Archive of Our Own ^beta

Birds were signalling the early morning, and Green rose from his tent in a half-waken daze. Red’s own was zipped tight, and the pokèmon they had left sleeping out of their balls were a low thrum of snoring—specifically Red’s Snorlax, which Green didn’t need to confirm to know. He was too busy headed into the sparse woods, searching for the first decent tree to answer nature’s call; the only reason he was even awake.

When you had one too many scenes in your dream revolving around the need to piss, it didn’t matter what time it was. The tank had to be emptied, your sweet slumber interrupted.

Once business was done, Green retraced his steps back to camp, shaking loose his arms and gulping in the fresh morning air. Refreshing, appreciated, but not worth losing a few more hours of sleep to enjoy. Red could be the early bird all he wanted whenever he woke, while Green gave their pokèmon one last passing look: Machamp cuddled up to Snorlax, Venusaur with Rhyperior and Jolteon, Arcanine and Pikachu wrapped around an egg-like form, and the water-types hidden somewhere in the lake a few yards away.

He bends for his tent—except; he doesn’t. He freezes, once his mind rewinds back to the part about egg-like form, and he checks and sees, and yes, there: protruding, wrapped by body and fur, near blended in with the white of Arcanine’s tail.

Green stares, brain fighting between rock or egg. He then walks over, slowly, his arm extending to touch its surface.

“What the HELL!”

@red: our pokemon had an egg

@lyra: ??????

@lyra: our??

@red: me and greens

@lyra: ∑(ΦдΦlll

--

“You had a baby together?!”  Lyra exclaims. “That’s so amazing!”

“This is not amazing!” Green fumes, and continues to, as Lyra hunches down by the egg with her dragonite behind her. They may have been all the way out in the wilds between the city of Cianwood and the island’s Safari Zone, but that hadn’t deterred her excitable nosiness. “What the hell! How did this happen? What the— you can stop doing that right now!”

That you would be Pikachu patting at the egg with earnest curiosity, ignoring Green’s high-pitched demand, Arcanine sniffing it with keen interest. Green whines behind clenched teeth, making motions with his hands that go from squeezing the air to waving out, teeth grating even more.

“But it’s a baby!” Lyra insists. “It means the two of your pokèmon loved each other so much that—”

“Nonononono you stop right there,” Green interrupts.

“Which two was it anyway?” she asks. Green turns away at that, arms folding and mouth (finally) clamping shut. She turns to Red, who blinks at being acknowledged, breakfast bar half in mouth. He slowly chews, and takes his gaze to the two pokèmon currently engaged with the egg with her.

She needs a second, but then, gasping sharply: “Whaaat? Arcanine and Pikachu!?”

A small sound squeaks from Green’s mouth, and from where he sits, Snorlax starts to laugh loud and obnoxious, closer to a wheezing fit. Red just watches the small group that’s formed around the mystery egg silently, Arcanine bringing her nose down to poke at the very tip, while Pikachu’s ears twitch up and down to catch minute sounds. Even Lyra’s dragonite has come to a space to better inspect the baby egg, tiny antennas wiggling.

Lyra watches the two pokèmon, brow raising, stitching, her lips rubbing together, possibly going through some of the many thoughts he and Green already have; before standing onto her feet, hands linked by her fingers and swinging.

“Well, you’ll have to start getting prepared! Lucky you, I know some amazing breeders, they’ll give you both all the help you need! And I think Jasmine from Olivine City was doing some light reading before.”

She walks around the egg-curious bodies, taking out her pokègear to check the signal with the edge of her tongue poking out, and begins tapping at it. Green, now with arms unfolded and hands firmly on his waist, directs his agitated energy on glaring at the back of Lyra’s head. Or her puffy hat.

“Who even asked you to come here?” he huffs.

“I wasn’t going to stay away when Red told me about your baby! I was expecting a lot more chaos, you know,” she admits, not once looking away from her device. And all the time, Red continued to stare at the egg.

The egg. It was nearly as big as Pikachu. That was the part Red couldn’t get past; was that possible? Or was it because Arcanine—and Red looks at her as he thinks of her—was it because she would be the mother? But then he’s comparing the two of them, the mass of the fire-type with or without her fur, his smaller Pikachu, and from the two of them—

An egg.

The rest of his breakfast bar sits in his mouth unchewed, an oat sticking to his bottom lip. Jolteon sits in his line of vision from afar, a sour-faced spectator to the entire debacle.

“Alright, guess this means trip over,” Green speaks up, presumably sick of the growing silence.

“I’m not searching over the sides of cliffs for a bunch of rumours with a pokèmon egg on my back. You, Lyra, you’re helping me. Hey,” he calls over Lyra’s whine, spotting Red as he stands and turns, “where’re you going?”

“I wanna get Charizard. She isn’t back yet.” From whenever she went. He points up. “Can Pidgeot help?”

Green shrugs as he lets his hands fall off from his waist, but plucks a ball from his belt.

There were other obstacles Red was suspecting on the trip with Green. While bickering and complaining had both been ticked off the list, he hadn’t remembered the one about a pokèmon egg.

A pokèmon egg. He was trying not to think about it, while also sure the fact wasn’t entirely registering with him, either. Both very much real, and very much not real.

Because Pikachu and Arcanine? Really?

The nicest part about the egg situation is that Green doesn’t remember to argue when Red offers to get Gyarados from the lake along with his own pokèmon, leaving the majority of the packing to him and Lyra. Venusaur joins him on the walk, Snorlax too, probably to see if Blastoise or Lapras would have anything for him to eat.

“So,” Red says aloud, hands slung in his pocket, distance leaving him with nothing else but the sound of hefty feet for company. “...Daddy?”

Snorlax snorts, while Venusaur can only grunt vaguely.

Yeah, that last one is about where he is on the whole thing too.

The walk does nothing to make him feel any different about the situation (as if it would), and the water pokèmon greet him in blissful ignorance, Charizard present there too, as well as Pidgeot, lucky bird. He decides to let them stay in a blissful ignorance—it’s the kindest thing he could do—but for all his kindness, finds his things still unpacked when he returns, Green as sour-looking as his Jolteon was looking, or always did. She was watching the egg couple from where she sat, both oblivious to her staring, while Green had him fixed with impatience.

“Well?” Green says, finger tapping on his arm. “Hurry up.” Lyra offers a brighter atmosphere, patting her dragonite as it takes a step forward.

“Draggy will take the baby!”

Standing there, taking them all in, Red  figures there’s still a chance for this whole thing being one weird dream.

“Um, I have a book that covers electric types… and covers most popular groups of pokèmon. I don’t know if it will be any help, but…”

Unfortunately, that possibility was looking less likely.

Jasmine stands outside of her gym, the building high and towering than most gyms in Kanto, but her bowed head and tucked shoulders making her even smaller than she already is. Red’s heard from Lyra she’s got a steelix, although it’s a weird floating blue-green bucket with arms hanging around her.

She’s giving nervous glances between him and Green, shifting on her feet to face them, holding the books away from her chest but seemingly unsure of who to give them...

Oh. Red looks at Green just as he does, and they stare at one another for a moment. But before they can begin to unravel the question between themselves, Lyra steps forward and takes the books herself.

“Thanks, Jasmine! I’ll make sure you get them back. Daddy and daddy need to talk some things out,” she adds solemnly.

Green flings his hands into his pockets, and throws out dramatically: “Ugh. Could my life get any worse?” And just as dramatically, he spins on his feet, storming off with so much motion his hair reminds Red of his exeggutor’s long green strands. Lyra giggles brightly despite the scene, Jasmine’s hands clinging tight to her chest, going “Um,” nervously.

Red feels a tug on his sleeve; when he turns, he see that it’s Lyra.

“What are you going to do?” she asks in a hushed voice. “You two need to talk about it!”

Meaning: shoo! Follow him! And she pushes him away just as pointedly, turning to Jasmine as he’s left with the open street and Green’s back to go after.

He gives a look at the dragonite that’s been standing quietly with the egg this entire time, takes it with a thanks and waddles—it feels like waddling, his speed—after Green. He’s not too far yet, and Green manages to look less than impressed when Red catches up with him, spotting the opal shape in his arms.

Green leads them both onto the beach, pokèmon and children for the most part enjoying the early day, and they settle by the wall near the steps. Red kicks at the sand, scanning afterwards the extent of the sea not taken up by boats, the sound of boisterous sailors far up above their heads.

“Think this is a good spot for the egg? Fire and electric types don’t like ground types,” Red points out.

“Shut up, Red,” Green responds flatly. The seconds then go by in growing silence, and he prompts impatiently: “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Well what else!” Green snaps. “What are we going to do? Look at it!”

Red looks down at the it in question, warming the skin of his arms pressed against its smooth shell. Warmer, and heavier, than it had been just viewing it from afar, and this was really happening, wasn’t it? And that was worth a conversation.

“I guess that’s why we came here to talk,” he says slowly, unsure of what else to, not meaning for once to be unhelpful. Green seethes beside him, and out come arms and hands, waving.

“Don’t start with your lousy jokes! They had an egg! An egg! Is it even possible? I…” He gestures flimsily at the baby, but with his eyes fixed on it, all the energy dies in his throat, quicker than Red’s ever witnessed it do.

Laughter sounds in their background, the light lapping of careless waves. An ordinary day.

And here they were, stumped over one rather small egg.

Green exhales, stepping away, rubbing a hand over his eyes, up his forehead. “Well,” he starts, as soon as he turns back to Red, fixing himself a little straighter, “you can’t take it. You’re always going all over the place.”

Red scrunches his brow at that. “So are you.”

“But I’m the responsible one out of us two. —Yeah, yeah,” Green follows up, through the loudest choking coughs Red can dredge out, “don’t try to kid yourself there.”

Maybe Green had a point, but with how easily the silence filtered back in between them, Red wasn’t about to believe he had any better clue about what he wanted than he did. Well, not a better clue—but he was trying a little harder than Red was, that he had to admit. But not aloud.

Instead, Red shifts on his feet. “Shouldn’t we be including our pokemon into this?”

“Eh?”

“What do the y want?”

“Like hell I know,” Green replies, pushing his tongue into the side of his cheek. “All I know is, I don’t want your pikachu’s grubby paws anywhere near my girl.”

Too late sits on the whole of Red’s tongue. He bites it down, swallows it, and tries to not let the weight of the egg bother him.

It doesn’t help much, grounding the reality with their egg situation while being taken from location to location by Lyra. But her reasons make sense, and Red can’t argue that he has any better plans of what to do. So they go from Olivine to Goldenrod, because it has a better variety of items for them to buy, and she’s in current text-conversation with a friend who “knows all about baby care, you’ll be sorted in no time!”

The city is bigger and busier than Olivine, and Red escapes the bustle of shopping centres with the lame but effective excuse of “I’ll take the egg for a walk.” He didn’t want to be looking at shelves upon shelves of baby care, and Green didn’t even give him much of a second glance at his getaway plan. Just an “Alright,” and a look that conceded to his disappearance—from what would be two assertive personalities butting heads over which brand of diapers to get, Red could only imagine.

Or, something other than diapers. Whatever baby pokèmon needed. Milk?

Red walks until he finds himself in a park with seemingly no end to it, but the sky easier to find, and the scenery more inviting than concrete. There’s parents with strollers, kids and teens, and he stops to sit once he finds a patch of grass near a sprinkling water fountain, the lack of his own company but the egg awkward, but his usual pick for these things also…

Well.

Pikachu shares in none of his inner distress when he pops out from his ball, wide-eyed as always and chirping happily to see Red and the day, but then zoning in quickly to the egg leaned up against his trainer, rubbing at it with the side of his cheek.

“Nice, huh?” Red says, awkwardly. Pikachu squeaks. “Who doesn’t like babies.”

Squeak!

“So… Arcanine, huh. She’s kinda big.”

Pikachu squeaks again, but distracted this time, currently raising himself on his tippy toes to grow more height on the egg. Red fiddles with the grass underneath his hand, pinching it between his fingers.

“Do you want to take care of it?” he asks. Pikachu looks up at him then, pausing in his efforts, tilted head. “If you want it around…”

Isn’t that really all that matters? Even if it brings to question if he’s going to have to worry about this with his other pokèmon, and that was a question he wanted to bury deep in his stomach under lock and key, not have to think about for another five or ten years, maybe not at all—

Pikachu chirps bright and happily, resting his paws on the unborn form and bringing Red back to the present. A present problem, conflicting inside him. But Pikachu had made his decision, and while the heaviness of doubt still lingered, wasn’t that it? He had decided. That was that.

Red tugs on the grass around his finger until it tears, and lets the pieces drop.

“Okay,” he says. Takes in a breath, lets it slowly out. “We’ll keep it.”

Well—that would have to be that.

“I got a bottle, some blankets, wipes,” Green lists later that night, gesturing to where a collection of bags have gathered in the hotel room. Pikachu’s already poking his nose inside them, and they look more like groceries to Red than anything else. “We’ll get some of the other stuff later. Most eggs won’t hatch for around two weeks.” Green then pauses. “Are we really gonna do this?”

Red looks over from the book they’d gotten from Jasmine, taking in more the pictures than words. “Do you want to get rid of it?”

“I dunno.” The bed sighs with Green as he sits down, leg folding. “It wouldn’t bother me to have another pokèmon around, I guess. It’s just…”

Red waits, but Green doesn’t finish—but maybe he can guess, anyway. “Should we let them hang out more?”

“Like dates?” Green says, and falls back onto his bed when Red shrugs, sarcasm set to a hundred. “Oh, and dress them up and take them for romantic dinners? Bowties and ribbons? Okay, yeah, sure, let’s do that.”

He starts to peel off his shoes at the back of the heels, using his feet. “Y’know, I talked to some of the people at the shops. They said they’ve never heard anything about arcanines and pikachus being compatible, and I didn’t find anything about it online. We sure it isn’t a mistake?”

Red closes the book, slipping it off the side of the bed. Pikachu jumps up to join him. “Like a bird flew past and dropped it?”

“Sure, why not? It’d make about as much sense right now.” Green rolls over onto his side, about to prop up his head when he stops and stares at him. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?”

Red pauses, the blanket halfway over him and the egg against his stomach. “What?”

“You’re not sleeping with it! You’ll crack it!”

Red examines the bed, at the space he could make between him and it. “No I won’t.”

“No,” Green says. Red frowns.

“Then how are we gonna keep it warm?”

Arcanine curls with ease around the egg once out, propping it up neatly with her belly on one side, her tail covering it on the other. Pikachu jumps from the end of Red’s bed once she’s relaxed, taking a far better sleeping position by her tail, and he coos as he tucks himself in, body and all, his and Arcanine’s heads lowered comfortably next to one another.

Red and Green stare at the pair of them, then each other.

“Sleep weeeelll?” Lyra smiles. “Did Green sit on it at night?”

Red nearly chokes on his breakfast roll while Green yanks down Lyra’s puffy hat. “What do you want.”

She whines through a laugh as she pulls it back up, tidying herself. Their pokèmon sit oblivious as they get through their own breakfast in the small park adjacent to the hotel, Pikachu and Arcanine seeming now more than ever as thick as thieves as they eat their food side by side. The egg rests in the centre of the small circle formed by the group, all except for Jolteon, who keeps by Green to eat (and stare, in that sharp-eyed way of hers at everyone else), and Charizard, who’s decided to stay by him than join in with the fuss, quiet and with her head down.

“Eh heh. I’ve got a wonderful once in a lifetime opportunity for the both of you!” Lyra perks up. “Now, no disbelieving face, Green, it’s true!”

“You already got us out of bed,” Green grumps, ready to tear into his wrap. “Just spit it out.”

“Soooo. My best friend has relatives who take care of all sorts of pokémon at a daycare, right?”  she starts. “And they have a few babies too, since they take care of them for clients or they come from shelters.” Lyra waves her forefingers as she speaks. “Anyway, they’re not that busy right now, but they haven’t been able to see some old friends for a while…”

“Wait,” Green interrupts. “Where is this going?”

“Well, since you both are going to be parents soon, and they’ve got some young pokémon, I thought you two could get some practice! They go on their trip, super short, and you stay at their place and prepare for the new baby! And it’ll be so nice to them, they’re an old couple who pour their hearts into their work, and you wouldn’t be left alone—!”

Green cuts in, despite her increasing speed. “No way, Lyra. I don’t know if you forgot, but I run a gym?”

“When you want!” Lyra protests.

“And this is free labour.”

“It’s thoughtful labour!”

Geen starts poking at her, much to Lyra’s—and the togetic on her shoulder’s—dismay. “And how is taking care of a bunch of random pokémon going to help with this problem anyway?” He’s already been stopped, and gestures over to the pokèmon and the egg they encircle. “Huh?”

“Young pokémon are a lot of work! Even I had a baby or two when I started! And now look at my cutie!” She plucks the pokèmon from where it’s perched, and it sings happily as she cuddles it in her arms. “And I thought, if you didn’t want to keep the egg after all, you could leave it with my friend’s grandparents,” she offers more seriously. “It’ll give you time to think about it too, you know?”

Green erghs , both literally and in his exhausted stare he bores into her, before turning it onto Red. Red looks from their pokèmon, to the egg; to Pikachu and Arcanine, happy and content, most of their breakfast eaten.

Well. Why not?

“I don’t mind,” he decides. Lyra springs her most widest of smiles onto Green, who promptly drags both hands down his face, and keeps them there.

“Why me,” comes out muffled behind his palms.

The daycare isn’t far from Goldenrod, just outside the city zone along a scenic route trapped between a thick forest and a lake that glitters under the sun. Lyra is filled with conversation the entire way, pointing out where the route leads to, stories of when she first became a trainer, travelling the road from the opposite end and into the city for the very first time. Despite the egg in Red’s arms (“Isn’t it your time to carry this?” he asks Green once; “Ask your charizard!” is all he gets), for a while, it was almost like an ordinary day; just the three of them, having a nice time, hanging out.

They come to a one-storey house surrounded by a wide picket fence, turning wider as it gets into a backyard. A boy around Lyra’s age stands by the open gate with a tiny cleffa hiding in his shirt, a marill that waves to them at his feet. He has a smile as bright as one of Lyra’s, showing teeth in his grin.

“Hey, just in time!”

He introduces himself as Ethan, and leads them on inside, where there the job they’ve agreed to greets them in squeaks, squawks and tiny bodies, a totodile and oddish jumping around their feet who both get swept up into Lyra’s arms. The opening room was part sitting area, more playground, dolls and bridges and hiding holes scattered around a wooden flooring, the walls painted in calming blues and cartoon clouds.

“I can’t believe Lyra really got you guys to help! She’s told me all about you,” Ethan gushes. “Thanks for helping my grandparents out!”

“Yeah, sure, that’s what we’re doing,” remarks Green drily. “There’s only three of them we’re looking after, right?”

“Eh? Well, a few more than that,” he answers amicably. “But most of them aren’t too young, so you don’t have to worry about everyone crying all night. Anyway, two trainers like you should have an easy time! My grandparents even left some instructions for you.”

He approaches Green, slowly peeling the cleffa off from his shirt. The cleffa seems willing at first, peeking around to see to who they’re going; but as soon as they spot Green’s looming face, the heavy set of his brow, they whine and hide once more, refusing to let go.

Green looks appropriately offended. Red chokes down his laugh.

“Erm, nevermind then,” Ethan chuckles, and takes the pokèmon with him, his marill following suit as he goes deeper into the house. He emerges not long after with a folder balancing between his hand and shoulder, and quickly drops it into Green’s hands. “Here! There’s eight pokèmon staying here at the moment, and you won’t have to worry about drop offs, they already sorted out that. Some have really particular diets and some really need special attention, so you’ll want to read this carefully, okay? No skimping,” he tells, firmly. “It’s really important!”

Green stares at the bulky binder now in his hands, before directing his disgust the boy’s way. “If it’s so important, why aren’t you doing this?” he asks, the question closer to a plea.

“I am, but I’m helping a professor all the way back in New Bark with some kids,” Ethan explains, far too reasonably by Green’s re-emerging grumpy expression. “Anyway, Lyra sung you such high praises—my grandparents wouldn’t have gone if they didn’t know they were leaving everyone in such capable hands. Right?”

Ethan pats the cleffa stuck to him pleasantly, regardless of the cheer-sucking atmosphere that Green continues to expel, more and more. “You’re so nice, you two!” Lyra pipes up.

Green turns to Red, glaring narrow-eyed at him, directing all his his negativity energy onto him. Red just shrugs, but smiles wide at him, rather enjoying the miserable state of his very, very over-dramatic friend.

“Can’t you handle a group of kids?” he asks innocently.

Green’s glare tightens.

Red wasn’t going to get this kind of entertainment up in the Cianwood cliffs, that’s for sure.

They move onto being shown around the house: which side was actually the home, which the daycare, where they could put their things, and more importantly the egg. “They’ve got rooms set up for everything, inside and out. It’s up to you where you want to put them,” Ethan explains. “They’ve got some food in the pantries, human and pokèmon. They left some cake out for you guys in the kitchen. I already took a piece,” he adds cheekily.

Most of the space is devoted to the daycare, which grows as they go out back into the open garden, where they find the rest of the pokèmon still in play. The totodile and oddish both jump out from Lyra’s arms to go to everyone, all of who Ethan introduces one by one: a skitty perched high above a play bridge to catch some rays, a shy sandshrew hiding underneath said bridge; a slowpoke dozing by a small pond and a wynaut rubbing itself against a large rock (“Don’t worry,” Ethan waves off Red and Green’s raised brows, “she does that”).  The last has each of them searching around for, until Lyra finds the hoppip up in a tree, dozing.

“You need to watch out for them,” Ethan warns, placing the cleffa down by the now yawning hoppip. The cleffa goes over to them instantly, fussing for their attention, and getting a sleepy smile for it. “The totodile loves to play escape artist, but hoppip does it without even trying!”

They get shown to where the food and cleaning supplies can be found, the sleeping pens and the grooming station, all within the same large shed (“You can keep the egg out here too, there’s lights and everything”). By the end of it, Green’s found himself looking somewhere between conceded in his defeat and seemingly five years older, his shoulders slumped and his walking speed somehow slower as they make their way back into the house.

But really, Red figures the whole thing couldn’t have taken less than twenty minutes top.

What a baby.

“So just call if you need anything, alright?” Ethan’s slinging a bag across his shoulders, his marill heading excitedly for the front door. “Don’t worry about it too much. All you’ve got to do is feed them, play, and put them to bed. If you’re lucky, anyway,” he grins.

“I’ve got a hundred and ten things to do too,” Lyra speaks up, backing in the same direction as her friend, “soooo, text me everything!”

She make a phone motion by her ear and mouth, and before Red or Green have a chance to say anything, the two (or three) are gone, the door shutting fast behind them.

They stand in a joined silence, the dulled noise of babies outside in play confirming the reality they were now in.

Red looks over to Green.

“Hi dad.”

Green knocks off his hat.

And with that, there was nothing else to do but face the music. They leave the egg with Arcanine and Pikachu, who take over care duties agreeably, while he and Green head outside with the binder, “so we know who all this monsters are.”

And monsters they are, as soon as they step outside. The cleffa—’Bunchkin’—is crying up a storm, banging with all its little strength at the fencing facing outside to the road and lake, and where they see the hoppip—’Petal’—drifting along the surface, eyes closed, and snoozing.

After a moment freakout of “oh shit he’s going to drown”, they dash out the front door to get Blastoise to grab him (“caaarefully, don’t move too fast….!”), both letting go of air in the lungs when he comes back to land, blinking tired eyes awake at them and yawning cutely. Blastoise climbs back out from the lake, and then turn, ready to go back in—realising that they’d left the door open for anyone to escape through, by the fact that the totodile is running his little legs out of his now, towards freedom.

Red’s tasked with chasing after him in circles around the house—two whole times, which is when Green helpfully shouts “don’t just chase him!”; like thanks, asshole!—until he lets out Charizard to be ready on the third go. The totodile makes a sudden dash and turn upon seeing her, but Charizard is swifter, snatching him up,  and soon he’s thrashing around in her claws and spitting of bouts of water towards her face, all the while gurgling happily. Much to Charizard’s chagrin, who decides to flip him around and hold him by the leg, growling when Red takes him.

His name is Chompy.

They usher him and Petal back in, only to be met with the previously dozing skitty—named Grace—now meowing up a storm to be fed, and setting off the rest of the pokèmon around him, all heading for the shed where they know the grub is. Only the sandshrew—’Sunshine’— and slowpoke—Rainbow—don’t eat their food; the latter because it takes a few times poking her to make her realise that it’s sitting by her face, and for the former, Green’s calling Lyra and frantically, “Why won’t that sandshrew eat his damn food?! It’s been an hour!”, while struggling to keep Chompy’s jaws away from the second meal.

“Isn’t it in the folder?” was probably her response, by Green’s paused state after, and going straight for the binder long ago discarded on the ground.

And it was, in very plain writing: nervous, likes to eat one block placed out at a time. Does well with calm people.

It was honestly a blessing when Red got kicked out to sit with her (her , not him), Green slamming the door to “check on the egg, or whatever”. The oddish—Flower—comes to sit with him and Sunshine for a while, as he coaxes out the little girl from her curled up ball, to finally eat one chew block at a time, the day finally darkening overhead.

The babies begin to grow tired all at once, and Red pokes his head indoors to get Green to help put them to bed inside the shed.

They step in poop along the way, but neither of them have the energy left to care.

When Red steps indoors properly, he finds Arcanine’s been moved with the egg into the playden, a small heat lamp brought out but turned off. “When Arcanine wants to do more than lay around,” Green explains. They eat cake and toast for dinner, too tired to deal with anything more advance, and too wiped to look for take-out numbers and messing with their pokègears.

“This is all your fault,” Green drawls over his toast, his complaining even low effort.

“Arcanine’s the one who had a baby,” Red fights back.

Green glares at him, eyes half-lidded, then mutters as he readies to take another bite: “I don’t want to think about those two right now.”

He’s happier though, once he finds there’s a shower and a spare bedroom to claim for himself. “You can take the old people’s room,” Green leaves Red with as he disappears to get changed. And Red does, not sure what the smug look was for until he goes to empty his bag: Photos of relatives sitting on every surface of the dressing table and walls in fancy frames, greeting him with frozen smiles and personal intimacy. And the bed—while sure, looking comfy—sports a decor from the last or so century, a vague smell of body odour clinging to the sheets when Red sits down.

But he can deal with that. All of that. It’s free, so where can he complain?

Red takes his shower after Green (who takes forever) , dresses and climbs in, and becomes a little more intimate to the faint smell of sweat than he likes. But it’s easy to forget as he lets his mind wander back on the day, thinking on this and that: of the few names of the pokèmon he could remember, their quirks he’d picked up on; why a pair of grandparents with so many photos only has a single spare bedroom? must be because of the size of the daycare; the leftover slice of cake he hid so he can in it in the morning, or later tomorrow; the brief glimpse he caught of Green fresh out of the shower, bare-chested and with nothing but a towel around his waist, the smooth length of his back leaving into the guest room.

Red thinks about how the pair of them could be chatting together right then, sharing the bed way too big for one, and Green didn’t have to be bare-chested for Red to feel happier for his company, for his body to sink more comfortably into the mattress. But if he was, Red could question why, and just imagining it makes everything a little more warmer.

His imagination builds up the scenario—or tries, but his impatience fast-forwards it back and forth the distance between him and Green. First they’re on separate pillows, then Green’s in closer, their noses a hands width apart; and Green puts a hand of his around Red’s waist, his  crooked know-it-all smile on full display regardless of the lacking light.

Or even— or even Green’s figure could be above him, and Red sucks in air through his nose, the smell of sweat catching; and the entire thing fantasy deflates as picture frames and faded linen eighty years old bulldoze his thoughts, with the reminder of this is grandpa and grandma’s bed, they’re old, they sleep here, they’re old .

Red tucks his head against his arm, and breathes out through his mouth.

Ugh. He’ll sleep on the couch tomorrow.

Red wakes easy and early the next morning, regardless of everything yesterday was. He fries a couple of eggs to go with his and Green’s toast (because he’s so nice), while Pikachu has the usual honours of pestering him awake (because he’s so nice).

Green looks like a raticate dragged out backwards from a bush as always, with bleary eyes to match.

“So,” Red starts, dunking his bread into his egg yellows, “what do you think this has to do with our egg?”

“Nothing, Red,” Green responds dully. “I let you dupe us into giving an old couple a holiday.”

“Huh,” he sounds, and bites into his yolk-sodden bread.

And that was it for breakfast, and for their calm before the storm.

Rather, it’s not that bad. Not that bad, because Red remembers the experience of crossing arid deserts with constant sandstorms, the pokèmon camouflaging themselves as they search for prey; or trudging through dense forests, where the ground was a web of vines laid out by victreebel above, or where the gliscor would try to get to you first; or, there were the times when ferrothorn clung to cavern roofs, waiting in dark caves.

Or even worst, a hundred zubats and golbats that were always waiting in said caverns.

So there’s worst out there than babysitting a bunch of young pokèmon. A bunch of young pokèmon that poop everywhere, even in their sleeping areas, and are wailing for food the moment Red and Green get close enough to the shed, Grace even louder than the day before. Chompy gulps his down than goes for the food of others, and Red and Green have to hold him back as Red tries to feed the shy, shaking Sunshine, only to find he’s stuck his snout into most of Bunchkin’s (the cleffa), who cries the second Green gets too close.

And okay, that last part is definitely funny to Red, despite Green snapping, “Don’t laugh”; but still, it doesn’t help as they’re trying to feed seven faces. —Then remember, wait, wasn’t there eight? And they spot the crack of the door, and Red takes the crying Bunchkin with him as he searches all the way back into the house, where the wynaut—’Thumps’—is trying to climb the kitchen fridge, patting the surface with its ear-slash-hand-like appendages, tail thwapping the ground.

He grabs them, two babies now in his arms, and the second he steps out into the garden— ”not again!” calls out from the shed with Green appearing, and they find after five minutes of searching Petal the hoppip over the fencing again, somehow, drifting on top of the lake, with even a curious expression on their small green face.

And they still hadn’t cleaned up all the poop.

“Okay, that’s it,” Green decides, taking a pokèball in hand. “We’re covering this place in eyes.”

It was finally time for backup.

Pidgeot gets look-out duty on on the roof of the shed while Machamp’s in the garden, and Red lets out Blastoise and Venusaur to help keep an eye on things with him while he and Green take Gyarados and Lapras out into the lake to get Petal again . Little noses and curious eyes are peering at the new guests when they come back, and Red lets out Snorlax, sprawled and snoring in the centre of them all, because—well, why not? Pikachu jumps on his stomach all the time; maybe the kids will too, if they can climb it.

Jolteon is the last of Green’s releases, Arcanine already in the house with Pikachu. She gives her surroundings one quick survey, and it doesn’t nothing for her unimpressed expression.

But even as he and Green—or, mostly Green—tell their pokèmon what to do (“don’t let any of these kids escape”, “don’t be ‘scary’”, given with air quotes), the baby pokèmon, quiet at first, have begun to converge on their new playmates: Grace, judging the large lump that is Snorlax’s stomach to see if he can find a way to climb him with his tiny paws, while Thumps the wynaut presses himself into the giant bellow, to find a way to budge him. Flower the oddish, with Bunchkin in tow, delight to see another grass-type in Venusaur, who is more than pleased to greet the tiny pokèmon as they huddle around her.

Chompy snaps at Machamp’s many arms with determined hops, tail swishing furiously. Blastoise watches on amused, giving a small squirt once to startle the bitey little thing, and to make him tumble over. Grace is working on climbing his throne, Thumps making no progress in burying, moving, whichever one into Snorlax, but in no hurry to give up on the exact spot they started at. Flower and Petal have found quick fun with a game of hopping over Venusaur’s vines, except when one hop catches Petal in a breeze that’s more like a hurricane for the fluffball; but from above comes another wind to bop Petal back down, enough for Venusaur to grab him and lower him back to the ground. When Red looks up, he remembers Pidgeot, watching as the avian tucks back in his wings.

And as for Sunshine—she keeps a close proximity to Red, Green and Jolteon, as close as she’s comfortable with.

There’s a bustle, and Red and Green aren’t entirely free of duties (which would be boring, anyway), but it’s far less hectic to get around, tidying up food dishes and making sure the back door is locked, cleaning up poop, assuring themselves that Rainbow’s absent-minded sitting and staring is just a her thing, and not anything else they need to immediately worry about; which leads to pouring through the binder of instructions and sitting shoulder to shoulder, Arcanine and Pikachu chittering and hanging around the egg in the playpen in the corner of the open space room, and inviting Sunshine over to sit with them.

Jolteon stays inside for a while, but after sitting there and looking sulky (or bored? Red can’t tell), she goes back out into the garden.

They find out too that Bunchkin needs to be bottle fed, when he comes on in, sniffling and hungry. Also, that he still refuses to look at Green without quivering against Red’s shoulder, while Green finishes testing the warm milk on his wrist in the kitchen.

“What? The guy can’t even be in the same room as me?” Green frowns, handing the bottle to Red.

“I know the feeling,” Red says. “—No hitting, you’ll scare him,” he adds, when Green’s hand flies up.

It drops, reluctantly. Green frowns harder while Red grins, and he goes into the living room with the bottle, dropping onto the couch. It takes a moment for Bunchkin to be brought out of hiding, but once he sees that Green and his bad vibes are nowhere to be found, he takes the teats of his bottle eagerly into his mouth, Red chuckling as he tips it back, reclining comfortably into his seat.

This wasn’t so bad. This wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks, with a glance to where Arcanine, Pikachu, and Sunshine were gathered. Pikachu catches his eye, and seems to use it as a reason to leave the girls to join Red and the cleffa, chirping happily. Red smiles at him, and his mind wanders, thinks: about Pikachu’s blind optimism, and Arcanine’s - fun and calm, was that a fair description? Their two personalities, coming together, and making...what?

Or was that fair? Imagining whatever came out of the egg as some split of Pikachu and Arcanine, down to their personalities. Was it even a thing? He couldn’t see himself in his mum, and his dad—

“Oh, look who’s the mum now,” startles Red out of his thoughts, Green’s figure approaching with humour. Bunchkin stops suckling from the drink, quivering in Red’s arm, and so Red shoots look that stops Green in his tracks, confused, then exasperated when Red motions to the cleffa.

He bites the inside of his cheek, shakes his head, then directs himself to the table where the binder and one of the steel-type gym leader’s books sit. Green opens the book pointedly, head slumping at an angle on a rested arm, all in a sulky display.

But for all the show, getting immediate a small smile out of him for it, Red catches in the quiet of the feeding, the brief glimpses Green takes his way—at the baby, he figures, though Green glances quickly away, as if to pretend he’s concentrating on the book. Red smiles more for it,  one eye on the cleffa gulping away at his late breakfast, the other on a mess of ginger hair, the curve of a nose leading down to his mouth, chin and neck.

“Like watching a guy feed a baby?” he asks after a moment, an excuse to let his gaze linger, before he can be called out on it. Green tilts his chin to face him, mouth squashed against his flattened cheek.

“Who knew you could be so motherly,” he drawls, the pinch of humour in the side of his cheeks.

“Who knew your type was dads.”

Green snorts. “My experience with dads is whatever you call Blaine, and Koga. You’re not nearly as eccentric or weird as either of ‘em.”

Red’s eyes widen, feigning surprise. “Was that a compliment?”

“Sure, whatever you want,” Green laughs. He takes the weight of his head off his arm, sprawling his limbs out along the table. “Who thought we’d be in this mess two days ago? I still don’t know how we got from mountain hiking to here.”

“This was a weird direction just because our pokèmon had an egg,” Red admits.

“That’s why you don’t text Lyra in your moments of crisis.”

“Speaking of crisis,” Red says, glancing towards the doorway. “Should we go back out?”

Green stares at the open doorway. “Can we have ten more minutes?”

“We haven’t even done this for a full day,” Red points out wryly, and Green groans, slumping over the table.

“I hate babysitting.”

For all the grumbling beforehand, they make it all the way to lunch without too many mishaps, Ethan stopping by unannounced amidst a water squirt game initiated by Blastoise, Snorlax acting as cover. “Wow, I thought you’d both be worn out by now, the way Green was acting yesterday!”

He checks on the kids and even the egg before he leaves, handing his phone number over proper, “Since I heard you rang Lyra last night,” and a bag filled with treats for the babies and their own.

Small, round and crisp, they’re sweet—Green grimacing as Red tries one, “What if they weren’t for people to eat?”—, and they throw them around for the kids to catch. Most get missed, but gobbled up all the same.

That’s not enough to keep them occupied, and next they’re being bumped and tugged on for further games: pull rope with Chompy, chasing with Bunchkin, throwing worn old toys and watching them disappear round corners, and then being yelled at by a surprisingly massive pair of lungs on a oddish when Green doesn’t chase after him quick enough. Their pokèmon aren’t left out, to somes begrudging moods: Machamp’s positive energy is a hit with most of them, getting the more active of the group to playfight with his many arms. Snorlax continues to be a replacement boulder at times for Thumps, while Venusaur manages to get Sunshine to roll a ball around with her, if just for a while.

And then there’s the poop, which they take in turns—and Red makes sure it’s turns, despite Green’s excuses each time—to clear up.

The day shifts easily from a sun-filled sky to drooping lazily down into the lake, Green complaining of dirt under his nails and an aching back. The two of them call for take-out this time, if receiving it an hour and half later, and Red sleeps in the old people’s bed, despite previous decisions.

The next day goes much of the same, and the one after that, they do rock-paper-scissors to see who gets to go into the city to try out the gym. Red wins, but Green goes, “alright, just wait here a second,” and pops into the house; and Red realises what’s happened about five minutes after, when calling out to the lake for Gyarados brings up only Lapras above water.

Arcanine’s still there, far more innocent and lovable than her dumb butt of a trainer.

Said dumb butt of a trainer comes back with lunch and a grin so wide it takes up his entire face. Red can’t stop himself from glaring miserably at it, and doesn’t try to.

“What?” Green says innocently one second, then gives up the act the next. “I can’t believe you fell for it. Cheer up, I bought back red bean buns. I’ll tell you all about it.”

Red doesn’t listen, but surprisingly the gym leader stops by the daycare later that afternoon, pink-haired and bubbly, and with a group of young kids who gasp and ohh and bend down for all the babies to come over, hands ready to pat their heads.

“When you told me about them, I was like, why not stop by, right?” Whitney—the gym leader—explains without prompt. “They bring pokèmon from the shelter to the gym sometimes to play. The kids in town really love it. You should bring your little guys over too!”

She gets Red to promise to battle her sometime (“really soon!”), and the next day Red takes her up, sending Pikachu to wake Green up and putting in the toast, telling him, “Hey, watch the eggs for a second,” and then sneaking out the door.

He feels a little bad over it, but the locked door he walks back to four hours later is kinda worth it.

“I bought coconut bread,” Red attempts to sweet talk, once inside.

“Stuff them in your maw,” is his reward.

Green takes one off the table later anyway.

It rains without warning the next day, bringing the babies inside and lowering their help down by half. Neither Grace or Sunshine are fans of the pelting rain on the window pane, Grace hiding deep inside a plywood house while Sunshine shivers at Red’s side. The oddish sits by the window in awe, pulled away when Bunchkin yips for him to come play.

Below, in the pen under the glow of the heat lamp, Red runs a hand over the egg, down its widening shape and into the blanket wrapped around its lower half. Some eggs need help staying warm, he read, and you shouldn’t let any one side get overheated if you use a heat lamp. But there’s a stronger heat coming from within, pressed to his fingertips. He brings his head close, ear hovering inches from the shell, and feels the temperature tickle across his skin.

“Are you waiting for it to kick?”

The question surprises him, but Red keeps his position, continuing to listen for anything below.

“Don’t they?”

“Not this early.” Red catches catches the noise of Green settling down beside him, knocking knees and legs together. Machamp is grunting in play with the kids at their backs, the sound of his deep laughter near infectious.

“Have you felt it?” Red lifts his back, searching for one of Green’s hands blindly, and taking hold of the one he finds, pressing it flat against the shell. “It’s warm.”

Green tugs once reluctantly with a grunt, then lets it stay, even as Red lets go.

“I guess we don’t need the light,” he mutters, letting the hand linger a while longer before dropping it onto his lap.

The sandshrew pokes its nose above Red’s knee, and he pats it once along its back, its hide harsh under his palm. There’s a chance, he realises suddenly, that Green will get up; weird that he would after sitting down, but whatever brought him over, it’s nice, it’s comfortable; there’s plenty of stuff for them to be doing, and Red would rather like to enjoy this more, first.

Red stares at the egg, searching for the first thing to come to mind. A chance for them to have some excuse to stay like this a while longer: knee to knee, close, almost—intimate.

“What should we name them?” he goes for.

“You wanna pick a name before they’re born?” Green asks, a note of surprise to the question. “You don’t even nickname the pokèmon you have now.”

“But you do,” Red points out, grinning as he recalls: “Eggheads, Abs, Tough Girl, Jolts—”

“Those aren’t nicknames,” Green scoffs. “They’re terms of endearment.”

“Even Eggheads?”

“Why not?”

Red laughs some. Sunshine’s back is still beneath his hand, rough as concrete, yet it’s the brief contact with Green’s hand he’s thinking about, and how stupid is that. Green’s hand, and also his knee, and wondering what would happen if he was to put a his hand on that knee right next to him.

“You better not call anyone else dork, you know,” he says instead, some dumb mood overcoming him.

And Green must realise it by the humour as he points out, “What? It’s not a compliment,” Red can see Green facing him from the corner of his eye, but he keeps himself forward, refusing to meet his gaze.

Green eventually bumps him on the elbow, muttering with what sounds like fondness, “Weirdo.”

Red just hums before finally standing, Sunshine chirping quizzically to his rise.

“Come on, dad. Time to play with the kids.”

And not to overstep boundaries.

Apparently, Ethan’s moved onto checking on them with texts by the “What the heck’s with everyone giving out my number?” out of Green’s mouth later in the week, which gives him an added thing to complain about through the day.  They move onto play battling for a change of the usual tug of war games, and because two Champion trainers are going to fall into old habits, sooner or later.

It’s not a bad idea, either, after two days inside due to the rain. They both have pokèmon who know how (and are willing) to go soft, and so that even the clumsy Bunchkin gets to feel the blood flow going just by chasing the vines coming off from Venusaur, toppling over as much on the carpet as they do their own tiny feet.

“Why the hell doesn’t that upset them?” Green complains, gesturing to cleffa being poked by the vine tips.

“Because Venusaur’s nice.”

“Tch.”

Chompy’s the one who has a real dedication to battling, where waving a few green limbs aren’t going to cut it. But Machamp is already a well-acquainted face, and the water-type lights up to see a rematch with the other pokèmon. It’s the match that gets the other pokèmon really into what they’re watching, even Sunshine watching than turned away. Only Grace lays atop of a hiding hole, waving his tail idly and yawning pointedly.

But by end, with Thumps jumping up to waddle for their turn of going straight for bumping into Machamp without prompt, Grace knocks them aside, meowing with ferocious (cute) confidence.

Pikachu is the one to chirp and squeak, hopping over to take Machamp’s position with a small exchange and agreed nod. He stands in the spot that Machamp leaves, matching Grace’s confidence, and it looks battle ready—until Jolteon pounces and knocks him aside, taking Pikachu’s place.

Jolteon snaps for him to get lost while Pikachu hops up and whines both confused yet indignantly, all of which Jolteon ignores. Pikachu huffs; then, with bent ears, gives up and stands next to Machamp.

Red looks at Green, who wears an arched brow. But he just shrugs and says, “Play nicely with the kid, at least.”

She doesn’t. Rather, she does in the sense she never throws an actual attack, but when the skitty comes for her, barely a threat to anyone, Jolteon is ruthless in showing their differences in speed: jumping from one side to another, never letting Grace get close; even managing to knock him over without touching, just the air enough to make those little feet lose their position.

It would be frustrating for anyone. But for Grace’s prideful nature, wobbling just to get back up,  it stills him once, Jolteon waiting for his next move with taunting meows—and then he runs, out from the playpen and behind the sofa, wailing noisily, and wet. The baby pokèmon waddle to go to him, and Red does too, and Grace headbutts anyone that comes close, nipping the side of Red’s finger when he bends with and reaches to pick him. But he accepts his hold after, head tucked into the crook of his arm to hide his tears.

When Red looks over, Red sees Green rubbing the back of his neck, Jolteon moping like a girl who knows she went too far.

“She plays to win. It’s not easy to slow down when you’re used to going fast.”

“She was showing off.”

“She’s got good reason to show off,” Green retorts, but his pride doesn’t hit the right note. “Anyway, she’s taking a time out, so we don’t have to go on about it.”

Time out meant time in her pokèball, while the kids returned to playing amongst one another, Grace for once a centre of their now languid games. Machamp was sat legs bent on the floor, offering each of his arms when needed, but the energy wasn’t there to need his endurance. Arcanine and Pikachu had been near the front door, making low sounds, but as Green goes to check that it isn’t bedtime for the babies, Red feels a weight on his shoulder, Pikachu taking his place.

“Hey.” Red pats him on the cheek once. “What were you two talking about?”

Pikachu chirps, and Red hums — only noting the complicated ring to Pikachu’s voice.

“It’ll be okay,” he offers, and goes to join Green.

The pokèmon were more tired than any of them had been able to figure themselves, except for Petal, who was already snoozing against the body of Rainbow, who hadn’t moved once the entire day. Red and Green leave them to sleep in the pen, Venusaur hovering with Machamp watch over the kids, while Green and Red sit back on the sofa.

For once, with nothing to do.

“I’ll go and buy lunch,” Red promptly offers. He moves forward, and a hand pushes on his stomach.

“How about I buy lunch,” Green counters. Red’s eyes narrow.

“I don’t trust you.”

“And I should trust you?”

“You tricked me first.”

“Oh, mature argument. Sure you shouldn’t be sleeping with the kids there?”

“You’re deflecting,” Red frowns.

“Yeah,” Green grins, “but I’ve still got a point.”

Red huffs once, knocking Green’s leg.

“We should take turns."

“Turns?”

“Going out. We don’t both need to be here all the time.”

“Great,” Green says, getting up, “then I’ll go now—”

Red grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him back, and Green hits the couch with a yelp. He glares at Red after.

“Did you have to pull so hard?!”

“Not my fault you weigh nothing.” Green huffs, and Red doesn’t hold back on his smirk. “What about if we left them with Alakazam?”

Green snorts. “Alakazam won’t babysit. —She won’t,” he repeats when Red opens his mouth. “And what if something happens anyway when she’s watching?”

Red pauses. “She can’t do much worse than us,” he figures, but accepts Green’s point. “How much longer are the grandparents away anyway?”

“That’s what I want to know.” Green tugs at the side of his mouth, and one of the kids whines for a second in their sleep. “This whole thing smells fishy,” he says, a notch lower.

Red raises a brow, but watches the kids and their sleeping state. And how much longer was that going to keep?

“If I go now, you can go later.”

Green turns back to him. “How do I know you’ll come back?” And, when Red just stares at him—“I just think I should go first—”

Green doesn’t, but he’s the one who fixes times for them to get out, and gives Red a list of snacks and juice to get.

“Why can’t you get this?”

“I’m getting stuff later. Just remember to stick the juice in the fridge.”

Whatever. It doesn’t matter once Red was out, the damp smell on grass pleasing and familiar, and quickly getting rid of the nagging feeling that he shouldn’t be leaving everyone behind—the kids that is, and not Green. (Or one called Green.) Having freedom is a strange sensation he carries at first into Goldenrod, the city not empty, but the bodies still gathering outside again after the small shower. But Red soon remembers it as a comfortable companion, and finds trainers not deterred by the rain or the grey clouds that still linger above them in a concrete park, and wastes a few hours there, before idling the shops.

He gets Green’s juice—considers getting tamato, because he didn’t say to get one Green likes—and bumps into the local gym leader in the snack aisle, packets held to her chest.

“Hi, how are the babies doing? —These aren’t all for today,” she quickly adds, struggling to keep them from falling out of her arms. An ambipom comes up beside her, squeaking with more packets waving from its tail hands.

“Sooo, what got you into baby care anyway? Is it like, a new thing for the both of you?”

Her bag swings more freely from her hand than his own, a pecha-flavoured pocky stick hanging out her mouth—and Red’s, when she offers the packet. She breaks off the end on hers, just as he finishes relaying the tale.

“Isn’t taking care of a bunch of babies drastic just because you got an egg? Wow.” She pops it back in, but holds onto it, sucking a little at the yoghurt. “Isn’t there anyone else there with you?”

“Mmmhmm,” Red hums a negative, then blinks when Pikachu’s stick end whacks him near the eye. He slows, rubbing around his cheek.

“But the owners left like… two, three weeks ago?”

He then stops. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah! Like, I don’t remember the exact day—” she waves the stick around, bobbing from side to side, slowing herself “—but one of the girls at the gym leaves her snubbull there when she goes to school, so she was telling us about it!” Whitney then stops, gasping, and turns to him wide-eyed.

“You’re not getting duped by someone, are you?”

Red snaps at the pocky stick, chewing it down until the whole thing is devoured into his mouth.

For all of Green’s insistence on leaving, he’s not ready and waiting at the front door when Red returns, Pikachu dropping to the ground as they enter. It’s quiet—and empty, Red realises, once he comes back out from the kitchen to deposit the bags, and seeing that the playpen is entirely empty apart from Arcanine and the egg. Pikachu goes to greet her, while Red sees the back door sits ajar.

Out in the yard, the playsets sit unused, a slide Red notes smeared with dirt from top to bottom, a small pool of water murky where it ends. The doors to the shed are sealed closed, but Red can hear the dulled noises of something within.

Red eyes Pikachu, who, now back on his shoulder, looks back at him. They then goes forward, pulling open one of the doors, peering through the gap.

Mud. Mud on every surface, Flower and Chompy running wild from Machamp who already dangles Petal and cradles a wailing Bunchkin; and Green, Red sees, as he shuffles beyond the door to where he can hear the guy complaining about something or the other—

—wrestling with Rainbow, animated and joyous for the first time since their entire stay, rolling and gurgling out mouthfuls of water as Green holds a sponge. “—I said stay still, you dumb, pink marshmallow!”

Red considers the situation. Considers his preferences in life.

And slowly, begins to head for the back door.

Unfortunately, Machamp slips on the mud, pokèmon squeaking and flying, and escaping out into the muddy outdoors as Green swings his head around,

and glares .

“Get. Here,” he growls.

Green doesn’t leave until they’ve gotten the pokèmon cleaned, which is nice, but doesn’t come back into the pokèmon have long since been put to sleep indoors, in the sleeping den.

And Red with them, preferring the odour of pokèmon than faded perfume, and people.

Admittedly, it confuses Red to wake up the next morning to the sunlight peeking through high sitting windows, tiny noisy lumpy things around him—pokèmon, he realises, once he comes to more.

But it’s kinda nice, even as Bunchkin clings to his sleeve as he rises, leaving the cushions of the couch he’d nicked for a makeshift mattress as he gets washed and fed, the egg checked, warm and cared for by Arcanine. Green wakes a little while after, grabbing the juice out of the fridge and drinking straight from the carton.

“Ah—nothing like cold juice in the morning,” Green sighs. He holds it out to Red. “Want some?”

Red frowns, but takes it. “Do you do that around Daisy?”

“What?” Green questions, then his mouth tilting lopsided. “Oh, this coming from the guy who licks his plate clean?”

“That’s not the same.”

“No, it’s more gross.”

“Plates get washed! Your germs don’t!”

“I’m not tonguing the lid!” Green protests high-pitched, which makes Red eye suspiciously the drink he just poured. “Oh, please.”

“You would,” he mumbles, and brings the glass up and tips it back—catching the smirk that pulls on Green’s mouth, and near about chokes in the same instance he grabs a tea towel and throws it at Green’s laughing head.

Green’s still smiling when they sit down to eat. That’s when Red remembers about yesterday, and what Whitney had told him.

The smile drops as he finishes. “What.”

“Two-three weeks ago,” Red repeats through a spoonful of cereal. “The grandparents left.” And Green goes silent, attempting to once or twice to raise the slice of toast in hand, but gives up, letting it clatter on his plate as he stands. “Wait there.”

Green disappears from the kitchen just as Flower waddles in, yawning. Red picks them from the floor, offering a chew on his food, as “You better get your ass down here ASAP, we know everything!” comes bellowing from the other room.

Bunchkin’s crying follows suit.

“You’re dead as soon as I see you, Lyra,” Green shoots down the pokègear before snapping it shut. Red sits cross-legged on the sofa, grabbing a handful of cereal to drop for the waiting mouths below.

“You’re going to scare them,” he remarks flatly, his smile restrained to a neutral expression.

“That’s the point,” Green sulks. He stands by the backdoor, tapping his gear against his arm with a sealed mouth, until—“I can’t believe those brats! After I was nice enough to do this in the first place! I knew there was something up with this all whole thing, but getting us to do their dirty work. That’s why I don’t believe in being charitable. You can’t do anything for anyone.” He shoots Red a grumpy glare. “Aren’t you mad about this?”

Red hums somewhat in affirmative, tipping his head. “But it was clever,” he reasons.

“You don’t have to hand it to them, you know,” Green retorts. Red shrugs, and Green goes around the couch, out of Bunchkin’s line of sight.

“What are we doing now?” Red calls out.

“What else?” answers back from another room. “Marill-boy gets his butt here and we get on with our lives.”

“You wanna go?”

“‘Course I do! We spend the whole day chasing after them, cleaning up after them, washing them for three hours. I’m not spending a second longer than I need!”

Surprisingly, the babies stay unaffected by Green’s shouting, or they’ve learnt it’s better to ignore it. Green comes back into the living room by the tail end of it, dumping a bag on the sofa, and Thumps begins hopping, to try and see. “You can put these in your things when we go. There’s some toys and other stuff in there.”

Red reaches over, tugging it closer by the straps as he squeezes it by the cornflake box. But he fails as it topples over, just as Sunshine lifts her nose to ask for more of the cereal. She shakes the flakes off her head, and the pokèmon scramble around her, looking for a bite.

Green just waves a hand at the mess. “Whatever, that kid can clean up when he gets here,” he grumbles, while Red peers into the bag, taking out one toy in particular.

Red blinks. Green spots him and toy, and smirks.

“Look familiar?”

Blue jeans, red vest, and red hat with hair poking out the sides underneath. Dotted eyes stare blankly out at the world, and a small red and white pokèball hangs stitched to his hand, fitting snug in his palm.

“What,” deadpans Red.

“What? That’s Kanto’s hero Champion,” Green drawls. “Gonna make a great chew toy.”

For a ghost-type with horrid taste , he thinks, but chucks it after a moment too long when staring into those blank eyes creep him out. Chompy, with crumbs of broken cereal stuck to the end of his snout, goes straight for it, thrashing it around between eager fangs.

Green laughs. Red wonders if he should be offended, or what.

“Do you always look for dolls of me?”

“Oh, yeah,” Green drones. “Always looking for things that remind me of you.”

Red scoffs under his breath, short and sweet, and rattles through the bag some more. “For a guy who wants to get away from the kids, you got a lot of toys for our baby.”

Green coughs, and corrects him, “Our pokemon’s baby,” firmly. “If they’re anything like either of them, they’re gonna need all the distractions they can get. Pikachu and arcanine? I’m not keeping up with a kid between them.”

“Can you imagine a baby them?” Red starts gesturing. “A yellow growlithe...with red cheeks?”

“Oh, god,” Green chokes, his teeth showing as his mouth pushes into his cheeks, and it makes Red bring out a laugh, “What’s the tail going to look like?”, and neither of them can stop the actual laughter that follows, despite the hand Green puts across his mouth.

“I’ve been avoiding the answer to that question,” Green gasps, brushing the tears from his eyes. “I’d like to keep it up, thanks.”

Red flings another one of the toys at Green playfully—a large piece of meat on bone—and Green knocks it aside. “Is that why you don’t hang out with it?”

“How am I supposed to? Between you and Arcanine hovering over it.” Green cocks his head, and Red looks at the egg and Arcanine. She sits beside it, instead of around it like before. “Jolteon hasn’t been happy hanging around it either.”

“Some aren’t the settling down kind,” Red guesses.

“Guess not,” Green says; then, after a moment: “What about you?”

“What?” Red says, and Green just stares at him until—”Kids?” Red blurts, and tries to gather back his tongue. “Ask me in fifty years,” he says shortly.

Green folds his arms, humour in his stance. “Any kids of yours will be swinging from the trees.”

“Are you trying to say you want some kids with me?” Red squints at him dubiously, and Green laughs again.

“Where’d you get from there from?”

“Who else starts asking about kids for?”

“You’re too unreal,” comes out through the sound of rapid knocking on the front door. They both turn, Green better than Red, and Green lets his arms drop. “About time,” he says, and finds some semblance of his earlier anger in the slapping of his footsteps to the door on his way to opening it. “Hey, jerk! Good timing!”

“Wha— I’m not a jerk, jerk!” yells back at him, in a voice that’s undoubtedly female. Red sets the bag beside him—next to the Thumps that’s made his way onto the seat with him—as he hears a cry of, “hey, ow, hey!” coming from Green, and twists on his knees to watch over the back of the couch as a pink-haired girl makes her way in, via jabbing Green back.

“No one bullies me, got it!” Whitney fumes one last time—”alright, alright, I got it!” rushes Green—, before she turns in Red’s direction, her hands balling up in fists by her chest, and the tight anger in her brow slanting back.

“Red! A pokèmon really really needs your help! Can you come with me?”

They leave the kids with a woman who came with Whitney, setting out a proper breakfast first and sharing where the pooper scooper can be found (much to the woman’s sudden horror). Whitney leads them with brisk steps, the day cold and dreary after another night of rain.

“So this pokèmon,” Green starts. “You said it was abandoned? How do you know?”

“It has a collar,” Whitney motions to her neck. “And the people at the shelter said they found where it used to live, and the neighbours said they’d moved away months ago. Can you believe it, leaving someone behind like that? It’s disgusting! But,” she continues on, “that’s why we need help. They’ve been chasing it for months, but it kept running off? It’s suuper super fast! Too fast for my pokèmon. But I’ve seen your pokèmon, and I know you can catch it!”

She takes them to a block of buildings that have seen better days, probably some of them apartments, with a few smaller businesses slipped through the cracks. Her speed slows, and Red and Green slow with her.

Red hovers a hand over his pokèballs. “It’s a furret?”

“Right! They’re fast and long—I mean it, they’re really fast. And this one can jump anywhere. It’s been living on the roof up there,” and she points, up to one of the higher buildings. “I was thinking, if we work together, we can trap it somehow and keep it from running off?”

A pair of people appear round a corner waving a hand in signal, a wigglytuff in tow, and they join up—volunteers from the shelter, to help once they’ve caught the pokèmon. They discuss an idea of what to do, anything known about the condition of the furret, before putting their plans into action.

It’s a chase that takes two hours, maybe more. Harming the pokèmon is the last thing they want to do, and the size and speed of the furret gives it more places to hide than most of their teams can squeeze into. Pidgeot and Charizard are kept on lookout and stopping it from taking leaps too far from the block they start on, while Pikachu and Whitney’s Ambipom work on sneaking into wherever it tries to hide.

The chase finally comes to the end when Ambipom and Pikachu manage to force it down a dark passageway, and it takes a chance in dashing the road they’re on, where Alakazam, brought out earlier on, traps it inside a barrier that it thrashes against to escape. Wigglytuff then comes in, singing soft and gently, until exhaustion finally takes over the pokèmon and it falls asleep, a body of matted fur and dirt, the collar around its neck hardly visible.

It’s a rescue effort done in the off hours of the shelter. “But,” Whitney explains, “after all the bad weather we’ve been having, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, you know?”

Both of the volunteers are trainers from her gym, and they all go—with the furret placed safely in a cage, carried as smoothly as possible by Alakazam’s telekinesis—back to the daycare, to get cleaned up and checked on.

“You really had this all planned out, didn’t you?” Green remarks once they get back, the group of women working swiftly: moving out into the shed to use their washing facilities, the wigglytuff with them. Red, Green, and Whitney stay indoors with the kids, who were ecstatic upon their return, too busy bumping and climbing their legs to bother with the furret passing through.

Whitney had squealed on seeing the babies once more, and now cradled Bunchkin and Flower in both arms.

“Well, I saw you had a whole setup like they do at the shelter, so you know, why not? It’s just for a night!”

Thumps was rubbing against the crack of Red’s arm and shoulder, not stopping for anything. “Is it going to be okay?” he asks.

“Weellll, if there’s anything bad, the girls will know? We’re waiting for a call for someone, so maybe we’ll be able to take them.” Whitney’s lip pinches, her eyes turning glossy. “It’s so miserable, isn’t it? You saw the state of that poor boy. Why would anyone leave someone like that?”

She sniffles, Bunchkin following suit, Flower squeaking worriedly. Green gives her a pat on the back, sighing. “Alright, alright, it’s not worth getting worked up over, they’re safe now. Hey, Red.” Red perks up. “How about you be a good mummy and boil the water for tea? What do you take,” Green turns back to Whitney, “five sugars?”

“Three,” she sniffs. “And lots of milk.”

“You heard the girl, honey.” Green eyes him, smirking as Red frowns and tips his chin to the wynaut in his arm. Green, empty-handed, just shrugs.

So Red walks over, picking Thumps around the back, his little body still trying to rub the air mid-travel, and presses him against Green’s chest to take. “Here you go then, mummy,” and goes to the kitchen despite Green’s protests.

“So are you two, like, together?” follows him faintly into the kitchen, and Green’s following snort.

“He wishes.”

Fortunately, there’s nothing seriously wrong found while washing down the furret. The pokèmon is more scared than hostile, trying to keep a safe difference from everyone, but—after some time and reluctance—takes some food from then, falling asleep a little while later. The most difficult comes in putting them back into the cage, but the volunteers get word from a shelter worker to bring them over, and in all the activity and concern, its Grace’s meows and clawing at the backdoor that reminds them how long it’s been since the babies have eaten, the night already settling in the sky.

They’d forgotten about the still muddy ground, but neither of them can find it in them to care about the decoration of footprints over the wooden flooring, and Green only huffs once when he catches the message from Ethan promising to come early tomorrow morning.

The pokèmon sleep curled into balls close to one another, leaving Red and Green with a dinner of snacks, biscuits and chocolate and rice cake, the baby egg resting in the middle of Red’s crossed legs. It’s Green’s voice that breaks the calm silence between them, a chocolate wafer in his hand, untouched.

“I’m not a dumbass, I know it happens. You just wonder though what kind of asshole does that to a pokèmon.”

There’s an understandable heat under his words—nice to hear, despite the circumstances. Red bumps their elbows; in comfort, and unity. “They’ll be okay,” he offers.

“Yeah, yeah,” Green replies. “I know.”

“Wanna go check on them tomorrow?”

“Nah—it’s fine. Gotta trust those people know what they’re doing,” he says, then takes a bite of the wafer. Red looks across to the lumps of sleeping bodies, Thumps chirping erratically in his sleep, and the peace of it all, after the last couple of days.

“It’s our last night with them, you know,” he says idly.

“Already missing them?” Green teases, but his voice light.

“They weren’t that bad,” Red reasons.

“They pooped everywhere.”

“Yeahh, but,” Red argues, eloquently.

“But?”

“So do all our pokèmon.”

“Right, so I don’t need eight more kids to potty train.”

“No, we’ve got just one,” Red corrects, patting the warm, warm shell in his lap.

“You really know the most interesting topics to charm a guy,” Green scoffs, finishing the rest of his wafer, wiping his hands of the chocolate residue on his fingertips. Red gives him a raised eyebrow, mouth quirked curiously.

“Who said I’m trying to charm you?”

Green tilts his head, staring back into him, the curve of his own mouth dangerous to Red with those eyes. But he keeps locked on, not budging.

“You couldn’t,” Green says.

“I’m charming,” he shoots back defensively.

“You’re as charming as Grace.”

“Grace knows what he wants. He’s like you.”

“Oh yeah? Am I.” Green leans in, and Red feels his heart jump; bracing a hand around the baby in his lap, his brow knitting as his eyes flicker between each of Green’s. “So what do I want?”

He skin burns and chills over both at once, and his fingers cling tighter to the egg; his mouth parts with want and irrational fear, and as Green comes in on one swift move—

—the egg rattles, and Red’s head snaps with the speed to have his forehead knock into Green’s chin.

“Shit!” Green hisses, backing away with a shove to Red’s shoulder. “What the hell was that—”

“It shook!” Granted, the egg was secondary to the pain blooming over his forehead. But Red opens his eyes, gasping as watches through squinted vision the form below. “There, again!”

It was hard to miss, each rattle bumping against his legs, warming up the fabric of his jeans. The space Green give as he withdraws to his side brings down the light better from above, and it rattles a few more times before settling.

“It’s too early for it to be hatching. It’s getting there though,” Green says, removing a hand from its surface. “I guess we better ask Arcanine to keep a closer eye on it now.”

“I’ll sleep in here in case anything happens,” Red offers. He takes the egg carefully into his arms to rest back in the bedding, minding the sleeping pokèmon along the way. He grabs a blanket from the spare room while Green lets out Arcanine, who, with a yawn and command, takes a spot around the egg, letting her tail curl its body.

“Hey,” Green calls from the hallway to the bedrooms, hand on the doorframe, once all is said and done. “Sure you don’t want to come with me?”

Red flinches, considers the pillows at his disposal, then considers otherwise. “Not a chance,” he answers, fluffing his blanket, or something. “You snore.”

Green coughs up a laugh, then leaves—and can Red only think about what nearly happened, once he’s staring blankly at the ceiling with the blanket up to his shoulders.

Ethan’s already arrived by the time Green walks into the kitchen.

“Oh hey there!” he pipes up in greeting from the stove, grabbing the egg sitting on the counter. He hoists it up in both hands, and places it gently into a pot of boiling water. “Did you sleep well?”

Green stands there, staring.

“Are you boiling,” he starts plainly, except doesn’t finish, jumping straight for Ethan and the egg. “What the hell, kid!”

“It’s a chansey egg, a chansey egg!” insists Ethan, swinging a shaking accusing finger at Red as Green rattles him. “It was his idea!”

Red blinks, two bloodthirsty eyes now on him, holding still the cup of tea cradled in his hands. He then swerves his gaze onto Ethan, narrowing it, mouth turning in a frown.

—Or trying, if not for the laughter trapped behind his teeth, his shoulders shivering.

“Snitch,” he blurts out, and can’t get his mouth to zip back up.

A slap to the back of their of their heads later, the egg—a chansey egg for real, brought over as an apology gift—boiled and shared out between them, Lyra arrives at the cottage, hands clasped together in apology before her face, winking from behind.

“I heard you had a really tasty chansey egg?” she says, a question, and hope for a lighter scolding.

“You were in on it too,” Green meets her sternly, arms folded and glaring down at her. Lyra laughs nervously, raising her arms and the bag hanging off her arm.

“I brought snacks!”

“Well, how else do you think we got this arranged so quickly?” Ethan speaks up, leaning his hips against the sofa. “Aren’t you the guys who really thought my grandparents just upped and left in a day?”

“Didn’t they ever tell you when it’s a good idea to shut up?” throws back Green, and Ethan just laughs, airily.

“I’m only pointing out the obvious.”

“Now, now,” interjects Lyra, coming between the two boys inching ever closer. “We did think it would be good for the both of you! And us,” she adds. “It was a lie with good intentions.”

“Good intentions for you,” grumbles out Green, and Lyra corrects promptly, “For all of us!”

“You could’ve kept my grandparent’s place clean though, you know,” Ethan muttered, rubbing the muddied floorboards with the tip of his shoe.

Red leans over the edge of the couch at that, catching the sight of Green’s annoyance fall into a knowing upward curve as their eyes briefly meet.

“Just wait until you see the babies,” Red says. Ethan raises his brow, then knits it.

“What do you mean?”

They leave Lyra and Ethan with a group of hungry yet delightfully dirty kids, compliments to the backyard wet and dirty, despite the night free from rain. Charizard carries the egg, once fitted in a bag and held by the straps in each claw, and they take the journey back home low and steady, Green touching down in Pallet Town first.

Machamp stands prepared to handle the egg as Charizard lowers down, and then she’s huffing, sniffing and snorting at the egg once her feet find ground, before Red’s even regained his composure. He pats her on the back of the neck, assuringly. “It’s fine. You did great.”

The egg goes with them through Green’s living room, a space already prepared by Daisy, who greets them at the front door. Charizard waits outside, but with her head and neck poking in, watching.

“You’ve felt it rumbling? That’s good news! And you say Arcanine is the mother? It is warm, isn’t it. You shouldn’t need a heat lamp for it.”

She’s knelt by its new nest made of blankets, her hand following the curve of the shell from one side to the other. It quivers, and they each gasp, and Daisy laughs delightfully when she gets back up. “What a lively fellow!”

“Arcanine and Pikachu,” Red points out late, and catches a grumble from Green. He eyes him through a narrowed gaze, a question that Daisy answers when she goes, “Arcanine and Pikachu?”

“You didn’t have to say anything,” Green grumbles. Red shrugs, shaking his head. Daisy touches her lips with a forefinger, rubbing it along the skin.

“Well,” she starts with a cheery note, smiling at them both, “if it started shaking yesterday...you may have a couple more days before it hatches.” Her hands come together, clasped at her lap. “Are you both going to be staying around?”

They both look at one another.

Red goes next door to see his mother. He leaves Pikachu with Arcanine and lets out the others to stretch in the backyard, and puts his camping gear (finally) away before taking a bath, just to soak away the last couple of days. Muscles loosen, the fresh layer of dirt flake off from his feet, and his mind drifts easily, from eggs to near-kisses.

But not where they might lead to next.

When he comes back down, Pikachu is slouched on the sofa, squeaking happily in a bowl of dried fruit.

“Hey,” he says curiously, still rubbing the moisture out of his hair. “You’re not with Arcanine?”

“He came back and Charizard left,” his mother speaks up from the kitchen area. She points to a bowl. “Are you going to see her? I know she likes aspears.”

He takes the bowl with a thanks, then leaves to go back to Green’s. Red finds him in the living room still, with Arcanine standing next to the egg—and Charizard next to her, holding up the end of her tail politely in her claws.

“Hey,” Green grumps, folded arms to match, “I couldn’t get rid of ‘em. You sure your roasted thing there ain’t the dad?”

“She’s a girl,” Red answers flatly, and offers the bowl between the two pokèmon. Charizard reaches easily into the entire thing with her snout, but then moves out after a couple of bites, knocking it towards Arcanine to take a turn, if she likes.

Red falls backwards onto the couch next to Green, getting a grunt out of him. The sound of chewing keeps the room from being entirely silent, and it would be comfortable, if not the sudden awareness of the body beside him, the thoughts that had been drifted around in his head before. His arms sit stiff, except to move into his lap, and he chews at the silence, the taste tense on his tongue.

“Where did Daisy go?” he asks.

“Went to see gramps to see how long he’s going to be at the lab today.”

“Oh.” Red brushes his hands together, but stops, glancing at every corner of the room until he runs out of them. “So… what now?”

“Well, I guess I’ll be stuck here for a while.” Green shifts, leaning onto his side to face Red. “Can start opening the gym again. What about you?”

Red hums noncommittally, tipping his head, giving a lifeless shrug. The silence slowly promises to build.

Until Green breaks it, asking, “Or were you talking about something else?”, a tone of humour that might match a smile that Red’s not going to check for. “Us?”

“No,” Red snaps to answer, tilting his head in the other direction.

“Oh? You weren’t thinking about it.”

He doesn’t need to see Green’s face; the side of his face burns with that ever growing smirk, dripped into his words.

“Nope,” Red answers again. Green nudges his arm.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll put me off my dinner.”

Green laughs behind teeth. “Oh yeah?”

Red hears as Green shuffles against the couch, pressing his weight closer in. ”How about this?” he whispers; hot against his ear, spiking heat higher with that wet breath. Red jerks around, knocking an arm across Green’s chest with a “You asshole!”; but Green just laughs more and grabs at his vest, pulling them into a kiss that muffles his complaints.

He resists, only for the rush across his face, the unknown what then he doesn’t have an answer for. But then his shoulders relax, his lips melting into the comfort of Green’s, and his hold around Green’s wrists are for the touch of him, squeezing them, than to let him go.

“You’re not running out on our baby, are you?” Green whispers when he pulls away, between their lips.. Red knocks his knee and grunts—what a stupid question—, but it takes him a moment to give Green back his arms with a slight shove, for his heart to calm, for the rest of his body to calm, too.

He brushes his hair aside, tries cooling his cheeks with a wipe across them too; mumbles, ”—I’m not going anywhere.”

Red doesn’t hear a laugh, a scoff, or anything for the sort; but it lingers in Green’s throat, affectionate when he says, after resting a hand on Red’s knee:

“Good.”

Epilogue

Green returns to his gym duties as he said he would, much to the pleasure of his gym trainers and challengers (and Green’s passion for complaining). Charizard takes turns with Arcanine in watching over the egg, and Daisy makes a carrier that fits her snugly above the belly, which she swishes her tail excitedly to wear.

It gives Red pause once or twice, but he doesn’t think about it. It’s almost nice to see, just how excited Charizard is, and Pikachu is pleased to hang off her shoulder. All of the pokèmon have been supportive in their own way about the egg, from watching over it, to simple pats and fussing.

Daisy’s given Red pointers from the few times she stuck her thumb into pokèmon baby care. Jolteon seems to have gotten over her previous attitude, returning to battling and spending time with Pikachu, than what her standoffish behaviour had become in the enclosed space of the daycare. The days past with ease and anticipation—until one afternoon at the gym, amidst a battle between a challenger’s skarmory and Green’s gyarados.

Red stands from the edge of the gym hall, the egg splintering into cracks.

What the hell, what the hell; he tries silently mouthing Green’s name from the sidelines, but hisses and hands it into Charizard’s willing claws when the heat from inside grows too intense. Charizard roars, less respectful of the ongoing battle, and the two pokèmon stop in motion, the pokèballs at Red’s waist shaking up a storm, Pikachu squeaking relentlessly as he hops to Charizard’s side.

“Hey—” says someone, but the lights come from everywhere: Venusaur, Blastoise, Snorlax, and Lapras releasing, and Green’s pokèmon too; even some of the challenger’s poke their nose out, a scizor and tangrowth. They all make their way around the egg, Arcanine there in an instant, Jolteon a slower figure. Machamp claps all of his hands together, and Gyarados brings his head down as the pieces begin to peel away, and from inside—

A tiny blue claw emerges, a small chirp-like cry trapped into.

Red stares at the limb batting at the egg shell, Green stopping nearly dead in his tracks when he spots it for himself. “What…?”

The head raises up and out, the shell sitting curved over its head. Charizard sits the egg on the floor, the uneven weight rolling it over, but allowing two blue-ish scaly legs to kick off the bottom layer, and let uncurl a fiery tail.

A… very flaming tail. It’s obvious, before Charizard uses her tongue to flick off the piece covering its face, just what they’re looking at, despite how disbelieving it is:

A charmander, with a blue-scaled body, a creamy underbelly, and two burning red eyes.

It cries out once, and Gyarados brings in his head closer, grumbling low, and short. It’s enough anyway to knock the charmander onto its back, and it cries again—louder this time, trying fearlessly to mimic the same sound out of Gyarados’s throat.

Charizard rubs the baby’s head with her own, then meets Gyarados’s, who rumbles again affectionately. Arcanine howls happily, Pikachu crackling from his cheeks with glee, and Machamp is spinning in circles with the scizor. Jolteon stands there, black eyes wide, her fur flat and closer to the colour of white cheddar.

Red points, all words failing to form, and stares at Green.

Green doesn’t bother to look, just staring at the sight, all colour drained from his face.

He opens his mouth.

“What the HELL!”