Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The words died on his lips as he took in Red’s unchanged expression; there was no interest, no small detail that caught Red’s attention. Already, Blue recognized his latest attempt at “Get Red to Leave Hostile Mountain” was not going to work. With acceptance, the bite of the hail became a touch sharper. The wind, which forced Blue to half-yell everything, gained a bitter edge. There was no point in getting his lump of a rival, friend— whatever they were these days— to leave.

“It would be pretty cool if you wanted to come to Alola, and, well, yeah,” Blue concluded. “I mean, a paid vacation sure sounds great, don’t you think?”

If the charms of warm beaches, a special Alolan Raichu, and indoor plumbing weren’t enough to tempt Red away, then Blue didn’t think much else stood a chance. Blue certainly could have gone for two of those three things on the list. It would have been better than wasting his time— yet again— in a ridiculous cycle he couldn’t hope to break. He was starting to feel like a delivery boy.

The appropriate amount of silence passed. Red did not bother to pretend he was humouring the offer, and Blue tried to shrug off his annoyance.

“There was no harm in asking,” he sighed. Wisps of frozen breath curled around his chin. Then, Blue turned his attention to the general direction Eevee and Pikachu had run off. “C’mon, we’re leaving!”

When there was no verbal response, Blue gave a high whistle. Unlike his command, it wasn’t distorted by the echo and wind. Soon, two figures bounded towards them. Eevee hopped into his arms, her fur coat matted with clumps of ice. Pikachu followed suit with Red, shaking off a coat of snow.

“See? Pikachu is turning into Pikablue!” Blue tried, a last-ditch effort. He flashed a winning smile at Red, dialing up the charisma again. “I’m sure he would appreciate the sunshine. And doesn’t your Pikachu like to surf? He could make buddies with those psychic surfing Raichu while you’re there.”

“Pika?”

Pikachu’s ears perked up at the mention of his name and one of his favourite moves. Red had long since gotten rid of it, but the first time Pikachu used Surf had surprised the hell out of him. (And his Rhydon.) Pikachu turned to Red for clarification. Red rolled his eyes at the bad pun, but the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. His posture seemed to tell Pikachu it wasn’t worth it, that this was just Blue Oak being Blue Oak.

“The next time you see me, I’ll have a wicked tan!” Blue declared with a mocking wave. “Smell ya’.”

With Eevee twined around his shoulders like a tacky scarf, Blue made the trek back down. He stopped by the cavern where Red stored his supplies (the ones Blue dragged up at the behest of his gramps and Red’s mom) to grab his backpack. Pikachu followed, weaving between his feet just to be a nuisance. The pokémon eyed Blue with suspicion that might have been justifiable when he was ten years old and had a somewhat larger ego.

Pokémon remembered the things and people that hurt their trainers. They could understand the complexities of human feelings better than they let on. Gramps told him one time that basic, animalistic logic dictated if something caused harm, you didn’t do it again. That was how you learned what to eat, who to challenge, and who to avoid. Pokémon had the capacity to learn, to forgive those who wronged them or their loved ones. Yet it was simpler to write certain things off as dangerous. Given their past rivalry, the distrust was understandable. Pikachu got the message that he and Red had gotten over their competitiveness, but that didn’t mean they had to like each other.

“What?” Blue asked. “You here to place an order with the Oak Delivery Service?”

Pikachu’s line of sight strayed to Eevee, who stuck out her tongue. Before Blue could register what was happening, Pikachu tackled Eevee off his shoulder, taking him down in the process. The contents of his backpack spilled across the cavern floor; Poké Balls rolled in all directions, several of them opening. Pidgeot appeared, searching for an opponent, and Gyarados followed with a trilling roar. His plastic case of TMs burst open, and the disks rolled in every direction.

“Do you have any idea how long I had to spend at the Game Corner trying to win some of these TMs?”

He yelled and cursed at no one specific while tidying up the mess. As Blue coiled his escape ropes, someone nudged a Poké Ball towards him. Blue looked up, to see Eevee staring at him with a poor attempt at looking guilty. The shameless, vulpine smile didn’t help her case. It was just as much Pikachu’s fault as it was hers. Blue thought some not-so-nice things about the yellow rodent and took the Poké Ball.

Blue had to bivouac— camp overnight on Mt. Silver— but the rest of the climb passed without incident. From Mt. Silver he rested in one pokémon Center to the next for the last days of travel, until he was home in Viridian.

Sluggish, Blue fiddled with his key ring for too long, searching for the right one. There were keys to the Gym he would soon be leaving, keys to innumerable rooms and filing cabinets at the lab, and finally, one for the door. Blue didn’t make it through the threshold before deciding the couch was more convenient than walking any further. He shrugged off his backpack, and it split open again. Yes, holding it together with safety pins long after it was due for retirement wasn’t the best idea. But it held sentimental value! The bag had been up and down with him on all his Mt. Silver runs.

Blue collapsed in a boneless heap on the couch, sending pillows flying. He thought nothing but Red, Red, Red, until he woke the next morning. Even then, his mind strayed to Red. No, there was… somehow there was red? Bleary, he swiped at his eyes, and attempted to make sense of what he was seeing. The curtains weren’t drawn, and he was rendered blind by the dark splotches which exploded across his vision.

A quick peek over the couch revealed Eevee was in the kitchen, waiting by her food dish. Impatient, she minced on her paws and yelped at him. Blue got up to feed her, and noticed the backpack was just in the right position to trip him up. Then, as he came to the kitchen, Blue saw the fridge was open. His pokémon were too well-trained to bother with stealing food, and nothing major appeared to be missing.

It was then that Blue tilted his head a few degrees up. On top of the fridge, something had woven together a bizarre nest of electrical cables. His phone charger and longest extension cord were just some of the victims. The final thing Blue saw was Pikachu, and the new bottle of ketchup in his clutches.

“HEY!”

The instinctive protest was out of his mouth before Blue had time to process what this meant.

Pikachu decided to use Blue as a springboard. With the neck of the bottle clutched between his teeth, Pikachu leaped from his face to the kitchen table. The sound of clawed feet, skittering across the tiled floor followed. Fresh pain slashed across Blue’s cheeks, blood welling in the shallow scratches. Pikachu weren’t known for using their claws in battle, but they were still plenty sharp. From the spiteful reaction alone, Blue knew a wild pokémon had not invited itself in while he was on Mt. Silver.

That was the Pikachu.

Red’s Pikachu.

Blue allowed himself to fantasize Red changed his mind, and for some reason broken into his place to announce why yes, they would be going to Alola together. But there was no Red in his living room, chiding the mischievous pokémon cradled in his arms. Just a pokémon sitting on its haunches beneath the coffee table. Nested between the pokémon mail and battle items, there was not a trainer’s standard number six Poké Balls.

There were seven.

Apparently, Pikachu hated being on Mt. Silver more than he hated being inside the Poké Ball.

“And you helped!” Blue accused, swinging around to face Eevee. Again, she beamed that knowing, scheming smile. They’d planned this together. Pikachu and Eevee got along just fine. Enough for her to turn traitor and help smuggle the fuzzball to Viridian. His closest partner had turned traitor. “Why would you—?!”

Red wouldn’t leave Mt. Silver for tropical climates or new pokémon.

But he would leave for Pikachu.

“Red is going to think that I stole you!” Blue wailed, dragging his hands down his stinging face. Smears of blood trickled across his palms. There was no way Pikachu would claim any less when Red broke arrived. The rodent resented him that much. Visions of classical cut-out ransom letters, demanding for Red go to Alola with him came to mind. Chasing on its heels was the idea that Red would break down his door take Pikachu, and never be seen again. Dread curled in his stomach as Blue imagined all the lost trust. It felt as though he’d finally patched things up with Red and now this had come along. “The worst part is that I practically did! Poké Ball and all!”

Pikachu, between licks of ketchup, nodded.

Blue didn’t need Red’s level of understanding to translate Pikachu’s thoughts. The pokémon’s disdain made it obvious enough.

“Not my problem.”

Pokémon Kidnapper Extraordinaire had a much less pleasant ring than Battle Tree Boss.

Chapter Text

That day, Blue’s schedule consisted of going to work, and making a short trip to Pallet Town afterwards. He needed to reassure Red’s mom and Gramps that Red hadn’t died or run out of toilet paper or any of the other endless, terrible things they could dream up.

Blue went back and forth between deciding whether he should drag Pikachu to work with him. Leaving Pikachu at home seemed like a recipe for disaster. All the ketchup would be finished, or he’d come back to find the toaster’s circuits were fried. By the time Blue dressed the scratches on his cheeks, the decision was made. The best way to mitigate Red’s anger was to make sure that nothing happened to Pikachu while the pokémon crashed in Viridian.

“Hey,” Blue started, casting a sly glance towards the seventh Poké Ball. “Y’know, since you’re technically my pokémon until Red gets here, you can fight in the Gy—”

Blue’s fingers didn’t even graze the ball. An arc of lightning lashed out, striking where his fingers were seconds ago. Pikachu darted past and snatched the Poké Ball. Pikachu whisked it away to the fridge-nest. The ball was placed beside batteries Blue was certain had come from the TV remote.

“Can’t take a joke, can you?” Blue scoffed. “Either way, you’re still coming to the Gym.”

Pikachu chittered a warning of some sort before leaving his perch atop the fridge. Eevee, perhaps taking pity on her trainer, goaded Pikachu into a game of tag. Although Pikachu was naturally faster, Eevee made sharp turns, and leapt when she couldn’t. The two flickered back and forth between chasing and being chased, always nipping at the other’s heels. Their game lasted until they reached the Gym. Eevee knew better than to step on the spinning tiles and allowed herself to be recalled.

“Tough luck,” Blue said, glancing at Pikachu. “Without a Poké Ball, you’ll just have to make it across the floor on your own.”

Had Blue not been late, the puzzle would be off. He could have strolled to the back at his leisure and ignore the tricky layout. However, due to the added complication his morning presented, the small luxury of not starting work with nausea wasn’t available to him. Still, Blue let his foot linger over the floor panel, waiting to see what Pikachu would do.

“Pikapi!” he complained.

“Well, I suppose I could carry you. But I want my phone charger back. And the batteries for the TV remote.”

Although Pikachu’s expression was mutinous, he didn’t protest aloud. Blue took this as a tentative agreement, and gingerly reached for Pikachu. The pokémon allowed it, but Blue became aware of the faint buzzing which enveloped his hands, and then his chest as he drew Pikachu closer. The tingling static energy served as a message that Pikachu was only tolerating the gesture. Memories of Red being zapped by his once uncooperative Pikachu came to mind. As a kid, Blue laughed at the duo, and sneered that Red should just go back home. Now, he took care not to let go and send Pikachu blasting off as they navigated the dizzying maze.  

“Say Boss,” one of the trainers commented as he passed. “What’s with that Pikachu?”

“Yeah!” another person chimed from across the room. “And your face too! What happened to it?”

“One guess,” he growled. A glance towards the polished walls indicated his hair was frizzing up. It made him look like a mad scientist version of his gramps, albeit a younger one. His cheeks were rosy, as if he was still on Mt. Silver. The skin around the thin scratches had grown puffy, and radiated heat.

“They do say trainers start to look like the pokémon they’re closest to,” quipped the Gym Greeter.

Not amused by the comparisons, Blue glared at them all. Pikachu acted indignant as Blue felt over the subject, sticking his nose up in the air. Their shared reaction only garnered more laughter. Out of nowhere, Pikachu zapped him. It wasn’t worse than a common shock, but Blue yelped, and practically hurled the pokémon to the ground. Pikachu landed on all fours and waddled off to make himself comfortable on the Gym Leader’s pedestal.

“That’s my spot you know.”

Blue sat down on the edge of the platform, the farthest he could be from Pikachu. The prickling wave of static returned to discourage him from getting closer. The presence was eerie, reminding Blue of when a ghost-type drew near. It made his hairs stand on end, though the chill of something ethereal was not present.

His ace trainers tore through most of the challengers with well-practiced ease. It was a rookie mistake for many local trainers to assume his Gym wouldn’t be a challenge, since it was so close to Brock’s, and not many pokémon in the area were strong. By that same logic, they should have noticed his Gym was the nearest to Victory Road, and therefore the powerful members of Indigo Plateau. But Blue didn’t expect kids like Timmy the bug catcher and his team of six Metapod to be mental giants. He was even worse at that age, just in a different way than them…

The only trainer who made it through was a rich student, whose sole pokémon, Snorlax, had gorged itself on pricy vitamins and rare candies. Blue recognized the TMs the trainer taught Snorlax as expensive ones too. Ten hours and then some at the Celadon Game Corner expensive. While the Gym trainers had three pokémon at best, Blue had a full team, and a massive advantage because of that. Each pokémon played their part inflicting poison and setting up hazards to chip away at Snorlax every time it decided to rest and heal. Once that was settled, Blue had Machamp Mach Punch it to oblivion.

All the while, there was a constant buzzing, pinpricks running along Blue’s arms with their miniscule Pikachu-like claws. When Blue turned to Pikachu after the battle, he set back his ears and stretched. His relaxed posture appeared to suggest the battle was beneath his interest. Seeing Pikachu’s lazy yawn told Blue not to give him any incentive to try biting. The scratches were bad as it was.

“I’ll bet he was back-seat training this entire time,” Blue decided, scooping up the pokémon. Pikachu squirmed, administering a light shock in retribution.

Once they were out of the Gym, Blue gestured towards Pallet, indicating where they were going. It was late afternoon, and the oppressive heat of the day was just beginning to wane. Pikachu ran ahead, but not out of sight. He rolled in the tall grass and scared off wild pokémon when they came charging out. If they passed a berry bush or an interesting rock, whatever caught the pokémon’s eye would go on some of the journey with him. But the berries never lasted long, and Pikachu wouldn’t give up the curious items he found when Blue asked.

“I guess it’s been a while since you’ve been able to do any of this,” he remarked.

Pikachu mumbled something around a mouthful of berries, an agreement. Unbidden anger rose at the back of Blue’s throat, on behalf of the pokémon. Pikachu seemed much happier (even with him in the background) causing havoc on Route One. Spending all that time on Mt. Silver… It just wasn’t healthy. Not for Red, not for his pokémon. No matter how sharp-clawed they might be.

Blue recognized Red felt something similar about battling. Simple fights at the Gym had long since failed to amuse Blue. Even when he used different teams, mixed around the strategies, it all seemed too easy. Working with the Elite Four might have been better, but they didn’t have any openings. The Battle Tree was a step up. He’d be more of a Frontier Brain than a League member. Red needed the change, he needed the challenge from someone who wasn’t a childhood annoyance coming to check up on him. But, for whatever Red-like reason, he wasn’t interested in leaving when he should have been.

“Maybe Red’s closest pokémon stowing away in something he hates, with someone he hates will make things a bit clearer.”

Being obtuse was his job, not Red’s.

“Idiot,” Blue muttered, but not quietly enough.

Pikachu either understood Blue was thinking about Red, or assumed he was being insulted. Whichever it was didn’t change the outcome.

“Didn’t I just tell myself to avoid giving the rat an excuse to bite me?” Blue thought, as teeth sunk into his shin. Then his mind turned to the pain “Why you little—!”

Blue let his temper get the better of him, and he chased Pikachu the rest of the way to Pallet Town.

“Now grandson,” began his gramps, who happened to be leaving the lab. “You shouldn’t be so cruel to the wildli—”

“LaterGrampsthat’sRed’sPikachubyyyye!”

Not to be brushed off, his gramps grabbed him by the back of the shirt. Gagging, Blue stopped his pursuit. Pikachu’s dark eyes peered out from behind his gramps’ lab coat, goading. The man cleared his throat. Blue forced his attention away from Pikachu. Underneath his gramps’ disapproving gaze, it was like he was ten years old all over again.

“Now what’s this about Red?” he asked.

“Someone,” Blue started, rubbing his throat. “Decided to sneak down Mt. Silver with me.”

“Red’s not going to Alola with you?”

“No Gramps,” Blue rolled his eyes. Had the running and swearing and lack of Red not made it clear enough?

“He’s still doing well then?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Blue sneered. After all, he was the one with scratched up cheeks and bite marks, while Red was off happy doing his own thing. “I’m sure he’ll show up in a couple days for Pikachu.”

“Yes,” his gramps said. His eyes widened a touch, as he finally seemed to notice Blue’s injuries. “Have you cleaned those properly? Are they deep? Infection sets in quickly you know.”

With his gramps’ distant, more clinical approach to the world, that was the closest he could get to expressing sympathy or concern. Knowing this, Blue accepted it without giving him a hard time.

“The scratches, yes. But the bites are new.”

“And that’s what the fuss was about,” the man concluded. “I’m sure there’s disinfectant around the lab.”

“I’ll live,” Blue waved off. “Besides, I’m set to visit Red’s mom, tell ‘er he hasn’t licked a metal swing set and gotten stuck, or whatever new trouble it is you imagine him getting up to.”

“That’s hardly fair, considering both of you are magnets for danger.”

“I cause trouble,” Blue amended. “Red just seeks it out.”

“Still…” he trailed, glancing at Blue’s leg again. “You really should clean the wounds. Saliva from mammals carries bacteria not suited for your body.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I remember catching this particular Pikachu,” Gramps said, reaching down to fluff the pokémon’s fur. Pikachu permitted this, appearing nonchalant and friendly as any pokémon could. Blue supposed only he could see the ram’s horns curling behind Pikachu’s ears, and the pitchfork held in his sharp-clawed clutches. Otherwise, the shining image of innocence was complete. “He was quite wild. Had a strong personality, too.”

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call zapping anyone who got to close.”

“When you raise electric-types, it’s something you’ll learn to live with,” his Gramps lectured. “The advantages and disadvantages of pokémon each type has more application than outside of battle you know. But once you’ve bonded, the mane of a Rapidash can’t burn you, and a Tyranitar won’t whip up a sandstorm inside the house.”

Blue recalled buying new spoons for the house, twice, because Alakazam had bent them out of shape. He thought of Pidgeot’s molting feathers and down laying strewn across the carpet he had just vacuumed. He just needed to find solutions and tell himself that his own pokémon hadn’t stopped causing trouble overnight.

“Both of you are difficult,” his gramps said, taking his silence as a sign to continue. “You’re stubborn when you want to be, and proud of your power, so there’s bound to be some heads clashing.”

“Chuuu!” “We are not!”

Great, not only was he starting to look like Pikachu, they were sharing responses as well. His gramps just chuckled, because of course he was right, he was always right. Blue wanted to put up a better fight, but Pikachu was thinking the same thing. If Gramps wasn’t careful, he’d be nursing bite marks of his own. Since arguing would prove the point, Blue gave his trademark farewell and ran down the familiar dirt path to Red’s house.

Red’s mom was out in the front garden, pruning branches from the bushes. She turned to face them and brushed stray leaves from her hair.

“Is Red-?”

Blue’s gut twisted into slimy, pulsing knots when he heard how hopeful she was. It made him feel like he could have done better to make Red come home, that he was at fault. Blue’s expression gave the answer away and the woman grimaced. Her eyes, shaded by the floppy gardening hat she wore, looked much Red’s in that moment. Then she turned her back to him, clipping branches, and snapping off those that held on with persistent strands of bark. Once she was calmer, had masked the hurt better, she looked back for an answer.

“Something’s happened then?” she asked with strangled, practiced calm. “If Pikachu isn’t with him…”

“R-Red is fine,” Blue stumbled over his words, in a rush to correct what she was thinking. “Pikachu just snuck off. It’s actually good news in a way, because Red’ll come down now, to get Pikachu back. Maybe, once he’s here, he might even…”

It was difficult to make an optimistic suggestion. The buoyancy in his voice dipped, and Blue wound up looking away as well.

“I hate that he’s there,” she announced.

It was an old, tired refrain, which had been accusatory more than once. If it was his gramps (and it had been in the past) Blue might have pointed it out, snapped that if Gramps cared so much about his honorary grandson, he should go persuade instead. His gramps had all the Kanto badges, and the League loved him to boot. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to side-step the bureaucratic nonsense and scale Mt. Silver himself. Of course, he didn’t. Gramps was too busy, too old, while Blue needed to stop being so bull-headed and try for the umpteenth time to get Red back.

“Red has his pokémon to look out for him,” Blue replied.

“His strongest one is right here, stealing berries from my lum plants!” she jabbed the pruners in warning at Pikachu. Blue tensed a moment, thinking he would have to intercept a shock for Red’s mom. Pikachu sulked instead, dropping the green berries. “You may as well eat them now that they’re plucked.”

“D’you need… um, help?” Blue offered, crouching.

“And now you’re going away,” she replied, gesturing to the plastic tub of gardening supplies. Filthy, mismatched gloves stuck out of one side. Blue chose a pair that wasn’t too thin and shook out the bits of leaves crushed inside the fingertips. She handed Blue a gardener’s knife, almost a small saw. The serrations were blunt from overuse. He was directed to one of the larger branches on the bush, which obscured part of the window’s view.

“I can’t just schedule my life around Red, y’know?”

Even though there were days when Blue thought about it.

He wanted Red to be safe just as much as the others did, to be happy. He wanted to do so much more than could be compacted into short monthly visits. All of the want couldn't be squashed to fit within a little boxed in segment of his calendar. Just trying was infuriating enough. But he would not be guilted into staying longer at the Viridian Gym. Blue told his gramps as much upon accepting the job in Alola.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I am happy you’ve been given this opportunity Blue. At least you’re thinking about the future, rather than hiding away from it.”

“I understand,” Blue answered, because it was more than his gramps would ever say.

Pikachu must have felt more apologetic than he let on about snatching the berries. He took the limb Blue was sawing away at and started to bite it. His way to contribute was almost endearing, but Pikachu’s teeth weren’t meant for gnawing. He made it past the first layer of bark, spitting out chewed bits of pulp in disgust.

“Knock it off,” Blue said, poking him with the saw. Pikachu threatened to nip him. Anticipating the reaction, Blue pulled his hand out of biting range.

“When Red first brought Pikachu home, his hair was all fluffed up, and the moment I saw his arms and face, I knew I had to pack him extra bandages for all the scratches,” she commented.

“I’m still amazed that he could be so patient,” Blue added. When he recalled their second battle as fully-fledged rivals on Route Twenty-Two, the marks on Red’s hands came to mind. During the occasions they met after that battle, all the signs of hurt had faded to whitish scars. A lesser trainer would have given Pikachu up as a lost cause. But not Red.

“So was I. Pikachu didn’t seem like a good pokémon for a beginner trainer. But you know what Red told me?”

“What?”

Red’s mom grinned softly, and again, with a striking resemblance to her son.

“He can’t be any more stubborn than Blue.”

Blue decided he and Pikachu needed to stop sharing reactions. It destroyed any semblance of argument he could make against the case before it even started.

“She’s making it up,” Blue reassured the pokémon. Pikachu was squeaking a similar reply to him. “I refuse to believe it!”

“You were a little terror at that age.” 

“Can’t dispute that,” Blue shrugged. “The only difference now is that I pay taxes and wear a size nine.”

With that light jab, the cloudy mood that came with discussing Red’s whereabouts lifted.

Chapter Text

Blue awoke to find something fluffy sprawled across his face. A quick check told him it wasn’t Eevee; her coat was longer, and Blue could feel her weight leaning against his stomach. The short fur bristled with under his touch, crackling. It told Blue all that he needed to know. He sat up, sending a disgruntled Pikachu tumbling.

“Don’t you have your own rookery on the fridge?” he asked, eyeing Pikachu in annoyance. “Or was stealing my phone charger not enough?”

Pikachu muttered a response and settled down beside him. Blue wondered if Red woke to something similar in the morning. He allowed himself to imagine Red snoring away. His trademark hat was missing, but a yellow, breathing one was in its place. The vision came apart as Blue recalled Red had been sleeping in a cavern, not a spacious bed. In all likelihood, Pikachu just missed the luxury of a proper mattress, and pillows.

Then his obligations called, so Blue got out of bed. Eevee and Pikachu claimed the hollow in the blankets where he’d lain before. The name of the game that day was chores. Bo-ring. But if he crammed most of his adult responsibilities into one day, it left more time for doing what he wanted.

Blue shuffled to the kitchen, intending to prepare breakfast. It was only after a minute of impatient foot-tapping he recalled the power bar was woven into the intricate nest on top of his fridge. That was why the toast wasn’t toasting, and the kettle remained at a stand-still. With enough finicking around, he managed to plug in both appliances while not disturbing Pikachu’s creation. As he wrangled with the cords, Blue noticed his earbuds had made their way into the design. They were already tangled before Pikachu incorporated them.

Gyarados and Machamp had to be fed outside. Their collective size would bring down the roof otherwise. He left the two titans outdoors, each guarding their portion from the other. Eevee deigned to show up when she heard her dish being filled. Exeggutor sat by the windowsill and drew in sunlight, content to make his own breakfast for the day. Pikachu ambled over last, stretching his hind legs as he walked.

“You can’t just have ketchup,” Blue said. “At least put it on the kibble.”

“Piii…” he groused in agreement.

A rain of clicking sounds began. Fridge magnets lost their namesake as they peeled off the metal surface and slid to the floor. The field of current approached Blue, and then passed by as Pikachu retrieved the ketchup bottle from its hiding place.

“You mind fixing that?” Blue asked, looking up from his toast.

The lights flickered a moment, and the grills of the toaster glowed brighter orange. No longer demagnetized, the magnets stuck back to the fridge. Blue bent over, replacing lost coupons and notes to himself. Pikachu took notice of a thin pamphlet on Alolan etiquette and culture. His gramps had given it to him. (“Because I want no reason to read about you causing an international incident in the papers,” he’d said in his usual Gramps-like voice.) The sides were edged with white-tipped waves. A stylized version of a surfing Raichu paddled in the water. Pikachu looked from that to the Alolan Exeggutor adorning the back page to the one in the kitchen with concern.

“He’s not going to grow that tall,” Blue said. “Don’t worry about the roof.”

The scratches on his cheeks felt better, and so Blue’s mood had improved as well. At the very least, Blue didn’t feel like locking the fuzzball out of his place until Red showed.

“Pikapika?” he pointed to the illustration on the front page. Red had dismissed Pikachu’s question about Alolan Raichu with a fond roll of his eyes. Evidently, the intrigue was still there.

“Yup, that’s where I’ll be moving,” Blue said. He couldn’t be certain if that was what Pikachu had asked, but it seemed an accurate approximation. Pikachu nodded with a thoughtful expression. “You can ask Alakazam to read it to you before she dozes off.”

Alakazam, unlike the rest of his pokémon, slept on an irregular schedule. The Abra family’s psychic power meant it needed longer periods to rest. One aide in Gramps’ lab had also brought up the possibility of different calendars and units of time measurement playing a factor in things. While the Alakazam’s schedule didn’t make sense to diurnals or nocturnals in the modern day, it did in some ancient human civilization. Whatever the reason, Alakazam looked close to drifting off at the kitchen table. She gave her trainer a look over the newspaper in her claws, but didn’t comment.

“You might wanna’ eat first though,” Blue remarked.

Eevee was eyeing Pikachu’s food dish, and snuck closer to it. Abandoning his curiosity, Pikachu lugged over the ketchup and poured a liberal amount on his kibble. That deterred any thoughts Eevee had about stealing a second breakfast. Blue wolfed down his own food at the counter, and then unplugged the toaster. He didn’t want to risk a power surge shorting it out.

Out of all his pokémon, only Eevee needed grooming. Gyarados would shed scales at his own pace, Machamp did his own regiment of stretches, and Pidgeot would preen herself. Alakazam, who was by far the most independent of his pokémon, had enough dexterity to brush her own mustache. Eevee could handle most of the dirt and knots on her own, but, as pointed out many times by his sister, pokémon enjoyed the attention. Even his younger self— who thought Daisy was the epitome of not-cool-enough-to-be-a-Pokémon-Master— couldn’t dispute that.

With Eevee tucked under one arm and his mug of coffee held in the other, he went to the bathroom. A passing visitor might have looked at the various hair care products and assumed it was just another sign of Blue Oak’s vanity. In reality, Daisy had more brushes and accessories than she knew what to do with. It was inevitable that anything she didn't want was passed off to him.

With that, Blue set to brushing Eevee’s fur. It was the mane around her neck which got particularly scruffy. Matted knots worked their way up the length of fur, trapping in bits of fluff and other small annoyances.

Eevee was cooperative, only chiding him once or twice as they came to a particularly stubborn tangle. Alakazam reassured him long ago that he didn’t have the right touch for handling knots, because he didn’t have long hair. Or even brush it for that matter. It just stuck up every which-way, and reminded Gramps he had a grandson. Red was stuck with a similar affliction (the hair, not the forgetful relative) and used a hat to cover it up.

Picture day as kids had been the stuff of nightmares. Red insisted he needed to keep the hat on. Red’s mother, their teacher, and the photographer each tried combinations of tricks and threats to cajole the ball cap from his head. Once the hat was put out of reach, there was an effort to comb and eliminate traces of hat hair. The experience always combined to make a photo adults could coo over, and pin on the fridge while proclaiming how grown up Red looked. Red, of course, hated it. But Blue thought— even now— that Red’s hair was fine. It was dark to match his eyes…

“Vee?” Eevee tilted her head up. Realizing that he’d stopped brushing, Blue showed her the comb. It was thick with trapped hairs and dust.

“There’s enough Eevee in here to make a second one of you,” he replied. “Anyway, let’s start on your nails.”

Unlike Pikachu, who possessed true, curved claws, Eevee had nails. Daisy lectured him thoroughly on the differences when Blue asked her if it really mattered. According to her, it did. Nails were flatter in shape, and had blunt ends to them. While some pokémon could retract their claws, it was not possible to do the same with nails. Claws also had more of a purpose to them than nails; they were necessary for fighting, grooming, and scratching up a perfectly innocent guy’s face. Beyond basic healthcare reasons, nails needed to be filed for stealth on the battlefield, (It was difficult to sneak up on an enemy when the sound of clicking nails gave it away.) and traction. Pokémon that did have claws used them in battle, and therefore had to go through a different grooming process to keep them in a healthy battling condition.

He filed Eevee’s nails without running into the quick and made sure there were no jagged bits left over. With a pair of nail scissors, cut the longer fur growing between the pads of her paws— pokémon tended to slip on flat surfaces when it grew too long— and did a final once-over of his pokémon. Sure, Eevee didn’t look like she was ready to enter a Master Rank Super Contest, but she was happy enough.

“Go, you’re free.”

Then the fun started, because anyone forced to stand around for a small eternity was bound to get fidgety. Eevee bolted from the room, enjoying her new, stealthier running, and the healthy gleam that returned to her coat. There was a loud squeak— she must have snuck up on whichever pokémon was closest— and then silence.

But not quite silence. Blue paused a moment, trying to discern what he was hearing. The kitchen sink was running.

“Didn’t I turn that off?”

Sweeping the stray fur from his legs, Blue got up. His investigation ended the moment he saw the kitchen. Pikachu was sitting under the running water and seemed to be concentrating. The (now water-stained) pamphlet about Alola was unfolded on the counter. Blue’s initial response was to scold Pikachu for making a watery mess, electric shocks bedamned. It served him right for thinking that he could trust the pokémon alone in his house. But the pensive expression made Blue double-take.

In the back of his mind, there was a distant whisper, “Pikachu wants to learn Surf, but he already knows four moves.”

He nodded towards Alakazam, thanking her for the explanation. Pikachu’s elaboration would have gotten lost in translation, Blue was sure of it. Blue didn’t know what to make of the situation though. It was strange enough Red’s pokémon learned a move it shouldn’t have been able to before. Now, Pikachu was trying to remember it.

“I don’t think that’s going to help you learn Surf,” Blue said, reaching for the tap. “You’re just going to flood my kitchen.”

Displaced water was already seeping over the edges of the sink, onto the counter. He grabbed the kitchen towel and blotted it away.

“Besides,” he continued, even though Pikachu wouldn’t listen to him. “What’s Red going to say when he finds out you’ve forgotten Iron Tail or Volt Tackle or somethin’?”

“Pika-chu,” the pokémon answered testily. He sent a jolt through the metal sink, but the water was a poor conductor. Electricity needed salt water, Blue remembered his gramps mentioning it once. Something to do with ions in the sea salt.

“He says,” Alakazam chimed, turning over the newspaper. “He needs to learn it if he’s returning to Alola. And that his trainer can— no pardon me. He won’t say that until after you point out his trainer isn’t coming with you to Alola, and you’re not sneaking him through customs on our trip.”

Blue’s mouth was already open and about to say those very words before Alakazam finished the train of thought for him.

“And now, you are going to ask why Pikachu said ‘returning’ to Alola, and he will respond his pedigree is Alolan. Thus, his aptitude for learning an impossible move.”

So maybe Pikachu wanting to learn Surf wasn’t as weird as he thought.

“So you’re Alolan eh?” Blue mused, rubbing the back of his head. “Is that why you don’t want to evolve? ‘cause you wouldn’t be an Alolan Raichu?”

Pikachu gave a terse nod. Blue guessed it was sort of a personal subject to ask about, and let it drop.

“I still don’t think the kitchen sink is the best place to do this though.”

Blue didn’t need a psychic pokémon with an IQ of 5000 to tell him Pikachu’s next words meant, “It’s not like I asked you.”

“Take it outside or don’t try at all. Gyarados will be there, so at least he can help you.”

Pikachu left in a huff, but not before shaking out his wet coat of fur. The moment Pikachu was out the door, Blue realized leaving him unsupervised wasn’t smart. He’d narrowly missed letting the kitchen be flooded during the half an hour Pikachu spent alone. (Never mind that Alakazam hadn’t done anything to discourage the pokémon from trying.) With that understanding, Blue followed him outside. It was better to have supervision with training anyway; he didn’t want to think of how Red would respond if Pikachu was half-drowned because of Gyarados’ powerful water-type moves.

Blue sat down in the shade of a tree to watch the pokémon. The grass was soft, and still a touch dewy in the shade. Patches of sunlight poked through the canopy, focusing the sun’s rays to hot pinpricks. Pikachu waved his paws in front of Gyarados, who listened to the explanation. He had gone down to Pikachu’s agonizing Volt Tackle more than once, and seemed wary of Pikachu’s sudden desire to strike up a conversation.

“It’s ok,” Blue called to his pokémon.

Gyarados coiled back in a defensive position, still anticipating a surprise attack of some sort. For all their power, Gyarados were slow to think. Lashing out on pure emotion was the basis of their strength. Magikarp just didn’t possess the power to back it up. Although, his Magikarp was the best user of Splash around, just like the odd salesman promised. After mulling it over, Gyarados understood.

Blue wasn’t certain who he was supposed to be worried for. Gyarados swamped the area with just one use of Surf, leaving Pikachu dripping and muddy. But he could also see sparks flying off the pokémon’s cheeks and snaking through the water. Gyarados couldn’t take a super effective attack, while Pikachu couldn’t breathe underwater, and the whole idea became a convoluted mess. Creating water seemed like the most difficult part of the move. Doing so was second nature to a water-type, as was swimming. Pikachu could do a modest doggy-paddle, not unlike a surfer, and couldn’t summon water from… Well, wherever water, beams of energy, plants, and other types of attacks seemed to originate.

“The more I think about this, the more my head hurts,” Blue decided. “Why does it make sense that a dragon has hydrokinesis, but a yellow mouse doesn’t?”

Those sorts of questions were the ones his gramps asked. Blue had a sudden feeling they were also the reason why his gramps was so, well, his gramps. Most people would feel a little odd after trying to apply scientific logic to the world. Gyarados created the water… somehow. But it made sense. Because it lived in the water? Because its rough scales were cyan?

Gyarados, the Atrocious Pokémon.

Pikachu, the Mouse Pokémon.

During Blue’s first journey, everything slowed to a crawl in Viridian Forest. He searched through the tall grass for an uncommon pokémon the bug catchers told him about. He kept encountering bugs, all of them useless and too frail for battling. His legs were itchy with bites and scratched red by unkind branches. More than once, Blue wondered if the trainers were lying because he beat them. Then, he stumbled across it.

When several of these Pokémon gather, their electricity could build and cause lightning storms.

Hadn’t that been the entry in his Pokédex, all those years ago? 

Water pooled around his feet now, turning the ground mushy. Blue scrambled up just before a second wave could reach him. Now ankle deep in water, Blue waded towards the pokémon. Maybe in applying a little pseudo-logic to the training, this could work.

Besides, he couldn’t wait to see Red’s face when he learned that Pikachu had picked up Surf again.

Chapter Text

The patter of rain had long surpassed the description of soothing. Wind stirred in the trees, limbs scraped against the window and rattled the panes. Blue had drawn the blinds earlier, knowing he would imagine twisted faces peering through the window if he looked outside during the movie.

All four of Machamp’s hands were over his eyes, but he peeked through on occasion. Blue had been kicked off the couch by Alakazam and Exeggutor. They sat together, Alakazam with her eyes closed. Her face was serene to contrast everyone else’s tense expressions. Blue knew she was explaining each twist of the scary movie to Exeggutor before anything happened.

Eevee’s head was in a bag of chips. At first, she’d just been snacking. Then, as more blood splashed across the screen, and the wails grew louder, she hid. Blue thought she might be sleeping now, head still trapped in the bag. From his spot on the floor, Blue nudged Eevee with a socked foot. She didn’t stir. Sleeping then, or at the very least hogging the chips. 

A lurching scream made all but Alakazam and Exeggutor flinch. The latter reacted thirty seconds after it occurred. Not for the first time, Blue wondered why Alakazam had to pick this particular movie. There was so much screaming in it. No matter the genre, she tended to get a kick out of using her abilities to learn what would happen. The more illogical plot twists, the better. If it wasn’t a cheesy horror movie laden with cheap scares, it was a soap opera. A story where everyone had evil twins, comatose lovers, and pokémon battles to decide the fate of a relationship. 

One character was trapped in a chase scene with the ghost pokémon now. Violin strings screeched, and the actor was sobbing between heavy gasps of air. She came to the kitchen, was looking around the run-down place for some way to save herself. 

“Take the knife!” 

His pokémon yelled their own advice, but the character did not heed. Her choice was to hide in the large freezer of all places. Blue had seen enough horror movies to know what the end result would be, but it didn’t make the decision any less silly. Deep freezers were built with emergency shut-offs, air circulation, and had locks which could open or remove the door from the inside. Nevertheless, the character was trapped.

White breath fogged up the shot, and dripping cuts of meat were hung from metal hooks. The character’s complexion grew rosy, as she wasted strength trying twist the door handle. The ridges of her ears were bluing, and the colour had drained from her lips. Frost crunched underfoot, and her panicked breaths continued to cloud around her mouth.

Then he thought of Red: his fingers uncooperative with the cold, his legs numbing and refusing to let him walk. Ice crystals edged along the brim of his hat, and built up on his exposed, blackening face. Then there was the shaking. First because of the chill, but then, as the feeling bled away to false, comforting warmth, because of the knowledge that there was no way out. Even though he still wore his surly expression, he couldn’t force the trembling to stop.

Blue had to look away from the screen then.

He was being stupid, worrying about Red. Just like his gramps. Just like Red’s mom. They all knew things would turn out fine.

Besides, it didn’t matter what he felt. It wouldn’t change anything. Red humoured their fretting, but didn’t do much to reassure them that he was fine. He stayed on Mt. Silver. He wouldn’t respond to Blue’s letters or messages unless a sheet of paper and pencil were forcibly shoved in front of him. It wasn’t like Red reciprocated the concern.

The thought made something in Blue stir. Like he wanted to punch a wall. Blue stood up, raking fingers through his matted hair. Alakazam and Exeggutor protested he was blocking the screen. Machamp continued to peek through his twenty fingers, squeezing his eyes shut with each loud noise. Blue left his pokémon to enjoy the movie, and slid to the darkened hall.

Just as he was pressing his palms to his eyes, Blue heard the skittering of claws at the door. Still in horror movie mindset, Blue didn’t want to approach the front door. Was someone trying the lock? Could a criminal be after him because of the Gym? Because of his relation to a famous professor? It wouldn’t have been the first time. As he approached, thunder crashed. The hall was bathed in a flash of pure white, illuminating all there was to see. The silhouette of a quadrupedal figure appeared by the door.

“Pikachu?”

Hadn’t Pikachu been snuggling with Eevee? No, that couldn’t be right, because Eevee was sleeping with the chips. He hadn’t even seen the pokémon slip away from the group.

“What are you up to?” Blue asked, squinting. Dark shapes were making themselves known to him as his eyes adjusted. Pikachu paced, shooting restless looks at the door. “Is someone… is someone there? Is it Red?”

Unless Red had grown out his nails since the last time they’d met, the thing which resumed scratching at the door wasn’t him. A chill washed over Blue, goosebumps spreading across his arms. For once, Blue wished it was Pikachu manipulating the electricity around him. Pikachu made a high, keening noise. One Blue hadn’t heard before. The pokémon pressed his nose to the door, as if he could nuzzle it open.

“U-uh, you want me to—?” Blue asked, with a hesitant glance towards the lock. He couldn’t see anyone through the door’s window. Not on the stoop at least. His house stood facing Viridian Forest. Tree limbs bowed under the wind’s pressure before waving up again. Rivulets of water trickled down the glass, obscuring part of the view. Another flash lit up the world. In that moment, multiple somethings shone; they were distant, spherical and reflective. Blue counted five more sets of eyes, peering at him from the forest. They sat in the trees and stalked through the underbrush.

“Pokémon,” Blue rationalized.

A second bolt struck, and when the daze faded from his sight, Blue realized the eyes were getting closer.

“Juuust pokémon,” Blue announced in a sing-song voice, even as the scratching continued. “Viridian Forest has tons of those. Hell, I have tons of those.”

Except none of them had a particular strength over ghost-types. Alakazam, Exeggutor, and Machamp all had a disadvantage. Eevee couldn’t do anything, while Gyarados and Pidgeot were staying with Gramps, because it was hard enough taking care of six Pokémon before Pikachu decided to make that number seven.

“Pika-CHU!” declared the pokémon. If Blue had to make a hasty translation, he would guess Pikachu was demanding to be let outside on pain of electrical shock.

“Or, you could always not go there,” Blue suggested.

Pikachu’s cheeks crackled to life, sparks jumping from his paws.

“Alright, geeze, we’ll see what’s up. But we’re going together.”

Pikachu ignored the last part. He was out the door and down the steps before Blue had traded his housecoat for a jacket.

“Wait, don’t just-!”

Pikachu disappeared into the forest. So did the remaining eyes. Blue followed, slipping and sliding all the way. The ground squashed underfoot— Blue realized that he wasn’t wearing shoes— and sunk. He hoped no one could see the Gym Leader of Viridian City running through a storm in nothing but pyjama bottoms and fuzzy, Eevee-themed socks. It was bad enough they thought he was going loopy for trying to help a Pikachu learn Surf. If Gramps and Daisy heard about this, he wasn’t going to live it down.

Gritting his teeth, he pursued in the direction Pikachu had vanished. He was already soaked to the bone. Blue’s clothes stuck to him like a second skin. Mud worked its way up his ankles and splashed against his thighs. All the while, heavy rain pelted him, reducing vision to less than a meter in front of him. Tree branches seemed to jump out of nowhere. Roots and bushes sprang up and dragged at his sides.

Once or twice, Blue could swear something was there. The presence was underfoot and in the canopy simultaneously. It moved with easy grace while he stumbled. Leaves rustled, mocking chitters flooded his ears on either side, and Blue was certain he saw the gleam of eyes again. Blue knew the forest well enough, but not when darkness obscured the landmarks his eyes sought. Thus, stumbling into the wooded clearing was jarring. Blue’s sprint didn’t end until he was part-way through the circlet of trees; his mind hadn’t processed what he was seeing. 

There were Pikachu in the clearing, and then some. Pichu and Raichu mingled in with the crowd as well. The pokémon were all good-natured, more engrossed in their own activities than the lone human who’d come across their gathering. 

“Pikachu!” Blue called.

“Pika?” asked a Pikachu with odd, orangish fur.

“No, sorry, the other Pikachu,” Blue amended, squeezing past the group. “Pikachu!”

“Chuuu?”

“You’re not even a Pikachu!” Blue snapped.

Raichu at least had the decency to rub the back of its neck in embarrassment. It must have evolved recently.

“Pikachu!”

Heads turned, but none of them were the Pikachu he was looking for. Defeated, Blue sat down on a tree stump. He couldn’t bring himself to give a single flying fuck about the chill that had seeped into his skin, or the mucky mess he’d made of himself. There weren’t any ghosts, just his overactive imagination. Pikachu had invited himself to some kind of party when the ones in Viridian Forest came calling. Blue’s mood swung from terrified to humiliated to frustrated. He didn’t have a chance of finding Pikachu in this crowd. He would wait for Pikachu to return himself.

“Pi-ka?”

One Pikachu with a notch in its tail waddled over to him. Its arms were full of berries, and it offered him one. Erring on the side politeness, Blue accepted the berry. Rolling it over in his palms, Blue saw it was edible for humans, but very sour. He wasn’t faced with the conundrum of eating it, because a Pichu came by not moments later and used its best baby eyes on him. With a bit of a laugh, Blue tossed it to the pokémon.

The gathering of pokémon was energetic, true to their nature. Pokémon hopped from puddle to puddle, or started up mock-fights with each other. Blue could also see pointed ears sticking out of the trees; Pikachu were reaching, paws extended towards the sky. Were they trying to attract the lightning? Maybe they would absorb the energy rather than a thunder stone. Those who wanted to evolve could use it as an alternative. He would have to bring it up to his Gramps the next time they met… 

Someone tugged at his sopping wet shirt, the Pichu from before. It brought more of its friends along this time. 

“I don’t have anything else to give you,” Blue said, splaying his empty hands.

That didn’t stop Pichu and the others from climbing all over him, just to be sure. One was sitting on his head, investigating his rain-flattened hair. Two sat perched on his shoulders, and a fourth was climbing up his back with clumsy movements. The Pichu squeaked as if they were addressing him. Blue smiled and nodded, pretending he understood what they were rambling about. A roar of thunder made him yelp in surprise; the lightning was getting closer. None of the Pichu were fazed. The pokémon sitting in his hair gave him a comforting pat on the head, as if he were the baby, and not the other way around. 

Blue hunched over, keeping his head propped on his hand. The wooded clearing was morphing in to a blur of flashing yellow and white before his eyes. A muddy Pikachu approached him with caution. Blue was certain this was the Pikachu. He flared a modest wave of static, warning Blue he would get zapped if he showed any signs of anger. The Pichus chirped various greetings and gave loose shocks of welcome. They were weak and uncontrolled. A small pinch in comparison to what Blue had grown accustomed to.

“Are you all done doing whatever you came here for?”

“Pikapika!” 

“Because that clears everything up,” Blue grumbled, standing. “C’mon, let’s go.”

The quartet of Pichu took this as an indication that all six of them were leaving. Four sets of claws dug into him from various places.

“Oh no you don’t,” Blue said, reaching to detach the nearest Pichu. “Just one is already a handful!”

Blue put the Pichu on the ground and set to work on prying the next one from his shoulders. The Pichu he’d removed, confused at first, took this as a signal to hold onto his leg this time. Blue tried shaking his leg, but to no avail. The others clung twice as tight.

“Hey you Pikachu!” Blue said. Most of the Pikachu in the clearing looked towards him. “No, Red’s Pikachu, you! Help me out here!”

In all fairness, Pikachu’s solution did convince the Pichu to let go.

He just didn’t appreciate the massive electric shock.

Blue’s muscles turned to quivering jelly, and he lost all control of them. He was illuminated in white, then scarlet, as the blood rushed to his head… Black… Multiple faces were swimming above his own, eyes glittering in worry. One of them poked his throat. Another was holding bunched up leaves, revival herb. Did they think it would work on a human? Sitting on his chest was a Raichu, who rubbed its paws together in a way eerily reminiscent of a defibrillator.

“That’s the last time I ask you for help,” Blue said, sitting up. Blue took inventory of himself. He was still in soaking wet pyjama pants, had no burns, and everything was moving fine. The shock was superficial, meant to disable rather than to cause damage. “Ow.”

Pikachu had the decency to look guilty, and perhaps a touch nervous. That might have been his wishful thinking though. Blue couldn’t think of any reason why Pikachu would care. It wasn’t like Red would get upset with his pokémon for it… Maybe disposing of a body was the problem. There may have been a circle of thirty some odd pokémon, but they were too small to carry him.

“Let’s go, for real this time.”

Blue left before the ring of pokémon could decide that he really did need the bitter medicine or further electric shocks.

Chapter Text

“Chuuu.” 

Pikachu was at the front door again, pacing and casting furtive looks out the window. Blue didn’t know what for, but decided to write it off as another party. Or maybe Pikachu was trying to add Perish Song to his moveset. 

“Chuuuuuu!”

The wailing grew decidedly worse. Enough for Blue to admit defeat and check up on the Pokémon. Pikachu didn’t respond to his presence. Blue opened the door, half-expecting a real ghost to be in the threshold that time. He had since picked up Tyranitar from his gramps’ place, so the supernatural wasn’t a concern now. None of his Viridian Forest friends were out, either. (Though if  Blue looked harder, he might have noticed there were four pairs of suspiciously Pichu-shaped ears hiding in the bushes.) Pikachu looked at the empty stoop, but did not go outside. 

“CHUUUUUU!” 

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time,” Blue sighed, placing his hands on his hips. “What’s the matter?” 

Pikachu didn’t care to elaborate. He fell forwards onto his stomach and lay there a moment. Then the pokémon rolled over in a needlessly dramatic fashion, bringing a paw to his forehead. 

“Are you sick?” Blue stooped over, feeling the pokémon’s forehead. Waves of static snapped up the moment he did, and Blue backed off. In the few seconds he’d been able to check the pokémon’s temperature, nothing felt wrong. “Did you eat something you shouldn’t have?” 

Pikachu shook his head. 

“Um, electric pokémon can get overcharged, right?” Blue said to himself. “Yeah, Gramps mentioned that. So you need to zap something that will drain the excess. Or I’ll take you to the Pokémon Center and get Nurse Joy to—”

Pikachu continued to roll down the hall and out the steps, whining all the way. Blue followed, not quite knowing what to make of the situation. 

“Are you—? No, forget the guessing game! Alakazam!” Blue released Alakazam from her Poké Ball. She yawned, and shot irate looks between them both. “What’s Pikachu saying?” 

“You woke me to translate?” 

“Yes! What if he’s sick or hurt?” 

“You know, most trainers don’t get to rely upon their pokémon to—”

Blue had been on the receiving end of this lecture plenty of times. Both from Alakazam and his gramps. It wasn’t fair to make Alakazam strain her powers, and she was more than just a convenient translator. 

“Yeah, yeah, they learn communication through bonding and junk,” Blue interrupted with a wave. “But Pikachu and I aren’t exactly close pals.” 

Alakazam folded her arms. Having been woken up, she was in an uncooperative frame of mind. 

“Nurse Joy and Officer Jenny can understand the feelings of any Pokémon in danger.” 

“Well I don’t look good in a miniskirt! So if you could just translate already—”

“Fine,” huffed Alakazam. As she listened to Pikachu, her cloudy expression darkened further. “Pikachu, how can you miss the colour red when your species is red-green colourblind? You don’t even know what red is! Honestly! I can’t believe I was bothered just for this!” 

Alakazam’s logical stance on the matter left Blue to puzzle out what she’d said. It didn’t take much brain power on his part. 

“The reason you sound like you’re dying is that you’re homesick?” Blue scoffed. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you decided to run away!” 

Smug as Blue wanted to act, knowing that Pikachu was experiencing the consequences of his plan, his heart wasn’t behind it. As Blue thought about Pikachu’s words, he realized it was taking Red a long time. Blue’s mind jumped to the numbers; he began calculating the journey. One day to realize Pikachu had run off, to pack his things, and leave. A second to climb down the mountain. Three and four were the days it would take to get to Viridian City. Five if Red didn’t have a flying Pokémon, which Red did. 

That meant Red should have been at his house three days ago.

Everything in his body sank and twisted around at once. Blue regretted all the times he’d made fun of his gramps and Red’s mom for worrying as much as they did. Every terrible thing that could have happened to Red swam before his eyes: somehow Red had run into Team Rocket while passing through the Tojo Falls. He miscalculated a jump and had fallen down Mt. Silver. He’d tried to bike indoors against his better judgement, run into another person, and fallen into a deep coma as a result of the horrific crash. 

The trainer had half a mind to join Pikachu crying on the ground. 

“Yes, I suppose the colour red has abandoned you in a sense,” Alakazam continued. “Though, you were never able to distinguish it from green to begin with.” 

Blue crouched over and asked, “You really think Red’s just decided to leave you here? With ME?!” 

Pikachu covered his eyes and nodded. It was strange for the pokémon to come off as insecure. Blue was used to a Pikachu who acted smug with power when he was around, and angelic with everyone else. 

“He says that you are his,” Alakazam grumbled. “This is such a silly conversation! I can’t believe you woke me up for this. Lost colours and some such.”

“Did I miss something with that first part there?” Blue asked. “What am I?” 

“You are his.”

“Still not getting it. I belong to Red? ‘Cause, that’s weird.”

“It is not possessive, nor a form of titled address,” she trailed. “I cannot think of a word in your language which conveys it. Since we are discussing the colour red, and your name is Blue… That makes the colour red and you purple, according to Pikachu. Now are you done asking wasteful questions?”

“Uuuh…” 

Alakazam recalled herself with a huff. Blue didn’t know what to think of her efforts at translating. He wanted to think the pokémon was pulling his leg, but her rational view of the world also made it difficult to understand. How could it be in that using logic, everything had turned out more confusing? 

“Get serious,” Blue said, forcing the bemusement and worry out of his voice. “Red knows we don’t get along. He wouldn’t let you stay with me if it had been up to him to begin with. And if he did, I’d personally climb Mt. Silver and kick his—” 

The encouragement fell flat. Blue took a moment, trying to compose himself in spite of all the terrible, ridiculous possibilities swirling around him: Red had come across a shiny pokémon and spent all his resources trying to catch it, so he couldn’t afford to stay in a Pokémon Center. Red had decided to take the scenic route and walk around the planet in the opposite direction, instead of taking the short route. In some comedic yet feasible mishap, Red actually had gotten his tongue stuck to a metal swing set. 

Yet none of these ideas, no matter how far-fetched they seemed, involved Pikachu being abandoned. Especially not by Red.

“I mean, you’re the most important person, erm, being in Red’s life.” 

“Pi?” Pikachu sat up and looked at him in disbelief. “Pikapi!” 

Pikachu jabbed at Blue, and then back at his own chest. Blue took this, combined with the tone, as a sign of disagreement.

“Yes you are!”

“Pika!” Pikachu shook his head. 

“Are too!”

“Pika!” 

“ARE TOO!” 

“PIKA!” 

“Um, Blue?” 

Blue looked up from his front steps, to see a neighbour regarding the scene in concern.

“Yeah?”

“Is everything alright?” asked the neighbour.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Blue wondered.

“Beyond the fact that you’re arguing like a child with a pokémon?” 

“I’m fine,” he snapped. 

With a shake of her head, the neighbour left him to fighting with Pikachu. It was only as Blue watched her retreating back that he came to an understanding. This, combined with the Surf incident, and the time when he’d run half-dressed into the forest during a thunderstorm, meant he was going to leave Viridian as one of the weirder Gym Leaders they’d ever had. Considering the last guy had been a mobster, that was saying something. Half the town probably thought he was going senile at a young age, or taking after his gramps’ distant behaviour. Maybe both. Dealing with Pikachu sure seemed to be driving him crazy. 

“Alright wise guy,” he said, poking Pikachu’s chest. “If you’re not the most important to Red, then who is?” 

“Chu.” 

Pikachu attempted to poke him back, but his arms were too stubby to reach.

“Hold on, you’re not saying ME, are you? Because like, Red doesn’t even send me mail. And he owes me multiple birthday presents.” 

Blue’s thoughts rushed back to Alakazam’s hasty, nonsensical translation. There were words for that in the human language! Partners and significant others and all the other things Blue was fairly certain they weren’t. 

“Red doesn’t— I’m just—” Blue rubbed his forehead, trying to stave off the coming headache. “Red just tolerates me because we’ve known each other forever and I bring him food.” 

It was taking all his control not to lay in the grass with Pikachu, and melodramatically whine over Red. Pikachu felt bad as it was, and genuinely believed that Red was going to stay on Mt. Silver. Couldn't he see that Red valued Pikachu above all his pokémon? He’d packed extra bandages with a bottle of stinging hydrogen peroxide and learned how to deal with the injuries. Somehow, with unyielding patience and a lot of food bribery, he’d coaxed out the nicer aspects of Pikachu’s personality. When Blue thought of the effort it had taken, Red seemed more like a dragon tamer than a basic trainer. So why was Pikachu so insecure? 

“It’s not like—" Blue stopped, a lump forming in his throat. “Ah, shit.” 

Yeah, he thought it was strange that Pikachu was actually Alolan, while Gramps had caught him in the wild of Kanto. But those things happened. Swarms of rare species from other regions migrated. But Pikachu hadn’t been a prickly, uncooperative pokémon because he was wild. 

There had been another trainer before Red. 

Just swearing once wasn’t enough. He spat a stream of curses, each filthier than the last. But none of them could drown out the sound of his gramps’ voice, of Red’s mom. They were right about him and Pikachu. They both had egos, but could turn on the charm if necessary. They also thought the world of Red, even if he was sometimes undeserving, made mistakes of his own… But did they have to share vulnerabilities as well? 

Abandonment. 

By his parents. 

By a trainer. 

Fuck, he knew both adults would be grinning at him now, smug in their knowledge that they were right. 

For the umpeenth time Gramps was right and he was wrong. 

Of-fucking-course. 

Now how did he make things better? There was still a distressed pokémon on his hands. Pikachu had stopped crying, but he was just laying there. A fuzzy, immovable rock. 

“H-hey, it’s gonna’ be…” he despised how his voice shook. “You know Red’s going to arrive. He’ll probably break the door into a million splinters and rescue you from me. I mean, Red probably does think I stole you.” 

Tentatively, Blue reached out to pat his back. He knew, at least, that the gesture was comforting to humans. The pokémon tensed, fur bristling. His own hair was starting to stand on end again, but there was no culminating shock. He continued to rub the pokémon’s back until he’d calmed somewhat. 

“I’ll bet that he’s planning a daring rescue and needs to get it just right. He’ll fly in on Charizard, and have Lapras use Sheer Cold so none of my team can fight back. And you—" he lifted the pokémon from under his chubby arms. “—will jump onto his shoulder, and hit me with one, last shock.”

“Ch!” he protested. 

“No? Are you going to use Surf and let me get swept away?” 

Pikachu nodded, already looking happier with that mental image. 

“Then I’ll explain that you stowed away with Eevee’s help,” he shot back. “But after that, we can convince him to come to Alola. I bet he’ll love the Battle Tree, and the food… We’ll have fancy umbrellas in every drink, and eat a whole bunch of malasada until we’re sick!” 

He cut off mid-rant, grinning slightly. Pikachu gave a faint smile back.

“It’ll be… We’ll both be fine, ok?” 

The cling of static never left with his touch, but it did lessen.

Chapter Text

“How am I going to call into work and say I’ll be late like this?”

It was more of a rhetorical question, but Pikachu appeared over the field of his vision anyway. The moment Blue opened the door that morning, he’d been tackled to the ground by a blur of yellow and black; the four Pichu had followed him home. Blue didn’t know what their angry squeaks meant, but he assumed they were reprimanding him for leaving them behind. When Blue eventually stood, the Pichu wouldn’t let go of his legs. The pokémon were light enough on their own, but collectively was a different matter. It didn’t help that Pikachu and Eevee decided to join in on the fun, climbing onto his shoulders. 

“Gah! What do you want?” Blue shook his arms. “Is it money? More electrical cables?” 

Blue was certain Eevee and Pikachu were snickering, so he decided to turn the tables. 

“Hey Pikachu,” he began, concealing a smile. “I know my Poké Speak is rusty, but is there a reason why these Pichu are calling me Gramps?” 

Horrified by the implication, Pikachu fell off his shoulder. 

“I mean,” Blue slyly went on. “That does have something to do with why you disappeared in the forest, right? Or does Eevee have something she wants to tell me?” 

Eevee yelped in denial, upset that she’d been dragged into the conversation. She lost her grip as well, falling on top of Pikachu. Both pokémon hissed their annoyance at each other and sprang away, but it couldn’t hide their embarrassment at the idea alone. Blue had a good laugh at that, and the quartet of Pichu joined in. (Though Blue doubted they understood.) His pokémon and Red’s looked like they were about to launch a double battle against him. There was a quiet knock at the door, and so their planned attack never came to pass. 

“I hope it’s your real parents,” Blue remarked to the Pichu. 

Nevertheless, Blue was still grinning at the pokémon, up until he opened the door. 

Red used Sucker Punch. 

It was super effective. 

“FUCK!” he wheezed, doubling over. 

In all fairness, Blue was expecting Red to be mad, that Red thought he’d taken Pikachu to make him leave Mt. Silver. How believable was it that Pikachu would willingly stay in his ball for multiple days with a trainer he didn’t like? Not very. Even Blue had a difficult time accepting what Pikachu had done. 

It didn’t make the punch to the gut hurt any less.

“Hello to you too,” Blue added, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Asshole.” 

Upon the attack of their beloved Gramps, the Pichu cried their rage. Harnessing their strength in numbers, the quartet launched their own writhing volt of electricity towards Red. The energy was uncontrolled and lashed at Red’s arm. 

This too, was super effective. 

And so Red joined him on the ground. 

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” Blue started, inching towards Red. “But just for the record, Pikachu ran away. He and Eevee snuck him into my bag. Little so-and-so wouldn’t even let me get near his ball.” 

His words calmed Red somewhat, but he was still panting, cradling the burned spot on his arm. The Pichu were hiding behind Blue’s legs now, using him as a human shield should the intruder counter. 

“Oh yeah, say ‘hi’ to your grandkids by the way.” 

Pikachu, who had up until then stared at his trainer in disbelief, snapped out of it. Pikachu didn’t bother with refuting Blue’s joke. The pokémon rushed towards his trainer with an excited cry. Red caught Pikachu, injured arm and all, in a hug. He buried his face in the pokémon’s crackling, yellow fur. Blue could see the faint trembling in Red’s shoulders; he was crying. 

Red only half-let go of Pikachu, using his free hand to partially explain his long trip. Though, it could all be summed up in a single word: avalanche. Pikachu didn't seem to be listening, or even care about the reason. The pokémon was squeaking his own responses. 

I’m just happy you’re here.  

Blue didn’t need Alakazam or his own feeble attempts at translation to know that was what Pikachu meant. Perhaps it was obvious from the way they clung to each other. Or maybe he really had begun to understand Pikachu in the last few days. Either way, Blue decided to be quiet, and let them hug it out. He really was convinced that Red had come prepared with a giant lecture on how they would never see each other again, and how dare he kidnap his poor, helpless Pikachu. Once he’d gotten the tears out of his system, Red had a new reason, new target, to be mad at. Pikachu was definitely flashing a guilty smile now and wriggled from his trainer’s grasp. 

Red’s pointed towards Blue and made a sharp gesture with the other. 

"Apologize."

“Pikapi!” 

In return, the pokémon pointed out Red needed to do some apologizing of his own. The trainer grimaced, nodding, but still shoved Pikachu towards him. Pikachu marched to Blue and stuck out his paw indignantly. 

“Pi.” 

“Oh?” Blue raised an eyebrow. He was going to enjoy this. “But are you sorry for eating all the ketchup?” 

“Pi.” 

“As well as electrocuting me multiple times?” 

“Pi,” he huffed. 

“How about the nest you made on the fridge, are you sorry for that?” 

“Pi,” Pikachu repeated, in a tone that suggested Blue shouldn’t push his luck. 

“Then I suppose I can forgive you for running off in the woods, shorting out the iron, and scaring the neighbours,” he said, ticking off the offenses on his fingers. “So I won’t hold it against you for challenging Zapdos and Raikou to a battle simultaneously for the title of Thunder God, stealing my favourite pillow-" 

“Liar,” Red interrupted, albeit with a playful smile. 

“Alright, maybe one or two of those things didn't happen.” 

The four Pichu glanced between them after that exchange. One of them- Blue had an inkling it was the same one he’d given the berry to- approached Red. When there was no sign of danger, it took Pikachu’s spot on Red’s shoulder. Red grinned a touch more, fluffing the Pichu’s ears. Then Red looked to him, sheepish. He mimed the punch, and then the gesture for sorry. 

“The Pichu got you back for me. But, um… There’s a couple things you need to talk about before it’s ok again.” 

Red nodded in bemusement. Blue pointed at Pikachu. 

“You two need to talk about why Pikachu ran away.” 

“P— pika!” the pokémon stammered. Cheeks sparking, Pikachu waved back at Blue. 

“W-what? Red and I don’t have anything to…”

The threat of a shock made him rethink that answer. Even the Pichu had cued in to his lie, and they squeaked their displeasure. “Kay, maybe there is some stuff I wanna’ tell you as well.”

Red was clearly apprehensive now. Blue shifted closer, so they were both sitting with their backs leaned against the wall. Tapping his fingers on his leg, he waited for the right words to come to mind. What wasn’t going to scare Red off? How should he talk about feelings, their respective family members, and all the other convoluted details? 

“I think you really need to visit your mom. And Gramps.” 

“It’s been long.” 

Although he could not stutter, there was a lack of fluidity in his hands. 

“They’ll probably be mad, yeah. But it will only get worse the longer you wait. I mean, Gramps isn’t getting any younger. What if something happens? It’s like ripping off a bandaid,” Blue wryly said. “Or teaching Pikachu Surf.” 

Pikachu opted not to comment. He sat curled in his trainer’s lap. 

“You tried?” 

“Pikachu flooded the front yard and convinced the city that I’m senile, which was the painful part. But he did relearn Surf.”   

Red was incredulous.

“Yeeeah, hope you don’t mind he forgot Iron Tail.” 

Eyes wide, he shook his head. 

“Like I said though: you and Pikachu have some stuff to discuss as well.”

Red nodded this time, but his eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“You are avoiding the subject.” 

Blue swore under his breath. What had given it away? 

One of the Pichu nudged his hands, beaming at him in encouragement. 

“Look Red. You living on Mt. Silver? It fucking sucks. So does climbing up there and not getting any correspondence unless I remind you ten times over. If you’re going to return to being a hermit, pick a place with wifi and a cell signal, would ja’?” 

Again, Red nodded. Blue wondered if he was just taking this as another lecture that would blow over with no consequence. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Drawing in a deep breath, he decided to drive the point home. 

“Do you even care about us?” 

Red sprang in vehement protest before Blue could even say all he wanted to. 

“Then is it really that hard to stay in contact?” Blue asked, voice cracking. “Come around to visit once in a blue moon?” 

He floundered for something to respond with and settled for nothing; his hands were too shaky, and the electrical burn on his arm made it look painful to move. 

“If… If this is a me thing, something about when we were kids, well, I’m leaving anyway. So you can talk to Gramps and your mom without me in the way.” 

He swallowed hard. It wasn’t an easy thing to say, to lay awake at night thinking about. But he couldn't help but wonder if that was the root of the problem. 

“It’s not you,” he rushed in to say this. “I want to go with you to—" 

The last motion was rushed, a clumsy tangle of fingers coming to form a vertical point. It was unfamiliar to Blue a moment, something Red hadn’t used before. Then, he recalled the Alolan etiquette pamphlet on his fridge, the one his gramps had sent. Included in it were certain hand gestures to use and to avoid. 

I want to go with you to Alola.  

“Wh— wa— how’d you learn that bit of vocab?” Blue incredulously asked. 

Red had done research? Red had listened to him back on Mt. Silver?

The twisting insecurities that plagued him should have drained away with this admission, but they didn't. He was left with the same tightening in his jaw, and the smarting feeling in his nose. Like he was trying to hold back tears. 

“Why? You just following me because I’m a convenient food provider? Because I won’t be delivering every other week while you’re on Mt. Silver?” 

“No! I—" 

The flustered motions blurred before his stinging eyes, morphing into a garbled, incomprehensible mess. 

“I don't understand what you’re saying.” 

Red huffed in frustration. Blue knew how much he despised the words. It was the patronizing phrase that had dominated much of Red’s life. Nevertheless, he slowed down the actions. Blue couldn't even think of translating what they meant.

“I don't understand. Why did you change your mind?” he choked, feeling pathetic. “Fuck, I’m not going to cry. Not in front of him!” 

Red hugged him, and the Pichu did the same. He wasn't surprised that the pokémon did so, but Red was different. More shocking than was the kiss. It could barely be called that. The short peck on the cheek was enough to get his point across, and little more. Of course, kissing someone who was crying on the lips was a one-way ticket to getting decked. 

The gesture was clumsy, inexperienced- hot dates and chapstick weren’t the most readily available luxury to most mountain hermits- and it shorted out what little rational thought was left in his mind. The reverberating pain in his stomach went away. The sense of vulnerability which twined around his throat and made it difficult to think loosened its grasp. He could only watch in confusion as Red resumed his frantic explanation. Between tears, he caught snippets of words. 

Realization. 

Afraid. 

Sorry. 

“You’re an idiot,” he mumbled into Red’s shoulder. 

Not even Pikachu disputed it this time. 

Red winced. Whether this had to do with his jab or the injury on his arm was up for grabs. 

“Yeeeeah, we should probably do something about that burn,” he trailed. Blue gave a watery smile and tugged Red to his feet. Red rolled his eyes (he did have more experience in handling Pikachu-inflicted injuries after all)

but allowed him to dig out the burn salve and bandages from the bathroom. 

“You’ll have to get summer clothes,” he announced. “And make sure your passport and stuff is in order. Plus you’ll need Gramps to update your Poké Dex, and give Pikachu a checkup. It’s better than taking him to the V-E-T. Also—!” 

He was rambling again, unable to contain his excitement. Red was smiling faintly as well. Blue stopped mid-rant, breathless, to look at Pikachu. He’d reclaimed his spot-on Red’s shoulder from the Pichu with no shame. Pikachu seemed content just to be there. 

“Y’know,” Blue slowly said. “We’re gonna’ be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.” 

Pikachu didn’t appear alarmed by the revelation.

Strange. 

Yet, as he reflected upon the time they’d spent together, the idea didn’t make Blue feel nearly as horrified as he expected either. 

“When did I become such a sap?” Blue wondered. 

Pikachu’s train of thought mirrored his own. Even Red looked between them in curiosity. Blue saw what was coming next from a mile off but didn’t give it away with a grin. Pikachu shocked him. It was his way of saying, “Don’t get too mushy pal. I don’t like you that much.” 

Blue was happy to respond in kind. He reached over to tweak the pokémon’s nose, just because he could. Like the shock had been, it was light, more superficial than painful. 

His rivalry with Red may have mellowed with time, but he had a newer, cooler one now. 

Alola wouldn’t know what hit it.

Fin