Work Text:
He’s finally gotten into the rhythm of it all. He does rounds, he does appointments, he meets with his supervisor. He reads up on the most recent research. It’s all starting to look up for him, which is a welcome relief after the last four years, filled with days upon days of studying, toiling, and memorizing. He’s even met some, should he say, very attractive women in his program. And some of them are even starting to notice him, too.
He’s still struck by the occasional pang of melancholy, of course. His siblings are getting so big, and he’s not there for them. Forrest’s been looking out for them ever since Brock left, really, nine years ago. Even though his father showed up, Brock knew he was shouldering all of the burden onto his younger brother, which wasn’t really fair. But he’d done it anyway, and now they’re all so big. He thinks they’ve turned out okay enough; he visits them at every chance he can get. This residency took him to Celadon, which means it’s a few hours’ train ride to Pewter, but he doesn’t mind the trip. Holidays and long weekends and everything he can, he’s there.
There’s other people he misses, too. Misty, who he sees once every few months; whether he makes the trip there or she comes to him.
And then there’s Ash. Ash, who he hasn’t heard from in eight or nine months, who he hasn’t been able to get ahold of, who went completely off the grid after the entire world turned their eyes on him after the World Coronation. Ash, who he hasn’t been able to spend more than a few nights with since after their journey through Sinnoh finished and Brock buckled down to start on his dream. Ash, who was convincing enough at age ten to get Brock to drop his entire life and follow him anywhere he went. Ash, who gave Brock the greatest journey of his life. Ash, who took them to the end of the world and beyond.
Ash, who Brock swears he just saw in the waiting room.
He passes out of view again and Brock completely halts, scanning the crowd. No Ash. Arceus, he’s going crazy. It must be these crazy hours the residency is putting him through. He’s just tired, and he’s imagining things. Ash wouldn’t be here. Ash is in Paldea, last he heard.
Brock brings his hand up the bridge of his nose and pinches it between his thumb and his index finger. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, before opening them. Okay.
He glances one more time at the spot he thought he saw Ash, and he sees it again. Spiky black hair and a pikachu on his shoulder.
Wait, a pikachu on his shoulder? That’s unique enough that it makes Brock turn his body fully. And then the boy with a pikachu on his shoulder starts running closer, and no, Brock wasn’t hallucinating. That’s Ash.
What’s Ash doing here?
“Brock!” Ash shouts, rapidly approaching him. The crowd of people waiting with sick pokemon all turn their heads, as do some of Brock’s coworkers. Brock is so stunned that he doesn’t even respond until Ash is right in front of him. Pikachu shouts a familiar set of syllables that Brock hasn’t heard in a long time but even now he remembers that it’s his name.
“Brocko!” Ash says, both his hands grabbing the straps of his backpack, bouncing on his heels. “How’ve you been!”
Brock blinks. “Ash! What are you doing here?”
Anyone else might’ve been offended by the blunt question, but Ash just smiles bigger. “Misty mentioned that you’re in Celadon, but she didn’t say where, so I’ve just been visiting all the Pokemon Centers and hospitals until I found you!”
Ash is crazy, Brock thinks. This is not a new sentiment. This is what he’s always thought. It’s why he even followed Ash in the first place, nine years ago. (Was it really that long ago?)
Before Brock can find the words to respond, another familiar voice calls. “Ash! Ash, wait for me!”
And then Delia Ketchum comes running into view, a pack on her back and a caterpie in her arms. Brock’s starting to put the pieces together.
“Hello, Brock!” Delia says politely, once she catches up to them. “It’s very nice to see you! Why, don’t you look handsome in that white lab coat!”
Despite himself, Brock blushes. Even though she’s Ash’s mom, she’s very pretty, and when a pretty woman compliments him there’s nothing he can do but be overwhelmed by it. “Mrs. Ketchum,” Brock greets, with a smile. “It’s my pleasure. Am I mistaken, or are you and Ash traveling together?”
Ash bounces up. “We are! We’re going on a journey!” Pikachu agrees, as well, chattering excitedly. The caterpie in Delia’s arms says something, joining in on the clamor.
“That’s very exciting!” Brock says. “Hey, I’m off in an hour - what do you say we catch up after that?”
Ash smiles. “That sounds great, Brock!” Without further ado, he turns around and runs out the door, and Delia is torn between looking after him a little exasperatedly and back to Brock. She says, “It’s been a pleasure! See you in an hour!” before running off after him. Brock is left watching the two of them as they leave, and it feels like everyone’s eyes are on him. He shakes his head, not able to control the goofy smile on his face. That was classic Ash, and he feels all his memories of four years on the road with Ash rushing back to him, a swirl of laughs and fights and battles and nights around a campfire. He can’t believe Ash is back. He can’t believe Ash is here. He’s so excited. He wants to run after them. He wants to follow them on their journey. He wants to never leave Ash’s side again.
Despite this, he turns around and goes to finish his shift. No matter how much he tries, he can’t get the smile to leave his face.
Finally, after another hour, he’s off, and he’s never left faster than he has today. On his way out he grabs a coffee for himself and for Delia, and a green tea for Ash. It’s cold out, and he bundles up, and he finds them waiting outside, at a little greenyard nearby the hospital. When Ash spots him, he stands up, and Pikachu jumps down, running up to Brock and leaping up into his arms. Brock’s forced to make room for him, even with the three drinks he’s holding, and it only takes Ash’s fast reaction time to stop him from dropping them.
“Pikachu,” he chastises, “you’ve gotta be more considerate!”
Brock laughs. “So Pikachu’s still got that naughty streak, huh?”
Pikachu, who’s been rubbing his cheeks against Brock’s chest, complains, and Ash laughs. “You betcha he does.”
This is so great. Brock can’t believe this is happening. He’s so happy Ash is here. He’s so happy Delia’s on a journey with him. He always got the sense that she wanted to do it too, even if she never said it.
It’s starting to get dark, and Brock suggests that they all head back to his apartment. “We don’t want to crowd you out,” Delia says, politely. “You don’t have to put us up.”
“It would be by pleasure, Mrs. Ketchum” he assures her. “It’s the least I can do.”
It’s a twenty minute walk back to his apartment, and on the way they catch up a bit, their hands warmed by the drinks. So, they’ve been on the road for almost three months, and they recently hit Misty’s gym. “Mom got a Cascade badge! She won against Misty! Oh, Brock, she was so cool! She was all like - pow! And then Misty fought back too, and she was awesome, with a - more like a boom! But then Mom totally closed the deal with some great moves from Swiny, and it was so cool! Right, Catty?”
The caterpie in Delia’s arms chirrups. Delia smiles abashedly. “Oh, I don’t know about all that. But thank you for the praise, Ash.”
Brock smiles at her. “I wouldn’t be so humble, Mrs. Ketchum. Ash doesn’t give out battling praise unless he really means it, and you know how talented he is - right, mister Pokemon Master?”
It’s Ash’s turn to act sheepish, rubbing his neck. “I don’t know if I’d call it that. Not yet, anyway. I’ve still got to be better if I’m gonna become a Pokemon Master!”
Gods. They’re the exact same. It’s like one of them’s a ditto. It’s unnerving. Brock shares a look with Pikachu.
“So, Mrs. Ketchum, you’ve been catching some pokemon?”
“Yes!” she says. “I’ve caught two so far. This is Catty, who you’ve already met. And I caught a swinub too, named Swiny.”
Brock smiles. “Sounds like you’ve got a theme with your names.”
Delia laughs. “Yes, well. I like it like that.”
Ash is smiling at his Mom, and he’s so proud of her. It’s the same smile he gave May when she would compete in contests, or Dawn when she won a ribbon.
Or him, when he realized he wanted to be a Pokemon Doctor.
Brock’s really missed Ash. He can always feel it, but he never realized quite so much until Ash was right in front of him.
They get to the apartment, and Brock lets them in. “Whoa,” Ash exclaims. “Brock! This is so cool!”
Brock smiles. “Welcome to my humble home,” he says. “Please, make yourselves at home.”
Ash takes off his shoes before stepping through the door, sets down his backpack, and then jumps onto Brock’s sofa. “Ash!” Delia chides. Brock laughs. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Ketchum,” he says. “I’m as familiar with Ash’s habits as you are.”
They share a smile, and Ash peeks his head up at both of them. “Are you making fun of me?” he asks. “Yes,” Brock answers, and Ash pouts for a minute before smiling again.
Brock lets Croagunk out of its ball, and Ash jumps up. “Croagunk!” he shouts. “Croagunk, how you been?”
Croagunk croaks in response, and Ash nods his head stolidly, like Croagunk is telling something of great importance. Maybe it is. Delia lets out Swiny, and Mimey, and Brock bends down to greet the two newcomers.
Delia offers to cook, saying that she couldn’t possibly expect Brock to cook for them too, not after he’s offering them his home, and he shoos her. “Mrs. Ketchum, please,” he says. “It would be my honor to cook for you. Ash has been comparing my cooking to yours for a very long time.”
And so Brock gets to work cooking in the kitchenette, while Ash and his mom regale him with tales of their travels. He trades them stories about med school and his residency so far. He sets the tea to brewing exactly the way Ash loved it back when they traveled together. He pulls out practically everything he has in the fridge, thankful that he went grocery shopping yesterday. He makes Ash’s favorite meal. He listens, but he watches too, warmth blooming in his chest at the familiar way Ash moves; how he smiles when he talks, and bounces in his chair, and lets his arms fly through the air. Pikachu’s curling up on his lap, eyes closed.
And then dinner is ready, and it goes by in a blur. Brock lets himself sink into it, the warm food and the good company. He’s just realizing, now, how lonely he’s been. He has Croagunk, here, but that’s the only company he has most of the time. He had to leave the rest of his pokemon in Pewter at the gym for his siblings to look after, because he just doesn’t have the space or time to take care of his pokemon here in the city. He misses them, though. He misses his friends. He’s got a few friends in the program, but it’s not the same. It’s never the same.
The way Ash talks through mouthfuls of food, foregoing chewing entirely; the way he keeps saying “Oh my gosh, Brock, this is so good,” Brock can almost pretend that they’re back on a journey; sitting around the fire, eating food Brock toiled to make, tired to the bone from a full day of travel and training, the sound of all their pokemon gobbling up their own dinners in the background. The auburn of Delia’s hair, in the warm lighting of his apartment, can almost be mistaken for the orange of Misty’s in the firelight. Almost.
But it’s not, and it’s been six years since then, and Brock has to reckon with that no matter how much he doesn’t want to. Sometimes he desperately wishes he could pull back time, like a rope he’s lost grasp of, and if he just got the right hold of it, if he just pulled back hard enough, he could wake up back on a journey with Ash and Misty, every single day lasting a lifetime, the road stretching ahead ahead ahead of them, nothing between them and their dreams except the very next step.
Ash has really grown, Brock thinks, considering him. Gods, he’s still so small, and it scares Brock, sometimes, when he sees Ash in the news or watches old League videos or gets the rare chance to see him in person, how young he looks. How young he is. Because he was ten nine years ago, and he’s certainly not ten anymore - and Brock can tell, he really can. He’s taller, though Brock still towers over him, even if he hadn’t gotten the growth spurt he got after starting med school. He’s got lean muscle, and Brock thinks about that time Ash effortlessly lifted and threw a giant log. He’s got more scars, from the exposure of journeying. He’s more tan. He’s not quite as awkwardly lanky as he was during Sinnoh. But he still looks like the little kid Brock first chased across the country, and he knows that’s why so many people underestimate him. He’s still got such a youthfulness about him. Brock knows he’ll never lose that. If he hadn’t lost it by the time Brock left, if he didn’t lose it after whatever happened in Kalos - Brock still doesn’t know all the details, but he knows it was bad, and he knows Ash was at the center of it - and if he still hasn’t lost it by now, then Brock knows he won’t ever.
And that’s good. That’s good.
But gods, the more he looks at Ash, the more worried he gets. There’s something about him. Brock can’t even place it. He’s smiling, and he’s acting normal, and he’s got all the same mannerisms. But there’s this heavy air about him that Brock isn’t even sure isn’t just his imagination. But it’s striking him and it’s itching at the back of his head and he really needs to find a moment to talk to Ash alone before he steps out of his life once again and Brock doesn’t get the chance to see him for another two years.
They wind down as the night grows later. Brock sets down blankets and tries to make the space as comfortable for them as he can. He has a studio, so they’re all going to be sleeping in the same room, but he’s sure that Ash and Delia don’t mind, and he certainly doesn’t. He’s been sharing a living space ever since he had even one sibling, and he never stopped until he came here for residency. Yes, he certainly doesn’t mind this place being filled with bodies.
Delia and Ash lay down, and Brock dims the lights. He keeps on a light by his bed so he can do some studying. He’s been reading for about thirty minutes when he notices that Ash very quietly sits up. Brock watches him look over at his mom, look down at Pikachu, who’s been roused by the movement, and then look at him. Brock makes eye contact with him, quietly closing the book he’s been studying. He angles his head, signaling Ash to come over, and he smiles awkwardly, and looks like he’s going to deny the offer, before he looks down at his mom and then relents and picks his way over to Brock's bed.
Not sitting down yet, Ash stands next to the bed. “What’cha doin’, Brocko?” Ash whispers, with this forced sort of casualness. He fumbles with his hands, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. Pikachu is sitting at his feet, looking up at the both of them. “Studying,” Brock answers. “But it’s not something I need to do tonight. Want to catch up?”
At this, Ash smiles, tension disappearing from his shoulders, and he clambers onto the bed. It squeaks, and it’s loud enough that Brock’s worried Delia will wake up, but she doesn’t. If she’s Ash’s mom, Brock supposes, she has to be a deep enough sleeper to not be woken by her son’s incessant movement. Mew knows that Misty had to learn that, after enough angry mornings.
Ash’s legs are longer than they used to be. Even though he’s grown out of some of his lankiness, it still seems like he doesn’t know quite what to do with his legs. He ends up folding them under him in a way that Brock thinks would be uncomfortable, but Ash has always been weirdly flexible like that.
Brock wants to ask what’s wrong - what’s causing this nearly invisible weight, what’s causing those tiny glances between him and Pikachu, even more than usual. What’s causing this awkwardness around one of his oldest friends. But he knows that he has to build up to that, or Ash will try to flee, just like he always has.
It feels risky, too, to ask about Paldea. Or, at least, the heart of it. Even though Ash is impulsive, that was a bit much - going completely off the grid with just him and Pikachu, not even a phone call home. Gods, the only reason Brock knew Ash was still alive was the occasional sighting in Paldea, from those people that cared about the World Coronation. Paldea’s always been a bit removed from that whole thing, Brock’s pretty sure. He’s never paid much attention to the region, considering how far away it is. Not until Ash fled there.
So he ends up saying: “Did you meet any cool pokemon, in Paldea?”
This makes Ash smile. He starts out loud, and then quickly quiets himself back down to a whisper. “Oh, yeah!” he says. “There were so many! There was this pokemon kind of like incineroar, except it was a grass-dark instead of fire-dark - it was called meowscarada! And then, there was this other little guy that Pikachu ended up really getting along with - pawmi! It was orange, like dedenne, but a little bigger. And then I met a variation of wooper! It was dark brown instead of blue, and it was poison-ground instead of water-ground! And - oh, Brock, there were so many. It was real cool.”
Brock smiles, nodding. He starts thinking about what it would be like to treat a poison-type wooper instead of a water-type wooper, and how that would affect its anatomy, and if it would have poison pouches, and where they’d likely be, and then he has to reel himself back in. Not the time.
He thinks about how to word his next question. “So…what prompted you and your mom to go on a journey together? It’s not something I would’ve expected you to…”
“What, because it’s so unbelievable that I’d want to travel with Mom?” Ash responds, before immediately physically recoiling at his words. “Mew, sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”
He looks down at his hands for a moment, which he holds open in his lap. “Honestly, though, it’s not…you’d be right to question that, if that was what you were talking about.” He’s got a wry smile on his face. “I haven’t been a very good son. Or friend, really.”
Brock doesn’t have a response immediately for that. Mostly, he’s just watching Ash; very, very closely. Ash continues. “I haven’t talked to you in a long time, huh? And when I went and visited Misty, she was so surprised to see me, even though I used to drop in on her all the time in between journeys, and she didn’t know that Mom and I were traveling together, and it made me realize that I haven’t talked to you guys in...I can’t even remember how long.”
Ash is very purposefully avoiding Brock’s eye contact, even though he’s leaning his head to try and catch his eye. “But to answer your question…I, uh, went home one day. I was just gonna visit for a little bit, but then Mom said she had a dream to go on a journey, so I said go for it! And now we’re here. It’s been pretty cool. Mom’s havin’ so much fun.”
“And you too?” Brock asks. At this, Ash looks at him. His smile turns a bit more real. “Yeah, me too. You know, we saw this really cool thing. There were some lumineon in the ocean, and they were lit up bright blue. It was like stars. And Mom and I swam around, and I just thought about how happy she is - happier than I think I’ve ever seen her. And it’s good, but it kinda made me feel bad. I didn’t realize how sad she was, before.”
Brock blinks past the apparent fact that Ash and his mom went swimming in the ocean recently, like in the middle of winter recently, because even though he knows that’s a crazy dangerous thing to do, it’s classic Ash, and he’s not in the position where he can chide Ash for his impulsive behavior anymore, because he no longer has that claim over his friend. Not quite in the same way. Besides, the second part is more important. “Ash,” Brock says, “it’s not your fault that your mom was sad. You were just a kid.”
Ash smiles at him. He doesn’t believe him, but he’s not fighting it either, just kind of quietly acknowledging it, and Brock hates when he does this, because it means no matter how much he wants to argue with Ash, wants to impress into him that not everything is his fault, it will never get through.
But there’s something more. There’s something more than this, and it’s scaring Brock. It’s scaring him because he still can’t figure out what’s wrong, and he’s always been able to wheedle Ash into admitting something he doesn’t want to. Ash is damn good at talking his way out of vulnerability, but that’s always just meant that Brock has had to be better. “You’ve been traveling in the cold,” Brock says. “Have you and your mom been warm enough? We always stopped traveling for a few weeks at the coldest part of the season.”
Ash chuckles. “We’ve been really bundled up. Gosh, Brock, my mom makes me wear so many layers I feel like an overgrown furfrou!”
Brock laughs, too. He can believe it. Delia’s always seemed the overprotective type, for the most part. There’s been…other times, where Brock thought she wasn’t protective enough. Thought that if any of his siblings were in Ash’s position, at some point, he wouldn’t act the way Delia had. But it’s not his family, and it’s not his position to criticize Delia, when she’s brought up Ash to be so good.
“How have you been,” Brock pushes, “I know you’ve never been a huge fan of the cold. Ever since we got stuck in that mountains way back when…”
Something in Ash’s expression changes, and then it’s gone. He laughs. “Wow, this is really starting to feel like an interrogation, Brocko. Wanna go ahead and cuff me to the table?”
And this is a sign that Brock is getting somewhere. Whenever Ash starts to catch on to what Brock is doing, he pushes back, snide remarks and laughs and everything. The angrier he gets, the more he smiles.
Still, he needs to direct the conversation away, give Ash a moment to breathe. If he goes to far too fast, Ash is going to run away, and that’s going to make everything worse. So he relents. “You know, with Croagunk hanging around the apartment, no one’s there to poison jab me or grab me by the ear. I’ve flirted with a few girls.”
This earns a real smile. “Really?” Ash asks. “By flirt, do you mean you immediately propose to them the second you see them?”
“Har har,” Brock responds. “No, I’ve scaled it back, if you can believe it. I’ve even been on a few dates.”
This gets Ash to completely shift his body towards him. “No way,” he says. “And how did they go?”
“Good! It was nice.” Brock gets a mischievous smile. “In fact, the bed you’re on has seen some action.”
This makes Ash cringe, a full body shiver coursing through him. “Ew!” he barely remembers to whisper. “Brock, that’s disgusting! Oh my gods, why’d you tell me that?”
Brock laughs. Man, it’s good to see this side of the kid he’s long since thought of as his little brother. Once they both laugh and calm down, Brock continues. “Nothing ever came of them, but I think that’s got more to do with the fact that no one has time for a relationship.”
Ash nods his head. “This thing takes up a lotta time?”
“Oh, yeah. I barely have time for anything else.”
“You’re working hard?”
“Working harder than I ever have.”
“That’s good,” Ash says, nodding his head resolutely. “It’s good to work hard at your dream. Otherwise, doesn’t feel like you’ve earned it.”
Ash has just given him the perfect segue, and Brock silently thanks him for it. “Speaking of,” he says. “What’s next? After Pokemon Master?”
“After? I haven’t gotten there yet.”
“You won the World Coronation, Ash. You beat nearly every Champion there is. You’re theoretically the best pokemon trainer in the world. What do you mean, you’re not there yet?”
Ash looks uncomfortable. “That was just one competition. I’m not sayin’, I mean, my pokemon were really great. They won fair and square - we won, fair and square, together. But who knows if we’d win again, you know? One competition can’t determine the best trainer out there. It was luck that I was against the people I ended up being up against. And we pulled through by our skill. But there’s always gonna be more battles. More people, more pokemon, more battles against the same people and pokemon. I’m not a Pokemon Master, not yet. I’ll get there one day, but that day isn’t today.”
It’s an incredibly wise statement. Brock wants to be surprised at Ash’s wisdom, but he’s not. Ash has always been smart, and he’s earned that wisdom through his nine years of travels. Nine years of travels filled with far more turmoil than most people face in their entire lifetime. Ash has earned that wisdom, through disasters and fights for his life and facing up against the very creators of this world. Of course Ash is wise. Of course he wouldn’t just take a title and think he’s earned his goal. Besides, if he’d really become a Pokemon Master, what would be next? That’s been his whole life. What would he do after that?
“I guess what I mean,” Brock responds, “is - practically. You’re on a journey with your mom. But what’s next? Challenging the Leagues again? Gym battles? Going for Elite Four or Champion in another region?”
Ash bites his lip. “That’s a lotta pressure,” he says. “I’m just - you know I never think that far ahead. I’m on a journey with Mom right now, and that’s that. It’s her turn to chase her dream right now. I’m…I’m just letting her take the reins for a little while. You know?”
Brock nods his head. He does know. “I think that’s great, Ash,” he says. He really does mean it. “There’s no shame in taking a break.”
“I’m not taking a break. People take a break when something’s wrong.”
Again, Ash is once again giving him the perfect chance to catch him. He’s usually better at avoiding these conversational pitfalls (not Team Rocket related, surprisingly). It’s enough that Brock almost wonders if he’s doing it on purpose. If he wants Brock to push. If he knows that’s the only way he’ll spill, if Brock pushes him hard enough.
So he pushes.
“ Is there something wrong?”
Somewhere along the way, Ash had pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging his arms around them. He squeezes tighter. “ No,” he says. It sounds like even he doesn’t believe it.
“No, there’s nothing wrong?”
Ash purses his lips. “That’s right. There’s nothing wrong. Mom and I are on a journey and we’re having an awesome time and she’s catching pokemon and I’m getting to see you and Misty and I haven’t seen you in a long time and I’m having a lot of fun. There’s nothing wrong.”
He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than anyone else. Pikachu, who’s been watching this whole thing very closely but not reacting, rises up, walking a few paces closer to Ash, until they’re touching. He’s got a look that says: I would destroy the whole world just for you to be okay. It’s sobering, the depth of that expression. The depth of their care for each other. It’s always been sobering, especially in those moments when Ash has nearly killed himself to save Pikachu. When he’s thrown himself from cliffs and into icy water and frozen and drowned and everything else, just so that Pikachu will be okay. When he tackled a powerful pokemon because it dared to insinuate that their relationship wasn’t as strong as it really was.
“It doesn’t sound like you believe that,” Brock says. Ash looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. “I do,” he protests. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
“Here,” Brock says. He gets up, walking a few paces to the kitchen. Ash follows him, Pikachu at his heels. Brock sets to making jasmine tea, just the way Ash likes it. They stand in silence, the two of them, while they wait for the water to heat. Brock makes one for Ash, one for him, and then they sit on the ground, blowing on it to cool.
“There is something wrong,” Brock finally says. “I’ve been able to tell it ever since about halfway through dinner.”
Ash looks directly at his eyes, a type of intensity and closeness he rarely offers. “Is it really that easy?”
“Well,” he says, and then pauses, sipping his tea. He’s trying to figure out how best to word this. “Not everyone’s known you as long as I have.”
“ Mom has,” Ash says. “And she’s the one I’m worried about.”
Brock considers how to amend his statement. “Not everyone’s spent as much time with you as I have, not since things started being wrong.”
It’s Ash’s turn to sip his tea and let the silence simmer between them. There’s a long stretch of quiet. When Brock brings himself to glance away from Ash, he notices that it’s two in the morning. Wow, already?
“I guess it’s just,” Ash says. And then stops. “Aw, you don’t wanna hear about this, Brock.”
He tries not to huff in frustration. It’s always the worst, when he gets so close, and Ash suddenly realizes how close he is to getting down into that little core of his that he holds so tightly protected it’s never seen the light of day, and tries to backtrack. “I do,” Brock counters. “Ash, come on.” And, maybe it’s a bit of a dirty trick, playing on Ash’s guilt, when he already carries so much of it Brock’s surprised he hasn’t toppled over, but Ash is playing dirty too, backtracking when they’ve gotten so close. “I haven’t seen you in so long, and you haven’t even called. Don’t leave me hanging.”
Ash grimaces, and Brock feels terrible, but he can’t take it back. “Okay,” he relents. “There’s just - there’s something really wrong with me, Brock. Really, totally wrong with me. And I don’t know what it is.”
Brock looks very intensely at him, prompting him to continue. “It’s like - I keep seeing things and then I imagine people dying. And I go into a city and I see the streets full of people and I think, like, what if a pokemon came and flamethrowered all of them, and they all just died, or, like, what if the ground just opened up and they all fell in, and then it closed around them and they died of suffocation. Or what if another disaster happened, and everyone died this time. It was never like this. I never thought about it this much, people dyin’, and all the ways they could. All the ways…Mom could, or Pikachu could, or I could, too. I don’t want everyone else to learn what it feels like.”
It’s this last statement that haunts Brock the most. He’s known - he’s always sort of known, although Ash has never talked about it so directly. He’s always had the inkling that Ash has - that he knows what it’s like, to die. Brock thinks he knows, too; back in the Tree of Life…but even that, it wasn’t…it wasn’t real. They came back. And Ash came back, too. But he just has always had this horrible horrible feeling that Ash has died, really died, and come back. He remembers that one time, back at the very beginning of their journey, when they had that really heavy rainstorm, and nothing happened that day because they spent the night in the Pokemon Center, but he also had a dream that they’d gone out on a boat through the storm and they’d met a strange, strange pokemon, and he woke up feeling like Ash had died. And he’d scrambled out of bed and seen Ash sleeping on the top bunk, alive and breathing, but Brock had felt like it was so real, and that feeling still lingers, even now. And after that, all those disasters, all those times Brock lost track of Ash and just got this sinking feeling inside of him like he’d just lost something so precious to him that he’d never be the same. And it never really made sense, because stuff like that isn’t real - you don’t have those sorts of psychic links with people. Except that, like, all those legendaries Brock wasn’t sure were real, like Arceus and Mew, and Dialga and Palkia, are, and he’s met all of them and more, and so he doesn’t really think he can rule anything out of the realm of possibility, not anymore. Not after everything.
And so it is this that haunts Brock the most. It’s the most direct Ash has ever been about it, and yet he still doesn’t say it. He still shies away from saying what he really means. I don’t want everyone else to learn what it feels like.
“When did this start?” he asks, and he immediately regrets it, because he’s starting to sound like a doctor, and he knows Ash hates that. But Ash, surprisingly, doesn’t cringe away. Not yet.
“I dunno. I feel like it’s been coming for a long time, now. Like nine years, long time.”
Yeah, Brock thinks. Yeah.
It surprises him, what comes out next. He curses himself even more. “Did anything happen in Paldea? Was there another disaster?”
Ash looks right at him, that intense eye contact once again. Brock holds it. They’re locked in a staring contest.
Sometimes, too, and Brock would never say this aloud: Ash scares him. With his inhuman strength, and the way he can understand pokemon, and the way he has the power to control the very metaphysical, warping blue energy with his hands; the way legendaries flock to him and he always does these incredible feats. The way he ascended from a scrawny kid who always had a fire in him to the best pokemon trainer in the entire world.
Mostly, though, with the way he gets so quiet, sometimes. The way he holds that intense gaze, unrelenting.
The way that Brock could swear Ash could reach in and pull out his very soul.
He loves Ash with such a fiery protectiveness that Brock would give his life for Ash’s in a heartbeat.
But sometimes, in moments like these, he’s just a little scared.
Ash holds the intense stare for a moment longer, before breaking it. “No, not really," he says. "That’s not really why I went home. There was - it tried, sort of. But I stopped it before it became anything. I just…” he trails off, sipping his tea. It’s probably cold by now. “I wanted to be home. I wish I could stay. I wish I was the type of person who could stay.”
It’s a curse, Brock knows. Ash will probably never be able to stay.
“I wish you were, too.”
Ash purses his lips. The quiet is thick, and uncomfortable. “Well,” he says. “It’s gettin’ real late. Come on, Pikachu.” He stands, setting his teacup in the sink. “Thanks for the tea, Brock,” Ash says. “And, you know. The other stuff, too.”
With that, he turns his back, heading to his mom, and laying down next to her, his back towards the kitchen.
And that’s that, Brock thinks. He’s left with something sour in his mouth. He feels like he messed up. He feels like that could’ve gone way better. He feels like there’s something he could’ve said.
He stares at Ash’s back for a long time. He wonders where it all went wrong. He wonders if there was ever a way it could’ve gone right. He wonders what would’ve happened if he hadn’t left Ash, after Sinnoh. He wonders if…if he’d traveled with him to Unova and beyond. Brock knows something changed after Unova. More changed after Kalos. He wonders if there was anything he could’ve done.
As he’s walking back to his bed, he sees it. Delia, looking right at him. He can’t read her expression. He knows it isn’t anything good.
There is this horrible dread, in the pit of his stomach. It’s like an anvil.
He wonders when he stopped being able to protect Ash, and started hurting him instead.
Brock turns away from Delia, and crawls under his covers, turning off his studying light. He isn’t able to sleep for a long time.