Chapter Text
The sun hasn’t yet fully peaked in the sky as their group stirs for the morning and sets off. It’s a rather solemn and lonely day, the world overtaken by a haze of grey clouds that smother-out the distant mountaintops. Birds trill a sad, soft tune, and the occasional canid lends its own baying to the chorus.
The somber orchestra of Pokémon calls causes Grovyle to shiver, his hands rubbing along his arms as he attempts to offset the chill. The leaves branching off of his forearms feel stiff and unwieldy, his leg muscles screaming with tension while he sits here cross-legged and hunched. For such a dull morning, it sure feels strangely monumental in nature.
No journey worth remembering ever begins with a flourish of colours and fireworks streaking the skies. Usually the most impactful days sneak up on a person, their beginnings hidden behind ordinary sights and monotonous routines. If one were to ask Grovyle, he'd fail to recall how his morning before that fateful trip back in time had felt. Likely bleak and depressing; the usual for that dark future world he’d lived within.
Nothing had occurred to warn him of Hope's loss, but then again, could anything have? Grovyle likes to think he would have done the right thing and still been the hero, but had he known ahead of time what disasters would transpire, would he have gone through with it all? Could selflessness prevail under such circumstances, or would prophesied heartbreak have struck down the foolish knight before his questing even began?
The sensation of a sweaty palm slipping through his own desperate grip. The screaming until his throat grew hoarse and raw. Even the tears which pattered down into a colourful forest floor, nothing but the swaying groan of fruit-laden branches to accompany his grief. Despite the time which has passed, Grovyle can still recall it all so vividly. Even now, he can press a hand to his chest and feel the uneven rhythm of his heart as it struggles to beat in such a shattered, broken state. His best friend is gone from his life, as too will be Celebi and Dusknoir, given enough time.
Grovyle hasn't slept, instead he's sat awake and observed the stars above as they twirl and whirl before his wet, blurred vision. He’d paid silent witness to the sun as it peaked over the horizon and began to chase the darkness away. This is a routine he's found himself indulging upon on so many occasions, and yet this time, it feels different.
Today's sunrise is boring.
Grovyle returns inside before it has finished rising. He gets a head start on packing their meagre supplies and then waits patiently until the others awaken.
Celebi's scrawled notes on the outlaws they're off to hunt crinkle within his fisted hand. He attempts to breathe deeply, rereading the words over and over in an obsessive loop until comprehension begins to fail him.
At his back sits a small vase. The bouquet of evening primroses cradled within have since lost their vibrant colour. The water is stagnant, the blooms are wilting, and Grovyle does not bother asking Celebi to revive them.
They’ll remain there once he leaves. Just another physical reminder of how this world is still composed in shades of grey.
***
The job request their group has accepted leads them further away from those lush, vibrant flower fields and instead into a desolate landscape of barren, scraggly cliff sides. It reminds Grovyle of Sharpedo Bluff in a way, although these structures lack any of the quaint charm that past location had held. Where there had been character and blooming companionship, this new scene scars the earth. Jagged, rocky, and terribly ugly. There is no ocean dotted with bubbles or stunning sunsets, only the deep drop into chasms below. As their party journeys closer and closer towards their destination, Grovyle finds that his mood fails to improve any.
The world is twisted and painted with monochromatic hues. His feet kick up dust and pointed stones dig into the soles of his heels. Celebi flits through the air, her wings thrumming and offering some relief from the blistering heat. It pounds down upon their backs unrelentingly, any warmth that beautiful sun had once offered now turned harsh and brutal. The realisation of it is always jarring; that this world is still rife with inhospitable terrain. From Vast Ice Mountain to these sweltering craglands, there remain plenty of environments which radiate darkness.
Several days have whittled away on travel alone, and Grovyle’s skin itches with the inaction. While he does feel relief at being on the move again, there is something about traversing such miserable terrains which never fails to irritate him. Alongside that usual, well-worn emotion is something new which Grovyle appears to be learning about himself. It seems that he greatly dislikes travelling alongside others.
Such an odd vice to have, especially considering he appreciates the company of his friends within other circumstances. While at first he’d mistaken the annoyance for his own bad mood, he’d quickly come to learn that isn’t at all the case. Groups are simply limiting. They’re a liability, even if he is working alongside those who are most capable. Celebi’s kind smiles, Dusknoir’s steady presence, and Sableye's sharp eyes. Each member of their party is an asset, bringing balance and skills to the table that Grovyle would otherwise lack alone. So he knows he should be thrilled to have such dedicated companions by his side, and yet, he is not.
As a group, they advance at a far slower pace than what a solo traveller would. Dusknoir is too large and inflexible to traverse the cramped, uneven terrain Grovyle routinely scales for shortcuts. Similarly, though Celebi and Sableye are formidable in many departments, neither are accustomed to the gruelling conditions Grovyle forces his own body through. It’s foolhardy to become so frustrated over these innate details, but in essence, all of his companions simply slow him down. That familiar impatience forever itching beneath his scales, Grovyle often finds himself forced to quiet the irritable tap of his feet while he waits. It isn’t anybody’s fault that they’re not as fast as he is, especially not when everyone has such different travelling styles, but it irritates him nonetheless.
Celebi glides through the air, a splash of bright colour which darts about at rapidfire pace. She scouts ahead while they trawl below, her wings lending her vision far beyond the range offered to most others. Though she fatigues easier than others, both Dusknoir and Grovyle willingly lend their shoulders as a perch while she recuperates.
Together as a duo, Grovyle and Celebi could’ve made far better time alone. Or then again… perhaps not. Grovyle frequently twists his own body through the crevices found in stone walls. Shoulders burning as he hauls himself up along steep ledges, it isn’t until after Celebi chides him, her voice achingly fond, that Grovyle recalls she cannot do the same. Body built differently, she physically cannot accompany him through these places.
Areas such as these are where Dusknoir had once followed his lead without question nor hesitation. Dark Ice Mountain’s inhospitable terrains posed no hindrance when the ghost could simply phase through whatever obstruction Grovyle squeezed his own way around. Travel had seemed so simple back then, their minds solely focused upon delaying Primal Dialga’s plans. Grovyle doesn’t believe that trip had necessarily gone any smoother, he just thinks he’d found himself far too exhausted to take note of any difficulties. Due to how serious his injuries were, it’d likely even been himself to delay progress, back then.
He’s travelled alongside Celebi and Dusknoir many times before and it never frustrated him to such an extent. He’s done this countless times. Hundreds, perhaps even. So why can’t he simply settle himself and become content with waiting? Why is there something within his brain which yowls at him to rush ahead? If only he could simply shut off that troublesome section of his brain which urged haste. As it is, each dull thud of his feet against the dusty earth, every shuddering drag of his lungs, or even the tempo of his heartbeat as it pounds within his ears sets him off. Each of these sounds scream at him violently, blaring warnings that time is utterly precious. If he is not quick enough, then the world will outpace him forever.
Logically, Grovyle knows that this fact is no longer true. There are no time gears to collect, no paralysing planet to outrace, and no demons to outrun. He knows that the future has changed for the better and he is safe, and yet this terror hounds him incessantly. To be too slow means failure. To be a failure means he is a liability, and that is a reality Grovyle just can’t cope with at all.
He wants to forget these impulses which are burned into him deeper than instincts. He wants a fresh start, one which rises glorious and golden like the sun rather than stagnating here in the dark. Why can’t he just settle this catastrophizing brain of his? If he could deafen this cacophony which wails of doom, then he’d be at peace with travelling so inefficiently. He’d be a better travelling companion if so, and definitely a better friend. There would be so many areas Grovyle could self-improve. So many ways he could excel in unreachable ways.
If only he could change this one fundamental aspect about himself. If only Grovyle, the Time Thief, could erase his impatience and his regret.
Despite what Celebi, Dusknoir, or even the world at large claim about his spirit, Grovyle will always carry the truthful burden. His endless optimism for this universe constantly wars with those grim realities he’s experienced firsthand. Sometimes people were selfish, twisted and rotten. They could be cowards, petrified of being left behind and forgotten. Where others saw selflessness and unwavering bravery, there could secretly be uncontrollable, lurking terror.
Grovyle doesn’t want his friends to see through the scales and skin to the weak, pathetic fool beneath. He’s broken and sad, desperately looking to help this future heal in any way that he still can. Oh how he just wants to do something noteworthy, that way Celebi and Dusknoir will deem him worthy enough of keeping. He doesn’t need much, just a continued place within their lives. It’s why he needs to burn so brilliantly bright, that way even two people as incredible as they are will take notice of his shine.
It is this spiral of thoughts which constantly makes Grovyle feel sick to his stomach. Why hadn’t fixing the planet’s paralysis been enough for him? Why did he have to constantly yearn for rewards he’s never once deserved? He shouldn’t be owed anything, and yet he wants and he wants and he wants.
It’s as if that blasted conversation with Dusknoir had opened a dam’s floodgates, releasing the destructive barrage of water to thoroughly overwhelm him. The warmth which had seeped through Dusknoir as the two of them sat side by side, purely artificial in nature and coming from the unsteady tempo of Grovyle’s own heart. The peace in which Grovyle found when Celebi curled up along his side and rambled about timelines and unwoven temporal threads. Grovyle wants to hold their hands and press his mouth against their temples. He yearns to bury his face into the crook of Dusknoir’s throat and run his fingers along Celebi’s scalp. The ache which has suddenly appeared is unbearable, and it is made all the worse by the fact that his friends keep offering him glimpses of what could be.
Celebi is so free with her affection and she dotes upon Dusknoir too. There is now an accustomed ease to the pair’s interactions, one in which Grovyle is both pleased and envious to witness. Dusknoir does not allow Grovyle himself as close as he does Celebi. There is none of the amicable, tender, or simple touch. What happened to that past comfort the two of them had found themselves building? Grovyle recalls the warmth of a will-o-wisp against his scales and the solace found in shared burdens. He misses it.
Celebi is still so kind to him, but perhaps her eager interaction is crueler than Dusknoir’s avoidance. She deserves a life of sweetness and wonderment. Grovyle, however, is completely incapable of offering such things because he simply doesn’t know how. What is the subtext of Celebi’s words? Is Grovyle overstepping boundaries if he hugs her that touch tighter? Do the timelines in which he’s gone from her life treat Celebi kinder? There is just always so much overthinking and he finds himself blundering often. She laughs good-naturedly at his missteps, but surely she must want for more in life than what he can offer?
If life’s circumstances had permitted a different road travelled, then perhaps Grovyle himself could’ve been enough. He would have been able to accept Celebi’s compliments with a smile and brighten her days with lovely words in turn. Dusknoir and him could’ve discussed complex theories and exchanged knowledge about the world at large. So in another life, Grovyle could have made them happy just as he is. However, unfortunately in this current one, he is awkward, cold, and socially inept. His body is honed for fighting and his intense gaze frequently unnerves others. Where other Grovyles have emerald scales and rich red underbellies, his are sickly lime and pockmarked through with ugly scars. So he knows that as he is, he is worth nothing to them.
Grovyle just doesn’t understand why they still bother. Politeness, perhaps. Even if Dusknoir has already begun to distance himself, he must be too chivalrous to outright scorn Grovyle’s presence. It’s alright, though, the disinterest is obvious. Grovyle won’t begrudge either of his friends for leaving him behind. The future is saved, life can be good, and despite how much it hurts, he truly is glad for them. Grovyle cares far more than he’ll ever be able to express, and they both deserve friends who can adequately convey such sentiments to them.
So as the group of them sit beneath the stars and Dusknoir points out constellations to Celebi, her head rested upon his side, Grovyle stuffs down the envy and the sorrow and fosters forth the joy. He’d made himself a promise that he’d never come between the pair of them, and he wholeheartedly did mean that.
Where once there had been Grovyle and Hope, now there was only Hope and their new partner. Similarly, Grovyle and Celebi would give way to something far grander. Perhaps this is his purpose, to bring these people he cares for more than anything to their other halves. A shepherd of sorts, always guiding and guarding, but never having for himself.
It’s okay. He’s alright. He has to be alright.
The stars above still look like Hope’s eyes, even if Grovyle now knows the proper names of said constellations. Bright, blinding beacons which twinkle and dance throughout a twilight sky. They continue to meet his gaze with such unbearable sadness within their glimmering midsts.
***
“Grovyle dear, I know you want to find them, but we really should consider making camp soon,” Celebi calls, her voice buffered by the distance and the wind which whips and howls about Grovyle’s ears.
He doesn’t pause in his battle against the unforgivable lands, instead merely turning to shout over his shoulder. “If we rest, they could take the opportunity to escape.”
In response, Celebi makes a sound of distress within the back of her throat. “I’m just as anxious as you are, trust me, but it truly is getting rather dangerous to continue in this dark!” She frets, her small form flickering about within Grovyle’s peripheral vision like the most beautifully haunting of phantoms. All shimmering pink and glittering gold sparks, like a more magical version of the Volbeats and Illumise at Fogbound Lake.
Perhaps it is the sight which distracts him, or perhaps her worries are merely a precursor for mockery, because the words of warning manifest to life. Grovyle finds himself stumbling over the craggy ground. He trips, the vicious clamp of his own tongue between his teeth the only thing managing to muffle his startled shout. As always, he swallows the sound and the irritation down. It doesn't matter, a mere blunder won’t stop him, it never has before.
So, as the repressed outburst continues burning up his lungs, Grovyle continues to stubbornly kick his way up along the steep cliffside. His legs burn and cramp terribly, but once this particular ledge is surmounted, he allows himself several moments to calm his breathing. How frustrating it would be, if those tremors wracking his chest transferred through and into his voice.
“What dark? Dusknoir and Sableye can see just fine in this,” he calls back. The faint tang of blood pollutes his mouth as he speaks, and even his fingers are trembling with exertion. He curls the digits into fists and then flexes them, attempting to ignore the sharp pulses of pain. They are so damn close to their destination; stopping now would be foolish.
Off in the distance below him, Celebi’s form resembles a fuzzy, pastel pink blob. It’s amusing that he can still somehow parse her petulant expression, even from so far away. “Oh, well how fabulous for them!” she shouts, a blurry fist waving throughout the air. “Fantastic! Fantabulous, even! But I, however, cannot see!”
Grovyle smothers a choking cough of laughter into his forearm. “We’ll break soon, after this next peak,” he says as he continues to scramble higher. Small pebbles dislodge, flicking free and plinking below with sharp bursts of sound. It seems as if noise travels up easier than it does down, because even if she grumbles it lowly, Grovyle still catches the garbled tailend of Celebi’s complaints. It is rather rude for her standards, and so it does have Grovyle smiling softly to himself. “I know I said that last time, but the ground was too unstable. Come now; the quicker we climb, the quicker we’ll be able to rest.”
At his encouragement, Celebi’s answering groan echoes and bounces along the cliffside walls. There comes the sounds of further scrabbling and a muffled conversation which doesn’t reach his ears. Grovyle pays it little mind, instead opting to haul himself higher as his slower companions discuss whatever it is they deem appropriate.
So engrossed in the dull, repetitive task of placing one limb in front of another, it takes Grovyle by surprise when Celebi suddenly giggles and sings out to him. “Oh my dearest Grovyle, oh my beloved, my dream machine, my sugar booger, oh, how you have so cruelly and callously forsaken me!” The endearments have him pausing mid-climb, so thrown off by the oddness of them. He clings there to the rockface and disbelievingly mouths them to himself. Dream machine? Sugar booger? While Celebi has always enjoyed her playful nicknames, she’s never used anything such as those before. Whatever could it mean? Is this merely her way of trying to draw him back into the conversation? Grovyle is so caught up in his bafflement that he nearly misses his friend’s following bickering.
“Kindly do me the favour of never addressing him as such again. Or, at the very least, not whilst in my presence.”
“Oh just you wait, Dusknoir, I'll think of some even better ones for you!”
“Please, I beg of you, abstain,” he replies with such utter revulsion dripping from his voice. The feigned disgust only seems to spur Celebi on further.
“I regret to inform you that I will not be abstaining, Snookums.”
Dusknoir makes a gagging cough in the back of his throat. “Snookums? My, how dastardly you are, Paramour”
“Ah, well perhaps you’re right, that isn’t very you, is it? Maybe something more roguish…”
Grovyle opts to tune them out, instead redoubling his focus upon the climb. They don’t require his input for such an inane conversation, especially when daylight is steadily fading away. Just as he begins to blindly grope for the next handhold, a new voice piques up, this one located far closer to himself than he’d been expecting. “Yo, how good would a booger be right now,” it says, and before Grovyle’s mind can alert him to the fact that it’s only Sableye, he’s already begun whirling around in panic. Body jolting, feet slipping, Grovyle’s gut lurches. His nails scrape audibly and distantly he realises that a small, purple hand has reached out to steady him. It’s too late. A rocky surface cracks into the bottom of Grovyle’s jaw and then he tumbles.
Vertigo swoops through his stomach and air whistles about his ears. Grovyle scrabbles at the expanse of thin air until his claws temporarily snag. It’s excruciating, and he shouts as one tugs free from its nailbed. With the loss of contact, the rocks wrench away and Grovyle finds himself back to plummeting. If he’s lucky, the temporary hold will have slowed his descent. He just needs to flip himself before he lands, and then maybe the injuries will be-
Something firm slams into his stomach and Grovyle wheezes as the breath is forcefully pressed from his lungs. He feels the surface shift beneath him, body sliding loose. He sinks his talons in and claws desperately at whatever’s snagged him, eyes wide despite how his vision is still obscured by this abysmal night. Despite no longer falling, his innards still churn with the weightless sensation of vertigo. The world moves dizzyingly. Like a second heartbeat, the grim reality that Grovyle could still slip pulses through his mind. These aching fingers could slacken with fatigue and then he would find himself tumbling once again. The bright fear of that courses alongside every beat of his pulse. Spiralling with terror, he thinks perhaps he’ll be able to hold on with his teeth if his grip fails him and worse comes to worst. Opening his mouth, Grovyle-
The sound he makes as he’s yanked unceremoniously up and into the air by his neck is truly undignified. He hisses, arms flailing at the hold on his throat. A larger hand merely envelops his own two, holding them still. The rumbling voice, despite its clear disapproval, sounds to be slightly dirtied with panic. “If you dare to bite me, then I truly will drop you.”
“Dusknoir?” Grovyle rasps as his brain pings with recognition. He attempts to blink through the dizziness, head hurting as he concentrates on centering himself. Either in an attempt to be helpful, or because he’s a showy asshole, Dusknoir flashes his markings so that Grovyle can parse him clearer. The brilliant gold may only be a steady pulse, but the sudden brightness still causes Grovyle’s head to rocket with pain. “Uggh,” he gargles unintelligently. He still feels as if he’s about to fall, and so he raises his legs and clamps his feet securely around Dusknoir’s arm. The grip makes him feel a tad more steady, but it draws attention to the welling slashes of blood along the other Pokémon’s limb. “Ah, Dusknoir, you’re bleeding. Are you alright?”
Grovyle doesn’t understand why he’s suddenly being shaken about like a loose cup of dice. “What on earth is wrong with you!”
“What’s wrong with me?” Grovyle yells, legs kicking frantically at the hands still grasping him, “what’s wrong with you! Put me down!”
Dusknoir doesn’t listen. Instead, he continues to shout. “You ridiculous, incensing, and incredibly infuriating-”
“Well you’re an idiot!” Grovyle spits, wriggling about uselessly as Dusknoir continues to swing him about. He wracks his brain for further insults. “Halfwit! Dolt!”
“And you dare to call me such? Why, if it weren’t for me saving you, then you would have surely-” Grovyle is beyond fed up. He bites, and Dusknoir drops him with a scream.
“It was less than four metres!” Grovyle shouts as he stumbles to his feet. Before he can even blink, Dusknoir is lunging for him. Grovyle nimbly darts to the side and flings out a wide kick. The action is enough to catch Dusknoir near the waist, and as he staggers, he retaliates. The markings banding his limbs flash rapidly in a harsh, intensive display. Bright, explosive, and blinding. Grovyle is forced to throw his arms up in order to shield his eyes. As he skips back instinctually, the leaves on his arms harden and his muscles tense with preparation. “There was no need to catch me, I’ve survived far worse!”
Surprisingly, Dusknoir breaks out into uproarious laughter. The sound is incredibly grating as it booms off their surroundings in an echoing mockery. “Ah, so you make a habit of flinging yourself to certain doom, do you? Why, to think I presumed you smarter than that!” he jeers, red eye glowing piercingly as he glares Grovyle down. There are crystals of ice gathering along his fists, the mouth on his stomach opening into a threatening, toothy display.
In response, Grovyle’s own foot shifts back further and he lowers his head. “You’re one to talk.” Rotating his elbows out, he can feel a tick of tension thrumming within his jaw, those tendons in his throat flexing as he swallows.
Dusknoir only seems to puff himself up larger. It’s easy to forget just how big he is, a hulking shadow blocking all points of escape. “Ohoho, if only I’d known that you were so needlessly reckless! Could have saved myself so much trouble had I simply left you to your own devices. Why, perhaps Master Dialga would be cleaning a Time Thief shaped splatter off the side of its tower right now.”
“You don’t really mean that!” Somebody gasps, stricken, but Grovyle is beyond the point of listening now. He leaps forth, and Dusknoir moves to meet him with a steely fist. Just before contact can happen, Grovyle drops to the floor and slides. The inertia carries him through a roll, his scales scraping as rocks dig in against his sides painfully. Gritting his teeth through it, Grovyle launches himself back to his feet and swings his Leafblade towards Dusknoir’s exposed back. The blade sails cleanly through, the grey skin giving way to emptiness as the phantom shifts and dissipates. Grovyle skips back a mere second before grasping hands reappear and clap audibly around thin air.
The pair of them could easily continue this dance for hours, but unlike with other times, they are currently interrupted. Jagged stones slice into the space between them and render the battlefield inhospitable. Grovyle moves to step around, but the pink energy which levitates the chunks pulses. Now, rocks lurch to further hinder his path.
Grovyle whirls around, thoroughly incensed. “Celebi, what is the meaning of-” his words are interrupted as the aforementioned Pokémon shoves herself into his face.
“I can’t believe you!” she fumes, her face reddened and eyes blazing. “Aren’t we past all this nonsense?” Grovyle opens his mouth to argue, but she doesn’t allow him the chance. “I mean, it’s shameful, really. You wish to throw away everything you’ve done?”
At those reprimanding words, Grovyle does shrink in on himself. Guilt rears its ugly head, a void reaching up to swallow him entirely. Celebi’s right of course, and Grovyle’s known it since the very start. His spirit may be impulsive, but violence has never truly been in his nature. It is a necessary means of progress, but other tools should be engaged first. Even when time was of the very essence, he had attempted to reason with the Time Gear guardians; providing them an out. So considering this, why had Grovyle just been so quick to violently quarrel with Dusknoir? Not a stranger or an enemy, but a friend?
He thinks he may have an idea as to why, but confronting that thought is beyond daunting. Grovyle doesn’t want to face it, and yet, he must. The terrible answer is that he’s angry at the world. It’s a difficult admission to swallow, but he’s finally ready to admit it to himself. Still, as soon as that notion is brought up into the light, it shrivels and squirms in an ugly and hideous manner. Grovyle regrets it. He can scarcely even believe that such a wretched emotion belongs to himself. Just how long has it been lurking in there? Polluting his thoughts and tainting his spirit with darkness. No matter how he attempts to persuade himself this anger isn’t real, it persists in the most vilest of manners. A rotten little carcass rotting within the recesses of his consciousness. He can clean up the remains and scrape the flesh and bones away, but there will always remain that stinking shadow of decay. It pollutes the very soil. Blackened, sullied, changed.
The dark future has altered, and despite this new brightness, Grovyle finds that he stagnates here in the dull, creeping corners. Vigour and hope has been renewed within this reality, but Grovyle holds no place in something so blindingly beautiful. He’s still just the same old Time Thief who was willing to sacrifice millions in order to alter the world. The sneaking villain of Treasure Town and the main adversary of God’s right hand man. No matter how Grovyle tries to fool himself, he’ll never claim that title of hero he’d once so desperately coveted. That recognition belongs to Hope and Celebi. Grovyle himself only deserves to fade into bleak irrelevancy.
So perhaps he’d been taking this frustration and fear out on Dusknoir earlier. Or maybe the rot ran deeper than that, maybe Grovyle had just been seeking noticement in whatever ways he could still garner. After all, aside from Hope and Celebi, who in this existence had continuously paid Grovyle the most attention? Who had learnt his weaknesses and strengths? Had memorised those behavioural patterns he’d tried to hide? And had predicted so many of his actions before they were even known to himself? Grovyle fears he doesn’t know himself anymore. Acting out in such a way could have proven a reminder of those darkest parts.
He thinks he understands why he’d done it, but it doesn’t make it fair. So much has changed and it’s left Grovyle spiralling. Regardless of that, a good friend would be here to support his friends, even if he is currently out of his mind with terror. He just doesn’t want them to leave. Doesn’t want them to forget him. Like a petulant child throwing rocks at his mother, Grovyle had just wanted somebody to look at him. Absolutely nothing was within his control, and in a world now so changed, Grovyle’s fear had wished for a return to familiarity. Fighting with Dusknoir was normal, even if it doesn’t at all anymore resemble what Grovyle wants from him.
Life has changed, and it will continue to change regardless of his thoughts on that matter. Some of it will be good, while some of it will have to drag Grovyle forth while screaming and lurching. Despite living in reality’s future, the unknown is an occurrence which petrifies him. He’d never once feared it when he knew his existence would be erased, but now? It is oh so much more terrifying when he finds himself forced to witness what’s yet to come. The Time Thief had been offered a relatively easy life, one in which he followed a preconstructed pathway until the end.
In comparison, Grovyle had never been granted such relief. It was Grovyle who had formed a bond with Celebi rather than distancing himself and keeping the relationship strictly professional. It was Grovyle who had taken in the strange human orphan and allowed them to nourish his hope. It was Grovyle who had believed that Dusknoir’s goodness was strong enough to outshine the fear. So he’d never had things easy, but he’d always soldiered through anyway, hadn’t he? In spite of the uncertainty, he had been granted such blessings.
He has to believe that the situation will change for the better and life will unfurl as intended. Convincing himself that he’s best forgotten when his friends inevitably move on is going to be difficult, but he’d once managed to persuade himself that he could alter the future. The odds have always been against him, but he’s persevered time and time again. That bitter farewell might follow soon after this outlaw hunt, or Grovyle may still be offered a few precious weeks. Regardless of when it occurs, he should be cherishing any remaining time allowed beside his dearest friends. Their presence is a gift, one he is so wholly unappreciative of being granted. He needs to bask in it while still possible.
Pushing them away isn’t going to save him any heartache in the long run. They’re both already nestled deep within his chest. It’ll hurt all the same when he’s forced to tear them loose to freedom. So, with a deep and grounding breath, Grovyle rehearses what it is he wishes to say. While he’s been lost within his own head, he can see that Celebi has been delivering the same verbal lashing to Dusknoir. She’s correct that they’re both at fault for this. She’s also right when she says that she’s got far more important jobs to do than playing babysitter to two grown men. Grovyle feels himself smile at that comment, his heart swelling with all those sickly little sensations he refuses to release.
The words come stiffly but easily as he approaches the pair. “I’m sorry,” he says earnestly, inclining his head in a small bow towards Dusknoir. “The contact startled me, but that is no excuse for what followed. I do hope you can forgive me?” As the blank, unblinking red gaze eats into him, chewing through his nerves, Grovyle switches his attention away. “And you too, Celebi. Thank you for mediating that, I appreciate the effort you took.”
His oldest friend’s grin is instantaneous. “You’re welcome, my dearest Grovyle. Besides, it’s only fair, right? You prevented me from eviscerating Dusknoir in the beginning.”
As per usual, Dusknoir appears to latch onto the least relevant topic. “You would have ‘eviscerated’ me?” He scoffs with a haughtily held head, and yet there seems to be something off in his posture. His shoulders are cowed-in and his arms are too firmly wrapped about his chest. He’s rattled deeply by something which Grovyle can’t place. Instinctually, it has his fingers twitching with the yearning to reach out, but Grovyle forcefully stills them. It’s been repeatedly proven that such an action is not welcomed. “Why, I dread to think of it, but the situation would have been reversed, Lady Celebi.”
“Hah! How blasphemous,” she giggles, sticking her tongue out playfully. “I would’ve made ornaments for my trees out of you!”
It is as Dusknoir continues to babble about his overwhelming strength, hands still holding himself securely, that something finally clicks within Grovyle’s mind. He believes he’s been misinterpreting something deeply. Dusknoir hasn’t properly addressed him once, not even throughout that apology. It’s such a startling contrast to the unwavering focus he’d demonstrated during their scuffle. So, while Dusknoir is definitely avoiding him, it no longer appears to be for those reasons Grovyle had initially feared. That fateful conversation back in the village had set off a cascade of reactions, most of them still unseen by Grovyle. He thinks he clearly spots at least one of them now, however.
All three of them are struggling, aren’t they? With grief, regret, displacement, or some other amalgamated mess of emotions. Grovyle isn’t sure what exactly it is that allows for this current epiphany, but he’s grateful nevertheless. Perhaps his acceptance of his own vitriolic anger had ushered forth this realisation. Maybe it’s the current sight of Dusknoir, expression so lost despite the way he still maintains a stiff exterior. It could even be that none of these possibilities hold true, the real catalyst of reason unseen. What if Grovyle had known all along, but he’d just refused to see what was plain in front of him? So focused upon his own struggles. So bitter and broken.
Afterall, both of his friends’ had told him in no uncertain terms, hadn’t they? Celebi’s nightmares and the crushing burden of false culpability she carted about on her shoulders. Dusknoir’s belief that redemption was an impossibility when the blood upon one’s hands was lathered so thickly. In a world so vast and so beautifully different, not a single one of them knew where to journey next. It had always been such moments of peace that Grovyle struggled most with. Well, now he knows that Dusknoir and Celebi are the same.
As morbid as the thoughts are, the notion is strangely comforting. It’s as if some sort of deep shadow clouding his vision begins to dissipate. Grovyle isn't alone in all of this afterall, is he? Why ever had he fooled himself into believing that he was? Mountains are never moved by a single man, it always takes an army. The Planetary Investigation Team, Celebi and Hope, even all of the Pokémon at Wigglytuff’s Guild who had banded together to locate the Hidden World in time. Great deeds required a support network. It required a team.
Grovyle’s been drowning this entire time and he never once thought to reach out a hand for help. He'd been deluding himself into believing something was innately wrong with him, that he was greedy, broken, and awful, but would he dare apply such cruel labels to his friends? If either of them confessed that they felt like this world was moving steadily ahead without them, then Grovyle would do his damndest to assure them otherwise. In no way had he ever believed Celebi pathetic for seeking company; nor Dusknoir selfish for simply striving to continue living. The world and its inhabitants were beautifully imperfect, not a soul escaping unflawed. Whether death, the dark, or abandonment; everyone battles against their own crushing, inner fears.
Grovyle is scared that he’ll be forgotten by a world he sacrificed everything for. Celebi finds herself constantly haunted by those realities she failed in. Dusknoir has mastered the art of self-destruction better than any. Together, the three of them make for an unbelievably complicated mix, and yet Grovyle is determined they could all find a place together. They just need to work for it.
So now he just needs to figure out how to convince everyone of that; especially himself. Grovyle’s not foolish enough to believe this one bright moment of clarity will be enough to banish all his bitterness and self-loathing. All too soon, that cloying shadow will return for him and pollute his mind once more. But still… it’s a start, right?
Everything must begin somewhere, and although he’s frequently impatient in the moment, Grovyle has already proven that he can practice tolerance. In order to determine where those time gears were located, it had taken them decades of scouting and surveying landscapes. Years upon years of nothing but inconclusive outcomes and the need to resign themselves to further research. Nothing worthwhile in life ever occurred in an instant, it took unbelievable work, determination, and grit.
It took hope. The very concept that his most dearest companion had been named after. Although they were now gone, they’d left that sentiment permanently instilled within Grovyle’s chest. Such a vital essence keeping him going despite the darkest of days and lending him the strength to overcome insurmountable odds. Just alike any other skill, hope was a teaching which required practice. A honed sword, at times blunted, but always capable of returning to sharp glory. Grovyle thinks, with so much dullness overtaking his life, that he had lost track of that steel.
Optimism and hope made for a good pair; with one incomplete when in the absence of its partner. While Grovyle had feared he’d never again see his Hope, that reality had never been possible in actuality, had it? Hope existed within Grovyle’s very heart. No matter the time or distance, they were nestled right up beside his very own source of courage. Fuelling his steps and vitalising his heart, Grovyle’s little Hope had never left him.
Hope for the future.
Hope for these continued friendships.
Hope that Grovyle would find his place within the world.
Most of all though, his Hope survived in his memories and in that slim, impossible dream that not every goodbye was intended to mean forever.
So it's not too foolish to rekindle this wish for belonging, right? Not too selfish of him to gamble on the odds of his friends feeling the same way as himself? Broken things don’t need to be discarded, their splintered pieces can be reconnected. Both Celebi and Dusknoir are equally as damaged as Grovyle is, but just in different ways. If they work for it… then perhaps together they can still fix things.
Fix the world, fix themselves, fix their way into the future. Sometimes broken pieces simply needed to find the right angle in order to fit.
***
The most worthwhile solutions are never easy to come by and progress is frequently slow. Grovyle reminds himself of this concept regularly, the thought hammering about inside his head as it repeatedly gets displaced by those nastier, self-loathing ones. It’s all about repetition and reframing. Think it over again, and again, and again. Think it before sleep and during meals. Think it until he can think of no more. Eventually the mantra will find itself forced to stick, and Grovyle will fool himself into believing that which was previously impossible. It’s how he’d managed to convince himself that he could actually make a difference. That he could alter the dark future.
Grovyle doesn’t believe himself worthy of his friends’ love, but does that mean Celebi should rescind her kindness? The choice to love is entirely of her own. Who she chooses to offer such blessings to, even those deemed undeserving by others, should not come under outside influence. Grovyle believes in this notion wholeheartedly, and thus, what is his right to scrutinise it when offered to himself?
Similarly, Dusknoir’s loyalty is an innate thing he barely seems aware of. Would it be fair of Grovyle to expect him to change such a fundamental part of himself? There would be hell to pay if Dusknoir finally learnt to lean upon others only to have a selfish jerk of a Pokémon throw that trust back in his face. Grovyle would ensure it. Therefore, if he’s so willing to defend his friend’s developing gentleness, then why not cut the snake off at the head? If Grovyle’s already too busy battling that harmful version of himself, then Dusknoir will never need to suffer by his hands.
So regardless of how much Grovyle’s shining spirit may have dulled lately, he knows it might yet shine again. Celebi has always possessed good judgement in people, and Dusknoir is learning to expect better. If the pair of them see something worth keeping within Grovyle, then it surely must be there. It’s currently just hidden from his own view.
Why Grovyle had begun to lob such cruel and uncaring expectations upon his friends is beyond him. Were either of them the type of person to simply up and abandon somebody once their use expired? The answer was undoubtedly and unquestionably a solid: no. It was very low of Grovyle to once think so little of them. Both his friends could choose to associate with anybody they liked, even if he himself hated the selected individual. That criteria, as loathe as he’d initially been to admit it, did include himself. It was Celebi and Dusknoir’s choice to make.
So now Grovyle just has to hope that, with time, he’ll come to view himself in a better light. He wishes to be somebody worthy of Celebi and Dusknoir’s love. He knows that they deserve to offer it, but he wants that affection to be justified, to be earnt. Grovyle can work the rest of his life attempting to attain this new expectation, forever bettering himself into something all three of them find pride in. He’ll become that hero of old stories, selfless and brave. Grovyle believes that, during all those years of fighting to halt the planet’s paralysis, he’d simultaneously been pursuing that visage of who he could become. His best version.
He obviously still wants that, even if the dark musings tell him otherwise. Now that he’s managed a glimpse through the shrouding black and caught a glimmer of what could be, the yearning carries a renewed edge of desperation. It’s not solely because Grovyle longs to be known as more than himself, but because he knows it is this version of Grovyle which his companions deserve to have at their sides.
This can be his new mission.
The renewed sense of purpose delivered alongside that thought is nice, even if he is only pursuing a notion rather than any sort of physical goal. If Grovyle stops his brain from spiralling into loathing and works to redirect it into bettering himself, then perhaps his miserable situation will improve. Celebi and Dusknoir haven’t given up on him, and so he can’t either. He’ll become the brightest version of himself that he possibly can. If he can’t do it for himself, then he’ll do it for them.
It is strange to have sudden determination returned to him. Grovyle wonders what exactly it was which unlocked it, helping to dispel some of the grim fog from his mind. The freedom, perhaps? It could be due to travelling again, that prior village far too dreary and miserable for anyone’s liking. Grovyle’s always been used to frequent, and oftentimes gruelling, movement. His body had ached terribly during such confinement, but out here at the cliffsides, he feels strangely rejuvenated. Set out on a quest once again, his mind is far less stagnant. Less time for the dark, loathsome thoughts to spiral when he’s so busy with moving.
However, while it likely played a role, something feels dishonest in solely blaming their settlement stay. There were endless factors at play in his troubling mental state, all of them amassing into an unbearably heavy weight. It had dragged his head and his heart down, the grief a huge contributor to all that. It will no doubt linger for a long while to come. Inescapable and ever present. The good and the bad, the fond and the sad; all but an interwoven mess within his mind.
Still, just simply being able to recognise and pin a name to these forces at play is immensely helpful. It gives Grovyle a will to work on and resolve those issues where he can. That realisation about Celebi and Dusknoir’s own struggles further solidifies his drive to defeat this flagellating cycle. Here was Dusknoir, somebody who had fought to overcome his conditioning beneath Primal Dialga and allowed his kind, unwavering spirit to shine through. He’d taken control of his life and followed the path he knew to be right despite how it terrified him so. He was a Pokémon that Grovyle greatly admired, but similar to his own troubles, Dusknoir seemed to personally view himself in an unfavourable light. He felt that he was somebody undeserving of love.
The future’s brand new dawn is just as desolate and dreary within Dusknoir’s view, isn’t it? Because the two of them believe they hold no part in it. No future. No impact. As the pair of them had laid dying, Dusknoir had looked to Grovyle for reassurance. Had his spirit shone? It most definitely had. However, now that their imminent end isn't unfurling, they've both been left with a lot to reflect upon. It was easy to die without regrets, but it was incredibly difficult to live in their absence.
The realisation that Dusknoir, and to a lesser extent, Celebi too, have been struggling with such similar thoughts is upsetting. It isn’t fair at all, because Grovyle wants his friends to relish this life. He wants Dusknoir to be happy and to see himself as others do; a hero. He wishes for Celebi to lighten the brunt of expectation upon her shoulders and take celebration in that which she has achieved; saving the world. The two of them deserve legends that long outlive their physical remains, forever carrying forth their spirits into a bright, shining future.
In a strangely roundabout way, it is this which helped Grovyle’s realisation along, isn’t it? The stark contrast between what he thinks of his friends versus how they view themselves. As impossible as it still seemed to believe, this observation was probably true for himself, too. Grovyle’s friends could never hate him to the extent that he hated himself.
The mind lies an awful lot. It whispers of the darkest doubts and germinates seeds of loathing. If one was not careful, the infestation of weeds spread until a smothering carpet of thorns consumed all. While these brambles and strangulating vines had nearly snuffed him out, Grovyle had glimpsed the sky just in time again. He’d fought too hard and too damn long to simply roll over and rescind his sunlight. Though the battle would be gruelling, he was going to fight against those burrs. Hacking away chunk by chunk, Grovyle would break free of these vegetative shackles. He would free himself, and he would bask anew.
Grovyle swears that all three of them are going to heal from these scars of their pasts. They're going to carve a way through that twisted shrubbery and walk into a bright new future hand in hand. Regardless of those dim and monochromatic days, their little trio are going to live every moment of this life to the fullest.
If Celebi and Dusknoir haven’t given up on Grovyle yet, then that means he can't give up on himself either. No matter how dark the weather gets, no matter how grey the future becomes, the sun will rise again. He just has to wait for it.
***
The universe seems to dictate that positivity begets struggle, for it’s not long after Grovyle has committed to his new mission that the situation devolves into chaos. He's not sure why he’d been expecting any different, really. Their group has set up camp upon the wide, craggy ledging following his unexpected tumble. The location they’ve decided upon is thankfully far from precarious, but it’s still unstable enough to prick anxiety along Grovyle’s skin. The centre here is solid, free from that crumbling erosion the outer edges suffer from. However, the looming stone above casts a deep shadow, one which seemingly carries a premonition alongside it. Who knows what could be found up there, lurking inside those shadows and watching them.
With this concern in mind, Grovyle rather adamantly insists that their group take shifts sleeping. The others don't protest. Perhaps that should soothe his nerves somewhat, but instead it only seems to worsen his fears. Grovyle can tell that his paranoia is setting Celebi off, but he can’t help it. Her bright eyes dart about at each twitch of his restless hands and she frequently jumps at the shift of his scales against stone. Antennae flicking about constantly and head cocking sideways, it is as if she's attempting to place something far off. If Celebi ever does sense something, she never admits to it.
In comparison, Dusknoir appears to remain infuriatingly calm. Grovyle would chalk it down to the night being his element, but that theory is contradicted by just how jittery Sableye is. The little Pokémon species is practically born to stalk the dark of night, so those waves of anxiety rolling off of Sableye make no sense. Grovyle thinks it may have something to do with being so high up and out in the open, but he doesn't verbally question it. They’re all exposed out here, sitting ducks awaiting disaster. He could agonise over the most predictable routes for attack or scout the perimeter in a compulsive, obsessive loop. He could drive himself mad with the unknowing.
Instead, Grovyle tosses another stick onto the fire. His gaze tracks the flurry of sparks which rocket up, little embers bobbing through the air like fireflies. The urge to reach out and catch them twitches through his fingers. Where he manages to resist, apparently Sableye fails, because it snatches a hand out towards them. Answering heat scorches Sableye’s palm, and it hisses through its teeth.
“Hot.”
Grovyle’s brow lifts up and he bites down against a smile. “Yes, it tends to be so.”
Sableye sniffs, rubbing at sore fingers as it eyes the fire with betrayal. “Rude that it's hot. It looked tasty.”
As if in agreement with the words, Grovyle’s stomach cramps painfully. Many hours earlier while scaling the cliffside, they’d dropped their rations supply bag. While that would ordinarily be alright, it is certainly a hazardous move when one found themself trapped within inhospitable terrains. The Dark Future had been much the same, its desolate environments leaving little to scavenge. They should be used to it by now, really, but hunger is something which gnaws constantly and incessantly. The sensation was never devoid of misery.
Grovyle had partially fooled himself into believing that these dead zones would heal-over once the planet unparalyzed. The return of nature's natural cycle sanding the earth clean and scrubbing away those blemishes. However, rather than that, the harsh landscapes had not only remained but they'd also become far more volatile. Frozen wastelands now howled with blizzards, jagged mountain ranges tumbled with crumbling stone, and deserts blistered with such intensive heat the radiation waves could be seen bouncing along the sand dunes. All of it made sense, in retrospect. The past hosted its own fair share of miserable locations, and Grovyle had even experienced some firsthand. His new experiences in those environments should’ve shifted his expectations accordingly for the changed future.
As their fire continues to audibly pop and crackle, Grovyle finds himself wondering just how much of that prior world Dusknoir experienced. With time on his side, had he ever indulged in the luxury of exploration merely for discoveries sake? Grovyle thinks he'd personally rather enjoy that if ever permitted the chance to try. Traversing a landscape simply in order to witness what's there. Learning about life and broadening his own scope of knowledge. Perhaps Grovyle should ask Dusknoir sometime, this world seemed an awful big place. It would be a shame not to experience it all.
“Grovyle dear, you're brooding.” Celebi says, her playful words swiftly cutting through Grovyle’s wandering thoughts. He huffs, settling his hand upon her head and scratching along the soft skin gently. She's currently propped up against his leg, her small body tucked securely into his hip as she attempts to sleep. The contact is comforting. It sends a flurry of warmth throughout Grovyle and quickens the pulse of his heart. Each time he glances upon her peaceful form, he feels something overwhelmingly content steal the breath from his lungs.
The restless twitch of Celebi’s folded wings, the subtle rise and fall of her chest upon her steadying breaths, even each agitated reshuffle. All of this reminds Grovyle that not only is she alive, but also that she’s choosing to remain here with him at this very moment. That detail had been so easy to forget while back at the village. Grovyle had found his head clouded with misery, those delights still remaining within his life so easy to take for granted. He truly is so unbelievably privileged to possess such treasured friendships. To think he’d almost lost sight of that.
Scratching his nails along Celebi’s scalp, Grovyle promises her he’ll never again make such a foolish mistake. She deserves endless joys within her life, and Grovyle will ensure he’s around for as long as permitted, constantly working to deliver such gifts. The world doesn’t need him anymore, so who better to dedicate the remainder of his existence to? Celebi is incredible, not only enabling the future’s salvation, but also providing Grovyle further reasons to continue on. He can ensure the situation brightens and that Celebi is happy. That’s all he wants. He can find meaning in this.
While he’s been ruminating upon such thoughts, entirely too much time has passed to warrant a response. Still, it’s not as if Celebi hasn’t already become accustomed to his awkwardness. “I'm not brooding, and that is beside the point. You're supposed to be sleeping,” he grouches.
The snort which gusts up against his leg is warm and ticklish. “Dusknoir’s not sleeping either, so why don’t you go and mother him instead?”
Said ghost’s voice is dry and terribly deadpan; “because unlike Grovyle, I myself am indeed busy brooding.” The words prompt a giggling fit of laughter out of Celebi, and Grovyle rolls his eyes fondly at the pair of them. “Regardless, nobody mollycoddles me.”
The words tumble out of him automatically and without thought. “We could,” he offers, and beside him, Celebi’s laughter turns to choking. Grovyle isn’t sure what exactly he’s said wrong this time, but he’s obviously made some sort of social blunder. Perhaps it’s because of him unthinkingly committing the both of them without first asking Celebi her opinion? He should correct that assumption. “I mean, ah... I could?” Unfortunately, the amendment doesn’t seem to help the situation any. Celebi rolls herself onto her side and begins to hack on her own spit in earnest. Grovyle reaches over and thumps her on the back, despite how his insides are currently recoiling with embarrassment. Best to move on from the topic, then. “Well, if none of us particularly feel like sleeping, then we could always carry on-”
“Ugh, my dearest, no!” Celebi gargles, her eyes speckled with tears and face unbearably red as she continues to wheeze. She pushes his arm away, instead pounding at her own chest and then covering her glowing face with her hands. Grovyle thinks he hears her muttering to herself, something about how ‘undignifying’ that entire ordeal was.
Dusknoir’s verbal outburst is far louder. “Are you quite mad, Grovyle? Do you take enjoyment in lunacy?” Before Grovyle can react, the larger Pokémon has stormed over and jabbed a rough finger into his chest. “Please repeat if I have misheard, but it appears you wish to go scaling the cliffsides in the dark again, the very same activity which, merely hours ago, almost resulted in your demise!”
Despite how his instincts urge him to react differently, Grovyle simply leans back on his arms and looks up at Dusknoir dispassionately. It’s taken him a while, but he thinks he’s coming to learn that dramatic and over-the-top is simply how Dusknoir is; especially when nervous. The yelling and accusations aren’t a personal insult, they’re merely a cover which allows Dusknoir time to process his thoughts or feelings.
He never intends harm. That’s something which Grovyle has logically known for a long time now, but it’s always proven far harder to remind his body in the moment. Their scuffle from mere hours ago was a prime example. If the two of them wanted to continue healing and moving forward with this relationship, then they needed to put conscious work into communication. Definitely not an easy feat considering who the two of them are, but still, the first step is no less monumental.
“Perhaps not my brightest suggestion,” Grovyle admits freely, gaze fixed upon the way Dusknoir unconsciously hunches his shoulders inwards and repeatedly twitches his fingers. Grovyle tilts his head, dreadfully aware of the way that the action opens him up to vulnerability by exposing his throat. “Well, if Celebi and yourself are determined not to sleep, perhaps we may swap shifts? I could use the rest.”
The way in which Dusknoir freezes-up, his face falling into befuddlement, would be amusing under different circumstances. Grovyle isn’t certain why the other Pokémon appears so determined to draw his ire, but he has a nagging suspicion it’s to do with Primal Dialga. Specifically; Grovyle’s refusal to take up that mantle of power.
He had meant it when he told the ghost they were now equals. Dusknoir is forevermore a freeman, one who’s permanently been released from commandment or exploitation. Perhaps that’s where this odd behaviour of his has been stemming from. Afterall, has Dusknoir ever truly been untethered before? Can he consciously recall a time in which his purpose was not predetermined by that of a cruel master? It’s feasible that Dusknoir’s loss of direction is resulting in anger. Their strange hedge back towards animosity may be him attempting to prove something to himself. Prove that Grovyle will treat him just as terribly as everyone else has.
Grovyle, rather miserably, thinks that they’re akin in that regard. Dusknoir had been a servant to a tyrant god, and Grovyle had found himself shackled to an impossible mission. Neither of them knew how to live for themselves, and while Grovyle certainly isn’t any further ahead in learning the how of that, he’s at least cleared some of those mental hurdles. Now that he’s resurfaced from the suffocating pit of grief and guilt, he can recognise that he’s been pushing dusknoir far too hard.
Both of them are trapped within destructive cycles of their own makings, and breaking loose from those spirals is no easy feat. Grovyle doesn’t doubt that his own journey still stretches unbelievably far ahead of himself, however, the purpose of friends is to support one another unconditionally. If Dusknoir requires Grovyle to disengage during these tense situations, then he’ll make sure he does his damned best. He can prove to the ghost that no rejection nor retribution is coming. Grovyle will never suddenly take hold of that lead and tug it unbearably tight. He’d seen the shining spirit beneath, and he knew that it would only burn brighter if allowed the air to breathe.
Grovyle will die before he allows something or someone to rip Dusknoir’s ability for choice away from him again. He’ll fight tooth and nail to ensure that his friend never again lives a day in fear of the end. Life was worth so much more than a dull, grey struggle, right? Grovyle is still working on believing in that for himself, but perhaps he’ll find his answers along the way while helping Dusknoir. A golden evening primrose, a vibrant red poppy, and brilliant pastel pinks. Together, those three hues could make a sunrise entirely of their own. Maybe Grovyle’s answers had always resided in his friends, and not in the past or the world at large. Perhaps living meant loving.
“Well?” Celebi asks in Grovyle’s place, her voice sounding terribly bemused as she draws their attention back to the present conversation. It appears as if Dusknoir and him had both zoned out. “Wanna take over the lookout shift?” At her prompting however, Duksnoir begins to blink and shake his head, as if resurfacing from a deep dream. Curling his fingers into the ruff around his neck, he retreats several large paces.
“Ah, but ah- but of course!” he stammers a tad awkwardly before quickly recovering his bravado, “it has been an arduous day indeed and I, the Great Dusknoir, require very little in the way of sleep to begin with! In fact-”
Grovyle, again, tunes him out. Instead, he opts to flop backwards and roll over onto his side. The ground is cold, rocky, and terribly uncomfortable beneath him. It is of no hindrance though, Grovyle’s slept in far worse conditions before. The main complication barring his rest tonight won’t be from the environment, but rather the very same reason he had initially volunteered to take watch. His brain is simply too active.
Judging from how elusive sleep has also been for his companions, perhaps overwhelming thoughts are haunting them all. Grovyle can’t help but wonder what exactly it is that keeps his companions up. Obviously he has no right to know their innermost thoughts and secrets, but a small part of him yearns to all the same. Grovyle wishes to know each aspect of his friends. Wants to memorise anything and everything that they will allow him to.
Is that too overbearing? Too smothering? Was that why Hope had never seemed sad that they’d forgotten about him?
Vehemently shaking his head as if the movement will physically dislodge the cruel thought, Grovyle flips himself over onto his other side. The ground is just as unforgiving like this, and so he grunts at the unpleasantness of the rough surface scraping against his scales. The healing burns covering his back itch and twinge irritably, the soles of his feet ache after so much walking, and his skin tingles unpleasantly. As he continues to shuffle about, strange sensations continue to zip across his body. Small, shooting aftershocks of pain which thrum up along his arms and arc across his chest. Eventually they pluck down his spine, the burn reverberating somewhere throughout the base of his back and legs.
Nerve damage, Grovyle thinks. He hasn’t mentioned this ailment to his friends yet, far too concerned that the altruistic fools will find a way to accept culpability. Besides, damaged nerves could heal given enough time. If something went wrong… in the occurrence that these twinging pains never do fade, then Grovyle will deal with it as he always does. It didn’t alter his resolve; he still wouldn’t change a single damn thing. Some of the events which transpired in Icicle Forest were best forgotten, but it was crucial they were never erased. He saved Celebi and he gained Dusknoir. What’s a little chronic pain in the grand scheme of things when the universe could have easily hurt him so, so much worse?
A gusty sigh forcefully leaves Grovyle as he tosses and turns onto his stomach. He kneads his claws through the ground, feeling the grains of gritty dirt and stone crumble between his fingers. The night is cold, the wind whispers around the curvatures of the cliffside, and barely a nocturnal Pokémon seems to peep. Somewhere far off, Grovyle can hear rumbling, as if something heavy is shifting and moving about. He scrunches his eyes shut tighter and wills his body to unwind; permitting him passage into the realm of unconsciousness.
Sleep fails to arrive despite how he struggles for it. Grovyle eventually concedes defeat, thoroughly sick of listening to the constant barrage of his own thoughts. He casts his eyes about the dimly lit surroundings, hopeful to find something of interest to focus upon. It is inevitable that the flickering firelight draws his gaze. Or more specifically, those people seated around it.
“-and so I work by manipulating gravitational fields in order to curve space time, whereas I believe Primal Dialga worked more by altering the quantum states of things.” Celebi is saying, and Grovyle feels his head spin with merely the tail end of whatever explanation he’s belatedly tuned in on.“Take its dimensional holes for example. It would accelerate one end, which then caused the two ends to be out of sync, leaving one in the past and the other in the future.”
“I see,” Dusknoir muses, “and I take it that the Passage of Time utilises similar principles? I do find myself rather curious about something. Have you ever attempted to-”
Celebi and Dusknoir’s conversation abruptly cuts off as Sableye loudly interrupts them. “Cool! But can you make gemstones?” it asks curiously, notes of excitement threaded through its voice. The sound of skittering follows, as if the small Pokémon has leapt to its feet and begun to jump about. “Master Dialga could make them! Sometimes, if we were good. Can you?”
“Hmm, I’m not sure,” Celebi replies sweetly. “Can’t say I’ve ever tried, but how hard can it be, surely?” Sableye’s delighted screech is enough to have Grovyle rolling over and clapping his hands down upon his ears. Through the muffling it provides, he thinks he hears Dusknoir reprimanding it. However, Celebi is quick to interfere again, “nonsense, Dusknoir! If I do find myself capable of doing such a thing, then of course the Sableye are welcome to them! I mean, it must just be applying telekinetic pressure while accelerating the space time of- coal would be best to use, right?” She clicks her tongue, shaking her head as she audibly claps her hands together. “Oh nevermind that, it can be figured out later. I just remembered that Dusknoir wanted to ask you something, Sableye.”
“I did?” said ghost asks, his voice puzzled. Grovyle watches as Dusknoir mistakenly meets Celebi's eyes and then promptly withers beneath the force of her glare. “I mean I- why of course I did!” He tucks his hands into his lap, angling his large body so that it radiates false ease. “Sableye, you have a name, correct?”
“Yes?”
“Ah, excellent. Well ah- what is it? If you don't mind me asking.”
There is a very pregnant pause before Sableye finally answers him. “Topaz.”
“Great, great. Excellent!” Dusknoir waffles, voice high and strained, “how splendid. Now, well, ah, Topaz, I must say that-”
“Don't call me that.”
The ruff around Dusknoir’s neck flares and his hands ball into fists. “Whyever not?” he barks, staring down at Sableye in shock.
“Because you're like, my boss. It's weird, man.”
Grovyle can’t contain it any longer. His snorting laugh bubbles free, a torrential rush of garbled sound which immediately draws everyone’s attention towards him. He attempts to push himself upright, but the tightness in his sides and chest leave him wheezing and he collapses once again.
“Mature,” Dusknoir scoffs, and his expression is disgruntled enough that it only spurs the lunacy on further.
“You truly inspire confidence in your underlings, Dusknoir.”
“He is rather a marvel,” Celebi agrees, the curve of her lips and glint in her eyes hinting at mischief. “Topaz, darling, what may Grovyle address you as?”
The little Sableye’s grin stretches from ear to ear. “He can call me Topaz. Or maybe even Paz, because I like him. Not as much as the boss likes him, though.”
Dusknoir whirls on Sableye, his eye narrowed into a vicious slit and the maw on his stomach nothing but snarling, gnashing teeth. “Why you insolent little-” he starts, but before his grasping hands can yank Sableye up, he cuts himself off. Body stiffening into one startling, rigid line, Dusknoir cocks his head sideways.
The dramatic change in behaviour has all humour draining away from Grovyle. He snaps himself upright to attention. “Dusknoir?”
The ghost doesn’t respond verbally, instead simply holding a finger up in the universal symbol for silence. Tilting his head to the other side, he seems to only grow tenser. “Am I the only one hearing that sound?” he asks.
Grovyle closes his eyes as he attempts to discern whatever it is that Dusknoir is drawing their attention to. The world still seems to have an absence of late night cacophony, no bug or dark type Pokémon serenading the moon. The peacefulness of it draws harsh attention to the natural phenomena of existence. The stillness of night, rustling shrubbery, and whistling winds. Pebbles clacking down steep cliff-faces and the rumbling shift of rockery. Trees creak, water trickles somewhere faroff, and their own campfire crackles. Another rock clatters, and it is then that Grovyle realises the error of his earlier dismissal.
“Landslide!” he breathes out loudly, shock lending strength to his voice. He’s back up and on his feet before he can even register the motion. Steps carrying him towards Celebi, Grovyle feels his heart leap into his throat as his gaze catches the shift of movement from above. Everything’s coming down fast. “We need to-”
Grovyle never gets to finish his sentence, because something slams into his side hard. He’s sent careening as pain blooms vividly inside his ribcage. Somebody screams. Then, darkness overtakes Grovyle’s vision as their fire’s illumination vanishes from view. With a weightless lurch to his insides, Grovyle realises that he’s falling.
Everything is happening far too fast. His vision is reduced to a somersaulting, jumbled mess of input. An object slams into his shoulder and sends him spiralling backwards. Rocky cliffside clips his hip and he finds himself inverted once again. Grovyle can taste bile in the back of his throat as it rears up and lathers his tongue thickly. His breaths are sharp and pained, nearing the cusp of panic. All that fills his ears is the clatter of rocks and the unbearably loud shifting as a mountainside comes down around them.
Celebi. He can’t see Celebi. The fear which punches through Grovyle at that thought is of a different sort. It verges on hysterical. Attempting to right himself as he plummets, the wind buffeting his body instead sends him pirouetting. Dizzying spirals and twirling, whirling circles. Grovyle thrashes about and desperately reaches out into the darkness as pure terror overtakes his mind. Rocks crumble and jab into him brutally, but gaining a grip is impossible when he’s falling so fast.
The cliffside is racing him down, and unfortunately, Grovyle is the one winning. He cries out as his back connects with something hard, and then after that, his mind blots out entirely.
***
“Hey, Grovyle, you got any good stories about Hope?” The question has him blearily blinking up, his vision slightly blurred due to both fatigue and the light drizzle of rain. The copse of trees they’ve taken shelter beneath dip and sway in the wind, each jostling movement of their branches causing scatters of water to leak through. Above them, a grey sky swirls with storm clouds and the occasional flicker of a breakthrough rainbow.
Conditions such as these should make for rather miserable spirits, but Grovyle thinks only the opposite can be said about their party. Everyone is simply relieved to have found the Hidden Land in time. Alongside the solace of a removed burden, there is always also a mystifying sort-of charm paired beside new discovery. Even Grovyle can feel it, a giddy sensation which wells up inside his chest and lends renewed vigour to his feet. He can understand why Hope has taken so well to this Exploration Team business. It is certainly exhilarating.
“Stories about what?” asks Grovyle. Shinx- no, Tau, he’d asked Grovyle to call him Tau- is staring up at him expectantly. The rain has flattened the small shock of blue fur on his forehead down, the cheek ruffs dripping with condensation.
“I don’t know? Just y’know, stories.” Tau irritably attempts to flick the sodden hair out of his eyes, and Grovyle’s lips lift with amusement as he watches. “What were they like before coming to the past?” Whiskers twitching, Tau’s fangs overhang his lips as they stretch wide into a mischievous grin. “The same old irritable weirdo?”
If he were asked to explain the twisty sensation which pulses throughout his stomach, Grovyle’s words would fail him. Hopefully the reaction is hidden from his face. “No, actually. They were rather different.”
That seems to surprise Tau. The Shinx sits upright, fur fluffing as he shakes it out. “Wait, really!?” His voice fades away into a hesitant silence. Were Grovyle not studying his expression so closely, he’d have missed the journey it undergoes. Upset. Anger. Grief. Guilt. It’s a complex and rather miserable mix to witness. Once things seem to have been processed, Tau’s ears pin back and his posture slumps down. “Oh… I guess ah, I guess that makes sense. It must be pretty upsetting to lose everything you’ve ever known. I mean- I don’t know why I worded it like that, I know how hard it’s been for them.”
“You’ve been a good friend,” Grovyle reassures them quickly. He adamantly ignores the continued discomfort within his insides, the weight only sinking heavier and deeper upon each word he utters. “I don’t think any distress is responsible for Hope’s personality change, though. I believe that…” the words catch in his throat as Grovyle switches his gaze over to said human turned Pokémon. They’re curled up at Tau’s side, face peaceful and devoid of any of that pinching tension he’s so used to witnessing them wear. Deep asleep, their chest rises and falls, limbs twitching as dreams race across their mind. “I believe they’re happier here now with you, more so than they ever were with me in the future.”
“But how can that be? If you- you said that they’re so much grumpier now that they’re a Pokémon, right?”
Grovyle turns his gaze away, because looking at them is beginning to pierce his heart too brutally. Despite the change in forms, they still tuck a limb beneath their cheek as they sleep. Drool condenses around their mouth, body automatically stretching out to hug onto the nearest, warmest body. It’s not exactly jealousy, but in an abstract way, that is exactly the emotion Grovyle’s currently feeling. A conflicting clash of negativity, joy, and pride; all mixed into a messy slurry which churns his guts. It is the realisation that a child has long outgrown the need for their guardian.
“I think this is who Hope was always meant to be,” Grovyle eventually confesses. The words leave his throat sore, but despite the pain of it, he truly is happy for them. “They’re impulsive and chaotic, but that is because they’re free of those burdens I’d once placed on them. I believe Hope must have put on a front of optimism for my own benefit. Now that they’re with you, they can drop all of that. They can truly be themself.”
“Oh,” Tau murmurs in a voice warring between both relief and sorrow. He flicks his tail over Hope’s face, gentle smile only returning once they snuffle in their sleep. “They do uh, they do love you, ya know? Just because they’ve forgotten…” he slowly trails off, bright yellow eyes downcast. The fur prickles and twitches along his spine in unease, but he does still eventually summon the courage to look back up and meet Grovyle’s gaze directly. “Heck, I love you. I know that we ah- we had a bad start, but you mean a lot to us, the both of us, and I-” he sucks in his teeth, air hissing audibly. “What I’m trying to say but messing up hugely is; thank you, Grovyle.”
That has him sitting up straighter, eyes narrowing. “Where’s this coming from, Shinx?”
Tau’s grin turns nervous. “Um, well I, uh,” his eyes flit about, as if expecting an answer to manifest before him. “It’s just that, y’know, I figured with you being framed as the villain and all, you probably haven’t heard that much, right? So yeah, from me, and from all us Pokémon in the past, thank you.”
Grovyle has to look away again, heart racing. “You’re a pretty perceptive kid,” he says, voice wavering slightly. “I hope you’ll continue to think of me that way, even once I’m gone.”
“What- why would you be gone?” Tau asks, his eyes widening. “You don’t have to go! After we fix time, you can come back to the Guild with us! Hope just got you back, they’d miss you so badly if you returned to the future!”
God, how can he tell them? It’s been eating at him for quite a while now, but every moment in which he prepares himself to bring it up, something occurs to change his mind. Why rob the pair of them this happiness prematurely? He doesn’t wish for Tau’s final days with Hope to be wasted on misery and regret. He cares about both of them far too much to cave their worlds down around them.
Eventually, he’ll have to though. He’ll need to tell them.
It hurts to admit it, but Tau is wrong. Grovyle wasn’t framed the villain, he is the villain. As much as he longs for the Shinx to continue viewing him so favourably, he knows that sentiment will sour in time. At the end of the day, even if he doesn’t want to, Grovyle and his actions are going to rip these two apart.
A future condemned to eternal darkness, or the continued happiness of two children. What an impossible choice to make, one which could sway him if he was permitted the luxury of time.
It’s the closest Grovyle thinks he’s ever come to abandoning this mission.