Chapter Text
* * * * *
Skypther Chat: Moon Hawkins, Gary Oak, Satoshi Red
GO: ok so as we all know, gladion's going back to alola in a few days
MH: <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
SR: ...
GO: ...
MH: And how many times, exactly, have I ignored the two of you being gross
GO: moving right along
GO: is there anything you really think Gladion should do/see/experience before he goes
GO: He's been to a lot of places, but there's a few he hasn't seen yet.
GO: and there's a matsuri this week in lavender town!!!
MH: I feel like you are guiding me to make a specific request because you really want to do it...
SR: He wants to take Gladion to the matsuri and dress him up in a kimono to take pictures to send you.
GO: RED!!!!!
SR: Is that not the correct answer?
GO: THAT IS BESIDE THE POINT!!!!!!!
MH: I'm not going to make him do that lmao
GO: nobody loves me :(
SR: ...
GO: correction: nobody indulges my whims :(
SR: :)
GO: (:
MH: And you were going off about ME being gross in the chat.
MH: Look, if you can talk him into it, then I would not mind if you sent me some pictures. But he can be pretty damn stubborn lol
GO: remind me what color your kimono is?
MH: Purple with a plum blossom motif on the skirt
MH: Lavender obi-age, pale pink obi, purple obi-jime
MH: It was literally the only nice thing I owned until I was forced to develop a sense of style through my job lmao
GO: oh good
MH: ?
GO: it will complement the kimono i've had my eye on for gladion perfectly
SR: Do I want to know how much money you're dropping on this?
GO: no
GO: actually yes, b/c we discuss financial shit like Good Adults
GO: we'll discuss it elsewhere and elsewhen
SR: ...
MH: Omg if you've spent or are spending a lot, don't EVER tell him
MH: You can just say you picked it up secondhand or whatever
GO: noted
* * * * *
"You want me to wear that?"
Blue grinned. "Yep."
"Isn't it cultural appropriation? I'm not Kantonian or Johtonian."
The grin disappeared. "Hoo boy. Red, you're up."
"It's only cultural appropriation if the thing you're wearing or using has a lot of cultural significance and you're wearing it in a culturally inappropriate context," said Red, in a monotone.
"Yes, that," agreed Blue.
Gladion frowned. "I'm... going to need an example."
"So you know Coacherrim?"
"The big music festival in Unova? I've heard of it."
"So sometimes you get people wearing all kinds of ridiculous shit, but the worst is when you have white people who decide it would be okay to wear indigenous Unovan costumes. Like the warbonnets with all the feathers— those are sacred ceremonial clothes, not accessories."
"It's doubly inappropriate because indigenous Unovans were not treated well at all by colonizers from Galar and Kalos," added Red.
Blue nodded. "So for white Unovans to wear indigenous styles, that's like theft. Like you're trying on an entire culture for an afternoon— specifically, one that your ancestors had a good hand in trying to destroy."
Gladion winced. "Okay, yeah, I can see that. So what makes this different?"
"Well, first of all, you're going to a festival." Blue indicated himself and Red. "We are also going to wear kimonos, because it is traditional to wear kimonos at a festival. It's not required, but most people will be wearing them."
"We're expected to," said Red, in a tone of long-suffering.
"Yes, because we're celebrities and we have to show that we value tradition and culture." Blue frowned at Red. "You complain about this every year."
"I look dumb and I can't wear my cap."
"Oh, boo-hoo, you're going slightly gray. Babe, nobody will notice. Without the hat, we may not even get recognized anyway." Blue rolled his eyes and turned back to Gladion. "Secondly, you are currently living in Kanto. It wasn't just a vacation for you to be here, you came here to live and work for two months. It's not only not appropriation, but it's actually appropriate for you to participate in cultural events. It shows that you're willing to learn and celebrate with people even if you weren't born with them. And thirdly, kimonos aren't sacred or ceremonial unless you have a specific job or you're going to a specific event. For the most part, kimonos are just slightly fancier than everyday clothes. The one I got for you is just a yukata. Everyone's got one of those for festivals."
Gladion hesitated.
"Look," said Red gruffly. "It does you credit that you're worried about it, okay? It shows that you're not taking this lightly. But it's okay."
Gladion looked at him, and then at Blue. "Really?"
"Really," promised Blue.
"Well— okay, I guess."
"Great! Now we just have to get you into them, and that is a whole damn process and a half so we better get started..."
* * * * *
It was a strange feeling, kimonos. Gladion looked down uncomfortably as he walked over to the bathroom, but Blue trotted along cheerfully and Red followed, him, reserved but not awkward.
"Relax!" Blue chirped. "You look great."
"I don't really care about how I look," said Gladion. "It's just weird to not be wearing, you know. Underwear."
"You are wearing underwear. The han-juban and the suteteko are literally underwear. It's just not the underwear you're used to."
"I know, it's just— it feels weird, that's all."
"Well, on the bright side, you look fantastic." Blue indicated the bathroom mirror, and Gladion blinked at himself in surprise.
A kimono came in several parts, as he'd learned when Red and Blue had been helping him put it on in the first place; they'd made him repeat the Old Kantonian names for each part. There were underclothes, han-juban and suteteko; and then a plain base garment, the actual kimono, that went over it. Gladion's kimono was medium gray, with the sleeves ending at his wrists. Over the kimono were a black cloth belt, called an obi; and a loose dark green jacket, called a haori. A small drawstring bag called a kinchaku was attached to the obi, and held his teammates. To complete it all were a pair of waraji, which Red informed him were sandals made from rice straw. Gladion had been dubious about the waraji, but apparently they were comfortable and very good for your feet and back, so he had gamely tied them on. He could already feel the benefit, just by standing and walking.
"I look not terrible," he decided.
"I beg your pardon," said Blue indignantly, "you look terrific, and I refuse to acknowledge anyone who doesn't agree with me, including you."
"Can we go yet?" asked Red, crossing his arms. It was strange seeing him without the baseball cap. His haori and kimono were both black, though the obi was wine-red by way of contrast. He had a kinchaku as well, but as usual Pikachu sat on one shoulder, with crossed arms and an impatient expression to match his Trainer.
"Yes, yes, we can go."
"Where are we going?"
Blue grinned. "Lavender Town. You haven't been there yet, and that's where the festival is taking place. This festival is called a matsuri, and this one specifically is held at Lavender Town because it's about honoring your ancestors and, well— that's the place to go for that, in Kanto." His kimono was a deep, warm blue, and his haori was a slightly darker shade of blue, with a black obi to finish it off.
"How are we getting there?"
"By train."
Gladion frowned, opening his mouth.
"Don't argue with him on this," said Red wearily, before Gladion could say anything. "The kimonos will get dirty if we go by Pokémon, and everything else takes too long. I've tried to argue with him for years and failed every time."
Blue patted Red's Pikachu-free shoulder, smiling sweetly. "I have him trained so well," he announced. "Let's go."
* * * * *
By all accounts Lavender Town was usually quiet, but for festivals like this the somber air gave way to excitement, influenced by the sheer number of people. Most of them, as Blue had said they would be, were wearing some kind of kimono. Gladion noticed a few people looking at him and squinting, but for the most part they simply smiled and moved on when he stared back.
"I told you it would be fine, quit worrying about it," said Blue. "Come on, we're getting food first."
The festival was held in order to pay honor to one's ancestors and therefore the largest attraction by far was Lavender Tower, with people lined up outside to enter and pray at the shrine inside. But there were other things, too— food stands, pop-up shops, and a couple of carnival-style games.
There were also blossoming trees— some of them beginning to fade back into a darker summer green, but a few still blooming. There were not only cherry blossom trees but apple blossom trees and plum blossom trees, blooming in shades of delicate pink and ethereal white that perfectly suited the atmosphere of Lavender Town.
"So what do you do at a festival?" wondered Gladion.
"Walk around, eat food, and look at people."
"That's it?"
"Blue and I have to go to the shrine," pointed out Red, dry and amused. "Public appearances, as he said. Giving thanks, respecting our ancestors and legendary Pokémon, and so on."
"Do you worship legendaries here? I know it's a cultural and kind-of religious tradition in Alola to make offerings to the Tapus and legendaries, but I haven't heard much about that kind of thing here."
"The elemental birds are famously reclusive, much like your Tapu Bulu," explained Blue. "They're also occasionally sighted in other regions, like Kalos and Galar. Lugia has been known to appear at this festival, but only briefly."
"She might come sit on the roof, yell for a minute, and fly away."
Gladion snorted laughter before he could help it. Red's mouth twitched, and Blue punched his shoulder.
"Don't be rude," he said, but he was grinning. "Even if it's accurate. The birds have been known to show up in different seasons, sometimes. Articuno in the winter, Lugia in the spring, Zapdos in the summer, Moltres in the fall. But this shrine isn't dedicated to any of them in particular, so you can pray to whoever."
"If praying is, in fact, your thing," added Red. "It certainly isn't mine."
"Then what do you do?" wondered Gladion.
Red didn't answer immediately, but Blue's hand found his and squeezed.
"I think about Team Rocket, mostly." His voice was quiet, and a little forced.
"Oh." Gladion grimaced. "I didn't mean to be rude, or nosy."
"Don't be sorry, it was a fair question. I met them here, when I was on my own journey. It... it wasn't a good time. When I come here now, it's always for a festival, and— well, my journey wasn't quite the same as your journey, or Moon's. I certainly wasn't chosen by a legendary to become the champion, and so sometimes it's felt like— like I was an idiot for going up against an enormous criminal organization as an eighteen-year-old kid. But now it's a peaceful place, and mostly I just sit and think about how grateful I am to be here. To—" He swallowed, and his voice went hoarse. "To be alive."
They got food, and played some of the dinky little carnival games. Gladion eyed a little Bulbasaur plush, a prize for accurately knocking over a pyramid of definitely-weighted-even-though-they-were-advertised-not-to-be-steel bottles. The man running the stall had a sly expression, but Gladion thought he might be able to win it . He had learned to throw from a strange combination of Jack, Kohaku, and Guzma. Jack had taught him to throw a knife, but some of the principles were the same; and Guzma had taught him to be able to tell whether someone was running a scam or not. It was, oddly, Kohaku who had taught him to properly throw a ball.
That was a weird memory. It had been before Kohaku had met Moon, because that had marked something of a turning point in his personality. He hadn't been stable before, not really, but he'd been a lot better at faking it. And he'd only taught Gladion to throw a ball because he wanted someone else who could throw to go break people's windows with him. Gladion had gone once, but it wasn't as fun as he'd hoped it would be and so he hadn't gone again.
"Try your luck, kid?" said the stall man. "It's only one-fifty Poké for the first three throws."
"Those are always rigged," complained Blue.
"I'll try it," said Gladion, handing over the money.
"Did you not just hear me?"
"Hey, Blue," said Red conversationally.
"Yes?"
"Shut up and let him waste his own money."
Gladion ignored the squabbling that broke out after this, weighing the baseball in his hand. He'd watched a couple of other people throwing at this stall— it was always wise to study before you took a test. He didn't pay much attention to how they threw, but how the ball hit the bottles.
They were definitely weighted, but weight didn't matter if you could throw hard enough.
First throw. He wound up, lifting one leg, and threw as hard as he could.
Three of the ten bottles fell off, and two more wobbled.
"Nice throw," said the stall guy, begrudgingly. "You've got two more. If you can get to seven, that's the bronze level prize."
The Bulbasaur plush was a silver, which meant he didn't technically have to knock over all the bottles; but now he wanted to, just to prove a point. Gladion studied the remaining bottles, aimed low, and hurled his second ball.
He hit a good spot, but he had made something of a misjudgment. Most of the bottles came crashing down, which was nice; but two remained, and they were at opposite ends of the bottom row of the pyramid.
"Ooh, sorry," said the stall guy, the sleazy grin sliding back onto his face. "You're not going to be able to get a gold prize."
Gladion looked at him for a few moments. "Watch me," he said, and threw a perfect curveball. He clipped the right bottle on the right side, and it skidded across the board to knock over the left bottle as well.
The stall guy's jaw dropped, and Red and Blue both began shouting incoherently, clapping him on the back. A few people turned to look, clapping politely when they realized what he'd done.
"Um— uh, what prize do you want?" said the man weakly. "You can pick a gold prize, or two silver, or three bronze."
The Bulbasaur plush had been the one to catch his eye, because Perse would love a doll of herself; but there were also other plushies hanging on hooks from the ceiling of the tent. Charmander and Squirtle, of course; but Pikachu, Eevee, and Clefairy were featured with the silver prizes as well, and he could see bits of others but couldn't quite make them out.
"I'll take a Bulbasaur, but have you got a Jolteon plushie, by chance?"
The man reached up and pulled a Jolteon out of the pile, handing it over. Gladion offered him a dry smile and tucked the plush under his arm.
"Oh, it's for Moon," said Blue, in a sing-song voice.
Gladion raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, and?"
Blue blinked at him for a few moments, then turned to Red. "Babe, win a plushie for me."
"I have ten Pokémon and you have fourteen," was Red's response. "A plushie would last about ten seconds at our house before all the stuffing got ripped out of it. No."
"But I wanna be as cute and couple-y as Gladion and Moon, even though Moon isn't even here right now—"
Red regarded him with an expression of disdain. "We have sex regularly. We're already winning."
Gladion felt his whole face catch on fire, but Blue brightened up at once. "Oh, that's true. Never mind about the plushie, then!"
* * * * *
Lavender Tower was filled with quiet people, kneeling and praying at the shrine in various parts of the room on the first floor. The higher levels definitely contained Ghost-type Pokémon but were also said to contain human ghosts, so mostly people didn't go up unless they were visiting a specific shrine or grave. Gladion didn't mind staying on the first floor. He'd been to Alolan graveyards and the Thrifty Megamart ruins, thank you very much; human ghosts were highly overrated.
Red went right up to the front of the room, in one of only a very few instances where he would ever use his celebrity status to get something he wanted. A few people glanced up as he passed and automatically scooted over to make room for him, smiling cautiously. Blue remained in the back, almost in the shadows,
And Gladion found an open spot in the middle of the crowd. It was something that would have bothered him ages ago, but now he found that he did not mind quite so much. Despite his obviously foreign hair and face, he was just another person here.
Moon had been right, when she said that he could just be Gladion here. He wasn't Lusamine's son or Arbutus's son or a Team Skull enforcer. He was just— Gladion.
And it was strange, but for once that thought didn't feel wrong.
He closed his eyes and thought about what Red had said, about feeling grateful to be alive. It was, of course, a sentiment he shared— his life had been at risk often enough that he figured his continued survival at this point was a statistical anomaly. He hadn't always wanted to survive some of those situations— a great deal of the bullshit from the Team Skull days, for instance— but now, with clarity in his mind and joy in his heart, he was grateful that he had.
Some of the Team Skull bullshit had been just— well, bullshit. Stupid things, like breaking people's windows or spraying graffiti onto Pokémon Centers and island challenge sites. He vaguely remembered running a package from Rogelio's greenhouse directly to a shady black-market woman in Heahea City, a package that smelled faintly of cannabis and therefore probably was. Technically illegal, but not enough to get more than slapped with a fine as long as he was an adult.
Some of the Team Skull bullshit had been not just bullshit but straight-up fuckery. Gladion sighed, thinking about words, and amended his thoughts because Dr. Meghan was an avid proponent of saying what things actually were. Gladion was not "fucked up beyond all measure," he was struggling with post-traumatic stress disorder. He was not "too pathetic to exist," he was suffering from severe depression and moderate anxiety. Lusamine hadn't just been "a shitty parent," she had actually been abusive— and both Dr. Meghan and Lillie's therapist Dr. Winberry had agreed that Lusamine's abusive behavior was, given the way Gladion and Lillie had described it, likely caused in part by narcissistic personality disorder.
(There was a part of Gladion that was relieved to have a name for why his mother was the way she was, but Dr. Meghan had quietly reminded him that disorder or no disorder, she had still chosen to cause him harm, and to cause Lillie harm.
So, some of the "Team Skull bullshit" (a catch-all phrase for "things he had done and regretted while part of Team Skull") had not been just "bullshit" (minor crimes and morally questionable actions) but "straight-up fuckery"— or, in other words, actual crimes for which he probably deserved to go to prison, but probably wouldn't because of the magical and possibly divinely mandated supernatural powers of one Amelia Eleanor Wicke.
The Team Skull straight-up fuckery in which he had participated had largely involved the Foxes. Besides that package of cannabis— a regular occurrence with varying dealers around Alola, and one often entrusted to younger members of Team Skull— he had also run packages of harder drugs. Narcotics mostly, but cocaine and heroin had also been included. Gladion was never told exactly what he was running at any given time for safety reasons, but Plumeria would always tell him what he had run later if he asked. He always asked. Perhaps it was a bit masochistic, but he would rather know the harm he did in the world than remain ignorant.
Drugs were one thing, but blackmail was quite another. The Foxes had people they did business with, like Team Rainbow Rocket— since it had been Van and Giovanni, working together. There were other people, too. People without names, people who looked like businessmen or women and carried just as many lethal weapons as the Foxes, who could walk freely and legally around Alola.
Sometimes, the business associates did not do what the Foxes wanted them to do. When that was the case, the Foxes— being unable to leave Po Town due to government-issued ankle trackers but also on Van's orders— went to Guzma, and told him to go intimidate the business associates, or to send someone. The issue with this was that Guzma was only in his mid-maybe-late twenties, and for the most part Team Skull consisted of a bunch of hapless teenagers, who were mostly looking more for a place to stay and be whoever they wanted to be, than for a life of crime. So when someone relatively competent came along— someone who could act tough, even if they didn't mean it— Guzma had to ask. Had to train them up, so they could be Enforcers.
It was a cute name, for "thugs."
Kohaku had always favored knives. Jack preferred hand-to-hand combat. Cassie knew martial arts and guns. Gladion had learned from all three of them. Emmett wasn't good at actually fighting people and it had taken a while for Guzma to decide he should be an enforcer, but he was loud and intimidating and words worked as well as force, sometimes. Raquel had a way of getting people to do what she wanted that relied largely upon sensuality and innuendo, though Plumeria had insisted that she train in hand-to-hand combat as well so that nobody could coerce her into delivering on however they interpreted her methods of persuasion.
(He had a feeling that if things had gone on for long enough, Guzma might have asked Jeremiah, Ki-moon, and Almas to become the next Enforcers. Jeremiah had the confidence and swagger, Ki-moon the smarts, and Almas the unyielding, unbroken determination to do things how he wanted them done, to make things go his way.)
Gladion had beaten people up before. Had broken noses, cheekbones, jawbones, fingers, toes, wrists— the feeling of something wrongly splintering below skin and muscle was a feeling with which he was intimately familiar. He had drawn blood, with knives and guns and his own bare hands.
He had threatened people, and had listened to the others deliver both softer and harder threats. He had only raised an eyebrow, when Cassie had implied to a shaking, balding businessman that she knew where his children went to school; had nodded in cold agreement, when Jack informed a weed dealer on Poni Island that he could and would break every finger in both of the woman's hands.
He had kept an absolutely still, silent facade when Kohaku told a sobbing barely-adult woman with two hollow-eyed younger sisters that if she didn't pay the Foxes' "security fee" on top of rent (which was also to the Foxes) that he would skin her alive and force her sisters to eat it—
Gladion shuddered, taking a breath. That woman was fine now, thankfully. The younger sisters were in Aether House, and she was working as a stock clerk in the Pokémon Center in Tapu Village so she could be nearby. After Kohaku had made that threat, Gladion had gone to Plumeria and they'd gotten the three of them out of Po Town as quick as they could manage it. He might not have said anything when the threat was delivered— but he had, at least, prevented Kohaku from following through.
The thing that perhaps he regretted most were actual murders. There had been three. Four, technically— but three that he'd done with his own hands. A defiant man, who had moved to an apartment owned by the Foxes in Malie City because the rent was advertised as cheap and then refused to pay the "security fee" or any more rent than the advertisement stated. Gladion had admired the sheer balls of the guy, but the Foxes had told Guzma that the guy had to go and Gladion liked being alive more than he liked not killing people. So— a death. A murder. It was clean, at least. He had made the shot with a rifle; the bullet went straight through his head from the empty apartment across the street while the guy was watching shitty reality TV and eating takeout. Gladion didn't do messy, painful killings, and this was why Guzma had sent him. If the Foxes specified messy and painful, then Guzma was forced to send Kohaku or Jack; but if the messy and painful was only implied, then he sent Cassie or Gladion, as often as he could. It was Guzma's own little act of defiance, in a system upon which he, like the rest of them, depended for his own survival. Gladion couldn't begrudge him that much, even if it meant he had killed more people because of it. And Guzma nearly always sent Cassie if someone needed to be killed. Gladion wasn't sure if she'd requested it or if Guzma was just trying to spare him; and he wasn't sure whether he was more relieved for himself or whether he felt sorry for Cassie.
He'd killed some rich old woman in one of the fancy hotels on Akala Island by putting Raticate poison in her dinner. He was never entirely sure who she was, but he'd gotten several thank-you cards in the mail, a few weeks after the fact. The thank-you cards were, of course, a threat as well as a thank-you— they were dirt, blackmail, a way to keep him in line. All but one of the thank-you cards had been anonymous. The signed one was from Van.
And he'd killed an Aether Foundation employee, once. That had been pretty awful. It wasn't originally meant to be a murder. It was at a heist at one of the Aether outposts. One of the employees had woken up and come out into the main room in time to see Gladion guarding the door, Trinh guarding the window, and little Dalisay sat at the computer, copying encrypted Aether files onto a flash drive.
The employee had half-turned, opening his mouth to call for help; but Gladion was right there, and— well, he didn't think about it too much. Just a twist and a crack, the way Jack had demonstrated for him with a baby Spearow that needed to be put out of its misery. A runt of a thing, with tiny, bent chicken-wings because Kohaku, the sick fuck, had pulled out its feathers for shits and giggles. The Aether guy was skinny enough, and Gladion was strong enough, that it worked nearly as well as it had worked for the Spearow. It had been a lot louder, though. Trinh and Dalisay never quite looked at him the same, after that.
And of course— of course, there was Stephan.
Stephan was a creep, and that was more or less the end of it. Gladion never knew quite enough about the guy to know why exactly he'd been chosen, what made Stephan obsess about him; but he understood logically that it was either a power thing or a sex thing or both, and it had to do with the fact that Gladion was blond and kind of on the slim side. Plumeria had explained that much to him, but had refused to go into further detail because it had all happened in the two weeks just before his eighteenth birthday. Gladion got the gist, however.
Stephan saw him once, walking back to the Shady House after running an errand for Plumeria to the mostly-non-viable Pokémon Center. Had walked right over, said hello. He'd been nice; he was friendly, and he smiled a lot. Had asked politely about Pokémon, if he used a team or if he was too young to be a Trainer. Gladion had made the mistake of telling him he wasn't quite eighteen, even though he did have a team.
Something in Stephan's eyes had flashed— something ugly and quiet and lecherous. Gladion wasn't used to people paying him that kind of attention but he had learned what it meant, so he made his excuses and power-walked back to the Shady House.
Guzma told him, late that night, to watch out for Stephan. The man had asked Guzma about Gladion, by name, at a meeting. There was something about him that people thought was off— even hardened Foxes, like Van and Barbara. Don't go anywhere alone, Guzma said; especially until you turn eighteen. Take your freaky bird dog mutant with you.
Gladion went about life as usual, but he kept Null out whenever he was walking through Po Town for any reason.
Stephan understood, of course. Understood that Gladion had been warned against him and whatever it was he wanted, and he got bitter. He followed Gladion through town and insulted him, said all kinds of gross shit. Null had still been quite volatile back then so he'd kept a clear distance, but it wasn't nice to listen to.
The day Gladion turned eighteen, it had all blown wide open.
Of course it was rainy, because it was Po Town. He was delivering some fine cigars directly to Fox headquarters, stolen goods that were destined for Van's cigar case. Guzma and Plumeria always sat down and prepared anyone who had to do a delivery directly to Van— he had a bulletproof vest under his baggy jacket and T-shirt, and a badge that very clearly indicated that he was a minor even though that was no longer, technically, true. He had a knife, but he wasn't allowed to take a gun into headquarters.
He delivered the package. Van smiled at him, made an offer for joining the Foxes properly now that he was an adult. Gladion said no thank you, as politely as he could. Van's smile cracked a little, and he nodded and sent Gladion on his way.
Stephan followed him home. Gladion hadn't been allowed to take Null out in headquarters, but his hand was on her ball the entire time.
And then, Stephan had gotten in his way. Wouldn't let him pass by. Walked in front of him and stopped, so that Gladion had to stop walking or go a different way— except, Stephan kept moving, getting in his way.
He lifted his jacket to show a gun, and suggested that Gladion should follow him and do exactly what he wanted.
Gladion let out Null, then. Stephan hadn't actually drawn the gun, just showed that he had it.
And the moment that Stephan's hand went to the gun, Null jumped.
Knocked Stephan down, pinned his arms and legs down with her claws and talons.
Reared her head back.
Slammed it down.
Gladion didn't regret that death, not at all; but it was the one he thought about the most. Happy birthday, indeed.
People stood to leave from their prayers, and more people replaced them. Gladion vaguely noticed them, but he remained where he was, kneeling on a tatami rush floormat in kimonos and thinking about some of the worst things he'd ever done in his life.
He'd met Moon, properly, last August; and ever since nothing had been the same. There was something about Moon that made him want to be who she thought he was, which was why he hadn't told her for a long time that he was a Skull. She thought he was an older Trainer, a Battle Royal star, and maybe some guy who had an in with black market pharmaceuticals and a pretty basic knowledge of natural herblore. And technically, all of those things were true. But when you get closer to someone, when you want to get closer to someone— you end up revealing more than you mean to.
And she figured it out. Not quite on her own, of course. Plumeria had sincerely apologized after the fact, but made it very clear that she thought Moon already knew because "only a fucking idiot would be getting ready to be in a relationship with someone without telling them that they were, oh, I don't know, part of a gang?"
There was a period of time, after he broke things off with Moon, that he was very, very not proud of. There had been a lot of drinking and swearing and wallowing in his own misery, and a lot of yelling at people who had done fuck-all to deserve it like Rogelio and Almas, who were both absolute sweethearts and just wanted him to be okay and stop hurting. Molly and Ki-moon (the really scary one out of the terrible triplets, honestly) had both yelled at him about it, and he'd yelled at them again and it was all a goddamn clusterfuck of rage and betrayal and why, goddamn it, why did he have to always be the person who screwed up his own fucking life. Why couldn't it be someone else's fault, for once.
Why the fuck was he like this?
Kohaku offered him some drugs. Not hard drugs, just prescription medicine— the kind that really, really should not be mixed with alcohol. Gladion mixed them with alcohol— a lot of fucking alcohol.
He woke up in the Poni Island hospital with Plumeria sitting in a chair next to him, and was made to listen for exactly eighteen minutes and forty-two seconds (he'd kept track, wearily staring at the clock on the wall and counting while she shouted) to an explanation of exactly how stupid he had been and exactly what had happened when he had been blackout drunk and drugged, and how he'd had his stomach pumped because otherwise he was going to choke on his own vomit and die, and why exactly the fuck would he ever accept drugs from Kohaku, was he a complete moron, did he have a fucking death wish—
She stopped talking and just looked at him, golden eyes widening in a rare expression of alarm.
And that was how he started on antidepressants, and had to detox for a solid month in Plumeria's trailer at the Haina Bazaar. Sure, he was allowed to go places; but he had a curfew, and she had a breathalyzer she'd stolen from Nanu's police station and she checked him every night at curfew before locking him in the house and going back to Po Town.
He'd gotten drunk maybe once, in that time; but it wasn't the same. And just a little while after he tried it, his little sister told him she needed his help. Told him that Moon was in danger, and she couldn't do anything and neither could Hau and she needed him to do it.
There was nothing that could really motivate him, he discovered, like someone he loved needing something. That was always how it had been when he and Lillie were both at the Paradise. He sort of thought he'd outgrown that instinct, but as it turned out he had not.
And from there, Tapu Bulu had taken him, torn him into pieces and put them back together again.
Gladion banished a ghost, working with some people on the right side of the law for once; and he went back to Po Town and realized that his presence there was increasingly difficult to reconcile with the future that a god had promised. He hadn't said anything until after the Skulls kidnapped some Pokémon to bait Moon into showing up and he learned that Guzma had conspired with his mother and Faba to kidnap Lillie; but the decision had already been made. He had already known that when Moon was made to come to Po Town, he would leave when she did. Some part of him had already accepted the call of the Tapu. Some part of him, perhaps, had always known.
* * * * *
Red and Blue were both oddly quiet when he met them outside of the shrine. It was late enough that the sun had mostly set and the stars were beginning to wink in the fuchsia sky, and they got some ice cream and sat down on a park bench and watched people in silence.
Blue opened his kinchaku and removed a package of tissues, holding it out.
Gladion blinked at him, nonplussed.
"You're crying," said Blue gently.
"Oh." Gladion took the tissues and absently blotted at his face.
"Was it difficult, in there?"
"I was thinking about some— some stuff. I'm grateful to be alive, too."
Red nodded. Blue put one arm over Gladion's shoulder.
"Listen," he said, a touch awkwardly. "I know we've been like, very friendly and stuff, and maybe I've been a little too friendly sometimes. But we want to keep in touch with you, okay? Not just Moon. You can talk to us, too. If you need someone to talk to, or someone to approve your selfies before you send them to Moon. We're busy and we might not be able to talk right away, but we'll get back to you."
Gladion smiled. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I just— I've done bad shit. Really bad shit. I try not to think about it too much, but today it just hit me. I could have died, doing some of that stuff. So I'm just— really grateful to be alive."
"Would you go back and change things, if you could?" said Red placidly.
"There are somethings I wouldn't mind changing, but then I don't know if I would have learned the same things I know now. So— no, probably not."
There was a distant pop, and a streak of light shot into the sky, above the plum-blossom trees. It burst into radiant color, in the deep violet of dusk; then more pops, more streaks, more bursts, a rainbow of firelight.
"Oh, the fireworks have started," said Blue. "Where's the nearest streetlamp?"
"Why?"
"I forgot to take a picture for Moon while the lighting was good, so now we have to make it ourselves."
Gladion sighed, but dutifully finished off his ice cream and followed Blue and Red over to a streetlamp. He was made to pose with all three of them for a selfie, and then Blue took a picture of him by himself. Gladion tried to smile, knowing that Moon liked his smile; but he still felt a little awkward in kimonos.
"Can I be the one to send them to her?" he asked. "I'm not going to do it now. Later, after we go back to your place."
Blue grinned. "Sure, I'll forward them to you."
* * * * *
Skypther Chat: Moon Hawkins, Gladion Mohn
GM: Picture Attachment: [IMG909.jpeg]
GM: I feel a little weird wearing them because I'm not Kantonian, but Red and Blue told me it was okay.
MH: Omg
MH: Omg omg omg
MH: Blue said he picked out some good ones and that they would look nice with mine but I wasn't ready
MH: I WASN'T FUCKING READY
MH: HOW ARE YOU LITERALLY THE HANDSOMEST MAN ALIVE
MH: HOW DID I GET LUCKY ENOUGH TO DATE YOU
MH: But in all seriousness, it's fine for you to wear kimonos. I'm only a quarter Kantonian, and my mom is not Kantonian at all, and my grandmother refused to be seen with us at festivals if we weren't wearing yukata
GM: Is your grandmother still around?
MH: Oh she's like, alive and everything. She lives a few blocks away from Professor Oak's lab, pretty close to my old house
MH: But she's kind of yikes, so we don't talk much
MH: Not like, your mother level of yikes, but still kind of yikes
GM: You don't want me to visit or anything?
MH: Oh god no. You're pretty and competent, she'll be asking you when the wedding is and how many children we want to have
GM: Whenever you want and I'd like three, but I wouldn't be the one having them so it's up to you.
MH: OH MY GOD
GM: ...is what I would say, if she asked me.
MH: GLADION
GM: Yes?
MH: askjadsjkkjadsjkdaskasdkhasdkhadskdshhkskjkjasfdfk
GM: Oh, it's one of those.
GM: Glad to be of service.
MH: That was smooth as hell
MH: God I miss you
GM: I miss you, too.
GM: Good thing I'll be home in a couple of days.
MH: Good thing, indeed.
* * * * *
Flowers grown from crushed-up bones
Beauty and pain on the side of the road
I can't sleep when I dream of the future
'Cause I miss what I do not know
What have you got when there's nothing to take
And all you see is darkness
So why does it feel like I cannot breathe
Why won't the sunlight shine on me
How am I supposed to know if I'm doing
What I'm meant to do
I don't think I can do this
I don't think I'm meant to fly
But every time I fall asleep
My dreams make me want to try
* * * * *