Chapter Text
The air on the pitch is stiller than it's ever been.
For all the deafening screams, for all the chants of his name, for all the rain still drizzling upon the field, the only sound Leon can hear is the steady beating of his heart. All he can see is the narrowed view across the way, the sides of his vision blurred and foggy.
Raihan stands opposite him, whispering to his beloved Duraludon, who looks upon him with somber eyes, tired and worn, aware that this will be the final time he battles on Wyndon’s turf as Hammerlocke Gym’s ace.
The same can be said for Leon’s Charizard, who returns to proper size, watching him expectantly, awaiting his next move because where his trainer goes, he will follow. As fiercely loyal as he is patient. Not without cause and certainly not without reason.
Leon reaches up to grab at his snapback, only to realize it is no longer on his head, blown away by the violent winds brought upon by his opponent.
It doesn’t matter.
Not anymore.
A breath of air escapes his lips.
He trudges forward, towards the center, partner at his side. Raihan does the same, his steps as easy and nonchalant as they’ve always been. His eyes speak a different story. Perhaps the same one reflected in Leon’s.
It’s bittersweet. It’s the end of an era for both of them. The end of what brought them together in the first place.
Though he’s heard it said where one chapter ends, another is set to begin.
He understands that now. Understands what lies beyond the stands and the stadium and Wyndon, beyond the dazzling lights and blinding camera flashes and frosty mountain caps is far more important than anything he could have gained in a city he doesn’t quite recognize anymore, if he ever did.
His place isn’t here anymore, if it ever was.
Leon offers his hand mechanically, aware he’s crossed over the center of the circle. Raihan looks a bit surprised, but he smiles anyway. A crooked one, filled with mirth and amusement. Leon’s faltering and he knows it.
He doesn’t mind. If there’s anyone to falter in front of, it’s the one person who’s never doubted whether it could happen in the first place.
“Thanks for the champion time.” He speaks, gripping Leon’s hand fiercely. “It’s been one wild run.”
Leon says something in return. He doesn’t know what. He can’t hear himself, but it has Raihan’s hold on him tightening, his lips quivering. He wants to kiss them to make it stop. He doesn’t.
There’s confetti. There’s loud music. There’s a stage and more cheers and there’s Leon holding Raihan’s hand far longer than he should in front of so many people. They’ll talk. They always have. Leon doesn't mind them talking, but there’s an order to these things. He wants to do this properly, with time and preparation and class, so he reluctantly lets go.
He approaches the stage and steps onto it, vaguely aware of the footsteps following behind him. Grounding him. There are blurry faces all around. Men and women dressed in expensive suits, shadowy frowns marring their features. Some he recognizes and resents and others he’s never bothered to acknowledge. They’ve never been important enough for that.
The chairman is there, speaking on a microphone, gesturing around at the fans gathered for a historic moment they aren't aware they are actively part of. He riles them up before he looks to Leon, smiles, and hands over the mic and another trophy to add to the rest of the pile.
Leon looks up. Sees thousands of faces he doesn’t recognize. The ones that really matter aren’t there. He didn’t want them to be caught up in whatever mess could follow. Refused to risk it. It was safer this way.
His own decision disappoints him, but he knows it was the right choice.
Even if they’re not here, he knows somewhere beyond this artificial city are the people who matter. People who have faces and names and see past the title. See little Leon with his banged up knees, missing teeth, and backwards cap.
He knows somewhere, there’s a boy watching him on the telly, waiting for him. Waiting for him to say what needs to be said, what he’s always needed to say, and come home.
Leon wants to go home. He wants it so badly it hurts. Being in Wyndon hurts.
He’s tired of hurting. He wants to be happy.
He wants to be with his boy. The one who’s waiting for him. The one who makes him feel like it's okay to be happy.
He wants to go home.
So he speaks.
He speaks and speaks and speaks, until his voice is hoarse and his throat hurts and the child he once was disappears, replaced by the man he’s sworn to become.
He speaks until he can’t speak anymore. Until he drops the mic. Until he’s being guided away to the rhythm of his public wailing for him.
He feels a familiar hand on his wrist the moment darkness encompasses them. Feels fingers lace between his own, long and cool and steady.
The tension drains out of him, the weight on his shoulders alleviating itself.
His steps feel lighter. He feels like he can breathe.
He sees a light at the end of the tunnel. Can see where it leads.
Home.
Leon wants to go home.
So that’s where he goes.
Leon stirs, a small noise of disapproval working its way out of his throat.
There’s a crick in his neck and an ache in his back, not to mention a very unpleasant burning sensation hitting his face.
Groggily, his eyes flutter open only to immediately close back shut. A veil of late evening sun is enveloping his entire body, the warmth accompanying it reaching unpleasant levels of uncomfortable.
He turns over in an attempt to shield himself from the heat and light, unflinching even as he’s met with Arthur’s maw, his tongue lulling out of his mouth in clear contentedness from where he’s stretched out on the cool, hardwood floor.
Figures the fire-type wouldn’t mind. Off seasons and sunbathing always mellow him out.
It reminds Leon of when he was a Charmander, small and sleepy and still not quite in control of the power bubbling beneath his scales. Uncertain and self-conscious of every move he made. It’s been so long since then. Not that he would ever stop being that Charmander to Leon, no matter how many opponents he burns to a crisp with his flamethrower nor how many times he earns another scar to bear as a badge of honor.
He’ll always be the same, shy little fire dragon.
“Good boy.” Leon murmurs, running a hand over his snout. Arthur snorts in his sleep, a plume of smoke escaping his nostrils. He has to hold back a laugh at the sight. Still a baby, no matter how big and tough he gets.
Sore in every possible way imaginable, Leon forces himself to sit up. The light, silky blanket covering him falls onto his lap, wrinkled and rustled. He doesn’t recall reaching for it, but then, he doesn’t recall falling asleep on the floor either.
A glance to the coffee table speaks of the same story. The paperwork he was hunched over isn’t nearly as messy and haphazardly strewn as he remembers. Piled into neat, discernible subject matter and separated by completion status, Leon is entirely aware it couldn’t have been his doing. His organization skills don’t advance past shoving anything he isn’t currently working on to the side and worrying about how it all matches up later.
He should really get better at that.
Yawning, Leon rubs the sleepiness from his eyes, lackadaisically rising to his feet. He arches his back to relieve the built up tension, wincing at the off-putting cracking sounds that follow. He hates it when Raihan does it. It sounds even worse coming from him.
Shielding his face, he glances outside, eyes snagging on where a small, hazy form is hunched over on the ground. Walking over, his socked feet thumping against the floor, he pushes the sliding door aside from where it’s cracked open.
His vision readjusts. Hop is hunched over the small bed of flowers taking up the majority of the incredibly small, nearly non-existent yard space. His only concession when they set about looking for a place to rent while the stadium undergoes its renovations. Naturally, Leon was loathe to deny his little brother anything and Raihan’s only other criteria was that it be in short walking distance of his beloved stadium for better oversight and easier access.
Thus, a quaint little brownstone townhouse a few blocks over it was, not quite meant to house an entire pack of dragons. Thankfully their kindly landlord, an elderly woman who reminded him of the professor, hadn’t seemed troubled by it at all, effusively proclaiming their presence an honor and rite of passage as a native Hammerlockian. Apparently, assuring the welfare and prosperity of their draconic overlords was law back in the olden days, a fact both Raihan and Hop were very eager to inform him about after the fact.
He can’t help but think back on that as he watches Hop shove his trowel into the soil, Eltanin hovering at his side, clutching a bag of fertilizer. Where his younger sibling once would have cowered, he now easily accepts the proffered help, running a hand along the mon’s neck as thanks.
How times have changed.
“Did you sleep well?” Hop’s voice cuts through the quiet evening. He doesn’t look away from where he’s working. Eltanin, taking note of his presence, shies away, ducking beside his caretaker. He’s a shy one. The only household members besides Hop he’s fully comfortable interacting with are Raihan and Arthur.
Leon doesn’t mind. He does his best to keep his distance and only approach when the skittish Latios feels comfortable.
These things take time.
“Did you tidy everything up?” Leon asks on the heels of another yawn. He’s still drowsy. If the sun hadn’t woken him up, he undoubtedly would have slept through the night.
“You’re so messy.” Hop states in lieu of a proper answer, accepting his Kyogre shaped watering can from Eltanin. A generous gift from Nessa. It’s spotless and well-cared for. “Did you know that?”
“I did.”
Once he’s finished watering, Hop sets the can aside and snaps a few pictures of the end product.
“Marnie wants to see the progress.” He explains, sensing Leon’s questioning gaze. “I’m going to give her these because she’s not good at growing them.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“I like being nice to Marnie.” He pauses, lowering his phone. “I like it when you do nice things for her too.”
“I haven’t done much.” He’s done nowhere near enough. Leon doesn’t want recognition for an act done out of righteousness. He doesn’t want credit for something he should have done ages ago, for a friend who’s nothing like a friend but is one all the same, no matter how much they argue or disagree or want to tear each other’s throats out. It’s only right. That’s all it is.
“She called earlier. They’re on the Isle right now.” His brother presses on, ignoring his words. He’s getting good at dismissing Leon’s dismissals. “She says they’re making good progress. That Piers likes them, even if he pretends he doesn’t. She thinks it can work. For them and for Spikemuth.”
It was a long shot plan, calling in a favor from an old mentor to see if fresh talent and a new gimmick could overcome the lack of a power spot. Leon hadn’t expected much to come of it.
To his surprise (except not really), the master had been all too willing to hear him out and offer up his hospitality, boasting about two particular students with the drive and skill to take Galar’s all star rankings by storm.
So Leon set things up, perhaps a little too preemptively, and sought Piers out with the proposition, expecting a flat out refusal.
To his definite surprise, the prickly gym-leader considered it, showed interest and agreed.
Leon’s not sure why, though it’s not entirely unexpected. For all of Piers’s traditionalist values, he’s always been something of a wild-card when it comes to battling, utilizing the oddest of tactics to confound and demoralize his opponents to the point where type match-ups become irrelevant and trainers are left with spirits crushed beyond repair. Perhaps that’s why he’s taken well to it, Leon thinks, if what Marnie says is accurate.
A triple threat challenge at the end of the road. Meant to test even the hardiest of competitors.
It’s new, it’s fresh, and it’s revitalizing in a way Spikemuth desperately needs.
“That’s good.” Leon says, downplaying his relief. If they’re going to be geographical neighbors, it makes sense to do what he can; promoting positive traffic and sentiments between them is only natural. “I’m glad they’re figuring it out.”
“She also wanted me to pass a message along to you.”
“To me? What is it?”
Hop holds his phone up. A short recording of Marnie’s monotone voice plays from it.
“Thanks for the helpin’ hand, Hop’s big bro. Startin’ to see what yer family sees in ya. Thing is, I’m still comin’ after ya once I get my hands on that crown. Yer goin’ down with that castle of yers.”
“And here I thought I was safe.”
“She’s disappointed.” Hop translates, turning his attention back to his sprouts. “She really wanted to battle you.”
“She still can.”
“Yeah, but not for the championship. It made her sad. I told her it was actually a good thing. Since you don’t have to do any of that annoying stuff anymore, you'll mainly be training and battling. If all you’re doing is training and battling, you’re gonna get even stronger. And if you get even stronger, she can have an even more legendary battle with you.”
“And what did she say?”
“That I was a genius.” Hop sounds embarrassed. “And something about defending my honor. I’m not sure what she meant by that.”
“I think I am.” Marnie isn’t difficult to figure out, in spite of that thousand yard stare of hers. Leon hopes she sticks around, if only for Hop’s sake. “Don’t worry about it.”
“If you say so.” Hop seems unconvinced, but drops the matter. “I told her to take pictures of any interesting mons she sees.”
“Is there anything that can top a Latios?”
“It’s not really about that.” Hop sounds pleased despite his words. It’s good for him to take pride in his Pokémon, Leon thinks. “She said there are lots of mons there we don’t have on the mainland. That there are Zorua.” He looks over his shoulder, lowering his voice. “Marnie said she’s gonna try to catch a Zorua.”
“Piers said yes?”
“He will once she catches one and tells him.”
“That’s one way to go about it.” He would laugh, except he’s in much the same position.
Hop hums in agreement, dusting off his gloves.
Leon steps back once he’s done putting all his gardening tools away, ruffling his hair as he passes by, shutting the door behind them.
Arthur is awake now. He’s sitting up from where he was previously curled up on the floor, toothy yawn shifting into a pleased growl as Eltanin approaches him bashfully, still too shy to openly request affection. Arthur obliges him with a nuzzle, already more attached than Leon’s ever seen him behave.
It’s a soft sort of mentorship, one Leon knows Arthur didn’t receive. It’s patient and doting and kind. It’s Arthur teaching wingspan awareness and indoor etiquette and how not to claw up the sofa lest they anger the humans. It’s Arthur giving his treats over to Eltanin for the sake of spoiling him, glowering at anyone who dares judge him for it or who complains about his obvious favoritism.
“You should go wash up.” Leon says, rolling his shoulders forward and back with a wince. A quick gander at the clock has him clicking his tongue. “I gotta get dinner started. Rai’ll be back soon.”
“Is that really a good idea?”
“It is when Sonia comes ‘round. She left instructions.”
“Will you follow those instructions?”
“Depends. I could get everything done much faster if I cranked up the heat all the way to—“
“Follow the instructions, Leon.”
“You’re no fun.”
“How dare I show concern for the safety of my community?” Hop deadpans, gaze softening upon shifting to his partner. “C’mon, Ellie. It’s bath time!”
Eltanin immediately zips over, excitement clear as day as he follows closely behind, Hop telling him all about the new rubber bath toy he bought for him.
“Why can’t you enjoy bath time that much?” Leon asks Arthur, more than a little put out. “Bath time is supposed to be fun.”
The glare leveled at him speaks volumes. For his own safety, Leon lets the conversation rest, although he really wishes Arthur and Mordred weren’t such massive babies about it. Galahad and his kids were never any trouble.
By the time he manages to get Sonia’s very kind delivery (“growing country kids need hearty country cuisine. you boys better leave your plates clean!”) into the oven, Raihan returns, dragging his feet across the threshold. His back is excessively, almost painfully hunched over. Leon very nearly chides him on the harm he’s doing to his spine and posture, holding back only when he realizes how thoroughly exhausted he looks.
Not that he’s in any position to talk, given how he currently feels like a sixty-year old twenty-one year old.
“Heya muffin.” Raihan drawls tiredly, aiming a kiss at Leon’s temple before draping himself over his back, tossing out the five remaining mons of their unit. Probably not the smartest thing to do in a kitchen that treads the line of kitchenette. Leon doesn’t say anything about it, even if they end up plastered against the stove while a near half-dozen large dragons bicker as they try to squeeze their way out.
“I missed you.” Raihan mumbles.
“Same mate.”
“That is not the homely greeting I was daydreaming about on my way back.”
“Homely is more your thing.”
“Some househusband you are.”
“Again, that’s more your thing.”
“I want a divorce.” Raihan weakly demands, repeatedly head-butting his back. “I deserve better.”
“It’d help if we were married.”
“It’d help if you put a ring on it already.”
“Should I?”
“Of course not.” Raihan immediately replies, his tone nothing short of appalled. “I’m a reigning sovereign. You’ve got years of worshipping and groveling ahead of you.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Don’t be cheeky.” He falls silent. “…I’m tired.”
“Rough day?”
“Construction setbacks. Errors in material shipments. Fuckin’ wind velocity. I spent half the time reexplaining the damn floor-plan, got told I had to give something up after being told everything I wanted was one-hundred percent fuckin’ possible yesterday. And the day before that and the day before that. Had to verify, verified it was possible, and had about a million different people apologizing to me because, apparently, there was a coffee-break mix up and someone hadn’t told someone else about how fuckin’ possible what I want is. Oh, and Mordred accidentally got her tail stepped on by one of the workers. Dee tried to hold her back but got hit instead so they started fighting and Lulu started crying and then Flo started freaking out and it stressed Gwin and Gwen out so much, Galahad forced them back into their pokéball and—”
Raihan sighs heavily.
“It was a shit show.” He ends with. “I wanted to cry.”
“There, there.” Leon slowly turns around, enveloping Raihan in a much needed hug, returned as enthusiastically as he expected it to be. “Today’s almost over. Tomorrow will be brighter, everything will go to plan—“
“—unlikely—“
“—and you’ll have your medieval-modern chic castle all ready to go in no time. And we’ll battle and have fun and everything will be great.”
“That sounds so nice.” Raihan mumbles, twirling a lock of Leon’s hair around his finger. “I just wanna have fun already…”
“I hear ya, Rai.” A little too well, Leon thinks forlornly. The bitterness of the beginning was supposed to pave the way for a sweet future, but that didn’t make the process between now and then any less difficult. He wishes they could skip over all the tedious, annoying parts and get into the entire point of them resigning in the first place. “I hear ya.”
They stand in silence, Raihan leaning all his weight onto him, radiating fatigue.
Then, the sound of footsteps garner Leon’s attention. He sees Hop falter on his way into the room, done with his shower. He winces, likely of the thought he’s interrupted something he shouldn’t have. It's adorable how earnest he can be about instances like these.
“There you are, Hoppip.” He announces, startling his younger brother. “Look, Rai. Hop’s here.”
“Sweet pea?” In a flash, Raihan is across the room, crushing an indignant Hop against his chest. “There’s my ray of sunshine. Just in time to give me a recharge. How’re ya?”
“Mffhmmmfffh.”
“That’s good. I’m glad.”
“Mffhhphhphhmff.”
“I’m suffocating you? Aw, that hurts. I’m just trying to show you I care.”
“Mfhfhfhmmmphh!”
“Literally?" Raihan blinks, easing his grip. He holds him out. Hop glares from where he’s dangling in the air, his iconic grumpy pout making yet another appearance. “Sorry about that, mate. Wasn’t intentional.”
“Yes it was!”
“It was?”
“Yes!”
“I dunno…”
“It was! It definitely was!”
“Hey, is that Ellie? How’s my sweet boy?” Raihan disappears into the living area, Hop tucked under his arm, whistling over his fervent complaints about propriety and proper manners.
Leon fondly shakes his head at their antics and focuses his attention back on the oven. He couldn't afford to get distracted.
It isn't long before the timer on his phone goes off. After ensuring all of the mons are set up with their own meals, they settle down to eat in the living area, because what does having any semblance of room in a high traffic neighborhood even mean?
“Stop sharing, Hop.” Raihan chides, eyeing him sternly. “El has his own food. It’s a bad habit to break once you start.”
“I’m not.” He denies, glumly retracting his offer from Eltanin, who returns to his attention to his own plate at Arthur’s strict suggestion.
Leon’s heart goes out to them, but rules are rules. There needs to be some semblance of order in a group as rowdy as theirs. He doesn’t want to imagine otherwise.
“The folks from the Battle Tree got back to me today.” Raihan informs them once he’s sure Hop won’t be attempting any more funny business. “While I was up at the stadium.”
“That was fast.” Leon was expecting a little more grandstanding. A call within a day or two wasn’t very common at all. The Battle Maison still hadn’t gotten back to them, and Raihan had called over a month ago. “What did they say?”
“Couldn’t really talk much since I had to head over to the chambers for somethin’, but they said they’d be happy to help. They don’t get a lot of reach out apparently.”
“They should. They actually call back.”
“Reckon it’s the lack of a legacy or whatever the hell the other regions wanna call it.” Raihan shrugs. “They’re still trying to establish themselves. Can’t be easy when the rest of the world only views you as a tropical paradise getaway.”
It’s true enough. Alola’s league is still a fledging power within the rest of the world’s circuit, the Battle Tree faring much the same within the frontier sector. However, that was not to say their trainers were anything short of exemplary. Underestimating their strength in any capacity would be a fatal error in judgment.
“Did you manage to get anything down?” Leon inquires, eager for any information that could help them.
“Nope.” Ah well. “There wasn’t any time and it was way too loud. I think they could tell I wasn’t prepared for it, which brings me to the very interesting proposition they made me.”
“Which is?”
“Flying over there and seeing everything in person.” Raihan explains without further preamble. “Said they’d be more than happy to teach us the ins and outs of Battle Tree management. In return, all we gotta do is join ‘em for a few publicity events.”
“Are we allowed to do that?” Leon’s brows furrow. “Legally?”
Raihan regards him with amusement.
“You’re a free agent now, Lee. You can do whatever the hell you want.”
“Oh yeah.” Huh. Weird. And here Leon was about to call his legal team to ask if his muzzle still extended to different regions. “All right. Let’s go.”
“That’s a very hasty ‘let’s go’.”
“What have we got to lose? We can go over the theoretical as many times as we want, but first hand experience with running a place like that is way more valuable. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to make a few connections along the way. Never know when they might come in handy.”
Raihan looks away briefly, the extended pause he takes shrouded in uncertainty. In the time Leon considers asking what his reservations are, he’s already moving the conversation along to Hop.
“What do you think, Hopscotch? How’s a vacation to Alola sound?”
“You just said it’s a trip for work.” Hop frowns. “How is that a vacation?”
“We don’t have to go there just for work.” Raihan grins, his eyes twinkling mischievously. And so his true motives reveal themselves. “That’d be a waste! We can check out the sights and then head to the Battle Tree. C’mon, think of all the mons native to their islands you haven’t seen before. Wouldn’t you like to?”
“I guess I would.” Hop thoughtfully taps his chin. “If we went to the beach, I bet…” He trails off with an effusive nod. “Yes. I’d like that. Can we?”
“What’s the cap’n of this ship think?” Raihan looks to Leon. “I mean, if anyone needs a vacation, it’s definitely you, right?”
“He fell asleep today. While he was going over paperwork.” Hop tattles to supplement proof of the claim. Leon hardly finds any room to feel betrayed when he catches sight of the concerned expression on his face. “Again.”
Leon can’t really argue against that. Not with Raihan and Hop preemptively shutting down any possible defenses on his side with two equally as powerful glowers.
Admittedly, pulling all-nighters multiple times a week hasn’t been beneficial to his sleep schedule. Paperwork is really only the least of his concerns, what with the dozen or so trips back and forth between Wyndon and Hammerlocke he's been tasked with, trying to iron out all the fine print legalities while simultaneously keeping up cordial relations with an organization he couldn’t care less about; not after all the trouble they’ve caused him for the past decade of his life.
They may not exercise power over him anymore, but that doesn’t mean he wants to cause trouble, especially not with Nessa, Piers or anyone else working under them. They can do their thing and Leon will do his, helping out where he can and outwitting the dunces somehow leading Galar’s battling scene with an iron fist. With any luck, the chairman would make good on his promises of restructuring, however far-off a dream it seems.
There’s so much to do all the time. Leon can’t remember the last time he slept on his bed, not the sofa or the floor or the shoddy makeshift office they set up in the way too cramped hallway supply closet.
Leon can’t recall ever being this exhausted, not even when he was champion. Perhaps that’s more because he couldn’t afford to be back then. Not with superiors breathing down his neck. Not with crowds to please and battles to win and million-watt champion smiles to force. Without a rigid schedule packed with meetings upon photoshoots upon publicity events upon even more meetings, it’s as if his body is demanding he make up for the years gone by without proper rest. Now that it has a choice, it's choosing to be tired.
Arceus, he wants to sleep.
“I…think that’s for the best.” Leon answers, eventually, unable to hold back a smile at Raihan’s whooping and Hop’s unreserved cheers.
Even if it’s traveling with an endgame of field research, a change in scenery will do them all some good. Alola is beautiful from what he's seen of those tempting advertisements in magazines he's still being splashed on, front and center.
It's a treasure trove of natural beauty and wonder. That's how his father described it at least.
Maybe he’s there too. Or maybe not. Maybe he’s on the other side of the world without any intent on returning.
That would probably be best.
Leon still isn’t sure what their next meeting would mean for either of them.