Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Looks like the rain near Sunyshore and Pastoria isn’t going to let up for the next few days. Make sure you have your rainboots and umbrellas, folks — especially our viewers in Pastoria! That marshy ground’s gonna swallow you up if you aren’t careful.”

“Thanks for that weather update, Charlie. In other news, International Police Chief Looker has specified the arrest procedures for two out of four commanders of Team Galactic, who are finally being apprehended for their crimes from three years ago. After dozens of tedious court proceedings and months of searching, commanders Mars and Jupiter have been taken into custody.”

“That’s right, John. It’s still a mystery, however, as to where their new leader, codename ‘Saturn,’ and their shady head scientist have hidden themselves a—”

The anchor was cut off by fizzling static as a small orange phantom phased out of the screen. Its lightning-shaped appendages flickered blue briefly before petering out, and it floated up to the top of the television and closed its eyes. Heath sighed and stood up, running a hand through his greasy green hair as he stretched. He then glanced over to the little Pokémon — a Rotom — and shook his head.

“You’ve gotta stop shutting the TV off at the best part,” he said. “Doesn’t matter, though. I’m getting tired of this kind of news anyway.”

Rotom uttered a series of unintelligible beeps and flopped over to its other side, its electric arms lighting up pathetically once more. It was definitely tired and possibly hungry, too. Made sense — it was the only source of power in this dump of an abandoned house. Heath gingerly picked it up, being mindful not to touch the arms so he wouldn’t electrocute himself, and left the TV room through a rather large hole in the thin wall; getting through the door leading to the room was near impossible thanks to it being locked shut. The key was likely long gone at this point.

The wooden stairs groaned as Heath brought Rotom downstairs. The man winced as one of them cracked under his boot — that hadn’t happened in a while. Things here were getting worse. There were no actual caretakers of this dilapidated mansion, no one who bothered to come by in an attempt to restore it, which in a way was fortunate for him. But with no tools and no experience in carpentry, Heath knew this hiding spot wouldn’t last much longer. A pang of guilt mixed with regret made his chest jolt; he’d have to leave behind Rotom, and the other ghosts that lived here, as the Old Chateau buckled and crumbled.

…Hopefully that wouldn’t be anytime soon.

As Heath made it into the house’s musty kitchen, he set Rotom on the counter and opened up the cupboard. There was no Pokémon food left; his Carnivine had eaten the last portion the other day. Rotom was incorporeal and didn’t need much to keep up its energy though, so he supposed some dried canned Wishiwashi would do.

“Open wide.” Rotom opened its tiny mouth, and Heath placed one of the fish inside. The Pokémon chewed, swallowed, and suddenly lit up again, its strength restored. Heath grinned. “That’s better. I won’t make you power the TV anymore right now, I need to give my eyes a break from the screen. I’m sure the library here has a book I’ve only read eleven times instead of a dozen.”

Before closing the cabinet, he took one of the dried Wishiwashi and popped it into his mouth, licking the crumbs from his fingers as he did so. The tang of salty vinegar immediately hit his tongue, and he scrunched up his face in recoil as the actual taste of the fish settled, but he powered through and swallowed regardless. It was honestly a mystery as to why he continued to buy those, considering he didn’t like them. But, he mused, they were cheaper than most of the other snacks at the Poké Mart in Eterna.

…Ugh. He needed the taste of those out of his mouth. He rummaged through the cupboard again, pushing past boxes of stale cereal and old packs of beef jerky he hadn’t bothered to throw away to get to half a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. The former, to Heath’s dismay, had mold growing on it, and the latter was mostly empty aside from a few dregs. Rotom flinched as Heath grunted and threw the peanut butter jar across the kitchen, floating up from the counter as it landed with a thunk in the dusty dining parlor. The bread was shoved unceremoniously into the overflowing trash bin.

“I’m going shopping,” he grumbled. “Hold down the fort while I’m gone, Rotom.”

Beeping in protest, Rotom watched helplessly as Heath proceeded to ignore it and leave the chateau in a huff. He paid no mind to Rotom’s cries; he knew it wasn’t exactly safe to wander into town in broad afternoon daylight, but he didn’t have any other options.

Besides, Eterna Forest was gorgeous this time of day. Sunlight dappled the grassy floor, the spots of pale green moving with the faint sway of the trees, and the calls of bird and bug Pokémon were comforting. Perhaps it was because Heath was so accustomed to terrible sleeping and living conditions, in his past and his present, that he found solace in the simple serenity of it all.

It was even brighter outside, on Route 205. As he stepped out onto the path, he shielded his eyes from the sun and grit his teeth. It wasn’t blazing hot, but he could practically feel his skin beginning to itch and burn. He contemplated putting on the jacket that was tied to his waist, but just as quickly decided against it. Too risky.

Eterna City wasn’t too far. The difference between the bustling city and the calm fishing route to its west was stark — the city was hopping with people chatting and cycling, buying flowers, watching the news on the Poké Mart’s TV… there was so much going on. Heath typically ambled in at about early evening, or sometimes nighttime as things were dying down. But he so desperately needed groceries now that he had to come here in the middle of the afternoon.

The Poké Mart was where Heath did most of his shopping, for food and for other things related to his Pokémon. Honestly, with how little money he usually carried on his person, he was surprised he could last as long as he had out in the Old Chateau. Occasionally he’d sell a giant bag of rare berries and honey he found while snooping in the forest to the poor bastard behind the counter, but besides that, he didn’t have a lot. He had five mouths to feed other than his own — four of his own Pokémon plus Rotom — so whatever he did have had to be used sparingly and efficiently, hence all the tinned Wishiwashi. And, hence the cheap knockoff Poké Mart brands he would buy instead of the fancy-shmancy Veilstone or Celadon stuff.

The bread he liked wasn’t in stock, though. A whole new brand lined the aisle’s shelves. Confused, Heath picked a loaf up and flipped it around, looking for its expiration date and glancing at the ingredients. Not terrible, it was pretty close to what he usually bought. Then, he saw the price.

“You have got to be joking,” he muttered, stuffing the loaf back into its original spot. “I am not paying a whole 100 Poké more for a loaf of bread, that’s ridiculous.”

He snagged a small bag of hot dog buns instead, as well as a new jar of peanut butter, a few cans of fruit and veggies, a gallon of water, powdered milk, and instant coffee, then shimmied up to the register, his arms full. He regretted not bringing a cart with him.

While the cashier was preoccupied with ringing him up, he spotted a couple of Rage Candy Bars among the selection of treats and goodies for sale. His mouth watered. Surely they wouldn’t miss just one or two, right? When he was positive no one else was looking, he grabbed a couple, jamming them into his pants pocket. Just then, the cashier gave him a look, raising his eyebrow. Heath removed his hands from his pockets and held them up, no evidence of stealing visible. The guy behind the counter gave a nod of approval.

“That’ll come out to 3,280 Poké,” he said. “Are you paying cash or credit?”

“Cash,” Heath replied, digging some 100-Poké notes out of his other pocket. “This should be 3,300 Poké for ya.”

A quick leaf-through of the money signaled Heath was good to go. He took his change and his bags, then shuffled out the door. Even carrying this much stuff in bags was giving him trouble. He realized he could have had one of his Pokémon help out, but with the kinds he had on hand, the trip likely wouldn’t have gone as smoothly as it did.

He made it back to the chateau as the sun was beginning to set. Pesky shrubs in front of it always seemed to creep back up like weeds anytime he came or left, but the troublesome plants never lasted long when his Carnivine cut a path through. The flytrap liked the head pats and dried Wishiwashi it would get as a treat for doing it too, meaning it was more than happy to oblige. Oddly, though, this time they were shorter than normal.

Rotom perked up when it heard the front door creak open. It greeted Heath with a series of buzzes and beeps, circling him as he set the bags down and wiped his brow. The man sighed and slumped up against the wall to catch his breath, which was now ragged and slow. He really needed to get back into shape; he was slim and lanky, but that was moreso a product of undereating than fitness training.

“Missed me? I was only gone for a couple hours,” Heath teased. He flashed one of the candy bars to the electrical spirit and chuckled. “I got us a treat.”

Rotom didn’t seem to notice, however. Upon closer inspection, it didn’t look excited — it looked stressed. Heath’s heart sank at the pure panic in Rotom’s eyes.

“...Hey bud, what’s wrong?”

SLAM!

A loud thud from a nearby room nearly caused Heath to drop the candy bar. He cursed and fumbled with it, before getting a grip and placing it back into his pocket so he wouldn’t squish it. This house was haunted, filled with Gastlly and the occasional Gengar, but they were typically quiet and not very bothersome. This was no Gengar, though.

Someone else was in the house.

The nervous lurch in Heath’s chest gave way to his heart rate rapidly increasing. There was someone else in the house. With him. And Rotom. And Carnivine, who was chewing mindlessly on one of the bag handles without a care in the world. There weren’t supposed to be other people here. No one dared come by anymore, Heath thought. No one. So why would there be another presence in the house?

He took the bag away from Carnivine and beckoned for it to follow him. Rotom floated behind him as well as he crept forward. Heath had committed to memory where every squeaky floorboard was and where every crack in the wall crumbled, so making his way to the source of the sound without detection wasn’t difficult.

Something small and airborne blocked the door, however — a bug Pokémon, with beady eyes, a black body, and yellow wings patterned with orange. It stopped Heath in his tracks, flapping in the doorway, just staring at him, and he stared back.

“Owww… ugh. Mothim, did you find something? Why are you just sitting…”

A voice from inside the room trailed off as its owner, a chubby youngster in a sweater, jeans, and a scarf modeled after their Pokémon, caught a glimpse of the man standing outside.

“...There.”

Heath pushed past Mothim and towered above the other person, who shrank back and scrambled to push their glasses back up their nose. As Heath’s stern gaze locked on them, fear shone in their amber eyes, and their legs wobbled, their brain likely debating whether they should run or stand their ground.

“Why are you in my house?” Heath grunted.

They gulped. “ Your house? This place was abandoned years ago, it’s overrun with ghosts. And other creepy crawlies. I’m here for the latter. Are you a ghost?”

“Do I look like a ghost?”

“W-well, uh… you’re pale, you’re thin, you’ve got weird hair…”

Heath stepped back to let the guy breathe, and with a motion of his hand called for Carnivine and Rotom to come closer.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“First off, I’m not a kid. I’m a Masters student at the university in Jubilife,” the guy replied. They must get that a lot, Heath thought. “Second, my name is Atlas. They/them.”

“Heath. Uhhh… he/him.”

Atlas nodded and put their hand out for Heath to shake. “Put ‘er there. Sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s fine. I’m not used to visitors. The front door isn’t exactly shut properly, I don’t have a key.” Heath took Atlas’s hand and forced a smile. “You didn’t come at a very good time for bug catching. Morning is when all the Wurmple come crawling in through the walls and floors, Rotom usually wakes me up to get rid of them. Saves money on breakfast for this guy over here.”

Heath punctuated the last part with a small gesture towards Carnivine, who waved its leafy hands in a gleeful greeting. Atlas flinched back, and their Mothim gave a small whimper and perched atop their head.

“It eats the Wurmple? That’s so cruel…”

“It’s nature, dude. Why do you think the Yanma population in the Great Marsh is so bad?”

“STOP, I don’t like thinking about bugs being eaten!”

Heath sighed. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Atlas adjusted their dark brown bangs and looked away. “To tell you the truth, I came in here because I saw a peculiarly-colored Beautifly come in through one of the windows. I find alternate colorations fascinating, so I hacked down the shrubs guarding the place and let myself in. I’m really sorry, I didn’t realize there was actually someone living here.”

“Well, I’m technically not. I’m just squattin’ here for the time being,” Heath explained. “I’ve done some bad shit. The police have been looking for me for… what, three years now? Jeez, yeah, I just turned twenty four. Point is, I’ve been here a while, and they haven’t even bothered to look here because they’re a bunch of scaredy-Skitty.”

“...So I could theoretically rat you out.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Atlas brandished their cell phone and grinned. “I absolutely would. However, if you help me find that Beautifly — and promise to feed your thing an alternate diet —”

“Carnivine is not a thing —”

“Yeah, yeah. If you help me with my research on that Beautifly, I won’t tell the authorities that you’re illegally ‘squatting’ on private property.”

“Why the hell should I help you, especially when we just met and we’re already making threats?”

“Because.” Atlas put their phone away and pushed their glasses up again. “I need an assistant, and you deserve a better place to live than this old house. The threat was mostly empty, anyways. I wouldn’t send a guy I just met to jail.”

Heath’s cheeks rouged in embarrassment. “You sneaky bastard. Fine, I’ll help you.”

Overjoyed, Atlas clasped their hands together. “Wonderful! Now then, I believe it flew up to the second floor. Let’s get going, before it flies off!”

Chapter Text

Searching the entirety of the downstairs for that Beautifly had proven fruitless, and Heath and Atlas were taking a short break sitting at the bottom of the stairs in the foyer. Well, Atlas was at the foot of the staircase and Heath was taking a moment to put away the groceries he had left near the front door in his panic at the stranger in the house. He stole glances at Atlas from the kitchen, watching them stare at the Rage Candy Bar he had given them when they mentioned being a bit hungry.

They were a puzzling guy, Heath noted to himself. Atlas didn’t seem to be malicious or have any bad intentions; they seemed friendly enough. Put off by the whole criminal thing, yeah, but clearly enthused by this elusive Beautifly, so much that they were willing to ask someone like him for help. Heath had noticed that their facial expressions varied a lot, as well; one moment their eyes would be wide with excitement, and a huge smile would spread to the edges of their cheeks, and the next they’d be downtrodden because Heath made an offhand comment about bugs being gross or creepy. They were certainly passionate.

…Passion, huh? Heath closed the cabinet he had held open and tossed an expired box of cereal into the trash. Wasted money down the drain, he thought bitterly in a brief aside. Passion … did he have one? He had hunkered down in this house for three years on the run from the law, watching TV and reading the same ten books and eating cheap snacks. He hadn’t once thought about picking up a hobby, or learning a skill, or even venturing south or further east than Eterna and doing something with himself.

Was he really that boring, or just a coward? Either way, he felt some sort of admiration for the stranger, someone who had committed their entire life to studying bugs.

He shrugged off the creeping doubt and reentered the foyer, where Atlas was still seated. They had still not even taken the wrapper off of their candy; they were just eyeballing it, staring it down almost fearfully, as if they were waiting for something to jump out of it.

“There’s no drugs in there, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Heath said. He crouched down beside them and opened the other one he’d stolen, taking a bite before showing off the crispies and nougat and oozing red-hot cinnamon filling inside. “See? Just chocolate and sticky sweet stuff. They’re good.”

“...Huh? Oh, no, I was just reading the nutrition facts and ingredients,” Atlas replied, peeling a bit of the wrapper from the corner and breaking a piece off. They held the small chunk up to Mothim, who happily gnawed on the end from its perch on the banister. “I wanted to make sure it was safe to share some with Mothim.”

Heath wrinkled his nose, but said nothing, taking another bite out of his own candy bar. He wondered how many things he had fed Carnivine and his other Pokémon out of convenience without bothering to see if they were okay, though, and another wave of guilt, mixed with jealousy, made his chest ache.

Atlas then suddenly stood, cramming the rest of their chocolate into their mouth and stretching their arms above their head. Heath got up as well, gripping the banister for balance and gritting his teeth as one of his knees buckled, and he cocked his head to the side. When Atlas motioned toward the stairs, Heath followed their gaze, soon understanding what they were getting at.

Sitting at the top was a Beautifly, who was staring intently at the two Trainers. This one didn’t look like any kind Heath had encountered in the forest before, though — it looked like it had some sort of golden shimmer across its entire body, as well as purple wings. The scales it shedded sparkled in the dim light of the chandelier overhead, the one that swayed and flickered on occasion. One such flicker startled the tiny insect, and it fled deeper into the second floor.

“Did you see that? That thing is gorgeous ,” Atlas marveled.

“Yeah, and it’s getting away,” Heath added. “Ready to go after it?”

“For sure. Let’s go!”

They both bolted up the stairs, their Pokémon trailing behind. Curious Gastly popped out from their hiding places in the vases and the crumbling walls, watching as the two of them reached the second floor hall. The ghosts swirled around them, passing in front of them and beside, as if they were trying to make sense of the newcomer in their home. Heath figured they were just feeding off of the general adrenaline in the room. But something felt off about their presence, something far more sinister than he had ever witnessed. Maybe sinister was the wrong word here, he thought. It mostly felt different .

The ghosts followed Heath and Atlas into the TV room. Rotom sped towards the television, then phased inside, causing static to pop and crackle across the screen. Atlas covered their ears at the dreadful droning, but Heath was unaffected, being used to the sound. From behind the television came a frantically fluttering blur, who escaped the room and went towards the right, near to where the balcony was. As Rotom exited the device, it beeped happily, proud of itself.

“Atlas,” Heath said, tapping them on the shoulder. They removed their hands from their ears. “Rotom lured it out, it went down the hall.”

He ran in the direction Beautifly had flown off before Atlas could respond, and he didn’t bother to look back to see if they were following. Mothim and Carnivine were ahead, paving the way through the growing hordes of ghosts so their Trainers could pass freely, though a few stray Ghost type attacks slipped through the gaps. A Hex whizzed by Atlas’s ear — so they were still following, that was good — and they let out a scream.

“Gods be damned, if I didn’t know this place was haunted beforehand, I would have given up earlier,” they said. Their voice was hoarse, and their chest heaved.

“They’re not usually this disruptive,” Heath replied. “They’re friendly critters, but it looks like something’s got them riled up.”

“The Beautifly?”

“Maybe. Could also be you. I’m not the only one who doesn’t like strangers.”

“Mmm.”

The unamused hum from Atlas warranted a chuckle from Heath. “That was a joke. Try to keep up.”

“I’m not great with sarcasm.”

“This’ll be one rocky investigation, then. I’m full of it.”

The door to the balcony was locked shut, boarded up with wooden slats that were chewed up and battered. The Beautifly was slamming its tiny golden body against it, and a rhythmic thunk echoed through the hall. More ghosts crept towards the duo and their Pokémon, and a sudden chill went down Heath’s spine. Atlas could feel it too — they were physically shaking, and out of the corner of his eye, Heath could see them blindly reaching for his arm to hold onto. He didn’t stop them; they were rightfully afraid. Whatever Beautifly was after beyond that door was likely what was causing the ghosts to go wild.

One or two more full-body tackles from the Beautifly caused the wood to crack. A fissure split the board down the middle, and a final attack broke it altogether. It was now dangling in two pieces from the nails hanging them up, and with that, Beautifly pushed its way out onto the balcony.

As if on cue, the ghosts piling up behind the two Trainers flooded the open area, swarming past them in a haze of brilliant violet. The Beautifly was making its escape.

“It’s going to get away! We have to —” Atlas started, but Heath put out his arm to block them. With a turn of his head, he put a silent finger to his lips.

Atlas opened their mouth to contest it, but closed it softly as they followed Heath’s gaze. Beautifly could have flown back into the mansion and out a window if it wanted to, but it hadn’t, and probably wouldn’t.

Sitting on the balcony, which was blocked off by various gnarled branches and leaves that had grown their way inside, was a nest of baby Wurmple, being cared for by a Dustox. It wasn’t airborne, and it didn’t make any move to fly even when it caught sight of Beautifly, which Heath presumed was its mate. Beautifly snuggled up close to Dustox, fluttering its pretty purple wings before unfurling its proboscis and revealing a Cheri berry and some Sitrus berries.

Atlas’s eyes widened in understanding. “She’s sick,” they murmured, gesturing to Dustox. They pointed to Beautifly and continued, “He came in through the window because the balcony was obstructed, and he must have gotten lost. The chandelier spooked him, so he went to the TV room in a panic, and when Rotom drew him out, he found his way here.”

“Huh. You’re pretty smart,” Heath said. “Come to think of it, I do remember hearing a loud sound the other day. That little guy must’ve been trying to get in there for a while. And… I guess that explains the rowdy Gastly.”

“That Wurmple nest looks pretty new, too. A few weeks old at best.” Atlas paused to smile at the reunited family of insects. “I wonder if whatever caused that tree to fall paralyzed Dustox.”

“Our next mystery has presented itself then, hmm?”

“Huh?”

The duo looked at each other, Atlas in confusion and Heath with a smug grin plastered on his face. The silence that filled the balcony didn’t last very long, as Atlas broke it with a sharp laugh that frightened the Gastly, drawing them back into the decrepit mansion.

“So I’ve convinced you? To be my assistant, that is?” Atlas asked.

Heath rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. As long as you swear not to squeal, we’re good.”

“Of course not. A secret is a secret.”

Serene silence fell over them again as their focus wandered back to Dustox and Beautifly. But Heath’s thoughts went further, reaching into the future as another wave of intense guilt made his heart race. What would happen to the chateau if he left it for good? What would become of Rotom? Would it fizzle out, forgotten and abandoned? Or would it forever inhabit the television, broadcasting the afternoon news with John and Katie for an audience that was no longer there and would never return?

The thought of leaving it all behind made Heath nauseous.

Rotom sensed his dread though, and in an affectionate motion floated down to Heath’s belt. Heath jumped; he had forgotten it was still following them. As Rotom didn’t have hands of its own, Carnivine plucked an empty Poké Ball from Heath’s belt and handed it to him.

“Oh, huh. Didn’t realize I had one of these suckers,” he muttered. “Rotom, are you sure ya want to leave this dump?”

It uttered a playful chitter before pressing the white button in the center of the capsule. As the Poké Ball opened, Rotom entered it in a flash of red light, and Heath held his breath as it gently rocked in his palm. When it clicked shut, he shook his head, clipping it back to his belt.

“It’s settled then,” Atlas said. “Welcome aboard, partner.”

Partner. Heath liked the sound of that.

No one had ever treated him like an equal before, now that he thought about it.

Chapter Text

Hoothoot calls up above, interspersed with the screechy chirps of various insects and ghosts, filled the darkness of the Eterna Forest. Illuminated by the moon alone, the grass and plant life looked almost blue. Heath didn’t often leave the house at night; he hadn’t realized just how eerie it would be. It wasn’t bad by any means, he was used to strange noises after dark. But twisted branches obscured by shadow appeared much different now as opposed to during the day.

Oddly enough, Atlas wasn’t bothered by it at all. Their eyes were bright with that infectious enthusiasm they always carried, and it seemed Mothim was excited to be back out in the fresh air as well, seeing as it fluttered over Atlas a little higher than it had in the chateau. Carnivine and Rotom, on the other hand, had opted to be tucked back into their Poké Balls, leaving Heath alone, for the most part.

“I haven’t had a chance to visit Eterna Forest in the longest time, especially at night,” Atlas said. “I’m visiting my aunt and uncle in Floaroma Town on break for the next two months or so, and that’s the most opportune time for me to do research. Studying insect habitats gets repetitive when you’re going to the same few spots, and when said spots only really house Kricketot.”

“Wait, why don’t you stay with your parents?” Heath asked, raising an eyebrow. “Strained relationship or somethin’?”

“Hah, oh no! Nothing like that. They’re from Olivine City, in the Johto region, so they arranged for my mom’s sister and her husband to take care of me for a while, until I move on to get my Ph. D at the university in Goldenrod. I figured Sinnoh was better for my undergraduate degrees because of its more varied biodiversity.”

All of those big words made Heath’s head hurt. He didn’t reply right away, instead nodding along as Atlas spoke, struggling to retain any nugget of information to intelligently continue the conversation.

Atlas gave him an out though, thankfully. “What about you, then? Where are you from?”

“Born in Pastoria, raised in Eterna,” he responded. “My dad’s an environmentalist, did a lot of work in the Great Marsh and published papers and shit about a bunch of foreign Pokémon migrating there. He and I moved to Eterna when I was like… I dunno, six? He divorced my mom and she kinda just disappeared from my life.”

“What’s his name? I took a class on the study of invasive species a few years ago. I remember reading something on a freak outbreak of Arbok in the marsh.”

Heath stopped walking for a moment. He hadn’t gone to see his father in years, especially with the desire to keep a low profile. Hell, the old man probably thought he was dead or in some sort of cartel. He could feel his eyes growing rheumy; he was glad it was too dark for Atlas to see much.

“Dr. Derek Belmonte,” Heath replied, his voice soft.

“No shit,” Atlas breathed. “He came in for a guest lecture that week of class. He mentioned having a son, crazy how that works out. Small world! We should visit him sometime.”

“No.”

“...No?”

The conversation ended as soon as a sharp glare from Heath stopped any further prodding from Atlas. Their silence was hesitant, and Heath could faintly hear their heart beating and their breathing become irregular as they tried to formulate more questions to ask. They must have realized Heath wasn’t going to answer any of them after a minute or so, because their breathing returned to normal. They then huffed, indignant.

“You don’t make talking easy,” they said.

Heath didn’t respond this time. He turned the corner, toward a thick section of forest, where the moon and stars weren’t visible in the slightest behind a thick layer of clouds. Atlas was ranting about something behind him, but he had tuned them out and was focused on the task at hand. Getting to the back side of the chateau had been a hike already — they’d had to take a bit of a detour, thanks to the nature of the forest’s layout — and he didn’t want to squander the opportunity they had to figure out why there was a giant tree blocking the balcony.

As Heath cleared some dead leaves and foliage blocking his view, a trio of tiny Budew squeaked and fled the scene, scrambling into the underbrush behind him and Atlas. Well — there were the roots, he thought, crossing his arms and briefly scanning them. Once more, the darkness made things nearly impossible to make out, but parts of the roots looked withered, shriveled. The trunk, a few feet up, looked like it had buckled a bit, and even higher, it was cracked, split in half. Jagged edges in the bark suggested this was no chainsaw, but rather —

“Lightning.”

Atlas stopped talking when Heath interrupted with his revelation. They followed his gaze to the separated tree trunk and nodded, glancing back down to the roots. The withering wasn’t from the illness or poison — they were charred, electrocuted to a crisp.

The entomologist winced. “Hey, wasn’t Dustox paralyzed…?”

“It was.” Heath knelt down to touch the roots. They were coarse, and charcoal residue stained his fingertips as he lifted them. “There aren’t any Electric types who live here though, aside from Rotom. And all of the rain lately has been down south…”

“ Could it have been Rotom?”

“No, it stays inside the house.”

“Then there’s no —”

A sharp squeaking, followed by a distinct crackle of electricity, sounded just then, startling the two Trainers. As Heath turned, he found himself faced with a tall woman, wearing an oversized hoodie with a Clamperl graphic, barely any pants, Mary Janes and a pair of electric-blue leg warmers. Her platinum blonde waves were wound tight in a bun, held together by a scrunchie, and two large pink pearls dangled from her ears. At her side was the culprit behind the squeaking: a Pachirisu, its cheeks sparkling with power.

“The eighties called, they want their yoga instructor back,” Heath snapped, still a bit shaken from the sudden intrusion.

The woman was taken aback. “Is that really any way to talk to someone you just met? Honestly. And I was about to help you out, too.”

“We don’t need it.”

“Clearly you do,” she bit back. “Considering I’m the one who caused this whole to-do in the first place.”

That shut him up. Atlas’s Mothim was trembling, as if waiting for the opportunity to attack this woman’s squirrel, and Heath’s hand, which he was only now aware of as hovering over Carnivine’s Poké Ball, relaxed. The woman snickered, placing her hands on her hips, and her piercing blue eyes narrowed.

“Good boys. That’s what I thought.” She approached the dying tree and placed a perfectly-manicured hand on it, observing the flaky bark for a beat before looking back at them. Her expression feigned sympathy. “So, so sorry for ruining this beautiful old house’s balcony. Did you know there were plans to tear it down? In favor of a second Contest Hall, of all things. How exciting!”

That part made Heath pause. He certainly had not heard about that. How recent was this information? Had the news said anything about it? Oh gods, if he had stayed there any longer, would he and Rotom have been crushed in rubble? Once again, the thought of leaving all those Gastly alone crossed his mind, and nausea left his throat raw and dry.

Atlas’s hand on his arm brought him back to reality. “Heath, you’re shaking,” they whispered. He was.

The woman, satisfied by his reaction, beckoned for her Pachirisu to follow her. It chittered, clambering up her arm and onto her shoulder, before blowing Heath and Atlas a raspberry.

“Anyways, I should be off. Good luck on clearing that old thing out, by the way! You might not make too much of a dent with those noodle arms of yours before the demolition team comes, though.” She laughed again, this time much louder.

A flock of Murkrow fluttered out of the trees, mimicking her cackling, as she continued with a question. “Why do you care so much, anyway? No one lives here.”

Heath didn’t have the opportunity to snap at her again, as Atlas decided to cut in without leaving him any window to. “There’s a family of bugs up there, and a whole colony of ghosts. Demolishing the place would leave them without a home!”

The woman closed her eyes and shrugged. “That’s for the demolition team to figure out, not me. I’m just here to further things along for the fun of it.”

She made her way then toward the edge of the trees, her shoes kicking up a small amount of dust and grass as she walked. She stopped one last time though, not turning back to face the two Trainers, however.

“If you want a better chance of stopping them, I’d head to Hearthome City. Look for me there. Esther Margarite.”

The woman, Esther, finally bid them goodbye with a flick of her wrist and a wry grin that Heath could just feel was spread across her face. His fists were clenched at his sides as she sauntered off, and his cheeks burned with rage and embarrassment. The nerve , the audacity , to show up out of nowhere, own up to a problem she caused, then leave with next to no consequences… it was nothing short of infuriating, that’s what it was.

Under no circumstances could she be allowed to get away with it.

“We’re going to Hearthome,” Heath said.

“That’s a good plan and all, but have you considered how long the journey is? Last time I checked, you were trying to lay low from the police,” Atlas replied with a frown. “I thought you wanted to stay as out of the public eye as possible.”

“The police don’t know my name, and I’ve grown out my hair. I should be fine for a few weeks.” Heath waved a dismissive hand. “Besides, it’s been three years without an arrest. They might’ve given up.”

He went quiet, looking to his feet, and took a deep breath. “Plus… this is much more important. This is my home. If I can forge a new legacy stopping people from doing wrong instead of doing wrong myself, then I will.”

The Murkrow overhead settled back in the branches of the large oak they had settled themselves in prior. Up above, the clouds covering the moon made their gradual retreat to the west, allowing it to bathe the forest in its dim light once more.

“You were right earlier, Atlas. I think it’s about time I paid my dad a visit.”

Chapter Text

Heath couldn’t sleep. Ironic, considering he was in a comfortable space, surrounded by the familiar sounds of Gastly flitting about and the light from the chandelier in the foyer leaking into the room. While he was back in the walls of the Old Chateau for the evening, the thought of it being torn down was still gnawing at him. With the knowledge now that there were other residents, as well as a newcomer as willing to protect it as he was, a new kind of fire lit up his soul, one that prevented him from closing his eyes and dozing off.

Atlas was having the same problem. Occasionally, Heath saw the light of their phone screen illuminate their face. The entire room took on a brief sense of melancholy in those moments, one that would vanish as the phone turned off and Atlas shifted in the unmade bed. This time though, Atlas noticed Heath watching, and they placed their circular glasses on the bridge of their nose.

“Sorry.” They placed the device in their pocket.

“It’s fine. I can’t sleep either,” Heath replied.

The entomologist sighed deeply and rested their head against the wall. “It’s not even three in the morning yet. Way too early to head into town or do anything about visiting Dr. Belmonte…”

“There’s a diner in Eterna, if you’re hungry,” Heath suggested. He paused to push himself up out of the bed; a sharp wave of soreness coursed through his left knee, but he planted his feet on the ground and powered through it to stand. “It’s called Cheery’s, the owner’s kinda a night owl so she’s probably in.”

With a chuckle, Atlas stood as well. “You’ve pushed the idea of laying low a few times, yet you always manage to bring up someone or something you know whenever we talk.”

“Listen dude, things get boring when you’ve been hiding out as long as I have. Plus… dried Wishiwashi get boring after a while.”

“Dried huh ? Those are edible?”

“Supposedly they’re good on pizza.”

“God, that’s disgusting.”

Heath shrugged in response, grabbing his belt and strapping it on. He took a few grocery bags strewn around the room and crumpled them up, shoving them into his pocket, before tying his gray jacket around his waist and tousling his faded green hair. Atlas took the cue and readied themselves as well, slinging their orange backpack across their shoulder and adjusting their scarf.

“Ready when you are, partner,” they said. “Lead the way.”

…

The once joyful exterior of Cheery’s looked even more dismal than it had the last time Heath had come here, if that was even possible. The neon “open” sign in the window was out, and the larger lettering on the roof was barely visible in the moonlight. A couple weeks ago — the last time he had ventured to the restaurant after dark — there were two giant letter “e”s. Now there was just one, the second one propped up against the large dumpster in the neighboring alley. Atlas winced, and Heath gave a curt sigh. Not the first impression he wanted.

Jingle! A small bell above the door rang as the duo entered, and a young woman, in about her mid-thirties, popped her head out from under the bar’s counter. That wasn’t a good idea, Heath observed, as she was operating the soda fountain for a man sitting by the window. She squeaked, fumbling with the nozzle, which was now spraying seltzer across the counter and onto her dainty white apron. Her Steenee and Cherrim, having heard the commotion, rushed over as more fizzy liquid flooded the floor.

“Darn it — dagnabbit —” the woman cursed, reaching over the counter without looking and groping around for the tap. Finally she found it, and she gave it a vigorous twist to the right, stopping the flow.

“Having some trouble, Serra?” Heath asked. He didn’t wear his signature smirk this time — it was genuine concern.

The woman shook her head and sighed deeply, dabbing at her apron with a small towel. “Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t dealt with before, hun. Who’s your pal? I don’t usually see ya hangin’ around other folks.”

“This is… uh… they’re just a friend from out of town,” Heath replied. Raising an eyebrow, Atlas gave Heath a hesitant glance, then flashed a polite peace sign to Serra. “The two of us have decided to do a bit of sightseeing around the region, so I thought I’d show them this joint before we took off for good.”

Serra smiled, tossing the towel into a bucket full of other rags and wiping her sticky hands on the sides of her pants. “Well, ain’t that sweet of ya. Would you fellas like some pie and soda? I’ve got a couple slices of Bluk berry pie left over from this afternoon.”

She ducked into the kitchen without another word, and Heath took that as an invitation to sit at the bar. Atlas followed suit, remaining quiet and pulling out their phone to fiddle with. Without one for himself — having one would make it too easy for others to track him, he had rationalized a while back — he simply elected to cross his arms over the counter and rest his head in the crannies of his elbows.

Cheery’s really went downhill, huh. The jukebox in the corner was covered in cobwebs, likely from the rogue Spinarak that would sometimes come through. The booths had frayed leather seats, the once vibrant pinks and greens having faded into sad beiges and olives. Even Cherrim wasn’t as peppy as it used to be; on sunny afternoons, it would refuse to emerge from its overcast appearance.

It couldn’t be helped, Heath supposed. Ever since Serra’s mother had been hospitalized, Serra had found herself swamped with running the place. Serra and Heath were typically alone on the nights he stopped by, talking over slices of pie and mugs of hot cocoa, gossiping about how the daytime employees would come in late or shirk their duties, or refuse to clean up before clocking out. Heath volunteered to clean the restrooms on most of his visits, and every time he’d be offered a few bucks. Every time, he refused.

Bluk berry and warm brown sugar wafted through the air when the kitchen doors reopened. In his peripheral, Heath saw the man at the other end of the bar perk up at the delightful aroma, and he watched as Steenee took one of the plates and handed it to him.

Serra chuckled. “There ya go, darlin’. Sorry for the spill, the pie’s on the house.”

The man shook his head. “No need to trouble yourself over it, Serra,” he said. “Whether you like it or not I’m tipping you extra tonight.”

“You always do.”

As she placed Heath’s plate in front of him, though, the young man had spaced out. Something about that man was familiar. It wasn’t a bad sort of vibe, but that voice and his mannerisms reminded Heath of memories long forgotten, memories he had repressed for years as he focused on his work and his own survival. His stomach churned, and all of a sudden his appetite was gone.

He stood up from the bar, gripping the counter for balance as he let himself down from the stool. With his free hand, he ushered for Atlas to join him.

They didn’t budge though. “Dude, you’re acting weirder than normal. We’ve got pie !”

“I… this isn’t about the pie,” Heath whispered. “We should go back to the house.”

“But —”

“Atlas, please. ”

Heath’s usually stern gaze was unreadable. He and Atlas locked eyes for a moment, both of them frozen in place, but Atlas shook their head and turned back towards their pie.

“Heath, we’re partners. You either owe me an explanation for what’s got you so riled up, or you’re going to sit with me and finish this pie.”

“I’ve just got this feeling that —”

“...Heath? Did I hear that right?”

Both Trainers went dead silent as the man at the bar spoke again. Serra uttered another soft squeak as one of the empty glasses she was holding clattered to the ground, but otherwise, all was quiet in the diner for a minute or so.

That man… Heath had finally gotten a better look at him. Salt-and-pepper hair, thin glasses, a warm, friendly smile and sparkling blue-green eyes, the same as his. Knots twisted Heath’s stomach further. His gut feeling had been right — that was why he had wanted to leave so urgently. The voice alone had said it all, but accompanied by his appearance, Heath finally knew exactly who this was.

God, he wished he could have delayed this meeting until the morning.

He sank back onto his bar stool and waved weakly. “Hey, dad.”

…

As the lights in Dr. Belmonte’s house flickered on, a wave of nostalgia, quickly followed by guilt, passed over Heath. It still smelled like it did all those years ago, too — the faintness of a vanilla candle that had been left to burn just a little too long, linen from the laundry room, and a hint of soil from Derek’s Tangrowth sleeping in the sun. That smell used to come from Carnivine, the flytrap’s favorite blanket remaining in the window despite it not having been there for over seven years.

Why did Dr. Belmonte bring them here? They could have just talked at the diner… Though, Heath knew that when morning came he and Atlas would have come here regardless, and Heath presumed his father was at least a little bit aware of that as well. Atlas hadn’t questioned it yet either — they were thrilled, and they reasoned the same thing Heath had. Even in the wee hours of the morning their energy was boundless.

“You know, I went into Cheery’s tonight thinking about you.” Derek’s voice was laced with an emotion Heath couldn’t pinpoint off the bat. Was that longing? Disappointment, maybe? “You turned twenty four two weeks ago. Twenty four years old… You still don’t look a day over seventeen.”

Cheeks burning, Heath turned away. “Twenty four and you’re still doting.”

“Could you at least acknowledge it’s been nearly a decade since I’ve seen you? You left without warning, I thought you went to Pastoria to live with your mother.” Derek paused, his expression, one almost as stone-cold and unyielding as his son’s, softening. His voice grew quiet, as well. “I thought you might have died.”

Unable to properly respond, Heath solemnly nodded, lacing his fingers together in his lap. A quiet daze filled the living room, the buzzing of air conditioning filling it slightly, ringing in Heath’s ears. Even his pounding heart had settled down some, pulsing in his head and stomach still, each beat thumping in his ears as he became aware of them. Beside him, Atlas was fiddling with the keychain on their backpack.

Taking a sip from his soda, which Serra had graciously transferred to a travel cup before the trio had left, Derek continued, “So. Where did you end up for all that time?”

“You told me to either get a job or go on a journey,” Heath replied. “So I got a job.”

“And? Is it going well? It must be.”

“Not… exactly. Things took a turn three years ago. I left. Changed my hair. Hid.”

“And not once did you think about at least calling.”

Heath grumbled. “I couldn’t, dad. I would’ve if they let me, but I couldn’t.”

“What about when you left?”

“Didn’t have a phone. Couldn’t get one. Despite it being a job, I wasn’t really getting paid .”

“Then what the hell were you —”

Heath stood abruptly, his legs wobbling, and gripped the side of the armchair he was seated in. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as another shockwave coursed through his knee and hip, traveling up his free arm and spreading through his fingers, which gave a small twitch in protest. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for it to pass, and when it did, he stood up straight and adjusted his jacket around his waist. Derek stood as well, the anger in his eyes giving way to worry, and to his left, Heath watched Atlas’s eyes widen and their hand lift up from the arm of their loveseat.

“I think that’s enough questions for tonight,” Heath croaked out. “Atlas and I should head to sleep.”

“...Yeah,” Atlas agreed quietly, getting up from the chair. “It was good seeing you again, Dr. Belmonte. Thanks for having us over for the night.”

“It’s no problem, Mx. Griffin,” Derek replied. “Heath… get some good sleep, okay? I won’t pry anymore, you’re an adult. You can come to me with it when you’re ready. But please know I love you and I worry about you.”

Heath nodded, a sad smile creeping across his face. “Yeah. I love you too, old man.”

“Goodnight, you two,” Derek said. “We can discuss what you truly wanted to in the morning, what you told me briefly about on the way home.”

Aching from his knees spread through Heath’s chest and arms as he ascended the stairs to the second floor. Atlas trailed behind him, their hand brushing up against the wooden banister as they climbed. They were slower than Heath, and at one point, they stopped. Heath turned, following their focus to the photographs in the stairwell wall. His heart sank again — these were old photographs from his childhood, of when his hair was pure pitch black rather than the sickly pale green it was now. The one Atlas was the most fixated on was one from when Heath still lived in Pastoria, when he was in preschool. In his arms was a Tangela, his father’s, and standing above him were his mother and father, both in suits, looking directly at the camera with those fake smiles everyone wore when taking pictures.

“You look a lot like your mom,” Atlas breathed. “She’s pretty.”

Heath just nodded, waving to them to follow him up to his room. The upstairs hallway was less decorated, but a single canvas, painted with the bronzes and teals of the Great Marsh, hung from the wall by the powder room. Before he had become a scientist, Dr. Belmonte was a painter. Heath had wanted to follow in those footsteps for a while, but abandoned his love of art with… almost everything else after accepting that job seven years ago.

That “everything else” was very apparent from his room, which had surprisingly been left untouched, aside from apparent periodic cleaning and reorganizing. The starmobile hanging from the ceiling swayed gently as the ventilated air hit it just right, and the telescope by the window was pointed at the crescent moon in the early morning sky. Star maps and scribbly sketches were strewn across the tiny desk in the corner, and on the walls above it were motivational posters featuring astronauts from the Mossdeep Space Center in Hoenn.

It looked like a child’s room. Heath gave a soft grumble and took the comforter from his bed — ugh, his bedsheets had rockets and planets on them… — before settling on the floor with a stuffed Cleffa as a makeshift pillow.

“You don’t want the bed? It’s your room,” Atlas said.

“Nah, you take it. I’m fine on the floor,” Heath replied.

“But you were having trouble walking earlier, are you —”

“ Yes , I’m sure. Goodnight.”

“...’Night.”

He turned the lamp off from the floor and turned over, his back giving a faint spasm. He ignored it, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to fall asleep.

“Your room looks nice. Don’t feel bad about it, mine at my aunt and uncle’s house is basically this, but with bugs,” Atlas said gently. “You haven’t been here in seven years, yeah? What happened?”

Heath didn’t answer at first. But he could feel Atlas’s curiosity increasing with every beat of silence, so he shifted back to face them. “My dad and I had a pretty major argument. I wanted to keep pursuing art, he wanted me to do something more substantial with my life. Told me to get a job or get out, basically, so I got a job. And… I haven’t really been back here since.”

Atlas looked on in silent sympathy. “He seems like a nice guy. I’ve… only talked to him this couple of times, but… he talked about you a little bit in that one lecture. He said you were a good kid.”

With a laugh, Heath replied, “Yeah, he thinks that. Imagine what he’ll say when I tell him about all the bad shit my job had me do.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad, right?”

“No, it… was pretty bad.”

“... Oh.”

That last sentence was accompanied by a hearty yawn from Atlas. They settled in and snuggled up against their pillow, pulling the rocket sheets up over their head.

“... Happy late birthday, partner. Don’t beat yourself up too much, okay?”

“I won’t.”

Atlas’s slowing breathing soon gave way to loud snores. Those were just what Heath needed, and his own eyes drooped shut, his mind closing off to the sounds surrounding him and paving the way to a good night’s sleep…