He did.

There was an echo in his ears, like he had been submerged in the ocean, when the champion — former champion — handed him his winnings and stepped out of his way. The rest of him also felt like he was underwater: even though he knew was walking in a straight, he felt like he was constantly swaying on his way to the Hall of Fame.

It was only after he had registered his team and saw Blastoise's name reflected back at him the screen that he began to feel more like a human being again. Yes.

There were a thousand kids who would give their arm away to be where he was now. He had won, for now.

Though he kept shivering with an emotion not entirely like anticipation, he found it in himself to do a few twirls on the mirror-like floor. The reflection staring back at him was almost a stranger: an older boy, with thoughtful eyes, his smile thin even when Blue did his best to grin.

So. This was what he had been striven for all this time. A trip to the great hall, his team immortalised on the master computer, and a title that was his for as long as he could defend it, a burden almost as much as it was a reward. All that was missing was the elation, and the glory, and the sense of accomplishment he had been certain would follow in the wake of his victory.

He knew why it hadn't as he lay his head down for the night in yet another unfamiliar bed, clutching the Cinnabar Badge to his palm like the anchor it had become. The former champion, no matter how skilled, had not been the true challenge. The real struggle still lay ahead.

Well, Red? This is what you wanted, isn't it? I have kept my promise, and I intend to keep the rest of it. Come. Challenge me. This time, I will win.

He was already drowning in slumber when he remembered he hadn't called home. Would Gramps and Daisy have heard of his victory from the radio? Or even television? Why couldn't he remember if the people asking him questions had been reporters?

Whatever it was, he was too far gone to fight back. He drifted to the open seas, dreaming of the battle ahead. He had to believe. He trusted his team. He would do this.

And finally, late the next day, a challenger appeared, wearing a red and white baseball cap Blue himself had picked out on a scorchingly hot day in Viridian City an entire lifetime ago.

"Why?"

It was only after he uttered the word that Blue realised he was crying. He didn't bother wiping his tear. It no longer mattered now that he could no longer pretend he could turn things around, how that he had nowhere left to run.

But he still wanted answers.

"Why?" he asked again, knowing all too well that he would receive no response, no matter his dreams. If Red had yet to speak with him, odds were he never would. He should have accepted the Red who had been his best friend for as long as either of them could remember was simply gone. But he had to ask. He would keep asking till he either received an answer or someone forced him to stop.

Red, at least, was making no moves to do so. He stood in place, holding Charizard's pokéball and looking at it as if trying to assess what kind of a potion best to use through its shell. Even becoming the champion hadn't been enough to bring a spark of life to his face.

"Why?" Blue asked once more, and finally looked away from the reflecting floor and into Red's eyes, no longer afraid of their dead, fish-like gaze. They didn't matter. What mattered was getting an answer, from this damned robot that had made his life hell for the past year and a half. "Why can't I ever win for good?"

Nothing, but the sound of approaching footsteps, and a familiar voice calling out.

"Red!"

Blue jerked his head upwards. "Gramps!" He turned away and wiped his face onto the sleeve of his jacket. He had thought he was done caring about anything but the mystery surrounding Red, Gramps' approval included, but it was different with him right before him.

Not that Gramps was looking at him. He only had eyes for Red, smiling at him like he was the grandson. "So, you won! Congratulations! You're the new Pokémon League champion!"

Blue tried not to glower. He should have expected as much. Red stood quietly with his hands to the side.

"You've grown up so much since you first left with Charmander." Was that an actual tear in the corner of Gramps' eye? "Red, you have come of age!"

Red said nothing, but Gramps chuckled as if he had thanked him graciously.

He then finally turned his attention towards Blue. "Blue! I'm disappointed!"

Blue hadn't meant to flinch. He really hadn't. But Gramps' disapproval was so sudden, so out of place it felt like Red's charizard had sunk its claws into his flesh.

"I was the champion too!" he protested, all too aware of how thin and reedy his voice suddenly sounded, like he had regressed till he was a small child again. "I'm one of the best trainers in Kanto! Even if—"

He had to pause to swallow the sudden lump in his throat, leaving ample room for Gramps to continue: "I came when I heard you beat the Elite Four! But, when I got here, you had already lost!"

The shame was hot and searing, and almost coaxed more tears out of him. Only at the last moment did Blue manage to direct his disappointment into anger instead.

"I did my best!" He shot back, a shade beneath shouting. "It was a close battle! If we battle again—"

This time, Gramps interrupted without waiting for a suitable pause in Blue's words.

"Blue! Do you understand why you lost?"

Blue fell as still as Red.

"No," he replied, his voice odd like it lacked an echo. Did Gramps know something about Red he didn't? Had he simply feigned ignorance when Blue had tried to point out Red's odd behaviour to him? Did he actually have an answer to what had haunted Blue since the beginning of his journey? It sounded ludicrous, but maybe...

"You have forgotten to treat your pokémon with trust and love!"

"WHAT?" He was too loud; his yell would have been deafening even within the Hall of Fame. Not that he cared. How could anyone, let alone his own grandfather, claim such a thing? When had he not trusted his team? When had he not care for them? How could anyone...

Slowly, he stilled. He turned his attention from Gramps to Red.

None of this was real, he realised, still trembling with indignation even as cool understanding took over. Somehow, Red was controlling and making him say these things, just as he had made Blue leave the Pokémon Tower and travel for days and days without knowledge of his own actions. Somehow, it all came back to Red.

Well. Enough of that rot.

"Red! You understand that your victory was not just your own doing! The bond you share with your pokémon is marvelous!"

Gramps' words washed over Blue like the meaningless drivel it was. Instead, he stormed straight up to Red and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"I know you're doing this," he hissed, his suspicions further confirmed when Gramps reacted to his move in neither word or expression. "I don't even care how you do it anymore. I just want to know why."

Nothing from Red, of course.

"I said why!" Blue was shaking him now, more violently than he had ever shaken anything before. He wanted to do more: to punch, to kick, to tear this impassive zombie to pieces till he stopped doing whatever he was doing to Gramps, and to Blue, and to everyone else around them. "Why?"

Red looked up.

He tilted his head.

His eyes focused.

"Because I'm the chosen one. That's why."

Blue's body seized up, holding Red at an arm's length out of sheer inertia. The voice had been scratchy, like it hadn't been used in centuries, but it had been a human voice. Red's voice.

Red's eyes remained as cold as ever, indifferent to the manhandling. He was waiting for Blue to react. But Blue had nothing. For the first time since making his vow, he had drawn a complete blank.

At length, he became aware that the room had fallen eerily quiet. Gramps was still there, his mouth slightly parted as though he meant to begin speaking again, still radiating pride in Red. Only, he wasn't moving. As far as Blue could tell, he wasn't even breathing.

"Gramps?" His body was once again on auto-pilot as he let go of Red and walked over to Gramps. He grabbed his sleeve, only to let go at once with a jolt. He was cold as stone.

"He's not dead." Mostly, Red sounded disinterested, but Blue thought he heard a note of compassion in it regardless. "He's just paused."

"What do you mean, paused?" Blue turned towards Red with fresh fury. Still, the words were a relief. After all, if Gramps had been dead, he would have fallen down, right?

Red shrugged. "It's something I can do as the chosen one."

Blue let go. There was nothing he could do to help Gramps without some answers. And it looked like Red was finally ready to provide them.

"Chosen one..." The words tasted strange on his tongue. "What's that even supposed to mean? Who chose you?"

"I was chosen to be a hero," Red said, his voice suddenly dreamy. For a moment, Blue could see the quiet, funny boy he had used to play with. "I was chosen to set out and earn every gym badge, surpass the Elite Four and defeat you in the end. Now I have done that."

Blue clenched his teeth together. "You're not making any sense. Who chose you?"

Red frowned. "You must remember. You were there. You were always there."

It had to be the strange light Red had run to. Blue had already guessed as much and had just been looking for confirmation. It didn't, however, help piece together the rest of Red's words. "What do you mean, always?"

Again, Red shrugged. "This isn't the first time I've beaten you to become the champion."

Blue opened his mouth to say that no, obviously it was, and that maybe it had been better before Red had opened his mouth and proven once and for all either one or both of them was hopelessly insane. Then, he glanced at Gramps. Even if it was madness, there had to be some method to it. "How?"

Red gazed at him levelly, with almost something like resignation. He shook his head. "I wonder if I'll ever learn how this has gone so badly off the rails."

Then, sapping away the very last of Blue's patience, he began walking towards the Hall of Fame. Like the discussion was over. Like he could just leave Gramps frozen while he registered his team. Like Blue was nothing more than a two-bit bug catcher ambushing him on the way to a meeting.

Blue moved to block his path at once. "Explain."

Red halted. For an instant, Blue was sure he would either finally retaliate for Pokémon Tower, or else that his eyes would flash and he would use his strange powers to move Blue out of the way.

He did neither. Instead, he spoke.

"Like I said, we have done this before. Not just once or twice, either." Red's tone was as bland as a newscaster reporting on an average berry harvest. "It always goes the same way: a year before our journey begins, I am called forth and chosen. Then, we begin our journey. You choose a pokémon that is strong against mine and become the champion just before me. I defeat you. Then it ends and we start over again from the beginning."

"Wha-" Blue desperately tried to wrap his head around the words. He had to at least pretend Red was telling the truth, but if he was, what could he even mean. "So... we're stuck in a time loop or something?"

Red tilted his head like he was only considering the possibility for the first time. "I suppose so. Only this time, something went wrong."

Slowly, he raised his hand, pointing directly at Blue. "You went wrong."

Blue took a step back, too baffled to be angry. "What?"

"You shouldn't have touched the light. I don't know why you did this time, but thanks to that, things went differently." Red gazed at him coolly. "Because of that, you have ended up outside of the script. I barely recognise you."

"Right back at you," Blue spat back, but his heart wasn't in it. A sickly feeling had gripped his stomach, like the ice cold claws of some giant pokémon, and the further to the outer realms of sanity Red's words went, the more he began to suspect he was about to die.

Red shook his head. "You aren't Blue Oak. Blue Oak is callous and arrogant and entirely focused on victory. Blue Oak doesn't love his pokémon the way you do." He took a step forward, closing the remaining distance between them. "Blue Oak has no right to act as you have acted. What gives you the right to pretend to be a hero?"

Blue swallowed and took several steps backwards. It was either some optical illusion caused by the mirror floor, or Red's eyes had begun to glow. "That's none of your business." At what point had he done anything heroic? Perhaps Red was talking about entirely imaginary deeds.

Red sighed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they looked as normal as they ever had since the forest. "It doesn't matter. In the end, whether you meant to or not, it didn't take too much nudging to keep you on the script. Now we can begin again and do it right."

Blue thought back on the haziest days of his journey, feeling nearly possessed. Making him follow some unknown script explained why Red might have directed him, but not the reason behind it. If they were doing this, he was going to get to the bottom of it.

"Why?" He asked, as blunt as Red had been. "Why does it matter? Whose script is it, anyway?"

Something very odd happened. For the briefest of flickers, Red smiled.

"That of our creators. Who else?"

Blue stood frozen in place. He stood frozen in place for a long time, like Red had paused him the way he had Gramps. In a sense, he had.

"None of you are actually real," Red continued, as calm as discussing which berries his pokémon liked best. "Kanto itself, too. They exist for me to become the champion."

He went on in the same manner as he had begun, and the explanation Blue had so desperately sought mostly swept by him like he was standing in a stream. But he understood enough.

The world, Red believed, was simply a game, of which he was the protagonist. Blue was a mere obstacle, a two-bit antagonist who had somehow gained sentience which belonged only to Red by right and had attempted to flee from the beaten path. Every one else: Gramps, Daisy, the gym leaders and the Elite Four and everyone else in between, were simple fabrications to make Red's story come alive.

"And there you have it," Red concluded, solemn once more. "You have played your part. We all have. It's time to reset it before your aberration tears the world apart."

With that, he looked at Blue expectantly, like he assumed he would leap aside like a well-trained pokémon.

Blue remained firmly put.

"I'm not real?" he finally asked, in a voice which sounded nothing like his own.

Red shrugged. "You might be, for now. But you shouldn't be. The light was meant for me alone." There was flash in his eyes, but not of malice. It almost looked like compassion. "You'll feel better once I reset the game and you forget all of this. You'll go back to script and don't have worry about anything again."

He stepped forward, almost leisurely, entering Blue's space. He cocked one eyebrow, a minute gesture Blue only notice because his eyes were nailed to his face. He was trying to think, but his mind moved like syrup.

Finally, he steeled his resolve.

"You're wrong."

"How so?"

"You're just wrong. In every way." Blue narrowed his eyes. "The world isn't the problem. You are."

Red didn't move a muscle. If anything, he looked more bored than ever. "I know the truth isn't something you wanted to hear—"

"It's not the truth!" Blue snapped, and for the first time, he felt like he meant it.

Amazingly, Red didn't object. He merely stood there, as if waiting for Blue to make an argument so he could counter it.

Blue didn't have the time to argue. He was too busy thinking back on everyone he had met on his journey. The rich kid with the new bike. The chewing gum enthusiast. The rambling hiker who had told him he was a talented trainer. The gym guide. The nurses. His family. Pidgeot. Alakazam. Rhyhorn. Exeggcute. Growlithe. Blastoise. Raticate. All real, living beings, with an existence and hopes and dreams beyond the role they supposedly played in Red story. Anyone who would dismiss them as mere game pieces was either deluded, or...

Blue took a deep breath. "You might be some kind of a chosen one, but this world isn't some game you can just mess around with because it's fun. I don't exist to lose to you. No-one does." He had been glaring, and it was a struggle trying to make his eyes gentle. "I still don't know what happened to you in the woods, but I do know Kanto. This is a real place. It's our home." His wrath returned, rising as bile to his throat. "Even if you have the power to mess with it, you shouldn't."

Red responded to the speech just as Blue has expected he would: with complete apathy. Then, he stepped forward. "Get out of the way."

"No."

"It's futile." Red took another step forward, so close now, his chest all but touched Blue. "You already lost. I'm the champion. I'm meant to go to the Hall of Fame."

With that, he side-stepped and walked into the hall.

Blue ran in after him, his feet skidding on the polished floor. He placed himself between Red and the computer. A human shield.

Red paused, a line appearing between his eyes. "Move."

"No." Granted, Blue didn't know exactly what would happen when Red registered his team, but no-one could fool him into thinking anything good would follow.

"Move."

"I said no."

"You're going to stop me?" Again, Red looked almost amused. "You can't. You're out of pokémon."

"Leave them out of this." Blue raised his fists. "Whatever you are, you can still bleed."

Before Red could respond, Blue slugged at him with all his might.

The knuckles connected, snapping Red's head backwards. Before Blue could pull his hand back, Red retaliated, shoving at him, then changing his mind and snatching at his jacket, trying to pull him aside.

The ensuing struggle was brief, but quickly went from grappling and snarling to punches and kicks, swift and vicious. Red's elbow struck against Blue's cheek, opening a cut just by the eye. Blue returned the favour by kicking Red's foot from under him. But it was no use; every time he shoved Red to the ground, he sprung up again, his strength greater than ever, like he was drawing power from a source beyond himself.

He probably was, Blue understood at the exact moment Red's next punch turned his ribcage into splinters

His knees buckled. As he fell, he tried to understand what had happened, looking down at where a shard of jagged bone was jutting out through his shirt, like a sprout on a potato. No-one should have managed a strike like that. No human, anyway. And yet, like with Gramps, like with everything else strange, Red had just done that.

Then, still uncomprehending, he collapsed into a heap on the ground.

Within a heartbeat, Red was on him, clawing at him, trying to grab his windpipe. Blue tried to swat him away, but what power he had left drained from his arms. Even if Red tried to kill him, which he doubted since it looked like to him more like Red was trying to make sure he stayed down, struggling was merely delaying the inevitable.

He was dead.

Not yet, however. He curled his legs upwards and braced himself. It didn't really matter, not anymore, but if he spotted a window of opportunity for one last stand...

"You lose," Red hissed.

Blue lashed out. Both of his feet hit Red's solar plexus at full force and sent him flying against the computer.

"You lose too," he gasped.

There was a loud, terrible crack, like the blast of a Thunderbolt breaking through a window. Further thumps and crashes followed as Red's slid onto the floor.

Blue's vision dimmed. The computer still stood, which was bad, but something he had expected from how firmly mounted the thing was on the polished floor. The monitor, on the other hand, was damaged beyond repair, with a gaping hole where Red's elbow had crashed into it, static electricity running between the shards. Behind it, various components and thin connectors snaked against the board, not unlike incomplete machines he had seen being repaired at Gramps' lab. If the computer still functioned, it wouldn't stop anyone truly determined from operating it, but it would take far, far longer. At the same time, Blue thought back to long ago, when Red had needed help to operate his new PC, practically hopeless with it...

He hazily noticed Red standing up, decompressing like a pokémon being summoned from its pokéball in slow motion, his nose bleeding. Slowly, he turned towards the hissing monitor.

"You..." The ensuing silence was biting and standing in for a slur, no doubt, but Blue didn't care. His eyesight finally betrayed him and sunk him into an indistinct ocean of red. Red had been right the first time. He had lost. Whether Red was right and the world really was a game was no longer his concern; whatever happened next, he could do nothing to stop it. He wouldn't even be there to witness. Perhaps another Blue Oak would wake up the next day in a world very similar to his. It no longer mattered in this warm haze.

After all he had done, after all his hard work, he had never even truly found out what he had been against. He couldn't help but laugh. It came out as gasps for air.

He should have known all along it was futile.

"Blue?"

Blue returned to the surface with a desperate gasp for air, only to discover he could breathe freely. He was soaked and shivering, and when his senses returned to him, he found himself lying on his back in a shallow creek. The water had eaten through his clothes and shoes alike.

For a moment, he wondered if this was what a magikarp pulled out of the waters felt like. The thought, however, was swiftly forgotten when his eyes focused on the face hovering above his.

Red's brow was furrowed in concern as he waved his hand above Blue's eyes. His eyes, difficult to discern in the dim light, shone as they ought to have. His cap was flecked with water. It also looked brand new.

"Did you hit your head?" Red asked. There were treetops above, and stars. Red's face was rounder, more child-like.

With a jolt of shock, Blue finally recognised the spot as the very place he had shown to Gramps when he had last been to home.

He surged upwards, so suddenly Red yelped and fell backwards, landing in the stream as well. Blue ignored him and stared down at himself. He was smaller again, his limbs stubbier, and he was wearing trousers Daisy had given away before his journey had begun because they had been an entire inch too short for him. There were no pokéballs on his belt.

"What's your problem?" Red was irked, as anyone who suddenly found their butt immersed in cold water would have been. Blue marvelled at the emotion in his voice.

How it had happened, he had no idea, but the truth of the matter was unmistakable. He was back to that fateful night on Red's previous birthday.

Desperate peals of laughter he had no input over crawled out of his throat. As Red stared, he threw his arms around him, and, upon finding him entirely real and solid, allowed himself to be overcome by them, filling the empty night with his bliss.

It lasted till he let go off Red, stupefied but not displeased, and looked at his hands to confirm they too were real. His laughter died at once.

The fiery imprint of the Cinnabar badge remained emblazoned on his skin, as bright as a real flame.

"Blue?" Red's fingers were on the sleeve of his T-shirt, nervousness seeping into his voice. "What's wrong?"

Blue found no words to respond with, but his groping hand found Red's arm and then his wrist, with its quickening pulse, and dragged him up with him. Whatever was going on, whether this was some dying dream or an effect of Red's inexplicable powers, he wasn't going to waste it by standing stock-still.

"Let's go." Tightening his grip, he turned towards Pallet Town and began to run.

"Slow down!" Red staggered after him as the water sloshing under their feet made way for the undergrowth, half hopping to keep his balance. "What's going on?"

Blue didn't waste his breath talking. He sped up.

"Blue, seriously! My hat!"

Blue glanced over his shoulder. Red's cap had indeed fallen off. Red was trying to shake himself loose, groping in vain towards the darkness.

"Forget it." Blue said nothing more, nor did he turn again. Whether the green glow behind them was real or imaginary, or if Red's further protests and tugs involved it or not, he kept putting one foot in front of the other, and he would keep doing so till his legs gave in and his lungs filled with fire and the sweat made Red's wrist slip from his hand. It would happen, he knew, but it hadn't happened yet, and so he kept running, leaping over roots and underbrush, ignoring the sleepy weedles he spooked from his path as the taste of copper overwhelmed his tongue.

Run run run, whispered the stars above, daring him to keep his oath.

And so he ran.

A/N: With special thanks to thechinskyguy for beta reading this, and to everyone who has stuck with the story till the end. I wouldn't have made it to the end without you.