Pedestal: Define Who We Are

"Nick."

He looked up at me. Not happy, not sad, not angry, not much of anything. Just those golden eyes, barely visible underneath his shaggy hair and low hood. Black, shadow, so much darkness, but then those golden hazel honey straw eyes. They seemed to be brighter after all of these years.

"You came," he remarked, voice void of emotion.

"Of course I did." There was so much more I could add to that—how I couldn't resist, how I had to see him, how I had to end this—but I couldn't force it out. The words wouldn't leave my throat. Behind him, Chase locked onto me with equally yellow eyes, narrowed and distrusting. At least I could read him. What had happened to the amiable, social, talented young man that had once been my best friend?

"I've been waiting for you," he said, breaking into a smile for the first time. It did nothing to comfort me.

I swallowed thickly and literally forced the words out. "N-Nick, you're coming back with me. I have to fix this."

"…Why do I need to be fixed?" he asked in a quiet, low growl. He suddenly reminded me very strongly of Chase, and not for the first time, I could appreciate the bond between trainer and starter. "I'm not the one killing, you know that. I didn't mean to start this revolution. I didn't want to start this—things were almost fine how they were before."

"Except for Matthew."

"…Except for Matthew," he admitted in the softest voice he'd used yet. He ducked his head and used his hood and hair as a shield for those light eyes of his.

"Nick, I know how that must have felt." I stepped towards him cautiously, resisting the urge to completely run at him. Either for a hug or a tackle, I couldn't be sure. Neither would lead to great results.

"No, you don't!" His head whipped back up and he glared at me for the first time. I jumped back, heart rate skyrocketing. Those were the eyes that had killed Stantler and Houndoom with a shovel, those were the eyes that had glared down Cynthia, those were the eyes that had reprimanded me for challenging Maylene.

"You're acting like you are the only one in the world who's lost something!" I cried back, unable to do much else. I was an only child and my immediate family was still alive. The only bits of tragedy I could cling to were Woonu—and, of course, Nick. But cling I did. "And Nick, you're not!"

"Then where was all of this sympathy when I needed it!" he snarled, but immediately shut his mouth and looked like he wanted to take it back. He turned fully away from me, but not before I caught a glimpse of the fact that he was about ready to cry. "Goddamn it, you look like Matthew. Older. You've grown so much." I tried valiantly to ignore the shudder that worked its way up my spine at the words. "…I don't want to have to fight you."

I smiled in relief, unable to help it in the least. "I don't want to have to fight you either, Nick. Please, don't let it end this way."

"What way?" he asked flatly, wrapping an arm around Chase's neck, burrowing his face into the dragon's rough scales.

"I don't want this showdown. I want… Well, I want a lot of things. I want to go back to the way things were before. But I know that can't happen, not anymore." I shook my head, concentrating on anything but the pathetic wreck of a trainer before me. "Nick, I know your side of this. I can sympathize. I think I can sympathize more than you think."

He looked at me once more, but didn't say anything.

It took even more effort to force it out this time. "I've killed."

His eyes widened in horror, and all at once, he was in front of me, seizing me by the shirtfront and lifting me off my feet. Completely unbidden and unwanted, I couldn't help but remember all of the times he'd picked me up in the years past. The reflex was to grin and laugh. What I did was hiss in a breath and go rigid and tried not to kick him. "You're lying!" he accused wildly, desperately.

"What if I am?" I had said it that way to elicit a reaction, but I hadn't expected this one. Now I didn't know what to do.

"You can't do that! You're better than that!" He seemed to realize that he was holding me a couple inches above the ground and dropped me with a look of disgust that hurt more than anything else. I couldn't help but shy away under his gaze. He still held that power, that senseless feeling of wanting to be good for him, over me and I hated it.

It was the first and final straw. "I'm no better than anyone else, so stop idealizing me! I've made mistakes! I'm scared and paranoid and sad and pissed off and my best friend is the biggest serial killer in history!" I shouted at him, hands balled into fists. Chase growled at me, but Nick and I both ignored him.

"You should have known better then! You should have—You shouldn't have fallen like I did! You didn't have to become a monster too!" he cried in frustration, tearing at his hair. He stalked away from me, oblivious to the effect his words had on me.

He had called himself a monster, said he'd fallen. He used the words the ghosts were fond of using. He—"You knew." It was not a question, not a demand, not an accusation. It was a fact, and that was worst of all.

He looked up at me, eyes wide and staring, mouth parted in mid-rant. "What?"

"The ghosts warned me about this. But you—you knew," I breathed, unable to speak properly. I couldn't handle this revelation; if I spoke it aloud, actually out loud, I was sure I'd explode. He couldn't have known. Because knowing would have meant that he allowed this to happen just as much as I had.

But no—Lassie had known. Kamala had known.

"Don't do this," he said quietly.

"You knew, Nick."

"Don't do this! Don't think about it!" he warned again, voice rising. He had that wild look again, too. I was pressing him into a corner without even being aware of it.

"…Why did you do it, then?" I asked, struggling to swallow the lump in my throat, ignoring the stinging in my eyes. I looked up at him, begging for this to be a lie. He couldn't have known about it. That would mean that he went down this path willingly. He couldn't have done that—he was just a victim of this, a victim of tragedy and of caring too much.

Nick looked down at me, fearful and heartbroken. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and without warning, he whirled away from me and bolted. Chase was immediately upon him, forcing him back towards me, restraining him despite shouts and orders to the contrary. "Let go of me, Chase, let go! I don't fucking care if I have to do this part!"

"This part?" I asked in a tiny voice.

"Chase, let go of me!" he all but sobbed, scratching at the Garchomp's scales with a desperation that scared me almost as much as his words.

"Nick, what are you talking about."

Chase eventually swung him around and threw him to the ground in front of me. Defeated by his own Pokemon, Nick could only lay there, propped up halfway on his elbows, head bowed almost to the point that his forehead was on the ground. "Dear fucking god, I didn't want this to turn out this way," he groaned hoarsely, digging his nails into the dirt. "I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you to know about the Rhyhorn, about Lassie, about any of it."

"I was caught up in it regardless," I replied without thinking. I still had no idea what was going on—but no, that was a lie. It was like that night in the Pastoria Center all over again. I knew what was coming. I just didn't want it to.

"I knew the entire time," he admitted, voice muffled by his sleeve. He still refused to look up at me. "I knew what would happen, but I was too arrogant to think, even for a moment, that I would fall into it. But goddamn it, it was supposed to be you!" With that, he looked up at me, tears leaving tracks in the dirt on his cheeks. He shut his eyes and shook his head, face going back down to the ground, pulling his hood savagely over his head.

"What do you mean, Nick?" I meant to be soothing and calming, but instead I sounded like a frightened Buneary.

"They said I was going to lose my way when I lost—I thought it meant you. I stuck with you to try to avert it, but instead, it w-was Matthew." He broke off with a moan. "M-Matthew died and it was supposed to be you. I could've handled you, I was there and ready to fight it every step of the way. But no—I had to screw it up every step of the way. Lassie and Kamala and m-my brother…"

I didn't know how to handle this. I sunk to my knees in front of him, struggling to stay conscious of the situation. Nick knew and had been fighting it as much as I had been. We had been fighting for each other, fighting against each other, and we had both messed up. It was supposed to be me who died and turned him into a monster.

"Don't die," the ghosts had told me so long ago. They had been working from my side to try to stop it as much as Lassie and Kamala had been on Nick's. That was why, even when he was such a doting older brother, he stuck with me instead of going back to Matthew. He had been fighting to stop the prophecy as much as I had.

I buried my face in my hands and willed the tears to come. I needed a reaction to this. I couldn't afford to shut down; I had to react and do something instead of that. Anything. So I started talking, talking so I wouldn't have to let this sink in any further. "I've fallen as much as you. I've killed in the name of my team, in the name of elitism. I tried to become a dark Pokemon and I couldn't stop The Tournament. I let hundreds die in that burning building. I didn't believe Hanna at first because I couldn't believe it of you. I didn't want to believe any of this and ignored it in favor of being naïve and stupid. I wanted to believe in you."

"We're idiots," Nick said simply.

"We've ruined our own lives as well as Sinnoh," I added tonelessly.

"They took my Pokemon away from me, they tried to," he said, harsh this time, the anger back. "They're trying to do it to other trainers. They're breaking up teams in my name and I could have stopped this."

"We're both idiots."

-.-.-

Vaikuntha looked up suddenly, smiling brightly when he recognized me. The smile faltered when he took in the figure beside me, however. "Brother, what is… Who is that beside you?" he asked cautiously, always endeavoring to think the best of people.

"Vai, I need a favor," I said instead of answering his question. As if he needed an answer; I wasn't kind enough to lie to him.

"…What is it?" He looked back at me, hair falling into his eyes, smile completely gone.

"Keep them away from us."

-.-.-

"If we had been honest with each other, we could have avoided all of this."

"Honesty is always the best policy."

"If I hadn't become a trainer…"

"If I hadn't, if I hadn't encouraged Matt to…"

Nick and I sat, back to back, waiting for the trainers below us to fall asleep. Konstantin was perched between my legs, red eye bright in the night. He didn't talk much these days. Chase was curled up in another tree, his dark skin allowing him to blend in just as much as we did.

And after we were sure they were asleep, we climbed down and struck. It was exhausting, taxing work, both on the body and the mind. We had given up on our hearts. Our Pokemon had all but given up on us, too. That hurt more than the work we were doing, if we were being honest with ourselves. Which we never were.

We were cutting out the cancer in Sinnoh, one by one. Trainers who abused Pokemon. Trainers who didn't respect Pokemon. Trainers who abused other trainers, who didn't respect the sanctity of training. We ignored the fact that we had caused it in the first place, at least on this scale. We could only rectify it at this point, sacrificing ourselves to the public and karma. It was probably the best thing I'd ever done with my life.

Nick dispatched the female trainer, even as she woke up and screamed—in fear or joy, I honestly couldn't distinguish it anymore—and I took out her male traveling companion with a shovel to the back of the head. He didn't get back up. We started breaking pokeballs and great balls and ultra balls, releasing the Pokemon, and taking care of them if needed. It usually was. Konstantin Shadow Snuck me out of the roundhouse kick of a Blaziken, and I pulled out two pokeballs out of my pocket. None of my Pokemon said anything about the work they were forced to do. They didn't have to. It almost would've been easier if they'd called me out on it.

Chase tore apart most of them single-handedly, but Des and Ike took care of the ones who ran from him and tried to target me. Then, we were left with a Pidgeotto with a broken wing, screaming bloody murder at us, hissing and squawking and kicking viciously every time Ike or Chase circled a little too close. I turned my back on it and ordered, "Des. Kill it."

We were only fixing what we had broken, after all.