[Chapter 7]

Steven can't help but find it eerie to be facing the all-too-familiar door. It's so hard to shake the unease, like he's trespassing, yet he's standing in front of his own childhood home.

Just like waking from a dream, he can't really remember how he got here. The first thing he can recall is winding his way through the streets of Rustboro toward his eventual destination. Where his feet had taken him hadn't been a surprise; he'd made a promise, after all. It's just startling that it feels like Rustboro hasn't changed one bit, but he knows that's not the case. For one, all of the usual pokemon he'd been accustomed to seeing are gone. In their stead float only ghosts, drifting in and out of the streets crowded with people ensconced in the same ethereal glow as him.

He's no fool. There's a very good reason he's here, but he never expected death to be this familiar.

A Shuppet drifts by and he doesn't mean to stare, but he does. The ghost pokemon stares right back, but instead of snickering as the ghosts in the living world did, it gives him a wistful look. Like it knows how unjust it is that he's here.

But life isn't about playing fair. Steven knows this. He's known it ever since he was a little boy, and the one person in his life that meant everything had been taken from him all too soon. In a way, it made his decision that much easier. If it could prevent that same theft from happening to someone else, what he had given would all be worth it.

He raises his hand and knocks on the door. There is a shuffling inside, and after a moment the door opens.

She's as beautiful as he remembers, pieced together from childhood memories and fond stories from his father… All traces of her illness are gone; she is tall and strong and radiant, and not even the puzzled look she gives him can dull her presence. He smiles.

"Hi, Mom."

"...Steven?"

It's a hesitant question at first. After all, he was only five when she left. She would have no idea what her child looks like as an adult. But the realization is swift; he looks like his father after all. The next time she says his name, he nearly shivers from the anger in her voice, the pain. He did not expect such pain.

"Steven, you shouldn't be here. Why are you here?"

As much as he's planned what he'd say to her, he's at a loss. The desperation of her question leaves him speechless.

"How can this be? It's too soon… Look… look at you. You've grown so much." She's crying now, silent tears streaming down her pale cheeks. The conflict in her eyes is written so clearly that Steven can barely swallow around the tightness in his throat. She reaches out a hand to cup the face of the son she never had the chance to know. "You can't be here. Not now. Not when you've got so much life ahead of you."

"Mom, I—"

He falters, the prickle of tears beginning to form in his own eyes. He's back at home now, four years old. He's accidentally knocked over his father's display case of rare fossils, and she's discovered what he'd done. That same sinking feeling in his stomach, it rushes back stronger than ever. Yet his mother's tears sting more than any scolding he's ever gotten. He's in trouble, he's upset her, even though that's never what he intended. He never should have come here.

The regret grabs hold and strangles him. This isn't what he wanted.

It was supposed to be a happy reunion.

He tries to explain, this wasn't a choice he made selfishly. He had to. He had to in order to save the things he loved. But he can't form the words, because he knows deep down that nothing will heal the wound of meeting your child in the afterlife before his father.

As he goes to wipe his eyes, an icy sensation runs down his spine, and suddenly he notices the large gathering of ghost pokemon behind him. Guides of the spirit realm, they are drawn to those who are in turmoil. To soothe or to punish, Steven isn't sure, but he has no time to think, as his mother ignores the ghosts and reaches out and grabs him by the arm. She whisks the two of them through the crowd of pokemon and away down the street, a purposeful march to her step, and the vice grip on his wrist leaves him no choice but to follow.

"I have to make this right," she mutters as she tugs him toward the north edge of the city.

Paved streets fade to grass and rocky cliffside, and Steven knows all too well where they're headed. Any attempt he makes at asking why gets ignored with a shake of his mother's head, and she pulls them along even faster until they're at the gates of Rustboro Cemetery.

Finally, she lets go of his arm in order to swing the iron gate open. It creaks just like he remembers, and a faint breeze rustles the treetops. He shivers. The air is thick with something, what it is, Steven can't tell. He's too busy trying to keep the memories of this place from burying him. He's on autopilot as he trails behind his mother. Timeworn into his heart, he'd never forget the path to her grave. Everything in his chest squeezes a bit tighter as they arrive at the Stone family plot. Except this time there is something different, and the sight of it makes his blood run cold.

A new headstone next to hers. His headstone.

The reality of his situation comes crashing back down and he's shaking so badly he can barely choke out the same question he's been trying to ask for the last fifteen minutes.

"Mom… w-why are we here?"

Finally, she answers. "Because I'm sending you home."

Another breeze dances through the trees, and with it comes the faint tinkling of windchimes. Steven shivers again.

"But it's too late, Mom. I'm already dead." His stomach flips at the word. "I can't go back."

"It doesn't have to be too late."

And as she turns towards the pair of headstones, the guilty thought crosses his mind that maybe she's gone crazy in all the time she's spent here in this afterlife. He shakes his head and banishes the idea. His mother's not crazy... But then why is she so insistent when there's nothing that can be done?

He realizes she's kneeling now in front of his grave, her hands resting on the smooth stone. Her eyes are closed, fingers tracing the chiseled "S" of his name, and she's whispering something he can't quite make out.

"Mom…?"

Suddenly, the light of her spirit pulses once, twice, three times, like a heartbeat. She gasps as the wind picks up again, sending the chimes dancing. The breeze is short and swift, but as it dies down, the chimes don't die with it. They sway and clink and rattle in the still air, and it's only then that Steven realizes that the windchimes in the spirit world are special, too.

Chimecho hang in the trees above and sing, their tails swaying in time as the air swirls with light— drifting particles that glow and pulse with the same spirit energy that surrounds his mother...

Steven's eyes go wide as his gaze darts back to where she's kneeling, and his heart leaps into his throat. Another breeze rushes through, sending a cloud of particles floating away from her ethereal form. He can see the ground through her body, she's fading away like a waning sunset, and the panic nearly swallows him whole.

She's vanishing.

"Mom, what's happening!? Where are you going?" He can't bring himself to rush to her side, because what if when he reaches her, she melts through his hands; a million particles of glowing dust in the wind. "Why are… you… you're disappearing."

Her smile is as soft as it is sad. "I've had a lot of time, Steven. A lot of time to learn about this place. About the spirits who inhabit this place."

He watches in silent horror as more of her is carried away into the sky to the tune of the Chimecho's song.

"You're right, those who live in this world are dead. But they're not gone. They have the ability to commune with the living. Mediums, psychics, even wild ghosts can all hear our voices if the connection is strong enough."

Her eyes flick down to where a worn silver band rests around one of his fingers. He's wearing several, but this one stands out. She'd never forget it. It was hers.

"I've watched over Joseph all this time. And I've tried to watch over you, as best I could. The memories… They weren't as strong… But I've seen you grow, and what you've become. I'm so proud of you."

"Mom, why are you saying this?"

His voice cracks, but she's back to ignoring him, ignoring the way he's shaking and holding back the tears. She has to finish what she's going to say before it's too late.

"The most amazing thing is, if a soul's connection to the living world is strong enough, they have an extraordinary power. In exchange for a part of their spirit, they can send a wish to the land of the living in the chance that it may be granted. The greater the wish, the larger the price."

"Mom… no…"

She smiles, because behind that mask of grief, he's still that same brilliant little boy. He's already figured it out.

"I've given you life once already. What kind of mother would I be if I passed up the chance to give it to you again?"

He has nothing left to say. He's losing her again. Twice in a lifetime is too much. The tears pour unheeded down his cheeks.

"Steven..." Her voice is hollow; an echo on the wind. She reaches out with a fading hand, and he takes it without hesitation, falling to his knees in the soil next to her. He buries his face against her shoulder and sobs.

He's five years old again in her hospital room, begging for her to stay. He doesn't want her to go away and leave him all alone. Because this time, the memory is filled with the emptiness that comes afterward. He hugs her so hard that maybe if he never lets go, he can still save her. That's what he's supposed to do: save people.

She's slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

Leaning back from their embrace, she cups her hand against his face. He looks at her with terrified eyes.

"Take care of your father for me." With her thumb she wipes the moisture from his cheek, her own tears running down the side of her face that hasn't faded yet. "I love you to the stars and back."

Suddenly, the wind picks up. What had been a steady breeze is now a gale, the force of it so strong it begins to lift him from the ground. He panics as he's lifted upward, prying him from her grasp. He tries to fight it, to get back to her side, but he's helpless. She watches him rise and gives one final smile. It's peaceful and reassuring and he's back at the hospital, being led from her room for the last time. He can't cry again, he has to be brave. For her.

He stops struggling and watches as the outline of his mother disintegrates into the sky; a whisper in the wind. He stares at the slight imprint in the soil where she had knelt. It's the last thing he sees before a flash of green light fills his vision, and the world goes silent.

He wakes with a start. Wherever he is, it's freezing. He blinks through the haziness of his mind, and realizes just how uncomfortable it is sprawled out on his side across a sheet of ice. He props himself up with one shaky hand and takes another breath, the sunlight warm on his face even as his hair drips water down his cheeks. His ribs ache, and his arm tingles with pins and needles, and why is his PokeNav all the way over there? Wait a minute…

Metagross's happy cry reverberates through him until it rattles his very soul.

He's back in Sootopolis.

He's alive.

A shadow falls across his face, and a familiar voice leans close as a hand falls on his shoulder with a gentle shake.

"Steven? Steven, hey. You scared us for a moment there."

It's Wallace. He looks harrowed, and doesn't even try to hide the quiver in his tone. Around him are the concerned faces of the Elite and their pokemon. No one dares to speak, as if breaking the silence would sever the last thread of reality, and the world would come crashing down around them. There is a wave of unease in the air somewhere beneath the overwhelming relief in seeing the Champion sit upright and alert, albeit shakily.

Phoebe watches as Steven looks from face to face, the same disbelief shining clear in his expression. She knows none of her fellow Elite truly understand why this uncertainty lingers in their hearts. Why Glacia's smile is laced with worry, her hands wringing tightly in front of her dress. Why the tension in Drake's jaw turns his own smile into a grimace. Why at her side, Sidney shifts from foot to foot, fidgeting with Absol's pokeball. And why she can barely hide her own shaking, too exhausted to even try to pretend she's not crying still.

Because no one had seen what she had, when they rushed to the side of their fallen friend. The tiny green spirit that floated just above Steven's body as Wallace desperately tried to wake him. Why it let her remember its face, she'll never know. Because as she recognized Celebi for what it is, she also realized how easy it would have been for it to have erased all trace of its intervention as easily as it reset the timeline. Instead, it met her own shocked stare with its bright blue eyes and grinned, a child-like giggle echoing in a way that only Phoebe could hear. And as she watched with tear streaked shock when the life flooded back into Steven, Celebi had given her a mischievous wink before blinking back out of existence, like it had never even been there in the first place.

But its exit was not without a trace. Manipulation of the flow of time is a messy thing; imprecise on even the best days. Somewhere in the back of her mind—in the back of everyone's mind—is the ghost of memories that supposedly never happened. Like the feeling of something you should remember, something you couldn't quite put into words, sitting right on the tip of your tongue, something lingered, sour and repugnant. The feeling that in deep in their hearts, they knew Steven had died. They had seen it with their own two eyes. Lived it. For days… weeks. And then suddenly, it was nothing more than a lie. A myth. A fairy tale full of nightmares. Because he was alive. Right there in front of them. Living, breathing proof that somewhere, somehow, a second chance had been granted.

"Wallace… I—" Steven falters as Wallace's hand unconsciously tightens on his shoulder, and he realizes no one has moved from the rough semicircle in which they'd gathered. Like they still can't believe what they're seeing. Steven looks around, and he notices that beneath the overwhelming relief runs a hint of something else. A cord drawn taught, pulled until it frayed, yet refused to snap.

It's only once Steven lands on Phoebe's heartbroken gaze that he realizes something is truly amiss. She's staring, wide-eyed and tearful. That the vivid recollection of his mother's face, of the weight of her in his arms… It hadn't all been a dream. His hand finds its way to his chest, gripping the fabric of his utterly ruined suit until his knuckles turn white. Beneath the curl of his fingers beats his heat, strong and steady. The growing dawn light glints off the of his silver rings, and for a second he forgets to breathe.

Suddenly, he's enveloped in a soggy, white-clad hug. Wallace's arms are a vice-grip, and even if he had the strength to fight it, Steven wouldn't have dared try. Instead, he sags against the shaking form of his friend until Wallace relents. But even as Wallace draws back, he keeps a steady hold of Steven's shoulders, stare so fierce that Steven nearly tries to duck away in shame.

"If you even try something so stupid ever again..."

Steven winces. He knows Wallace isn't looking for an apology. He just knows he can't make an empty promise to Wallace again. Because even if after all of this something else were to happen. If it wasn't truly the end. If an ancient power were to awaken once more…

"Steven." Wallace gives him a gentle shake. "Just… tell us next time, okay?"

Metagross's hum of agreement travels through the icy platform, and Steven's guilt rushes back anew. Behind the Elite, his pokemon are huddled together, simply staring at where their trainer had fallen. Not by their side where they could have tried to protect him. Not together as a team, as he'd promised so long ago. Somehow their silence hurts even more than any of the Regi's curses.

Except that as his gaze lands on them each in turn, there's no accusation left in their expressions. It's been buried deep by the relief of it all, and even the stalwart Aggron seems to have abandoned its shock at the betrayal of what had been Steven's final, awful command. It huffs a soft sound, and Armaldo chatters a nervous question in reply. Claydol's gaze drifts over Steven's shoulder to catch Metagross's one good eye, and the psychic types share an unspoken confirmation. Everything is going to be okay. Cradily shrieks with pure, unbridled joy.

Almost in response to her happy cries, a deep rumble echoes across the devastated city, and everyone freezes. An icy dagger of dread buries itself through the growing warmth in Steven's chest as all eyes turn up toward the crater's edge. The Regis.

But rather than looming down as before, the trio of titans stands with their backs on Sootopolis, the morning sun casting a halo of light around their imposing forms. A strange chattering sound rises through the air, joined by clattering and clanking, and Steven realizes only then that the tablet by his side is broken. With their link severed, the Regi's voices are muted to nothing inside his mind. Their purpose fulfilled, all that's left is for them to take their leave, and one by one they slip below the lip of the crater without another sound.

Steven exhales the shaky breath he's been holding and feels Wallace do the same. All eyes are back on him, and he realizes he's never given Wallace a response. He peeks over Wallace's shoulder only briefly, his pokemon waiting just as patiently as his friend. "I'll try," is the most honest answer he can muster.

And for the first time, the ghost of a smile dances across Wallace's face. "I guess that will have to do." He offers Steven his hand as he rises. Steven accepts it and is hoisted to his feet where he wobbles only momentarily before Wallace steadies him. "I hope you know, Steven Stone, just how impossibly exhausting it is to be your friend. I believe these are yours, by the way."

Three objects are shoved into Steven's hands. Two pokeballs and his PokeNav. Wallace looks at him expectantly, waggling his open palm. Steven quickly realizes what the gesture means, and he pulls out the two borrowed pokeballs from his pocket. While Wallace is occupied with his two returned partners, Steven turns his attention to the PokeNav, and his stomach does a flip.

'Message failed—'

He deletes the message. He'll explain everything later. For now, he pockets the device and rests his hand against the cool steel of Metagross's brow. If he listens closely, he can hear the faint sound of windchimes dancing on the breeze. He turns his gaze upward toward the clear blue sky and makes one final promise.

"I'll try."

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FIN

AN: Thus concludes the seven-chapter-long one shot I never intended to write. This chapter was always intended to serve as an alternate ending to this fic, something extra for the reader which they can then ultimately decide which ending they truly believe. (You know, alternate timelines and all that jazz...) I was intending to post this as a separate piece, but then I was worried that divorcing it would confuse things, so here we are.

I would like to first off thank my wonderful beta, QuoteMyFoot, for their tireless enthusiasm and support for this fic. Without them, I doubt this would have gotten past the first chapter and made any sort of sense whatsoever.

Secondly, thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and favorited this fic. Your readership means a lot, especially with the wildly different style from anything I'd written before. Your patience with me as I experimented with style and tense is greatly appreciated. I can't promise I'll stick to one style or genre moving forward, either, but I do intend to keep writing. Thanks for sticking around, and I hope the payoff for your patience was (and will continue to be) worth it in the end.

Thank you so much, again, and I'll see you in the next fic.

~Wolflyn