Work Text:
Volo didn’t like his time in Galar.
Maybe it was the monotony of food. Every major restaurant had curry as its signature dish, so it was apparent how easily one who traveled the world could tire.
Maybe it was because everyone made a huge deal of the league. Nowhere else he’d been had ever made it into a national sports event. Then again, Alola’s near-equivalent was a cultural tradition, and Volo had loved Alola. Galar seemed so fixated on the competitive part of the league that it almost seemed like it overshadowed any deeper connections.
Maybe it was the strange lack of history. That gnawed at him, that was for sure. Being one who’s experienced a lot of history, it was definitely strange to be in such a quiet time in such a lacking region.
Or maybe he just felt lost.
And lost he was at that moment. Literally.
Volo didn’t really hate the Glimwood, it was quite beautiful, in fact. A nice place to camp. The way the trees canopied over the land, the soft light of the mushrooms; It was beautiful.
But the beauty of nature was not enough to accommodate for the annoying number of times Spiritomb had wandered off into the depths. It's hard to rest when Volo had one of his closest companions always leading him into unexplored corners of the Tangle, leaving him to stumble back to camp an insomniac, sniffling mess.
It had been 2 hours since Spiritomb's latest escapade. Awoken by the echoing whispers of the ghost, Volo found Ninetales already darting after Spiritomb, leaving him to chase both Pokémon through the thick foliage. Fatigue weighed on him heavily, a dull ache spreading through his limbs, yet he pressed on, anxious not to lose them in the labyrinth of trees.
Volo ventured deeper, the atmosphere shifting. Maybe this is why Spiritomb liked the area so much. It was cold, and more Pokemon began to appear. A crowd of ghost types began to slowly trail nearby, their small, curious forms sensing the distress of the man whose vitality seemed so faint amidst the soft vibrance of the forest.
He finally paused, taking in the surroundings for the first time. The glow of the mushrooms was seemingly brighter around here. He must be farther from the cities. There was a river in front of him, seemingly being illuminated by the few sources of light.
Volo had been tired. He didn't want to rest, but exhaustion was creeping up on him. In the future, he would tell himself: It wasn't his fault! He didn’t realize he began to slump onto the rough, emerald-green grass. It wasn't his fault! He didn’t realize his eyelids were starting to grow heavy! It wasn't his fault! He didn’t realize he had begun to shut down.
He didn't realize Spiritomb and Ninetales had returned to him as he was falling asleep.
He didn't hear the sound of materials dragging along the ground.
He didn't hear the soft whisper talking to Spiritomb.
----------
Ironically, It was a Morelull of all things that woke Volo from his slumber. It had been standing on top of Volo's nose for who knows how long, staring deep into his eyes. He carefully plucked it off, setting it to his side as he slowly sat up, stretching.
He could see a sliver of daylight shining through the brush of the trees, so he began to shut down his lamp and pick up his tent as he got up. Volo had been planning on going to Stow-On-Side that day, he wouldn’t have to come back into the Glimwood. Just as he was counting his supplies, a creeping unease started to settle into his mind.
It was then he realized he should not be here.
Obviously, he began to panic. What else was he supposed to do? He ran out of his tent chasing his Pokemon last night, passed out in the forest, and somehow ended up back at camp? Where was Spiritomb? Where was Ninetales? Why was he here?
Why did he have to become close with them in the first place? He knows he'd have to lose them eventually! He'd lose everyone. He lost everyone. He--
A soft voice then broke the silent panic.
"Oh... your trainer is...uhm..awake."
Volo whipped his head around, spotting a young boy with a mask, peaking from behind a tree. Right next to him were the two of whom Volo cherished.
His panic didn't immediately subside, of course not. But that did not stop him from running full force into the fur of Ninetales and embracing her. Spiritomb was included as well, hopping next to the two and trying its best to snuggle up to Volo. The man turned toward his companion, tearing up.
"Don't leave like that anymore," He began, wiping his eyes, "Or I may forget how to make malasadas." He chuckled, Spiritomb echoing the sound.
The child behind the tree softly giggled.
Right. There was a child.
What?
Why was there a child in the woods? Wait, why was this child with his Pokemon? Was this the voice speaking earlier? Who was this?
Wait, he still didn’t know how he got back to camp! What was going on?
The child began to shift nervously, avoiding Volo’s sharp gaze by exchanging glances with Spiritomb and the ground. Volo looked down, sighing as he pat Ninetales’ head one last time before kneeling to the boy's height. He couldn’t be too bad, maybe he had found Volo asleep in the forest and had his own Pokemon bring them to safety. He was walking with Volo’s Pokemon, wasn’t he? Maybe this kid found them wandering through the forest and eventually brought them and Volo to safety. If there’s anything Volo learned in his time being alive, it was that children were always somehow heroes, and he had no doubt this one may be.
Volo looked into the eyes of the child. Or, he thought he did. The kid had his head down, plus the full face mask obscuring any expression, so he couldn’t really tell where the kid was looking. He cleared his throat.
“Did you bring them back to me?” He asked gently.
The child flinched. As if he didn’t expect Volo to speak to him. Strange. He simply stared at Volo, fidgeting with his too-big sleeves of his overcoat.
Confusion painted Volo’s face. He swore this kid had been speaking earlier, perhaps the boy is just comfortable with Pokemon?
Volo continued to speak, “Well, if you did, thank you,” he pressed on, forcing a smile despite his exhaustion. “I don’t know if you’re lost, but if you are, you’re free to follow us. We are going–”
“Why…are you alive?”
Oh.
Volo blinked in surprise, “I’m sorry?”
The child's gaze dropped, his hands fidgeting around once again. “You…uhm… you see m…” The child mumbled. “Why c-can you see me? You’re… you are alive, aren't you?”
It was Volo’s turn to be speechless. He felt the weight of the question settles in the air. It wasn’t the first time someone asked him that, but it was never a child to ask.
The kid proceeded to look around. Look anywhere but at Volo.
Spiritomb was the one to break the silence, letting out a cry toward the child.
“I-I already told you! M’... not trying to take him!”
What.
The child proceeded to speak to the ghost, seemingly arguing. It was really hard for Volo to not lean back into Ninetales’ fur, the vulpine curling around him and attempting to nudge at him. He was so fatigued, he just wanted to leave already. New people were weird. He missed his Lucario, at least he helped regulate his emotions. He missed everyone dearly. He missed Togetic, he missed Arcanine, he missed Cogita–
Suddenly, Spiritomb let out a mournful shriek, causing the poor boy to cover his ears as he shrieked in shock. Volo quickly returned both his Pokemon to their Pokeballs, regaining a semblance of composure.
“Kid, answer this to me,” Volo said as he walked to where he had been previously packing his backpack, finishing up his packing as he talked, “Are you lost or something? Or are you a prankster? Asking people why they’re alive–” He chuckled a bit, “A bit strange, isn’t it? I’m only in my 20s, I can’t be too much older than you.”
The child sniffled, yet still never took his gaze off of the ground as he walked closer to Volo, sitting down next to him. “I– uhm… I can sense you–” The kid hesitated. “Oh… how do I say these things…’m sorry, mister…”
“Here, how about we start simple, I’m Volo.”
The boy slowly lifted his head up, (maybe?) looking up at Volo. “Ah. ‘m Allister…”
Volo zipped his bag up, laying it down and leaning against it, “Nice to meet you.”
Allister tightened his grip on the grass, “W-why…” His voice trembled as he mumbled
“Pardon?”
“Why are you here? You have lived far too long.”
Volo’s heart sank. No. No, this child did not understand. He did not understand Volo’s situation.
“As if you’ve lived long enough.” He snapped back.
Allister sobbed a bit, “I– I know.” He looked down again, taking his mask off to wipe his eyes, yet still never looked back up. “I never got a chance to.”
Volo still couldn’t see the boy’s face. His long black hair obscured it.
It was then the silence stayed. A heavy pause was all that could be heard as Volo processed Alister’s haunting words. He couldn’t really do anything as he attempted to think but observe the child closer. He couldn’t be older than 8, he realized. Despite how young most children could start to embark on journeys, most kids around that age always had someone to guide them, or at least a Pokemon companion. Allister looked as though he had just bolted from home, still in his pajamas. As if he had stepped outside to get fresh air.
Allister was just a strange situation, in general. Volo paused, looking up at the trees. The air was thick with unspoken thoughts, the tangle almost holding its breath. The man's mind attempted to think of the child’s haunting question and confusing comeback. Volo couldn’t think of anything but aching for the child. He seemed so fragile yet so aware of a reality that should be beyond him. How could someone so young claim his life has ended before he’s had a chance to truly live it?
“Allister, how do you know if I’ve overstayed my welcome on this planet–” Volo began, hoping to delve deeper.
Volo whipped his head around to see nothing but a cracked mask.
So, yeah.
Volo didn’t like his time in Galar.