, she wasn’t. Don’t ask me questions about my family ever again.” I said curtly.

“Okay.”

Maybe a bit too curtly. He doesn’t mean any harm, it’s just…

I need to stop snapping at people.

“Er, I didn’t mean to sound so… hostile.” I said. “It’s just a bit of a sore subject.”

“I know, I know.” He said, rubbing his face. “I just always do that. I know it’s a stupid question but I can’t stop it from coming out, ya know?”

I know that very well, although his questioning seems a bit extreme.

“Questions are a good thing to ask.” I said, trying to assure him. “It’s just—“

“I know.” He muttered. “It’s stupid.”

Not stupid. He’s just seeking knowledge, after all. Although I wish he would choose more… appropriate questions to ask.

“It’s not stupid. Just a bit rude.” I said. “Asking questions is a healthy and reasonable thing to do, and your curiosity shouldn’t be squelched because of sensibilities.”

“I know, but it’s just…”

He sighed.

“You know when you think of something to say and then say it but you didn’t want to actually say it?” He said, using his hands to help explain what he’s saying. “Like, it just sort of… came out?”

“Yes?” I said. “Go on.”

“Well I do that all the time. Like, every day. It’s actually a problem.”

“I’ve… noticed.”

“And I asked Darin about it and he said it might be ADHD but, I dunno… It just doesn’t fit, you know?”

He’s worried he has some sort of behavioral ailment as well. I have no clue what ADHD is, but he seems to know what it is so I’ll trust his judgment.

“I’m not entirely sure if ADHD would fit, but you could possibly try gathering more data about yourself…” I said, scratching the back of my neck. “Such as other odd mannerisms and habits so you can… narrow it down?”

Sam thought a moment, his face going from mild hopelessness and despair to a spark of hope.

“Actually yea.” He said. “That might help.”

At least I was of some help today.

“You wanna help out?” He asked. “Please? It’ll be fun!”

He of all people should know that I’m far outside my field of knowledge with this sort of problem.

“Erm, I’m probably the last person you’d want to ask for this sort of thing.” I said. “I don’t think—“

“You’re a scientist right? Or tried to be one? That means you’re good at making observations and stuff right?”

“...Yes.”

“All you gotta do is observe me and see if I do anything weird!”

There’s a few problems with this. For one thing, a lot of the things he does that I found weird is just what people do here. Secondly, I don’t know what I’d be looking for. Odd mannerisms? Blotches on this skin? Sleep patterns?

But I can’t just say no. I don’t want him to feel… hopeless about this. It would be cruel to just say no without even trying.

“I will… try.” I said. “Although, I’m most likely not going to be of any help.”

“Hey, a little bit of help is better than no help!”

I suppose he’s right in that regard.

“Alright.”

“Yes!” He said, pumping his fist into the air. “Yo we gonna solve this— oh shit the veggies are burning!”

“You turned on the stove before we were done chopping?!”

“Well we were chopping pretty fast until we started talking so—“

“Turn it off!”

-

“The soup’s pretty… good!” Darin said, choking down the first bite and giving us a faux smile.

The smoke currently being aired out of the kitchen isn’t supporting his lie in the slightest.

“Dude, you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.” Sam said. “I know it probably tastes like broken hopes and dreams.”

“It’s honestly not that bad.” Darin said, forcing himself to swallow another bite. “My throat’s just a bit sore.”

Ah, a sore throat is a good sign. A sore throat isn’t a symptom of tuberculosis. At least, I’m pretty sure it isn’t.

Perhaps it really is just a cold.

“Do you have any medicine?” I asked. “Aspironal?”

“I have no clue what that is so no.” Darin said. “Actually I think I threw out most of the medicine I had because it was expired.”

“You forgot to buy more?” Sam said.

“I forgot to buy more.” He repeated, with some embarrassment in his voice.

I’m not surprised he forgot to buy medicine, since Darin can be rather forgetful at times. But not having any Aspironal is odd. Er, it is 10% alcohol, so that might be the reason. That, or they don’t have it in this world.

“I suppose we could go get some.” I said. “The blizzard stopped after all, and I do have some money.”

“Wilson you don’t have to do that—“ Darin said.

“I do. You’ve done a lot for me, so the least I can do is get you some medicine.”

“Can I come?” Sam asked.

“Sure.”

-

The store is busy again. I suppose a lot of people are low on supplies after the blizzard, but this is ridiculous! How does this town have this many people and not have a bigger store?!

There’s so many people brushing up against me. If they could all just stop existing for a few moments that would be splendid.

It’s a good thing I left Watson behind with Darin, otherwise he’d certainly get either lost or trampled. Or get stuck on top of the shelves and destroy the wiring in the lights.

Ergh, my stomach is beginning to churn again. Why do I feel like everyone is staring at me? Most of them can’t see me anyway!

It’s like I’m being watched.

“Hey do you know where the medicine aisle is?” Sam asked, craning his neck to see above the crowd. “Because I have no idea.”

I stood on the tips of my toes, trying to see above the sea of people and pokemon and push those anxious thoughts out of my head.

“I don’t know either.” I said.

“Crap.” He muttered.

We continued to weave our way through the crowd, avoiding people and pokemon alike.

Eventually, we reached an aisle that was rather vacant. It was filled with summer gear, which may explain why it was so empty and quiet.

“Huh. Beach stuff.” Sam said, picking up a plastic shovel. “We could make snow-castles.”

Wouldn’t that just be an igloo? Or does that only apply if it’s ice?

I’m too tired for these questions.

“As opposed to sand castles?” I asked. “It might work, if the snow is damp enough.”

There’s no medicine here. There is, however, a selection of women's bathing suits. Why these aren’t in the clothing section is… actually quite understandable, considering what season it is.

“Hey Wilson look!”

Sam’s wearing one of the bottoms on his head like a hat. A rude, vulgar hat.

“Will you take that off!” I said. “This is a store not a—“

I’ll just stop myself right there. What I was about to say shouldn’t be said out loud.

“A what?” Sam asked, genuinely confused.

“Never mind.” I muttered, waving my arm. “Just take it off!”

He took it off, plopping it on the shelf he grabbed it from.

There has to be medicine somewhere around here. I just hope wherever it is isn’t too far, since I don’t know if I can handle the sheer amount of people—

Hold on, I see a red cross. If I remember, that’s a universal symbol of health and medicine. Er, inter-universal I suppose.

“I think I found what we’re looking for.” I said. “Do you see it?”

“Yea! You found it!”

“Let’s go.”

-

I don’t recognize half of these medicines. Now, not recognizing the name wouldn’t be a problem, since brands can vary yet still do the same thing, but I can’t even recognize what the ingredients are! And it doesn’t help that half of them are in Japanese.

The boxes aren’t exactly the most helpful either. Most of them just have pictures of (admittedly adorable) Pokémon or beautiful landscapes. Neither of those things have anything to do with medicine.

“Sam? Are you finding anything for… whatever is wrong with Darin?” I asked, praying to God that he knows more about this than I do.

“I found some allergy stuff, so no.” He said. “Oh hey cough drops!”

Cough drops? Those should help with his coughing and sore throat.

“Don’t get any with menthol in them.” I said. “He doesn’t like alcohol.”

“Okay?” Sam said, flipping the bag over to read the ingredients.

Not sure why he’s so confused. I mean, menthol isn’t quite the same as drinking alcohol, but it’s still considered a type of alcohol. Unless they changed the classification of alcohol.

Or maybe it’s just different here? It might be, since rather than considering it an alcohol you could always just put it with—

“So why do you always wear those weird gloves?” Sam asked, tucking the bag under his arm and pointing at my arms.

What? Why is he asking that? Where did that question come from? Should I answer it? It seems like he’s wanted to ask that for a while...

“They’re not weird! They’re just unique!” I said, rather defensively. “...I also get cold easily.

“Yea but your fingers are still exposed! Don’t they get cold?”

“Frostbite in your fingers can be remedied far more easily than a whole hand. Plus I don’t want to restrict my movement—“

“So you get arm-length gloves? Yea it keeps your fingers free but your arms are harder to move!”

He’s looking at me with a sense of… disbelief. I suppose my answers aren’t exactly the most well thought out or even really intelligible. The fabric is too thin to actually keep me warm (shields a bit from the wind however), and the fact that they’re fingerless removes any explanation for protection.

“Not really. The fabric isn’t that thick.” I said, rubbing my upper arm; a habit I’ve noticed I developed.

I’m half-tempted to give him the actual answer, although that would require a lot of context. Context invoking the Constant and what exactly happened there, and I’d rather not visit that.

Would a vague answer help? It’ll be truthful, but I wouldn’t have to go into too much detail.

No, he’s far too curious to be satisfied with just a vague explanation or excuse. He’ll undoubtedly ask even more questions that I’ll have to answer.

“...There’s another reason.” I muttered, half-hoping he won’t hear me.

“Yea?” He said.

No. This is a bad idea.

Stop.

“...Nevermind.” I said, picking up a random bottle of medicine. “Just help me find the correct kind of medicine.“

“But—“

He stopped himself, thinking for a moment and getting a defeated look on his face.

“Okay.” He muttered. “Will you tell me later?”

“Maybe.”

He seems to have accepted that answer. Hopefully, he understands that I’m most likely never going to tell him, because I never plan on telling anyone.

Well, maybe Darin, but that’s a rather slim chance. The amount of context I would have to give would just… overwhelm everyone involved.

Maybe later. Much later.

-

I’m unsettled.

We’re on our way back to Darin’s house, but something feels off.

The medicine is correct (I asked the clerk to make sure), and we’re not lost.

So why am I on edge?

...

We’re being followed. I can feel eyes watching us from somewhere in the crowd, like a hound. I felt it back in the store, but I chalked it up to anxiety.

But now, now that there’s no crowd of people, it’s rather obvious that we’re being followed.

What do they want?

“We need to get going.” I said.

“Why?” Sam asked. “Darin’s not dying!”

“I’d rather not keep him waiting. Especially since he’s sick.”

Sam looked at me a moment, then picked up speed. “Yea you’re probably right.”

It would help if I could see who’s watching us, but I can’t. With all of the trees and snow, I might as well be looking for a ghost.

Maybe Sam can see them?

“Sam?” I asked. “Can you feel anyone watching us?”

“I mean, yea?” He said. “I kinda always feel like that though.”

“Oh.”

So he’s not going to be much help.

Although, there is the chance that there’s nobody following us and I’m just being paranoid.

That’s it. I’m just being paranoid.

It’s just me.

Please God, just let it be my brain playing tricks on itself.

-

“You two didn’t have to do this!” Darin said, enjoying a can of not-burned soup we found in the pantry. “Really!”

“Yea we did!” Sam said. “Can’t have you spreading all your gross germs everywhere.”

At least we chose the correct medicine. I was honestly a little worried about that, since the wrong medicine could hurt him. Sam isn’t the best source of information after all, and I didn’t recognize any of the labels.

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked.

“Yes.” Darin said. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a cold!”

“If you say so.”

Sam was already standing in the doorway, giving the room one last look-over.

“Everything cool?” He asked.

“Yes.” Darin said.

“Cool. I gotta go feed Pecha so—“

“You’re dismissed if that’s what you were worried about.” I said.

He left, leaving me and Darin alone.

Despite being ill, Darin is smiling at me. Not in any sort of insidious way, mind you, but in a calm, content way.

It sort of reminds me of that wedding photo I saw with him, although his smile held far more excitement in the photo than it does now. Not that I blame him— being sick is one of the least exciting things that can happen in your life. Well, it can be exciting, but not in the way you’d smile about.

Is he married? He isn’t wearing any sort of wedding ring, but wedding rings might not be a tradition here. Perhaps some other jewelry or garment is used?

I don’t recall him ever mentioning a wife— Er, husband, nor do I recall seeing anyone at the party. I saw his mother, but not his spouse. Although, I don’t recall ever seeing his father either, but that’s for an… unrelated reason.

Asking him would be an easy way to answer this question, but It could be a sore subject for him—

Wait have I been staring at him this entire time?

“Erm, sorry.” I said, blinking. “For staring.”

“Spacing out?” Darin said, eyebrow raised.

“Yes.”

“It’s alright.” He assured me, getting into a more comfortable position on the bed. “What were you thinking about?”

Well, knowledge never hurt anybody.

Wait.

“Are you married?” I asked.

His grin faded.

“Why do you ask?” He said.

“Well, I saw the picture—“

“Oh. I didn’t realize I still had that up.” He said, shaking his head in disappointment at himself.

Darin took a deep breath, rubbing his face with his hands.

“I used to be married.” He said. “But I’m divorced now.”

Ah, definitely a sore subject. Maybe I need to stop prying into his personal life like this. It’s rather rude, and no doubt uncomfortable.

“Oh.” I murmured. “Sorry to bring it up.”

“It actually wasn’t that bad. We both realized we weren’t a good match for each other, and we peacefully split. Not a whole lot of drama.”

He thought for a moment.

“Actually I think that was the best it could have gone. Aside from not getting divorced, of course.”

“...Congratulations on the… divorce?” I said.

That was literally the stupidest thing I’ve said in my life. Er, maybe not the stupidest, but it’s up there.

He laughed. “Thank you.”

His laughter subsided rather quickly, and we’re now just sort of staring at each other. Normally, eye-contact would make me very uncomfortable, but now it’s just a little bit like gouging my eyes out with a spoon.

His eyes are a rather striking dark brown. Not sure how I didn’t notice before, but I’m certainly noticing now.

His face is actually pretty nice too. The bags under his eyes aren’t as prominent (although he has darker skin than I do, so they might not stand out as much as they do on me), and he doesn’t have any sort of scarring or blemishes. All he has is a small bean-shaped mark right below his eye, situated right on his cheekbone. It’s smaller than half a dime, but it’s rather… enduring.

I need to stop staring. It’s very rude.

“I’ll let you rest.” I said, quickly leaving the room. “Goodnight. Er, good day I suppose.”

“Good day, Wilson.”

I closed the door.

Wait, didn’t he say he was never married earlier? Or am I misremembering something?

I’ll figure it out later.

-

“There we go.” I said, looking up at Cirrus. “I figured you’d want some time outside of your capsule.”

Cirrus seems as cheerful as he always is. It’s a shame his size prevents me from letting him out more often, otherwise he wouldn’t have to stay in his Pokeball for so long.

...I wonder when Watson will evolve again. He has two evolutions, right? And they’re level-based, so he should be evolving sometime soon.

Of course, we haven’t been doing any battles lately, so it’s unsuprising that he hasn’t evolved yet. I should probably start battling again.

“Hey Wilson!” Sam said from somewhere behind me.

“Yes?”

He ran up next to me, then stopped, staring at Cirrus.

“Wow. I forgot you had another Pokemon.” He said. “Hi!”

Cirrus waved at him.

“He’s too big for a lot of areas, so I have to keep him in his Pokeball.”

“That sucks.”

“It does.”

Cirrus doesn’t seem to mind being in the capsule all that much, which is a good thing, since he has to be in it so often.

It’s still rather sad that he can’t be outside more though. Maybe one day I can find a place where he can roam as freely as Watson can.

“So do you only have two Pokémon or what?” Sam asked.

“I only have two.” I said. “Is that a problem?”

“It kinda is. People usually have at least three.”

Someone’s mentioned that to me before, recommending I have at least three Pokémon. I can’t quite remember who told me though. Was it Gardenia?

“Do you have three Pokémon?” I asked. “I’ve only seen Pecha.”

I’m not even going to try and pronounce the species that Pecha is.

“Yea!” He said, pulling out some pokeballs. “I got Pecha, and Cheri, and Oran! Named them all after berries!”

I have no idea what any of those Pokémon are, although I remember hearing those berries from somewhere.

“Interesting. Are they large?” I asked.

“Oh yea. Cheri is an Arcanine, and Oran is a Goliosopod, so they’re too big to be walking around the house. Darin would throw a fit.”

He doesn’t seem like the sort to throw a fit. Of course, I’ve never really seen him angry.

“I see.”

Perhaps I’ll get a third Pokémon. Although, I have no idea what type of Pokémon I’d even get. I suppose au could always just catch a random one, but that seems… shallow.

“You wanna go play some games and get out of the cold?” Sam said.

“Games?” I asked. I hope they’re not the ones you play on the television.

“Yea! Darin’s sleeping, so he won’t be hogging the TV!”

“What sort of games do you have in mind?” I asked.

He grinned behind his bandana. “We can play Holocrafter, or Crown, or—“

Snow crunched somewhere in the distance. I instinctively reached for a spear, but I don’t have one at the moment.

Damn it.

“—And then we can play some Jumpman 2 because I haven’t really played in a while and there’s no blood and— Dude?”

What is it? A Pokémon? A person? Them?

“I heard something.” I muttered. “Don’t make a sound.”

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Sam’s looking at me with a mixture of confusion and concern. Whatever enthusiasm he had earlier is gone, replaced with silence and anxiety.

“...It was probably a Pokémon or something.” Sam muttered. “I hope.”

I don’t like the fact he felt the need to add “or something” as an option.

“...Maybe.” I said. “Hopefully it’s just a Pokémon.”

It’s difficult to hear over the wind and leaves. At least Sam isn’t talking anymore.

“Cirrus? Can you see anything?”

Cirrus shook its head. With his field of view, he should be able to see if something was that close.

Maybe it really was just a Pokemon.

“...Let’s go inside.” I said. “Before we catch a cold.”

“So are we gonna play some games? I know you kinda suck at all of them— wait that was mean.”

“It’s fine. I’ll play a game or two with you.”

“Cool.”

Chapter Text

I can’t sleep.

Every time I close my eyes, a jolt of anxiety forces me to wrench my eyes open. It’s more than a bit annoying, since I need sleep to function.

Of course, I suppose being too tired to function correctly is better than having a nightmare. I’d rather be exhausted than terrified, although they’re not mutually exclusive.

…

My mouth is dry. Maybe I should go get a drink of water before I shrivel and die of dehydration.

-

This tap water tastes a lot better than mine ever did. It doesn’t smell either, thanks to the fact they doesn’t use well water here.

Where does his water come from anyway? Obviously he’s connected to a plumbing system, but that still doesn’t answer the question of where. Perhaps it comes from Mt. Cornet? It does have an impressive snow cap, although I don’t think it would be enough to supply water to their entire region.

Maybe they recycle water? They probably have an advanced enough filter to get all of the solid and physical waste from sewage, so—

What was that?

I grabbed a ladle that was on the counter. Not as effective as a spear or axe, but I could feasibly bludgeon somebody if I swing hard enough.

The floor creaked again from behind me. I spin around, brandishing the ladle.

Rather than one of Them or an intruder, Darin was standing there, terrified.

“Wilson, wait!” Darin shouted, raising his hands in self defense. “It’s just me!”

“Oh.” I muttered, putting the ladle down. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“It’s okay.” He said, catching his breath. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

He looks pale. Is he still sick?

“...Why are you awake?” I asked. “Did your cold keep you up?”

“No.” He said, still a touch hoarse. “I just thought I heard something.”

Was I that loud? I took care to quiet, although stealth was never my strong suit.

“I’m sorry. I thought I was being quiet enough—“

“No no! It’s okay.” He said. “It’s fine. I’m a really light sleeper anyway.”

He took a deep, tired breath, running his hands through his unkempt hair.

“Did you have a nightmare?” He asked.

“No.” I muttered. “I just couldn’t fall asleep, and figured I might as well get some water.”

“Oh.”

I wonder how often I keep him up at night. I know I can be quite vocal during my nightmares, and my outbursts and odd mannerisms most likely unnerve him to some degree.

Why does he put up with me? He doesn’t benefit from me staying here. If anything, it hurts him. The lack of sleep, a higher water and electric bill, higher food cost.

“Darin?” I asked, breaking the silence that had settled between us. “Why do you let me stay with you? Certainly it’s had some effect on you—”

“You’re not that bad Wilson.” He said, giving me a reassuring smile.

“I know I’ve kept you up at night with my screaming.”

His smile waned a bit. “Only once or twice.”

“And I know I have some odd habits that concern you.”

“I would appreciate if you didn’t hoard berries in your backpack, but other than that—“

Oh. I forgot about those. They’re probably all rotten by now.

Ew.

Do I really hoard them? I mean I gather them whenever I have the time to, but it’s a backup in case I ever need food! Hoarding is different than storing, right? Gathering backup food is a great habit to have!

...I suppose I technically don’t need to hoard, given that fact that Darin refuses to let me starve, and it’s actually wasting food that pokemon could have eaten.

I should stop.

“—I’m sorry about that.” I said. “But I mean, I don’t really contribute to… anything.”

“You help me keep an eye on Sam!” He said, leaning against the kitchen counter. “That’s helpful.”

“He’s not exactly difficult to handle.”

Quite contrary. Despite his… quirks, Sam is a very well-behaved young man. Smart for his age too, so long as it doesn’t involve cooking.

“Well, you…” He said, putting his hand on his chin.

Darin fell silent, tapping his chin as he thought.

“Wilson, to tell you the truth, I like your company.” He said, letting his hand drop from his chin.

“My company?”

He nodded, giving me a smile. “I like being around you.”

My company? My presence? He likes being with me? Why? I don’t offer much in terms of companionship. I’m rather aloof, cold, temperamental, overly emotional—

“Why did you help me at first then?” I blurted out. “You didn’t know me then.”

“Well, you seemed like you needed help.” He said, looking at me. “I couldn’t just leave you there without at least offering. Wouldn’t you have done the same?”

That’s an interesting question. If I saw a man, who was in the same state I was, I probably would help. I would help as much as I possibly could, within reason.

But I probably wouldn’t have lasted this long. I would have lost my temper, or ran out of patience. Especially if it was someone as weird and odd as I am.

Especially if that person didn’t know anything.

“I would have.” I said. “Although I don’t know if I would have lasted this long.”

“I think you would have.” He said. “You’ve managed to deal with me and my weirdness for this long.”

Weirdness? He’s an interesting fellow, but not weird. Sure he can be forgetful at times, and a bit impulsive, but he’s not weird. He’s kind, generous, level-headed, and loyal. I trust him with every fiber of my being.

...Why?

“I don’t think you’re weird.” I muttered. “I think you’re quite pleasant, actually.”

“Really?” He asked, reasoning his eyebrows. “I always sort of thought you stayed with me because you had to.”

Why on earth would he think that? He’s an amazing man! Who wouldn’t want to stay with him?

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” He sighed. “You always seem a bit… distant.”

“Distant?”

“Yes. I always got the idea that you were sort of just… staying because you had nowhere else to go.”

“Darin.” I said. “If I didn’t like you, I would have left a very long time ago. In fact, I would have never come back.”

He blinked. “You like me?”

“Quite a bit actually.”

“Oh.” He said, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Good to know.”

He put a hand in my shoulder. I didn’t flinch as much this time, which I suppose is a good thing.

My stomach feels odd. Am I nervous? I do feel a bit queasy, but it’s a different type of queasy. A fluttering, warm queasiness.

It’s almost enjoyable.

“Alright Wilson.” He said, taking his weight off of the counter. “I’m getting tired.”

“I’m getting tired as well.” I said. “Once I finish my water I’ll probably head to bed.”

“Goodnight!” He said, looking back at me from the exit.

“Goodnight.”

He left, leaving me behind.

I’m not sure why he was so happy. He looked so… relieved for some reason, like a great weight was taken off of him. I’m not sure what was weighing on him, but at least it’s gone now.

I should probably go and try to get some sleep. Don’t want to be too tired tomorrow after all.

-

I haven’t spent much time with Watson lately. He’s been with me since the very beginning; the least I can do is give him some time to run around.

“Come on Watson.” I said. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”

Watson, who had been sleeping on my bed all day, excitedly perked his ears up and barked.

“Yes, we’re going outside.”

We passed by Sam, who is playing some sort of game with Darin.

“You going out?” Sam asked from the couch.

“Yes.” I said. “I’ll be back soon, don’t worry.”

“Be safe.” Darin said. “It’s cold out there.”

Recklessness is not something I’m known for. At least, I hope it isn’t.

“I will be.” I said, grabbing my blue coat from the coat rack. “It’s this one you usually have to worry about.”

Watson barked in impatience, scratching at the door.

“Okay, okay. We’re going.”

I opened the door, and he bolted out, nearly tripping me.

“Slow down!” I shouted. “I only have two legs!”

He stopped in the front yard, staring at me as I closed the door.

It’s noon. The sun finally managed to breach through the grey clouds that lingered after the blizzard.

Despite the bitter cold, the whole area does seem far more alive. Sounds, both familiar and strange, fill the air. People talking, pokemon doing whatever it is they do, wind blowing.

It’s nice.

“Watson?” I said. “Would you like to walk around?”

Watson nodded, bounding through the snow that reached up to his chin.

“Alright.”

I followed, trudging through the snow.

“Is there anywhere in particular you want to—“

He’s not moving anymore. He’s standing, frozen in place, his ears swiveling.

He hears something?

“What’s wrong?” I asked, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Do you hear something?”

He gave me an annoyed look (probably because I’m talking), then nodded.

Whatever it is he’s hearing, I can’t hear it. Between the howling wind and people, I can’t filter out the noise.

“Want to get to a quieter area?” I asked. “It’s too loud in the town to really hear—“

He bolted off to a path of trees nearby, which is probably where the sound is coming from.

“Watson!”

Why is it always a forest? Why can’t it be a snow-covered flower field or something less… threatening?

Mother Nature has a twisted sense of humor, creating an environment where the very plants themselves are like prison bars. Brushes and brambles hide whatever awful creatures she and darwin managed to create.

And this snow isn’t helping in the slightest.

Watson’s finally stopped, standing in place between trees, ears swiveling towards me as I walked up behind him.

“It’s just me, Watson.” I said.

He nodded, and continued his search.

What is he hearing? Is it hostile or just interesting? Or is he just doing all of this to annoy me—

A twig snapped. It was far away, but hauntingly familiar.

…

Nothing else. Not yet anyway. Wish I had some sort of weapon, just for the off chance that it’s hostile.

Watson’s fur is raised. Not out of excitement, like he would during a battle, but as a warning.

Whatever it is, it’s hostile.

Another twig snapped, this time much closer. Rhythmic crunching of leaves followed.

Footsteps.

There’s someone else here. Is it a Pokémon? Is it human?

Is it one of Them?

“Sam?” I asked, reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. “Is that you? Or Darin?”

No response. Not sure why I thought it was them. Darin’s footsteps aren’t as clumsy, and neither of them would cause Watson to be this on edge.

Watson’s emitting a low growl from his throat, ears swiveling to find the exact source of the sound.

I wish he would stop growling.

I wish I had something to defend myself with. All I have are fists. And, of course, Watson. I doubt he would just leave me to die.

Another twig snapped.

At least, I hope he wouldn’t.

Leaves crunched.

I certainly wouldn’t.

There’s footsteps behind me.

Watson turned around, facing me, teeth bared at whatever is behind me. Electricity is sparking from his mane, illuminating the forest.

What is it—

Chapter Text

I like mornings.

I like the quiet before everyone else is awake. It gives me time to clear my head before the day really starts. Depending on the day, I can get some cleaning done and make everything ready for everyone else. I can even have a cup of coffee and relax a little while on my porch that I never really get to use.

Plus, I get a chance to make a hot meal for everyone. Today it’s not really going to be anything special; Just omelettes and maybe some leftover soup to replace the toast.

Which reminds me, I need to remember to buy bread. And butter. And maybe some more milk, since I’m running a bit low.

Maybe I should make a list. That way, I won’t forget to buy anything from the store like I usually do.

Speaking of groceries, the omelettes— er, scrambled eggs, are almost done. They just need a little bit more time.

I need to go get Wilson and Sam. They’re probably starving! Plus, Sam takes forever to get out of bed, so if I don’t wake him up now his food will get cold. He doesn’t really care, but I do.

“Wilson?” I said, making sure to open the door slowly so I don’t scare him. “Are you awake? I made scrambled eggs!”

…

Oh, he’s not here?

Weird. Normally he’d be curled into a ball on his bed, with Watson either in his arms or somewhere underneath the blanket.

Did he go somewhere? I don’t think Wilson would ever wake up that early. Not intentionally, anyway.

Maybe he’s just in the bathroom.

“Wilson?” I asked, knocking on the bathroom door. “Are you in there?”

No answer. I don’t hear any other noises either, so I don’t think he’s in there...

Maybe he’s in the living room? Although I passed through earlier to get to his room and I didn’t see him.

I can still check.

“Wilson?” I called, peeking into the living room. “Where are you?”

Nobody answered. The living room is empty, save for Moon. She’s on the couch, lifting her head up sluggishly.

“Sorry Moon.” I said. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

She rested her head back on her paws, closing her eyes to go back to sleep.

This isn’t good. Did something happen to him? Is he hurt?

When did I last see him? I don’t recall seeing him much after I admitted I’m divorced. Actually, I don’t think I saw him at all after that. I mean, I was laying in bed because I was sick but still!

Has he been missing since yesterday? How did I not notice?!

Did I drive him away?

No, Darin. Don’t panic. He’s probably just outside somewhere or—

Maybe Sam knows where he is?

“Sam?” I said, knocking on his door.

He grunted from behind the door.

“Go away.” He grumbled, shifting in his bed from the other side of the door.

“It’s important!” I said. “I promise!”

He grunted. I opened the door.

“Sam.” I warned, opening his blinds, flooding the room with lights. “Where’s Wilson? Did he go somewhere this morning?”

“I dunno!” He said, rubbing his eyes and squinting through the blinding light. “He probably went to the store or something.”

“When did you last see him?”

Sam squinted at me, using his arm to block the sunlight.

“If I say ‘never’ will you go away?” He said, scowling at me.

He’s not taking this seriously.

“Sam! This is serious! He could be missing!”

“Okay, okay.” He mumbled. “Yesterday? Right before lunch?”

“Yesterday?” I mumbled to myself. “That’s not good.”

Sam blinked a few times as his brain turned on. His face went from confused and annoyed to confused and worried.

“Why? Is he dead?”

“No, it’s just—“

I sighed, rubbing my face with my hands.

“He’s not really the type of person to just vanish like this.”

“Dude, he totally is. He’s like. halfway to being that weird guy who lives in the woods and talks by throwing pine cones.” Sam said, scooting off of the bed and putting his bandana on.

As funny as that sounds, I don’t think Wilson would do that. He hates trees way too much for some reason.

“...He’s not exactly a fan of the forest.” I said. “Or the snow. Or the rain. Or—“

“Existing.” Sam said. “He hates that too. Pretty sure he just hates everything.”

Wilson doesn’t hate anything, really. He just… tries to avoid a lot of things. Like snow, or darkness, or—

“You know he probably just went somewhere right?” Sam said, trying to calm me down a bit. “He’s an adult, they do that kind of thing.”

“I know, I know.” I muttered. “He just wouldn’t do this.”

Sam put a hand in my shoulder.

“Dude. He’s probably fine.” He said, smiling. “He probably just did something really stupid. Or illegal. Or both.”

Or maybe he decided he was sick of Fluorma and decided to leave.

Again.

“Or maybe he left.” I muttered. “Again.”

Sam’s giving me a look.

“Dude.”

“Did he leave his backpack?” I asked.

Sam didn’t really say anything. He just kind of looked at me, worried.

“Did he?” I repeated.

“I think so?”

If he did, that means he didn’t plan on being gone for long. Or he just forgot to bring it with him. He’s not usually that careless, but it could happen.

—-

His tattered backpack is still here, laying neatly on the floor next to the bedpost. Despite his efforts to keep his room neat and tidy, Wilson’s backpack can’t help but look like a tattered bunch of twine held together by sheer willpower. Well, maybe not willpower, maybe just desperation.

He also left the Pokémon encyclopedia and his Pokewatch on the desk. He’s using a piece of bark as a bookmark, apparently.

“Dang, his backpack is all kinds of messed up.” Sam said, opening the flap on top. “Hey, he's got a bag of trail mix in here!”

“Don’t go through his stuff!” I said, pulling the bag away. “I know you’re curious but you can’t just do that!”

“Sorry.” Sam said.

“It’s okay.”

I’ll admit, I’m pretty curious to see exactly what he keeps in here, but I’d rather not go behind his back like that. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

“So it’s here.” Sam said. “Which means he didn’t plan on being gone long.”

“Right.” I muttered. “That’s not a good thing is it?”

“I don’t think so.” Sam said.

Where did he go? Why did he leave his stuff behind?

Why didn’t he tell anyone? Maybe he wasn’t able to...

“We need to go file a missing person’s report.” I said. “Even if he wanted to leave, I want to make sure he’s okay.”

“Cool. Can we do it online or do we have to go to the station?”

“I think we have to go to the police station.”

—-

Fluorma‘s police station is always friendly and cheerful, thanks to the fact that we have very little crime. Or maybe we have so little crime thanks to how cheerful they are. Either way, they’re cheerful, and we don’t have a lot of crime.

A young man at the desk was cheerfully typing away at the computer. I say young, even though he’s at least twenty. Maybe I’m just getting old.

“Hi!” He said, looking up from his computer. “Welcome to Fluroma’s police station! How can I help you?”

“We’d like to file a missing person’s report.” I said, walking up to the counter along with Sam.

His smile faded. He typed a few more times in the keyboard.

“Oh. What’s their name?” He asked, clicking his mouse a few times.

“Wilson Higgsbury.” I said. Hopefully that’s his actual name and not just one I made up.

“Alright! Wilson Higgsbury… Oh?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, typing some more.

“That’s… not supposed to happen.”

“What’s not supposed to happen?” I asked, leaning over the counter to get a better look.

“Did you break it?” Sam asked.

“No!” He said defensively. “It’s just—“

A woman burst through the door behind the counter, nearly slamming the door.

“What’s going on out here?” She half-yelled, causing the poor man at the desk to jump to his feet.

She looked at the screen, her face going from annoyance to confusion.

“How about you go help the others in the back?” She said, gently pushing him aside and taking over the computer.

“Yes Ma’am. He said, leaving the room as quickly as he could.”

“So what’s wrong?” I asked again. “Is it broken?”

“Maybe.” She said. “What was his name again?”

“Wilson Higgsbury.” I said again.

The types in the computer. Sam leaned further over the counter to get a better look.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have anyone registered as a Sinnoh resident under the name ‘Wilson Higgsbury.’” She said, confused. “Unless I’m spelling his name wrong.”

Not registered?

“He’s not registered?” I asked. “Did his registry just not get transferred when he moved?”

“I mean he’s not registered.” She said, turning the computer screen at us so we can see. “Other than a newly-made trainer card that doesn’t even have a photo ID, we have no records on him. There’s no birth certificate, no old trainer card, no passports. There aren't even any school records.”

She clicked the computer mouse a few times, frowning a bit more as she scrolled through the screen, showing nothing.

“What about Alola?” Sam asked. “He’s from there! Maybe the files just got stuck?”

“This is the international database. Everything he has from every region is here. Normally it would be sorted by region, but there isn’t enough here.” She responded.

“You don’t have anything?” I asked.

“We have a few Pokecenter records, but the oldest one is only three months old, and that one is just an admission form to the Twinleaf pokecenter.”

He doesn’t even have a photo on his trainer card? Why? Did he just pop into existence? Was his data corrupted? Erased?

What’s going on?

“Yea that’s really weird.” Sam said. “Maybe he’s an alien.”

“Sam, not right now please. Is there any way you could still file a missing person’s report?”

“Because he doesn’t have a birth certificate, he technically doesn’t exist. We can’t file a missing report on someone who doesn’t exist.”

Oh no.

She paused. “I’m actually glad you guys came in, since this all would have been chalked up to a system error or files being filed under the wrong name.”

“You’re welcome?” Sam said.

“So there’s nothing you can do? There has to be something you can do! Anything!” I begged, gripping the edge of the counter. “Anything.”

She tapped the computer mouse with her finger as she thought.

“We have houndooms trained to find people, but you have to bring in an item that smells a lot like them.” She said, turning the screen back around. “And we can put up missing posters using a sketch if you describe what he looks like.”

“So, basically everything?” Sam said.

“Sam.” I warned.

“What? I mean he’s only showered like three times—“

“Sam!”

“At least this time it’s actually helpful!”

He’s right. Wilson’s bad habit of ignoring all personal care might actually come in handy. We can use Wilson’s backpack to find him! Then we can bring him home and he’ll be okay and we can enjoy some tea and everything will be okay!

“We’ll be right back with something!” I said, grabbing Sam’s arm. “Also the missing posters would be nice.”

“See you soon.” She said.

—-

Cold’s nipping at my nose as I try to move as fast as possible through the slushy snow. The fact that the height of the snow varies with every random pothole in the road isn’t really making anything easier. At all.

It’s okay though, because now we have a chance at finding Wilson. All we have to do is bring Wilson’s backpack back to the police station and hope to Arceus that the houndooms can sniff him out. Then we’ll find him, and I can ask why he left.

Why did he leave? Did I do something? Was it because he found out I was divorced? I knew I shouldn’t have told him that…

Honestly, with the way he reacted when I told him I was gay probably should have clued me into keeping the whole “never married” lie going. He’s… prudish enough for divorce bother him.

Damn it.

…

...

What if they can’t find him for some reason?

What if he’s dead?

“You don’t think he freaked out and ran off, do you?” Sam asked, giving me a worried look and snapping me back into reality.

It’s a possibility. With the way Wilson reacts to just a shoulder touch and other things, there is the chance that he had a flashback and ran off somewhere.

“You might be right.” I said. “But then why didn’t he come back once he was… done?”

“Maybe he got lost?” Sam shrugged.

“Maybe.”

I hope not. It’s winter, and it’s really cold. The only thing he had with him was his coat and his Pokémon. Plus he’s rather thin…

Oh, we’re home. Good thing I remembered my key, otherwise we’d have to break in.

“I’m going to go grab the rest of my Pokémon.” Sam said, running off into his room.

“Why?” I asked, opening the door to Wilson’s room to grab the backpack. “Don’t you have Pecha with you?”

“Yea.” He shouted back. “But I might need Oran and Cheri!”

“Okay.”

Cheri and Oran are his most powerful Pokémon. While Pecha is considered his partner, Cheri and Oran are his true battlers, each being over level fifty.

He must be scared of something. Although, he has anxiety, so it’s understandable.

Moon rubbed herself against my leg, then stared up at me, confused and curious.

“I know, Moon.” I said, picking her up and putting her on my shoulder. “We’ll find him. It’ll be okay.”

—-

“The trail ends here.” The policewoman said, putting her hand in her hip as the houndooms sniffed around the area.

It’s a random part of the forest. Nothing’s out of place, and everything looks exactly like it would any other day.

“At least there’s no blood!” Sam said. “That means he wasn’t brutally murdered!”

“That’s… good. But it still doesn’t explain where he is.” I said, walking up to where one of the houndooms was sniffing.

The Houndoom gave me a look as it stepped aside. Underneath some fallen leaves was a pokeball.

“Is this Wilson’s?” She asked, walking up to me.

“I think so.” I said, picking it up.

“You guys think it’s Watson?” Sam asked, peeking over my shoulder. “We should open it.”

“If it’s one of his Pokémon it might be able to help us find him.”

I opened the Pokeball—

It’s Watson!

Watson looked around, growling at first, then stopping once he noticed who it was.

“Hi Watson.” I said. “Are you okay?”

Watson looks confused, looking around.

“Do you know where Wilson is?”

Watson turned towards me, horror gradually creeping across his face.

He barked, desperately trying to find any sign of Wilson in the leaves and dirt.

“You don’t…”

“This sucks.” Sam said.

“Mm.” She said, hand on her chin.

This is bad. I know for a fact Wilson wouldn’t have willingly left Watson behind, especially not like this.

“He wouldn’t have left his Pokémon behind.” I said. “Not on purpose anyway.”

“He could have been abducted, and then dropped him by mistake.” She said. “Although we have no way of knowing where he was taken at the moment.”

That’s what I was afraid of. He’s gone, not because he had an episode or out of anger, but because he was kidnapped.

“What do we do?” I asked.

“We could comb the area.” She said. “Possibly get some other cities involved if they aren’t too busy—“

“Hey is this important?” Sam asked.

“What?”

Sam is holding up the necklace (pendant, as he preferred), dangling it by the broken string.

“What is that?” She asked, taking it from Sam.

“A pendant.” Sam said. “I think it was Wilson’s.”

The cloth Wilson wrapped around the tube was gone, leaving it bare. There’s a runny black liquid on the inside.

“What’s inside?” She asked.

“No clue.” Sam said. “He never really told us.”

“I’ll have to take this as evidence.” She said, taking out a bag and putting it inside. “We might be able to find his fingerprints on record, although it might not be helpful since someone else just grabbed it without gloves.”

“Sorry.” Sam muttered. “Hey if you get the chance can you tell us what’s inside of it?”

“Depending on how the case goes, sure.”

They probably don’t have fingerprints for Wilson. They don’t even have a birth certificate, so unless he committed some sort of crime…

Well he did technically trespass when he climbed up the windmill, but I don’t think he got into any legal trouble for that.

I never got the chance to tell him they actually fixed the design for the windmill either. They put a dome on the gears to keep the Drifloon from getting stuck, and it’s been working so far.

I hope he’s okay.

—-

Home’s a lot quieter without Wilson.

He’s not really loud, but he and Watson seem to like having conversations every now and then.

I mean, he’s loud at night, but he can’t help that.

“Watson? Are you hungry?” I asked, setting a bowl of berries on the ground in front of him.

He didn’t even look up at me. Instead, he just pawed at the bowl, rolling a berry that fell out around with his paw.

“Guess not.” I muttered.

Can’t really blame him. His trainer is gone, as well as Cirrus, so he’s probably really lonely.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find him.” I said, reaching out to pet Watson’s head. “And Cirrus too.”

Watson gave me a look, curling his tail around himself and flattening his ears a bit.

“...I know.” I said, stroking his head. “I know.”

Watson just sort of laid down on the ground in front of his food bowl, too miserable to eat.

I took a seat in a chair, and grabbed a handful of berries for myself.

It doesn’t make sense.

Why doesn’t Wilson have any records? At the very least he should have a birth certificate and elementary school trainer card, but he didn’t have any of those. The earliest thing he had was something in Twinleaf...

What happened to him in Alola? Did they not bring his records over here? They said they would have had his records at the station.

I wish he’d tell me things more often. The things I do know about him I’ve had to ask other people or see it on the news.

He’s a man from Alola, who went a long time without properly eating, and who clearly has some issues. He’s polite, intelligent, and talks with some sort of accent, so he’s probably from Galar instead of Alola.

He’s also very gentle. Despite his grizzled appearance, he’s very gentle (and a bit awkward) with Pokémon, handling them with care. He’d probably be gentle with me too if he was more comfortable with touching people.

...

But that’s it. That’s all I know. Most of that is just guesswork, and doesn’t explain where he is, or who kidnapped him.

If anyone took him.

Who would even want to kidnap him? The only people he’s had any problems with is his father and maybe the people at the power plant. Neither of those two would go through all the trouble to—

Team Galactic. If anyone would kidnap him, it would be them. They’re sneaky enough to do something like this.

We’ve had a run-in with them before. He wanted his pendant back, even though it’s just ink in a glass test tube.

Did they want it back? If so, why did they leave it behind? Unless they didn’t realize they left it behind…

Something isn’t right. They definitely have something to do with this, and we’re going to find out what.

Guess we’re heading to Veilstone.

Chapter Text

Where am I? I can’t see a thing!

I think there’s something on my face. Some sort of fabric? Maybe I can get it off—

My arms seem to be tied down, as are my legs. Whatever did this to me clearly intends on making me stay here, and isn’t afraid to use force.

Why? What happened? Where is everyone? Where am I?

…

…

Is this the throne? It’s as cold and uncomfortable as the throne was, so it’s a rather chilling possibility.

Oh God.

Did They somehow bring me back? Is that what happened?

Did I never actually escape?

Oh God, oh God, oh God—

Hold on, don’t panic just yet, Higgsbury. There’s probably a good explanation for this; one that doesn’t involve Them or the throne or the Constant in any way.

…

Maybe this is a dream? It doesn’t feel quite like a dream, but I usually can’t tell something is a dream until I wake up—

What’s that noise?

A metallic door opened from somewhere in front of me. Steady footsteps approached, stopping uncomfortably close to me.

“Good morning.” A calm, cold voice answered. It bears little inflection, which is more than a little unsettling.

Worse, I can’t recognize who it is. At least it’s not Maxwell? Although that’s a pretty low bar to step over. Hopefully, whoever it is isn’t nearly as monstrous as he was.

I tightened the grip on the armrests. “Who are you?”

“Cyrus.”

Cyrus? I’ve heard that name before. He was the former leader of Team Galactic, if I’m remembering what Darin said correctly.

Oh. This is the Galactic HQ isn’t it? What do they want? Do they want the vial back? They could have just stolen it—

“Are you after the Vial?” I asked. “Because—“

Cyrus walked to my left. “The tube we gave you was fake.”

Fake? The vial was fake?

“What?”

“The one Charon gave back to you was a fake. We’ve had the substance the entire time.”

It had been fake this entire time? How did I not figure it out? How did I not notice? How could I have been so stupid—

“I expected you to figure it out, honestly.” Charon said from somewhere in the room. “Guess you never did.”

You expected wrong then, Charon.

Wait, that means they’ve had it this entire time! Do they know what it is? Is that why they’ve captured me? Because they couldn’t figure it out for themselves?

“What do you want from me?” I growled. “You have it. You don’t need me.”

“The substance you have has interesting properties.” Cyrus said. “Properties that make it clear it isn’t from here. Or anywhere, really.”

He’s moving uncomfortably close to me. I can’t see him, but I can feel his presence getting closer, inches away from my face.

I can’t get away, and I can’t defend myself, I can’t even move! As much as I hate to say it, I’m rather intimidated by him. His cold demeanor and level of control reminds me far too much of Them.

And he knows it. He knows I’m terrified. He knows there isn’t a thing I can do aside from just agree to whatever he wants.

I’m fighting to keep my voice steady. “...Go on.”

Cyrus continued with the same tone. “There’s traces of the substance in your blood.”

There is? I’m sure the throne has something to do with that.

God, that’s disturbing. To know that the throne affected me like that… hopefully there won’t be any long-term effects. I already have enough of those.

Wait, did they take some of my blood for testing? Because that’s the only way they would have known that, unless they have ties to the pokecenters.

Rude.

“So I’d guess that you’re not from around here, are you?” Charon piped up from across the room, sounding a bit too proud of himself. “You don’t have to answer, we already know.”

“What do you want.” I said, leaning back in the chair in defiance. There isn’t much I can do in my position, but I’ll be damned if I play along.

“You’re going to help us build a portal to that world.” Cyrus said.

That’s not a question, that’s a command. A command given with grave certainty and confidence.

I stiffened. “Absolutely not!”

“I’m sure your friends would like that answer.” Charon said.

What? Do they have Sam and Darin here somewhere? What about Cyrus and Watson?

If they so much as lay a finger on them I’ll tear this place apart, starting with this damned chair!

...

Bastards. They’re probably just lying to get me to listen. I can’t see enough of their face to tell if they’re lying or not (not that I was any good at reading expressions), so trying to calm their bluff is impossible.

I suppose I’ll just have to go off of the assumption that they do have them, and that they’re willing to go through great lengths to get me to comply.

“You wouldn’t dare.” I growled.

“We would.” Charon said. “Now are you going to help us?”