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Ashe is glad they’re finally stopping for the night. He knows Caspar could keep walking until they’re right up against the gym’s front entrance, but Ashe has no interest in camping outside of the gym. Besides, on a night like this, it’s much cosier camping just outside of town.
He’s prepped a pot of stew, which is slowly simmering over a campfire. He had thanked Houndoom, who only sniffs and curls up on the floor. Well, she’s Caspar’s Pokémon anyway, so Ashe doesn’t mind. Another few minutes, and dinner will be ready. He knows this, because Sylveon is looking up at him pleadingly as if he can speed up the process.
He fusses the Pokémon’s head. Ashe remembers finding him when he was just an Eevee, hungry and stealing his and Caspar’s supplies. Ashe caught him, and he’s been theirs ever since. They hadn’t even intended to evolve the little guy; he evolved all on his own one day.
Their spoilt little prince; Ashe loves him dearly.
A cry breaks Ashe’s daydream. He looks over, only to see Caspar and his Machamp training together. Caspar’s pumping his fists in the air, and it’s only then that Ashe realises he’s giving his Pokémon a pep talk. He laughs softly at the pair. They’re flexing at each other, as Caspar booms some sort of rousing speech. He looks back at Ashe with a grin.
“I think me and Champ have got this,” he says.
“I believe so too, but, ah- isn’t this gym a flying-type?”
Caspar blinks once, twice. His face scrunches up and he smacks his forehead. “Have you ever tried to punch a bird?” he mutters, an old mnemonic to remember type weaknesses. “I should have remembered!”
There had been a time, before he became a breeder, where Ashe had to care more about type differences. There had been a time where he thought about becoming a ranger, but those days are long gone. The life of a breeder suits him better, travelling side by side with Caspar. He’s not complaining.
“I can still win this,” Caspar says. He grabs a Pokéball from his belt, and out comes his Feraligatr. “Right, buddy?”
The Pokémon cries out in affirmation, and that’s enough to make Caspar whoop. “Attaboy!”
Ashe returns to the stew. Sylveon is sniffing at it, and Ashe has to shoo him away before he burns his nose. He pokes at a potato with a spoon, and it falls apart effortlessly.
“Dinner’s ready!” Ashe calls.
He dishes up the stew, and they all sit together, bowls in hand - or on the floor, in some cases. Caspar wolfs it down like it hadn’t just come out of the pot. At the look Ashe gives him, Caspar can only say,
“What? S’good.”
“I appreciate the compliment, but it’s nothing special.”
“ Nothing special ?!” Caspar swallows his mouthful. “I’m pretty sure your food is why my Pokémon are so strong! I mean it, Ashe - I’d be screwed without you. With your skills, you could open up a restaurant that specialises in Pokémon food!”
He could. That had been his parents’ dream, after all, but it wasn’t Ashe’s dream. His dream is different. Ashe stirs his largely-untouched stew.
“I just-” Caspar’s jaw is set. “I feel like I’m taking you away from what you’re meant to do. You have dreams, right?”
“I wanted to travel and help people,” Ashe says.
“Yeah! But you’re with me when you could, I dunno, be a ranger or something.”
Ashe sets his bowl down. Sylveon sniffs at it, but Ashe doesn’t care right now. “Do you want me to leave?”
Caspar knocks his own bowl from his lap. There’s nothing left, licked clean - thankfully. Ashe doesn’t get much of a chance to think about it, not when his hands are in Caspar’s. Sea blue eyes meet bright green.
“I want you here - we’re a team,” Caspar says. “But I think you’re meant for more than just me.”
Ashe squeezes his hands. “I want to be here for you. Caspar, you didn’t take my dream from me: you gave me a new one.”
Caspar’s eyes widen at this, as if he’s never considered it before. It’s obvious to Ashe; it’s always been obvious to him.
“We’re my new dream - both of us, travelling together like this,” Ashe says.
Caspar throws his arms around Ashe, compressing him tightly. He feels the air leave his lungs, but he holds Caspar just as tightly. Ashe leans his chin on his shoulder and closes his eyes. Caspar’s embrace is warm, and Ashe never wants to leave it.
“I’ll have to kick that gym’s butt tomorrow, for us,” Caspar says.
Ashe nods. He knows Caspar won’t win the first time, but he’ll win eventually. Ashe admires his tenacity; it’s one of the things he loves about Caspar.
Through it all, Ashe will always be here.