Guest Review Replies:

Roma: Thank you!

Guest(1+2): Ash's and Brock's situation is indeed a complicated one, and one without a simple answer. Even if apologies are offered, forgiveness is not an easy thing to give.

Reader: Ash does have things he needs to overcome, but now he's on the right path with people to help him. :)

opossum: Trust will be something that won't be easy to give to Brock.

J: Most of Ash's Pokemon decided to return to the ranch as that's their home. The ones who have left completely are Latias, as she is now mates with Tobias' Latios and wants to be with him; and Elgyem has plans on leaving as her interest in Ash is waning. Greninja and Garchomp haven't left, but have been avoiding Ash for a time as they try to sort out their emotions. They are still loyal to him.

I chose Charizard Y for several reasons, the main one being that it is the more underused of the two Charizardites. I also just feel it fits Ash's Charizard better in a style sense, as it more closely resembles the original design. My last reason was because the side story to this fic, A Final Chance, features a Charizard X. Both I think suit Ash's Charizard, but Y is the one I like for him.

Ramdom reader: I'm glad you like it. :)

Guest(3): Serperior and Sceptile is a good ship.

Lulu-chan: One more update after this one, then this story shall be finished.

Guess who's alive?

These last few months have been busy for me, and I haven't been able to update my fanfics as often as I'd like to. I'm sorry that this chapter took so long, but I hope you all enjoy chapter 62!

Chapter Sixty-Two – One Day

Two weeks went by without opening the letter.

For a few days it sat on the floor where Ash had dropped it, gathering dust. And by the time he did pick up the half-opened letter, it was only to place it on the desk. It didn't linger long there however, as the envelope seemed to mock him whenever he sat down to write in his journal. From there he had moved it to the kitchen, setting it on the only counter in the tiny cabin. Multiple times Ash had considered handing it over to Serperior to destroy– she seemed more than willing, having hissed violently upon learning the origins of the letter.

But on the counter it sat, untouched whenever Ash went to prepare a meal, half-opened.

Ash was trapped in a mental tug-a-war, wanting to both read and destroy the letter. Wanting to know what was inside and yet wanting nothing to do with it. Neither side of his mind won this struggle, leaving it untouched as the days slipped by. He wished that his mother would offer to take it away as she had when he had first found the letter, but in her visits she didn't say a word about it– even when seeing the letter laying there. While he was glad that she didn't bring it up again, it was frustrating that the letter continued to sit there.

He let out a long sigh, staring out the window. Frost crept up on the edges of the panes, beginning to retreat the autumn morning. The temperature had plummeted within the last few days, the presence of winter starting to hover over them. Ash knew that it would hit sooner and harder up here in the mountains, and he had the feeling that he would probably be relocated to another safe house once the first storm hit.

But he didn't want to leave this cabin.

A flicker of movement drew his attention, Serperior's bright green form shifting up in the branches of the tree. It was hard for her to remain hidden with the leaves now bright red, and he was surprised that she hadn't picked one of the many pines to rest in instead. She coiled around the branch, trying to soak up what sun was left. Her head swung down for a moment, forked tongue flicking out at the Pokemon below her.

Sceptile peered up at Serperior, but neither said anything to the other. They had been mostly silent in the few days since Delia had brought Sceptile from the ranch, but there hadn't seemed to be any hostility either. They lingered near each other, just sitting in silence, as if they weren't quite sure how to approach the other.

Ash sighed, pulling away from the window and towards his bed, wrapping a blanket around himself. There was a fireplace in the cabin and a fire pit outside, but he had yet to use either of them. The stove thankfully was electric, and while there was an occasional Flamethrower from Zoroark and Garchomp when they battled, he had been able to avoid seeing the flames just by not watching. Fire... it just brought back too many memories, and he was more than willing to find other means to stay warm. The cabin had a heater, but even with that running the chill of the fall was starting to creep in from the outdoors.

Ash had experienced colder nights though.

"I was stupid then..." Ash muttered, thinking of that Sinnoh winter that had almost claimed him. If it hadn't been for N he wouldn't be here right now, though that thought wasn't what captured his attention. Rather he thought on N, wondering where the man had gone.

According to Zoroark, through a translation from Shawn's Porygon, N had left with Reshiram, Mew, and Mewtwo to free the Shadow Mewtwo from its mind. Shawn had pressed for an exact location, which Zoroark had refused to say. Ash had a few suspicions on where they could have gone, but he too remained silent, knowing that it would be best if they were left alone, wherever they were. Humans were something many of them were slow to trust, and they didn't need any interference if they were trying to help the Shadow Mewtwo.

Though Shawn had seemed desperate to find them, he had eventually relented. If there was any group that could keep the Shadow Mewtwo under control, it was one with several legendaries. If there was anyone that could make some connection with the clone, it would be one that could speak to Pokemon themselves. If there was someone who could understand what Team Rocket had done to the clone, it would be the one had been cloned by them as well. The public wanted the 'monster' in official's hands, but they knew that if that were so the fate of the Mewtwo would be its death.

They had found a Master ball on Giovanni's body, and with no Pokemon inside it was assumed to be the Shadow Mewtwo's. If things were to truly go wrong, if it were to begin attacking again, the International Police would be able to confine it into the sphere. Shawn kept the Master ball on his person at all times, ready to use it if the situation ever arose, but for now he was keeping his focus away from the Mewtwo.

Why couldn't others treat him like that, and just leave him alone?

Ash glanced over his shoulder at the letter, stomach twisting. No matter how much he thought on it, the letter would remain there. Unless he actually did something, nothing would change. He couldn't just sit here, hoping for some solution to come. If he wanted to rid himself of this heaviness the letter was leaving with him, then he needed to do something about it himself.

Heart thumping, Ash approached the counter, eyes locked on the letter. He reached out with pale fingers, shivers racing through him as he touched the paper, carefully picking it up. He stared down at his name written in that horrible handwriting, and he swiftly flipped the envelope over, instead looking down at the tear in the paper from where he had began to open it.

His fingers slid along that tear, wondering if he wanted to do this. Once he opened the letter, he would be reading the words Brock wrote. It would be something he couldn't just forget, and whatever was written in here was something he would have to remember. He didn't know what to expect from Brock– which of course only made him more wary. Also opening the letter would mean he was doing something that Brock wanted him to do... which Ash didn't want to do. But this letter could hold answers, answers to questions he had been carrying for many years. And opening this letter meant that he would finally be free of its taunting that had been mocking him for weeks.

Ash ripped the letter open.

Swift, simple, the paper tearing away with ease. He stared down at it for a moment, as if a part of him had expected more to happen from finally opening it. His fingers were trembling slightly as he reached in, pulling out the papers within. They were folded neatly, slightly crinkled from the way Ash had handled the envelope, which he let fall to the floor. He didn't let himself pause, unfolding the letter in his hand.

He didn't read the letter right off, simply scanned the paper with narrowed eyes instead, words popping out at him. The handwriting was familiar, not in the sense of who had written it, but of how it was written. It was the same manner he often saw in his own journal– words written with shaky hands.

He let his eyes be drawn towards the top of the paper, where the letter simply began with his name:

Ash–

I don't know if this letter will reach you. In fact, I'm positive that this won't reach you, as I'm sure your mother will refuse to take it considering how I've treated her. And you. But it's because of what I've done that I need to talk to you, and seeing how I have no other way to contact you, I'll write this letter.

I guess it would be best to start off with something you'd want to hear– I have a court date for the first of next month. The only thing that has surprised me about this is how soon it is, I thought that with Team Rocket it would take them much longer to actually get to me, but at the same time I suppose what I did ties back to that as well. I'm going on trial for lying under oath during your case. I don't know if you'll be brought in as a witness, but considering how quiet the InterPol has been about you with the media I doubt they will.

They'll probably have no need for any witnesses, as I do plan on pleading guilty. I was fully aware of what I was doing at the time, when the plaintiff approached me with the altered story I knew it was wrong, but I still went forward with it out of bitterness. I just want you to understand that the hatred wasn't against you, but against the person I thought you were. I understand that this doesn't mean anything, but it's something I want you to know.

Now for the part that I am sure is the last thing you want to hear from me, but I know I won't be able to live with myself if I don't say this– I'm sorry.

I know that an apology means nothing, that words can't fix what I did, and I am sure that you want nothing to do with me. But I can't ignore the fact that even after what I did to you that you still saved my life, that you went out of your way to protect us despite everything we did to you. It was these actions that revealed the truth to me– not the attack, not Max's and the others' words, but your selflessness even after everything that I had done.

It is something I wish I have realized much sooner, and because of that these last few months have been some of the worst of my life. I have been feeling absolutely sick with what had happened– and then losing May, and having to watch Max suffer is something I cannot describe. I want to be there for him, I want to comfort him but he's refused to speak to me. I don't blame him. I'm surprised that Dawn and Gary still talk to me, though they have grown distant, and I don't know if that trust is something I will be able to earn back. And I'm not sure if I deserve to have it back.

And out of everyone, I know the last person I should expect to trust me is you. I am truly sorry for the lies I told against you, and I am sorry for the unrightful anger that I held for all these years. I am sorry that it took me so long to see past that bitterness, and that I let it blind me in the first place. I did more than break your trust, but I broke the trust that the others had for you. It was more than turning them against you, I brought pain and a burden to you during a time when you were hurting just as much as I was.

I think that was the hardest for me to accept– that everything I went through during Misty's death was the same as what you went through, if not more. When I met you as Blaze I was able to catch a glimpse of what you must have gone through, and while I cannot take credit for everything that was done, I know my bitterness helped bring that upon you. I have hurt you in a way that cannot be forgiven.

I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for the way I treated you, for the way I treated your mother, and for the way I treated Charizard. I'm sorry for everything my actions have done, and I am sorry there is nothing I can do to truly apologize to you.

So I will do this– a week before my trial I will be in the Viridian Forest, near the northeast entrance. I'm not asking you to come, and I'm not expecting you to, but I'll be there either way. I will be alone, and all I want is a chance to talk. To tell you this in person, because I feel that will be the only way this will all mean something.

And as selfish as this is to say– perhaps somehow we could start over?

–Brock

Ash could feel the blood roaring in his ears as he read the letter, words on the pages painfully sticking out to him, echoing through his mind. His jaw tightened, heart hammering, and his fingers tightened on the papers. As much as he wanted to tear his gaze away his eyes remained locked on the papers, the edges of it tearing in his tight grasp.

His gaze darted across the papers again, rereading the lines that stuck out the most– the ones that made the frustration crawling under his skin flare.

Perhaps somehow we could start over?

The last words of the letter– but the ones that stung the most. It was these that finally pulled him away from the letter, tears stinging his eyes as he threw it to the ground. He turned on a heel, pacing the length of the cabin as his emotions writhed within him. He blinked away the forming tears in his eyes, hands curled into fists.

Start over? Start over?! He had the nerve to say that to him? He dare put out that offer as if this had all been a misunderstanding?! For a moment Ash's eyes flashed blue– his anger drawing out his aura as his eyes landed on the letter. He reached down, snatching both it and the envelope from the floor, crumbling them his hands. He stormed towards the door, slamming it behind him as he burst out into the chilly morning.

His Pokemon raised their heads as he came stomping through the forest– Serperior and Sceptile looking at him with wide eyes, concern flashing in Pidgeot's as she and Lucario sat in their nest, and even Zoroark was startled out of his illusion.

He had been perched in the branch right above Serperior, claws reaching out towards her. She hissed as Zoroark suddenly flickered into view, her tail glowing with a Leaf Blade. She slashed him out of the tree, the fox twisting about so he could land on his feet. Sceptile gave the dark type a glare, before all of their gazes turned towards Ash as he marched towards them.

"Burn it," He snarled at Zoroark, throwing the papers in front of him. Blue eyes flickered between the papers and up at his trainer, confusion in his gaze. Serperior drew her head up as he said this, flicking her tongue out at him. "I don't care! Just burn it!"

Zoroark hesitated for a moment, before opening his mouth. Ash could see the crackle of flames forming in the back of his throat, a burst of fire seeping out and torching the letter at his feet. Ash stiffened up as he saw the Flamethrower, instantly stumbling back. He watched as the embers ate away at the letter, edges turning black as they crumbled in onto itself, the ashes falling to the ground.

He didn't move until the flames had completely died down, and then he closed his eyes. What had once been a comfort for him had been replaced by a fear– not a raw terror like so many of his other fears brought– but instead an aching longing that couldn't be filled. The sight of fire only reminded him of the flames on Charizard's tail as he curled around him, or a Flamethrower as he leapt forward to defend him.

An eye cracked open as he heard branches creaking, Serperior slithering down the side of the tree, her maroon gaze locked on him. She shoved Zoroark to the side as she approached him, sliding over the remains of the letter and curling around Ash. She laid her head on his shoulder, a low thrum humming from her, the calming action somewhat relaxing Ash.

"He has no right," Ash whispered, a slight tremble in his voice. "He can't– they just–!"

He took in a deep breath, falling silent, his mind darting back to Brock's letter. A court date at the start of next month... that was just around the corner, but yet he hadn't heard a word about that. Not one whisper even though it was related to him, nothing even when the people he saw the most outside of his mother were the International Police themselves. Did they think that he wouldn't want to know? That he wasn't ready to handle it? That he would react badly?

Well, he wasn't reacting that well right now. Or maybe he was– he didn't know how he should react. It didn't truly matter, the frustration crawling under his skin felt like it was only burrowing deeper. He wanted to tear the letter apart, even though it was just ashes in front of him. Zoroark noticed his glaring at the remains, and slashed at the cinders with his claws, blue eyes flickering up towards him expectantly.

He turned his head away, and Serperior pressed closer to him. "He has no right," He said again. "Acting like this can just be fixed, like it's all a misunderstanding–"

...But in reality, that's what this was. A misunderstanding. A hatred that had been for nothing, and him carrying a blame that wasn't his to carry. It felt impossible that what he had suffered through could be put under what felt like a simple term, and even then it didn't change what he had got through. That Brock had thrown his trust to the side like it was nothing, that he had been willing to believe such horrible things without giving him a chance.

The past couldn't be changed through, what had happened had happened, and this reality would always be the one that he lived. He stared down at where the letter had once been, Brock's words still racing through his mind. He didn't want to see Brock, and he didn't want to talk to him, but yet no one seemed to grasp that concept. He wanted to be alone– and by alone he meant with his mother and his Pokemon. The ones that could never hurt him and who he could always trust.

Ash? Lucario's telepathy pierced his mind, breaking up his scrambled thoughts. He glanced towards the canine, who was still by Pidgeot's side, but he had risen to his feet. Is there anything I can do to help you?

Ash stared at him, but then simply shook his head. It took him a moment to remember that Lucario couldn't see him, so he telepathically replied instead.

No.

There was nothing Lucario could do, because the only one that could do something was him. Just like with the letter, if he just let it sit there it would always be there, silently jeering. And as painful as it had been to read... it was over. It was something else he could throw into the past– and something he was willing to let go of.

Yet there were so many other things he wasn't willing to let go of, and there were things that he couldn't yet put behind him. Ash bit his lip, standing there in the cold autumn air, thoughts churning. It was strange how nothing was simple, but yet sometimes the solution was just that. The things he was still willing to carry he would bear, but yet some burdens he didn't want still clung to him, weighed him down with every step he took.

Was this going to be another one he'd carry?

"Scep?" Sceptile asked.

"I... I need some time alone," Ash muttered, turning on a heel and marching back towards the cabin. All of his Pokemon watched him in concern, but none followed. If he wanted time alone then they would respect that.

And when he needed them, they would be there.

Brock wished he had picked another day.

The Viridian Forest was cold, the strong breeze sweeping away the little warmth there was already. He shuffled, pulling his jacket tighter around him, wishing he had brought something warmer to wear. He had the whole day ahead of him after all, and the winds showed no sign of relenting.

It was a lively section of the forest, Rattata scurrying among the fallen leaves and Pidgeys chirping overhead. It was a time of year Misty would have liked, the bugs types slowing down, preparing to hibernate or migrate with the incoming winter. Brock's lips pressed together at the thought of her, his gaze drifting down to his feet as he tried to turn his focus elsewhere.

He wrung his hands together, both in an effort to stay warm, and simply having nothing else to do. He had brought no Pokemon with him, having promised to come alone, but had brought nothing to keep him occupied either. It hadn't been something that slipped his mind, rather he felt it would have been wrong to bring something trivial. He was confident that Ash wouldn't come– but still that was his purpose for being here. He couldn't waste that time to idle away, but rather his whole focus must be on what had brought him here in the first place. The man let out a deep sigh, leaning back against the tree, looking up at the sky.

He hadn't bothered getting a lawyer for his upcoming trial, no matter how many had insisted it would be his best shot. He didn't need someone to represent him– he had broken the law, and he would plead guilty for what he had done. Brock knew that he wouldn't be the only one going on trial either, the others that had helped form the false case against Ash would be tried as well, alongside the many members of Team Rocket– more of which seemed to be discovered daily.

A flash of yellow caught Brock's eye, and he looked up to see a small yellow shape scurrying along the path of the forest. Instantly his gut tightened at the sight of the electric type, and the Pikachu shot a glance out at him. Her ears flicked up, watching him for a moment, before deciding he wasn't a threat. She hurried off deeper into the forest, vanishing as she darted behind a tree. Pikachu were native here, there was no reason for him to get worked up over seeing one, it's not like Ash would be arriving with his once constant companion.

Not that he would be arriving at all, Brock had to remind himself. There was no way that Ash would have seen his letter– he knew there was no reason Delia would give it to him. He had also promised her that he would stay away, so it wasn't like he could ask her what had happened to it. He suspected it had been tossed into the first trash can there was, or perhaps dropped straight on the ground the moment he had turned his back, there was no reason for her to keep it. Not after everything he had done to that family.

It was hard, separating his anger from his understanding. The hatred was one that he had been carrying for so long that it couldn't simply be forgotten, and it had taken him a long time to separate that rage for who he thought Ash Ketchum was from the memories of the true person he had once known. He had carefully recalled cheerful moments he had buried away as a way to remind himself, had tried to focus on every good thing he had previously acted as if had never happened– but in the end instead of peace he had just found himself living with nothing but guilt.

He remembered his kind and selfless brother in his memories– and he knew how much hurt he had brought upon him.

Brock felt that his intentions for writing the letter were purely selfish, that it was an excuse to try to free his mind from this guilt that had been building up within him ever since the league. Knowing the truth of what had happened was one thing, but accepting everything he had done was another. There was no avoiding the guilt that had come upon him, nor the sick feeling that was now his constant companion. His mind couldn't be turned elsewhere, he had become shackled with the knowledge of what he had done, what he had willing brought upon someone else. He knew that he couldn't live like this forever, and he was hoping that today would make some difference.

He was trying to make an effort, he was hoping that his words would mean something– even if his actions had done damage beyond repair.

Ash would not be coming out here today, but still he was waiting for him, and that was what was important. This heaviness in his heart, this guilt eating away at his chest– it was very much real. It was something he didn't want to accept, but he knew that he had hurt someone, had ruined their life in a way he couldn't imagine. He couldn't pretend that it had never happened, he couldn't ignore this wrong he had done– even if he couldn't do anything about it either.

Brock's thoughts were interrupted by the flapping of wings.

He jerked his head up in surprise, instantly knowing that these wings were much too large to belong to a mere Pidgey. He expected to see a Pidgeotto, or perhaps a Fearow flying overhead, but a giant shadow fell across him instead. The creature was huge as it flew above the small clearing he sat in, the eagle's amber eyes instantly locking on him as she scanned the forest below. The Pidgeot let out a low call, banking about as she tucked in her wings and dove into the clearing.

Her feathers gleamed in the sunlight, her wings stirring up the autumn leaves scattered on the ground. She landed softly, feathers ruffled as she tucked in her wings. Brock's gaze was locked on her, his form unmoving– because he didn't want to lift his gaze to look at the figure that was riding on her back.

His body betrayed him however, eyes flickered up after a moment, taking in the Pidgeot's rider. A familiar black hoodie covered his arms, but for once the hood wasn't drawn up, the boy's wild raven hair falling across his face. He carefully dismounted the Pidgeot, his movements slow and stiff, his eyes locked on the ground. Leaves crunched under him as he took a step forward, before jerking around to face the Pidgeot, hands being buried into her feathers.

The flying type moved her head in close, her beak being ran through his hair, a soft cooing coming from her as she attempted to soothe him. Brock hadn't moved an inch since the bird had landed, eyes wide as he stared. His mouth was open slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but no words came from Brock. His heart was hammering in his chest, trying to process what was happening. Brock felt his throat tightening, a fear climbing up his throat.

The moment a pair of hollow brown eyes met his, Brock knew he couldn't do this. The same instant Ash turned Brock found himself taking a step back, his breath getting caught in his throat. Their gazes only locked for a second before they both turned away, but it had been enough. Those empty eyes had been filled with anger, an anger that was meant for him, an anger he knew he deserved.

He was out here alone. Without a Pokemon, without anyone knowing where he was– alone with a man whose life he had ruined, whose rage was visible in every step towards him, a man who had Pokemon who could easily tear him apart in a blink of an eye. Again he stepped back, the world teetering around him dizzily as Ash came closer, his every movement stiff, jaw clenched as he paused in front of him.

Brock closed his eyes before their gazes met once more, taking in a sharp breath as he braced himself. He didn't know what he expected, but whatever came his way he knew he would deserve. His hands curled at his sides, tensing up as he waited for that brewing rage to explode, for the pain he had inflicted to be thrown back at him– and he would take it.

The sound of ragged breathing met his ears, the tension in the air thickening, but never breaking. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, and it felt like the ground was swaying under his feet. He flinched as he heard Ash shifting, followed by the crinkling of paper.

Then there was silence.

Brock dared to open his eyes, the fear about him palpable, but the silence was even more unbearable. Ash still stood right in front of him, the man's head turned away. His arm was stretched out to him, a folded sheet of paper sitting in his hands. Brock stared down at the letter, confusion washing over him for a moment, before he slowly reached out to take it.

The moment he pulled it out of his grasp Ash turned on a heel, storming away from Brock as quickly as his tensed form would allow him. Pidgeot flared open a wing as her trainer approached, draping it over Ash in a reassuring manner. Brock's hand tightened on the paper, realizing that Ash was returning his letter to him. No words had to be exchanged for him to get the message– Ash had no intentions of talking to him, or even reading what he had written.

But how would he know where he was, if he hadn't read the letter? Brock looked down at the paper, staring at his name that had crudely been written on the front. His heart jumped, realizing that this wasn't the letter he had written, but rather a letter for him. He didn't even glance at Ash as Pidgeot guided him deeper into the forest, unfolding the letter to get to whatever had been written inside.

Unlike his letter there was only a single sheet, and unlike his letter there was no greeting– just the words hastily scrawled across the page:

I don't want to see you again. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want you contacting me or my mother again in any form. If you meant any of the words you said then you will stay away from her– there is no justification for the way you treated her, no matter what you believed my actions to be. I cannot forgive you for how you treated her.

What you choose to do now will make no difference, what has happened as happened. Pleading guilty won't change the past. Saying sorry doesn't take away what you have done to me. Your apology is something I'm not ready to accept, nor do I think I ever will in the near future. It would have been less hurtful if you hadn't forced this on me and had just left us alone. All I ask of you is to move on.

Living a life of guilt is not worth it. I have spent nearly four years carrying that burden, and it is something I have yet to let go of. The fact that you have felt it is enough for me, but I do not wish for you to carry it for the rest of your life. I have told myself time and time again that I do not hold your actions against you, or any of the others'. You didn't act out of malice, you acted out of pain. Unlike Team Rocket, who wanted me to suffer, you merely wanted the guilty party to suffer. While I'd like to think I would have acted differently, I do believe I would have done the same thing if I had been in your shoes.

Do not hold onto the past. Do not let it control you. It is not worth it, it will do nothing for you but weigh you down. Move on past what you have done, and try for a better future. Move on past me, because any trust we once had is now gone. Wanting to start over is simply too much to ask of me. Perhaps one day things will be different, but as of now I believe it would be best if we had no more connections to each other.

–Ash

Brock's eyes lingered on the page as he finished reading, paper crinkling as his grip on it shifted. His thumb brushed over the page, thoughts shifting as he took in the words that stared up at him. The message was clear, and it was far more than he had been expecting– but still the harsh words had hurt. There was a slight tremble in his hands as he folded the paper, tucking it away into his pocket, lifting his head towards where Ash had left.

Pidgeot's shadow fell across Ash as they walked, heading deeper into the Viridian Forest.

He didn't care where he was going, just barreling forward, trying to get as far from him as possible. Ash didn't hear the concerned coos from Pidgeot, only the thumping of his own heart. He knew that this had been a mistake, coming out here, looking at him. Seeing Brock had always been painful, but seeing Brock while they both knew who the other was... it was even worse.

It hurt, it hurt looking at someone he had known so well, someone he had trusted so much. He struggled with many memories, yet having memories that had once been so blissful now bring him pain was something new. He shouldn't have come out here, if he had been so desperate to reply he should have had someone else deliver the letter.

Ash paused as he pushed his way into a small clearing, his breathing ragged. Pidgeot pulled up right behind him, laying her head on his shoulder, nervous twitters coming from her. He knew the concern was for him, but he also knew that she was eager to return to the cabin– to where her egg and Lucario were waiting.

The sound of footfalls caused him to tense, and behind him Pidgeot shifted so she was standing protectively between the approaching figure and her trainer. Ash didn't turn around, even as the footsteps slowed, his arms wrapping around himself. He knew who was there, and how desperately he wished he wasn't.

"Ash!"

He tensed, the voice being one he had not heard in sometime, despite having only seen him minutes ago. He closed his eyes, not responding as Brock called out his name again. He heard the sound of Pidgeot's wings flaring open, a screech escaping her beak. He didn't want to hear him, he didn't want to talk to him– why couldn't Brock understand that? Why couldn't he leave him alone?

He turned his head when he heard nothing else, half hoping the man was gone, having retreated after seeing Pidgeot's display. But there Brock stood among the trees, staring out at the clearing that he stood in. Their eyes met, and as desperately as he wanted to turn away, Brock held his gaze. The two looked at each other, a strong gust of wind rustling through the trees.

"In your letter," Brock called, panting slightly from his run. "You said 'one day'. I... I know right now is too much, but one day... do you promise that? One day?"

Ash didn't reply, just standing there as he took in Brock's words. He felt a lump forming in his throat, which he struggled to swallow. He let the words echo in his head, stomach twisting unhappily at the thought. He turned so he was fully facing Brock, the man watching him with desperate eyes.

Then he turned away, silently walking towards Pidgeot and sliding onto her back. She was still as he wound his fingers through her feathers. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Brock withdrawing back into the shadows of the trees, and from this angle he couldn't make out the expression on his face. He felt no desire to turn towards him though, simply closing his eyes instead.

"...One day," Ash finally said, voice soft, but heard. "One day. I promise."

Perhaps one day they could talk without these bitter and fearful feelings, perhaps one day they could look at each other with more than distrust. He would never be his best friend, he would never be his brother again, but perhaps something could be there.

Ash dug his heel into Pidgeot's side, and her wings flared open. They didn't wait for a reply, the eagle swiftly taking to the air. Soon the trees were below him, rising up into the open sky.

Below them Brock watched them go, gaze trailed on the fading figure as they flew away. He lowered his head after a moment, before giving a small nod. He then turned away, heading back into the forest as he set out for Pewter City.

The next update is going to be the epilogue, and the end of this story. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me this far, and I hope you all enjoy the conclusion to The Final Battle.

I know this story has a lot of elements and characters that I haven't been able to put as much focus on in the concluding chapters as I'd like to, so if you guys have any questions I'd be more than happy to answer them, except for things that will be addressed in the epilogue. :)