Chapter Text
He had to drop it.
It was heavy, and his arms could only hold it for so long. It’s dragging along the dirt too. Steven was lucky enough that the thing wasn't leaving a dirt trail, or he'd have to go back where he came from to patch it up with dead grass. His shoulders had dull pain, tracing from there to his lower back. He's grateful that he left his gloves on, or else he would have lost his grip due to the mixture of sweat and dirt.
His object that falls makes a ‘tuft’ as it lands face first onto the mud and grass. It's fine, it can get dirty. It's not gonna matter at the moment. Steven was more focused on falling onto his hands and knees to catch his breath.
The chirps of distant bug-type Pokémon fill Steven’s ears. It's not enough to drown out the questions that swirl in his mind. He wondered if this was a good spot to rest, or maybe to even start his task. People don't come here at night, right? Steven would feel embarrassed if he were seen like this, especially since he just arrived home today.
His eyes drag back to the thing he had set down, noticing the way it stays so perfectly still compared to the wind that blows around it. It feels so foreign, but yet his mind doesn't allow him to fully comprehend what this is.
He'd better start doing what he came here to do, or else Steven might overthink it again.
He looks at the large tree that he has rested before. Tired hazel eyes trace the lines and swirl along the rooted being above. It dances, twigs and branches waving along with the sound of the wind. It moves with such life to it. It doesn't speak, it doesn't laugh, but yet it has life.
It doesn't lie. It doesn't cry. It doesn't betray you. It isn't lying next to him.──
Steven doesn't have a shovel.
He doesn't have a shovel yet he walked all the way into this forest to dig. He needs to hide this thing somewhere, or else it's going to start talking again.
To him it speaks. It whispers like him. It sounds like him, asking where his Blastoise is at this moment. There were points during the journey to this forest where Steven heard it gurgle, questioning if this plan of his was really going to work. Steven would clench his teeth and focus more on adjusting the grip on the thing’s arms.
Arms.
Hands.
His own hands can do it. They raise, gloved, some dirt has seeped under the leather cloth, but also under his fingernails. He wants to take off the gloves and wash them off in a lake nearby, but he'd better do that after this. His sore hands shake, reaching down to meet moist soil. Fingers scoop, clawing their way into the forest ground as bits and pieces of dewey grass part ways.
His hands were sore already, sure, but after a half an hour or so, he could feel the pain worsen, mainly along his wrists and knuckles. The night sky watches him. The trees watch him. Pokémon that don't even dare to approach him, they watch him as well.
Digging. Digging. Digging.
His makeshift shovel scoops more and more. Steven didn't stop, he couldn't stop. He doesn't want to unless it was deep enough to bury himself. If it's low enough, then maybe his voice won't be as loud as it is right now.
The thing was gurgling, asking too many questions, it felt like dragging fingernails against a grimey metal surface, violating Steven’s ears. It's drowning out the chips and trickling tree leaves.
Ah. Steven finally looks up to be treated with a wall of dirt. He shuffles back onto his shoes to take a look above himself. It felt like being in a small, empty pool in the deep end without water, surrounded by walls. It was enough where he can just hop and ring his leg over to climb out.
He takes a glance over to the tuff of fake brown hair beside the hole he has dug, and makes his choice to carefully climb out.
It's big enough. He will fit.
With a heavy grunt, he lets out an exhale once he makes it back into the surface. Grass tickles his leather gloves and through the holes of his dark pants while he raises his head to the motionless animal beside him.
An animal. Yeah. He'll keep it that way. As long as he continues to name it that, it makes it easier to tug it into the hole.
Steven reached forward, shuffling his legs around to make enough room to pull the roadkill by its arms. Closer closer, it's almost there. The question was, did Steven have a plan to throw him in face first, or feet first? Whichever direction, he wants to make sure it's enough room for the entire body to be dumped and buried in the makeshift grave.
Before he really could answer his own question, he takes a glance over to what lies underneath the mangled, messy locks of the thing.
The eyes are still open. They were dazed, staring blankly and growing greyer by the minute. There's something about the way the body’s lips part, as if wanting to speak it's mind and voice its opinion about the way the hole was dug up. How it's not deep enough.
Maybe, the little thing croaked, just maybe, you're not a good enough digger. You've never done this before, sure, but you could have done better than that. You put so much effort into wrapping your digits around my neck, pressing my stomach with your knee, and yet you can't even make me a decent grave? Pitiful.
Steven threw him in with clenched teeth, and they landed in the ditch with a harsh thud. As Steven muttered to himself, he went back to scoop the pile of dirt back into the hole. One clump at a time, Mike’s mumbles and gurgles were being drowned out, buried under the sea of brown. His eyes close from the dirt. His throat, already crushed, was filled with dirt. He was covered with dirt.
Steven was tired of hearing Mike complain and bitch about the hole. This was the best he could do for Mike. He could have just dumped him in a dumpster, to rot with leftovers and swim in filth. No, Steven wouldn't want that. He didn't want Mike to be buried in that, even if Steven was mad at him for what he's done.
He should be grateful for this natural grave.
Steven leans back, hands covered in dark brown and bits of the forest stuck under his nails. He traced his dull eyes around the shape of the lump before him. It's there and done, fully buried, fully quiet, right? He did what he wanted to do, yet something felt missing.
He feels something in his heart twist and bleed, stinging like a hand digging directly into a cheese grater. Someone is missing. Something and someone is missing.
But he's right there! Look, he's right there! He's just under the dirt, and he couldn't move, so Steven thought it was the best thing to do. He didn't know how to feel if anyone else were to bury Mike. It felt necessary. It felt right.
If that's the case then, why is he shaking so much?
“Mike, wake up.”
He heard the strained voice say, and Steven looked around himself. Where did that come from? There's no one but himself there. He heard it again, this time, raising his hand up to his damp lips. His cheeks were damp too, but leaking with salty liquid as he wheezed.
“I didn't mean it. Wake up.”
The voice was familiar, and something tugs Steven to want to touch the dirt below him again. It was deep, it was young and saddened, distraught that his brother was gone. It was coming from his direction.
It was himself.