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Chapter Text

“Fading Echoes”

Captain John “Soap” MacTavish

Monday, 1st July 2016

Hereford, Herefordshire, United Kingdom.

To say John “Soap” MacTavish was pissed off would be the understatement of the 21^st century.

He had a multitude of other things he could be doing right now-which granted, none of which he could name off the top of his head, but Soap still had other important shit to do. So, when General Shepherd has summoned him to his office at 06:00, he assumed it was something important.

Now? He understood it was simply a bullshit excuse for Shepherd to critique his, apparently, lackluster performance as a Captain. Not that it surprised him. He should’ve expected it at this point but alas, he gave Shepherd the benefit of the doubt. Only to have it bite him in the ass.

It was moments like this that Soap wondered why he had thought getting Shepherd to be the commander of the 141 was a good idea. The team was his and his alone. Shepherd was not the one leading the men into danger, he was not the one who learned every single quirk and niche of his squad and their Pokémon, sketching and recording everything he knew in his journal. No, that was him and him alone.

Soap shifted in his seat, his back and knee flaring in pain from the change in position, making him wince. The scars littering his body felt sentient in the anguish they provided. The message within was clear: Soap was nothing more than a collection of broken things melded together by fate’s cruel irony to have something to laugh at. He was just the stone holding the legendary sword Excalibur for Arthur to draw forth, to relieve him of his agony, except the truth was made clear long ago: Arthur was never coming. People could reassure him all they want, tell him the king will arrive and relieve his woes.

All lies. Soap knew he had to deal with it himself, regardless if the cracks fractured his core.  

Even before the pain had burrowed and stabbed itself deep within him, had that not always been the truth? Soap had always been broken, even before the incident on the bridge, when one question plagued his mind like a Vileplume's Toxic. Why was it that the broken ones always lived when those who were whole did not?

Something told him Doctor Hughes had ratted him out to Shepherd, and the thought made him bite the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping. Too many visits to the infirmary were risky, Soap knew, and with each visit he ran the risk of being reported or his chronic pain being discovered by his team; but it was better to do so rather than reveal the truth behind the curtain to his own men.

They need a leader, not a broken man who was looking for the wrong things in the wrong places.

It seemed his luck had run out, but ignorance towards his own self-destruction was his trump card, and Soap would play it for all his worth. He avoided meeting the general’s frigid gaze, even if his skin prickled with the knowledge that Shepherd was staring directly at him. To do so would acknowledge giving a fuck of what was being said. He wasn’t the one who called this meeting, so it wasn’t his job to air any grievances. Instead, he chose to focus his attention on the other things in this ugly green office. At least, he tried to, but Shepherd was a man of minimal taste, and it clearly showed in his lack of decorating. The only things Soap could describe as “personal” were the golden Braviary statue with Its wings where outstretched in preparation for flight, and the medals lining the wall rather than their usual place as chest candy.

Typical things for a distinguished General, he supposed.

The shouts of drill sergeants, followed by the expressions of assent from eager recruits could be heard from the open window over the General’s left shoulder, grabbing Soap’s attention. The whirling of chopper blades soon echoed overhead, accompanied by distant pops of gunfire. For a moment, Soap could remember his first day, fresh out of selection, eager to prove he belonged, and wished like hell he could return to such simpler times.

Soft snores could be heard from the darkest corner of the room where Shepherd’s Tyranitar, Maverick, slept soundly. His tail was curled around himself like a barrier, resting his head on his arms. An array of scars painted the Pokémon’s body, a mosaic of mementos from time on the battlefield. If he were being honest, Soap was just glad the Pokémon was asleep. Maverick wasn’t the kindest soul, both to humans and Pokémon alike. It was rather best to avoid a trip to the infirmary for a punctured lung and broken ribs.

Above Maverick rested large silver plaque with a list of words engraved in bronze. From this distance, the font was too small for Soap to read, but he could distinguish that it appeared to be a list of names, a memorial of some sort. Out of the corner of his eye, Soap saw Shepherd follow his line of his sight before his face twists into something unpleasant, finally addressing him.

“You’re not in trouble, John,” he said. Perhaps there was some form of reassurance to be found within his words if he listened carefully. However, his tone still hinted that there wouldn’t be room for arguments. Pity that he was probably going to get one. “I just want to talk.”

Shepherd had never been one to “just talk.” If anything, such conversations where often masqueraded criticisms under the guise of concern. Regardless, Soap hummed in acknowledgement. The sooner he indulged, the sooner he could leave.

“With all due respect sir, I don’t understand what we need to talk about,” he confessed dryly. “There haven’t been any problems with the team. Most of them have left on leave already. I would have told you if there was something that needed your attention.”

“If it involved anyone else? Yes, you would. But when it comes to you? You’d stay silent.” Shepherd reached for a couple of papers on his desk, eyes briefly scanning the contents before looking back. “Which leads me to this referral I received from Doctor Hughes, telling me you’ve been running the Selection course-”

Bingo. He had been right. Had this been one of those boring American gameshows, Soap would’ve walked away with a new car and a trip to Sandals Resort.

“Aye, nothing wrong with that.” Soap tried, deceptively keeping his tone light and airy as he smirked in a facade of confidence. Clearly, Shepherd wasn't buying it, because he cut off Soap the next time he went to speak.

“It is if you’re purposefully trying to get yourself killed, John” Shepherd huffed, “when you’re pushing your body past its limits and making your condition worse. It is wrong when you have purposeful intent to punish yourself.” He leaned back; his hands folded in his lap. For a moment, Maverick opened an eye to glance at his partner before closing it once more as Shepherd looked Soap up and down before he continued. “I understand what you’re going through, son. Believe me, I do. But the last thing I want is for you to make yourself worse.”

Soap’s head snapped towards Shepherd, the moment sending another wave of pain down his body as his lips curled, baring his teeth like a defensive Houndoom. What right did Shepherd have to dictate what Soap did on matters outside the field? To claim that he is “making himself worse” when this had been the first time Shepherd had ever bothered to ask about his pain? To make it his mission to help a lost boy? 

One part of him begged to take the olive branch this man had offered, coated in nothing but blood and deceit disguised as empathy. It would be so much easier, to take the burden of those words and internalize them, no matter how painful they were. He wouldn’t have to fight, could save his energy for something worthwhile. Yet one question kept orbiting in his mind, ceasing to give him rest. 

Why care now? 

No. He refused to accept such a deceitful thing. Genuine honesty may be something the military purposefully disposed of, but that did not mean Soap had to accept it. Even if it came from one of his commanding officers.   

“Nae, Sir, you don’t understand what I am going through,” Soap said, pushing out the words between clenched teeth. He may not be able to snap openly at Shepherd, but he could still make himself feel better by letting his fury be known, as rare such a sight was. “If you did, you wouldn’t call me into your office to lecture me like a child.”

The satisfaction he felt was short lived as trepidation tipped toed into the forefront of his mind like a Pyroar crouching in the tall grass, attracted to the scent of a wounded creature it would soon make its next meal. His father had always been the same. One moment, foolish courage would convince Soap to say something, only for wise timidity to make him shrink in fear upon seeing the demons lurking in his father’s eyes. Not even now, in the S.A.S as a grown man trained to be one of the deadliest killers in the world, did such a feeling ever leave. Even if his father wasn’t here.

The sense of misery invoked from painful memories made the odd, green, delta-shaped mark on the inner side of his right wrist burn, almost pushing a preemptive warning to Soap before the low, guttural growl echoed from the corner, making Soap to turn his head. Maverick uncurled himself from the grips of sleep, baring his fangs and pushing himself upright. His mere presence sucked all the energy in the room, appearing to make even the dim shadows retreat from his imposing form. The room seemed to rumble as he stood and stared at Soap, eyes thirsting for retribution.

He didn’t see a Pokémon any longer, he saw his father, seeking atonement for an imaginary offense. If Soap gave it to this specter of him, would it be enough of a penance to leave this interaction unscathed? Thankfully, he didn’t need to think that far.

“Maverick,” Shepherd said tersely, his voice commanding authority even with someone as trusted as his Pokémon partner. The green dinosaurian Pokémon scoffed and rolled its eyes, tossing his head and continuing to move towards Soap. Instinctively, Soap leaned away from the threat while Shepherd moved to stand between them, his own outline almost lost in the shadow of Maverick's figure as he patted the Tyranitar's stomach, albeit awkwardly. Affection was, after all, a foreign concept the man didn’t bother to indulge himself in. Soap wondered if he had ever in his youth. “It’s fine.” 

Maverick huffed, displeased by the pacifist request but heeding his partner’s command, returning to lounging on the floor. However now, his eyes never left Soap, simply staring as if he was prey. The cold stare was unnerving as gold met blue, the virulence of Maverick’s animosity depending on how Soap proceeded from here, especially considering the emotions flicking across the face of the Tyranitar's partner. Shepherd hid his fury well, yet as Soap looked, he could see it shimmering underneath a thin veil of patience. It was a feeling he knew all too well, and if he hadn’t been so invested in his own torment, he would’ve commiserated with the General. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone as Shepherd pinched the bridge of his nose, most likely fighting an oncoming headache.

“Tell me what would help, John? Honestly, tell me. You have been in a foul mood for months. You’re pushing yourself beyond your limits, running courses in the freezing rain, ending up in the infirmary more often than not,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “What the fuck do I have to do to keep you from nearly killing yourself in your own base?”

What would help him? That was truly the question of the hour. What would appease the dark void growing within him every day? Sedate the survivor’s guilt that threatened to sink him into the depths of desolation Soap found so comforting? Did he even want to crawl out of this abyss? In the end, he told the truth. 

“I don’t have any other ideas sir,” Soap said, chiding himself for the remarkably brilliant response and his failure to reign in his own anger, molten . “But I can tell you for certainty that if I did have any ideas, I would have brought them up to you.”

A total lie, of course, considering Shepherd had hidden his disapproval from Soap until today, but at this point, he would say whatever he needed to make the old fuck happy and leave him alone. Usually, it worked, but sadly Shepherd was not letting this go as easily.

“I would have believed you, had I not read up on your file,” Shepherd said dully. Maverick, whose tail was now lightly tapping the ground in clear agitation, shuffled slightly as if planning to stand once more. “Considering you’ve forced me to do my own research on what could possibly help you.”

“You forced my hand, Eilidh,” phantoms hissed in his ear, their voices echoing like a choir of damned angels. “You have no one to blame but yourself.”

“Enlighten me then,” Soap hissed, grabbing the handles of the chair as if ready to throw it. In a way, he was, but while Shepherd was willing to overlook his current behavior, but such an action would probably leave him dead if Maverick had anything to say about it. “What is it you believe about me?”

“I believe you’re simply holding yourself back for some bullshit sentiment war will not care to honor.”

“And I am assuming you have some grand solution?” Soap mocked, crossing his legs carefully as he leaned back in his chair. This was becoming amusing and frustrating all at once. Who would have thought. “Let’s hear it.”

“A Pokémon Partner.”

Well, that was certainty not something Soap had expected to come in conversation, but it was something Shepherd clearly expected to quell (or at least distract) him from his current anger; if the raised eyebrow and smirk on the General's face was anything to go by, he seemed proud of himself for succeeding, and it was a fact that only made Soap's fury grow, the mark on his wrist burning more intently underneath his fingerless gloves.     

“I know for a fact you’ve had a Pokémon Partner before you became a captain, and ever since the death of your Arcanine, Sarge, you squander the chance to raise another,” Shepherd said tersely, tapping his fingers on a file in front of him. “What I don’t understand is why. It’s been years.”

Of course, a man like Shepherd wouldn’t understand. Maverick was nearly indestructible. A Tyranitar’s by itself was extremely strong, enough so that legends say one rampage from it could change the landscape in an instant. Why would he have to worry about the death of his partner at all?

 “Aye, that’s the keyword,” Soap said quietly, his voice shaking ever so slightly. Memories did more damage than self-hatred, and ones of a beloved companion nearly broke his composure and the walls he had erected. Maybe there was still hope for Shepherd to drop it, he just had to be firm in his answer. “I had a Pokémon partner. I don’t anymore and I have no intentions of raising another one.”

“That does not answer my question of why,” Shepherd stated. There went Soap’s hopes of dropping it. “Do you have an answer to that question? War is looming on the horizon; in case you haven’t noticed. I doubt the Russians or Makarov would honor any sentimentality you hold.”

Oh, Soap had noticed. Even after preventing a nuclear war five years ago, after everything he, Price, Gaz, Griggs, and the rest of the Bravo Six team had sacrificed on that fateful bridge before Kamarov had been able to assist them; after a piece of Soap’s life died that day, pain filling the vacancy.

How if Soap had been just a bit faster, then Sarge would’ve-

Soap did have an answer for the question of why, but he didn’t owe Shepherd of all people an explanation, regardless of him being his commanding officer. He read his file, so why ask something so ridiculous? Why did he care whether Soap had a Pokémon partner? Not having one didn’t affect his work in the field. He was still damn good at what he did.

“Your loyalty to your fallen partner is quite touching, Soap” Shepherd said, his voice now uncharacteristically soft, even as a frustrated edge rang in his voice as his tongue wrapped itself around his callsign, “but the harsh truth is this: Sarge is dead and you’re still here, attached to a past that should’ve been buried and mourned long ago. You need your mind right, son.”

"Your mind isn’t right, Eilidh. Your soul is lost to us.”

Fading echoes made the ocean of misery change its tide again; engulfing and swallowing Soap until everything else turned numb. If this was Shepherd’s way of showing he somehow cared, his was impressively shitty at it.

If he had known Soap inside and out, he would have known buried pasts were Soap’s specialty just as much as it was for his lieutenant, Ghost. If he had simply paid attention, he would have known it stemmed from guilt as much as it did loyalty, preventing him from forming any other bonds with a Pokémon. Maybe if Shepherd had been considerate enough during his “forced” research to simply think about the reasons for these things-all of which he could have guessed even if he didn’t know Soap or had paid attention-then he would have understood that this half-assed attempt at care was miserable at best.

However, such things never mattered to Shepherd. What mattered was fixing issues as they presented themselves, such was one of the many duties the American general was tasked with. Clearly, Soap’s regret and remorse was deemed a problem he needed to fix and while the soldier side of him understood, his methodology in going about it was violating.

A snort from Maverick in the corner broke through his despondency, his attention now focused on the dinosaurian Pokémon who seemed to be almost scoffing. A sinister smile seemed to dance across Maverick’s face as he looked at Shepherd, somehow appearing as gloat of satisfaction, like he had been proven right. It suddenly made Soap unable to think, a realization hitting him like a bolt of lightning as his heart started to race.

Shepherd couldn’t possibly mean to….

“Is…is this the ‘suggestion’ you flew out here for, sir?” Soap asked, trepidation and hysteria overtook his anger, morphing it into dismay. “You want to assign me a Pokémon partner?”

He couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. Everyone knew that just as a trainer chooses their Pokémon, a Pokémon had to choose their trainer. A partnership would not work if the individuals did not cooperate, and forcing something meant to grow organically would never fly. If anything, it would make matters worse. Tension gripped his body like a Serviper, coiling and biting at his throat like a vicious poison, suffocating and burning all at once.   

“Assigning one would take away your freedom of choice on the matter, don’t you think Captain?”  the man asked, though it was presented more as a statement then a question. Shepherd rummaged through his desk before pulling a small golden lighter and shutting the drawer, analyzing him with scrutiny as Soap’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I am presenting a simple solution to what I believe to be a simple problem.”

Soap didn’t speak, mouth agape, scrambling for something, anything, he could say. Perhaps it would be the denial in his head on his supposed need for another partner, maybe even a question as to how his guilt was a simple problem Shepherd of all people felt he could address, but all his mind could do was draw a blank in relief that he was not going to be assigned one.

Life had robbed him of enough choices that should have been his. The mark on his wrist and the scar running down his left eye was proof of that. 

Yet with that relief, the earlier anger he had nurtured was doused in an instant, the fight in him gone. Instead, Soap only watched numbly as Shepherd stood from his desk, the leather chair squeaking, as he grabbed the lighter on his desk and walked towards the open window. Shepherd reach into his uniform pocket, pulling out a cigar and lighting it, watching the smoke dissipate into the open air.

He knew that smell well. It was a Villa Clara cigar. Captain Price had liked that brand as well, had smoked one during Soap’s first mission with the team to infiltrate the Vâljakutse in the Bering Strait. Even with the exhaustion and pain, it was almost as if the scent itself allowed the memory to crawl forth unbidden, a rotting corpse from a covered grave. His mind, eager to escape this purgatory it had found itself in, entrenched itself into the memory as if opening a book, submerging Soap before he could fight against its pull.  

Price’s Luxray, Boss, sat by the captain’s side, staring out the open side door of the helicopter and watching each lightning bolt strike some place in the horizon, briefly illuminating his golden fur. With each flash, Boss’s ears perked forward, the light display drawing forth a small “Lux!” A noise Soap had to assume correlated with excitement.

S arge, on the other hand, could only be described as petrified. The fire-type Pokémon normally did not mind the rain, but even a trained Special Forces Pokemon had her limits, and it appeared her limit ended at being over an ocean in the middle of a monster-like monsoon.

Soap didn’t have time to comfort her before the next crack of thunder boomed above them. Sarge yelped, pressing herself into Soap’s side and nearly out the opened door. Soap wrapped an arm around her, speaking softly in Gaelic, his mother tongue a sweet lullaby that had soothed his friend before, but not this time. Now, nothing seemed to be working.

“You want the whole fucking ship to know we’re here, FNG? Shut your bloody mutt up!”

In the darkness of the tempest that raged around them, Soap couldn’t tell who had shouted at him. If he had, he would have made it his mission to punch them when everything was said and done for a simple yelp that was already drowned out by the screams of nature herself. He could barely made out the form of his captain as Price leaned towards the Arcanine, extending the end of the cigar in his hand.

Sarge pulled away slightly from Soap enough to look between Soap and Price, confusion and yet curiosity evident in the poor canine’s eyes, even as her body trembled. Price smiled-a full smile-before wagging the cigar in his hands slightly as if it was a stick.  

“Got a light, muppet?”

Sarge had looked to Soap, the question of whether she should heed the request of someone other than her trainer causing clear hesitation. Unfortunately for her, Soap was just as startled by the request of the stoic captain. Upon looking into his eyes, the soft gaze on Sarge made him realize something.

He was trying to make Sarge comfortable, trying to give her mind something simple to focus on.

I t was that revelation over anything else that, rather than giving a verbal order, Soap just nodded, too stunned to say anything. Thankfully, Sarge understood him well enough to read between the lines, turning back to Price with an excited bark. Fire rose in her mouth as a small jet of fire connected with the end of the cigar.

Exclamations could be heard from Gaz, something around the lines of “watch where you blow that!” but the sudden crack of thunder drowned out his quip, as if nature itself wanted him to be silence.  

Price lifted the cigar to his lips, taking a big drawl from it, smoke leaving his mouth before being carried away into the air. The cigar had somehow managed to retain a light through the heavy rain before Price had thrown it into the ocean.

The Luxray stood, moving towards the door, and looking over his shoulder, waiting in anticipation. Price turned to Sarge, patting her on the head and scratching behind the ears, making the Arcanine’s leg twitch in joy. He nodded to Soap, grabbing onto the rope as he exited the heli, Boss leaping after him.

Soap wondered if it was because of the flames of a fire type Pokémon or the durability of the cigar that had allowed it to stay lit. Either way, the simple request from Price somehow had Sarge wagging her tail in joy for the rest of the mission, the earlier fear of the storm forgotten.

Even when the ship had started sinking, and even after they been hauled into the helicopter after almost falling into the depths of the sea. 

Soap blinked, breaking himself out of the memory. Back then, a lot of things had been different, He had been different, nothing more than a Sergeant, the perpetual F.N.G. plucked from Delta Team to Bravo Team, dutifully looking to prove himself as a soldier among a brotherhood of blades while longing for the found family he had found under his previous captain, Grizzly; a man who had taken him under his wing as a son rather then a simple soldier. He was the father Soap had always wanted and the one he wished he had. 

Before Soap was even born, before he was known as John or Soap, this path of violence was one chosen for him, though not of his own volition. 

Barbarity had branded him with the delta-like symbol on his wrist and the scar running down his left eye, the latter gifted to him from his father in his attempt to appraise the Dragon Lord, the same one their clan, the Draconids, had worshiped for almost a millennia; the one Soap himself resented for almost a decade-something he still held even now.  

Savagery whispered beautiful deceptions into his heart, awakening primal instincts and locking his emotions deep within as it led him towards the army recruitment office at sixteen; convincing him of the safety that could potentially be found within the ranks, even holding his trembling hand with a reassuring grip as he enlisted into the 3rd Battalion, Parachute Regiment with Sarge laying at his feet, loyalty driving the canine to follow him anywhere.

Vehemence made him seek belonging, drove him to be more, helped him find purpose as he made history, the youngest S.A.S. recruit ever to pass all three phases of Selection, beating the current record at the time and earning the nickname “perpetual F.N.G.” 

But none of this mattered, because to everyone else, Soap had proved himself to be remarkable. He held the respect of the men he served with, could manipulate death with his hands with efficiency and accuracy. A blade of the S.A.S, honed and sharpened by death itself to take another’s life with the same cruelty, barbarity, and vehemence that had shaped him into a perfect weapon.

Except…he hadn’t expected Price.  

Price had treated Soap coldly when he had joined the team, mocking his young age and callsign in a quiet issue of challenge. His manner so different and distant from Grizzly's that it had made the longing to return to his previous team intensify in the extreme. Still, he and Boss had still helped Soap limp down the hall, towards his injured-and unbeknownst to him at the time, dying-companion. He could have left afterwards, allowed Soap to be buried deep within his grief. Instead, on the floors of a Russian Loyalist Hospital, Price had stayed, in the father-like manner Soap had so desperately missed; resting a hand on his shoulder as the Scot embraced Sarge, pressing an ear to her side, listening to the ragged breaths echoing in the silence alongside his quiet sobs until the Captain spoke his next words. 

“We’ll get through this, son. I promise.”

The words hurt now in reminiscence. Soap had promised Sarge something similar, promised how she would soon be running and bounding through and in the end, he had done nothing but lie to her. 

The truth presented itself in an unnervingly simple manner, one Soap had never truly recognized until it was too late. In the process of proving himself as a skilled soldier, under the tutelage of both Price and Grizzly, he had forged himself into an invaluable leader and, in turn, had made the legendary Price replaceable. It was, after all, how Soap had unwillingly been forced into the role of being the main Captain and field officer of the One-Four-One; because Shepherd had forced them to leave Price behind, not even giving the man who sacrificed himself for Soap a chance to enter the sanctuary of the helicopter during Operation Kingfish.

Price had held a chance.

Sarge had held a chance.

Soap had stolen it from them both.  

All because he hadn’t been enough. Not fast enough, not smart enough, not careful enough. Despite his efforts, it was never fucking enough.

If Price and Sarge had known how broken he would be in their absence, would they have continued the same course of action? Would they still have willingly put themselves in the line of fire for him without hesitation, accepting death just so Soap could live? What was it they saw that made him worthy to stand atop their graves when all he wanted was the tempting comfort Hell had always offered?

Why did everyone see his life holding value when he, himself, did not?

Soap ran a hand through his hair before sighing. Where his mind had once been ready to fight his commanding officer, regret and longing doused its flames, leaving the bitter taste of ashes in his mouth. Right now, he simply wanted to go back to his office and get some work done before he left for his leave. Who would have thought bloody paperwork would be appealing?

If that meant Soap accepted blame for something he felt no guilt over just to appease Shepherd? Fine. He would bite his pride and do so. A person can always apologize and not mean it, after all.

“You are right, sir…I have been acting recklessly…I just haven’t been feeling like myself the past few days,” he said honestly, hoping the words would be enough for Shepherd to mind his own business. Already the grey-haired man crossed a line he shouldn’t have with resurrecting ghosts. “I…simply feel better doing physical activities.”

It wasn’t a total lie, only just partially the truth. But explaining the reasoning for why he pushed himself to the breaking point, past his own pain threshold, was something he would never want Shepherd to know. The man had already proven he would never understand nor listen anyway.

“I know Price and Sarge were important to you. I am not asking you to replace them son, I am simply asking you to honor them both, to honor their sacrifices.” Shepherd turned to face him, the end of his cigar still burning as he pressed the butt of it into the ashtray.

Simply. As if it wasn’t hard enough to do that already, ya eejit.  

Shepherd looked him up and down once more, searching for something that Soap simply had no energy to give two fucks about anymore. He had told the truth (while omitting some things) and was simply waiting to be released from a lecture like a petulant child. Shepherd nodded once, putting the cigar back into his mouth as he spoke holy words.

“You’re dismissed.”

Soap stood up, all too eager to get out of this god-forsaken office as he moved towards the door. The pain in knee and back, thankfully, remained manageable as his mind switched to autopilot, focused on one objective:Leave. Simple. Easy. No emotions involved. But just as his hand was hovering above the doorknob, Shepherd stopped him again. “One last thing before you go, Captain.” Soap stopped himself from groaning, clenching his fists and angling his body just enough for Shepherd to be in his peripheral.

“MacTavish… While you are on leave…think about my suggestion. If not for your sake, then for your team. They look up to you. The least you can do is help keep them safe.”

A chill ran down Soap’s back at those words, the implication of what Shepherd meant was plain as day. Clearly, his commanding officer had little faith in his ability to lead or keep his team safe without a Pokémon Partner. War was on the horizon, and this man doubted the abilities of his field officer.

Why not just take him off his own fucking team then?

For the life of him, Soap couldn’t remember if he saluted the man or not. If he didn’t, then it was assumed that Shepherd must not have been looking at him or simply didn’t care. Perhaps his heart of stone took pity (for once) and decided that he had tormented Soap long enough, leaving him to bury demons and angels once more. Even before Shepherd had revealed his hidden feelings in such a small way, the words spoken by the general previously where bothering him in a way he couldn’t explain, and if he opened his mouth go respond, there was no telling what type of insults would fly out of it. So, he simply left the request hanging in the air, leaving the office in an exhausted daze.

Soap strode through the hallway, nearly knocking a poor recruit carrying a stack of papers, guilt gnawed through the fog just enough to be felt, making him mutter “sairy” to the poor lass. He would have helped her if his mind wasn’t so focused on escaping this wretched building and the stares he was receiving. The scent of the cigar latched itself onto his clothes, having clawed itself out of its hidden box in the attic of his mind, it was one of the demons he would have a hard time burying. Soap decided right then and there he would take a shower once he got back as he pushed the front doors open, nearly throwing his body through them.

Fucking Finally.

The morning sun was nearly blinding as he stepped outside, the scent of wet mud from the rainstorm prior purged his nose of the cigar smoke and with it, the phantoms haunting him. A medley of men and Pokémon ran past him in perfect formation, sweat coating their foreheads.The walk back to his quarters was not that far, and despite the urge in his chest to hurry, Soap decided to take his time and enjoy the fresh air before he inevitably locked himself in his room for the rest of the day.

24 hours. 24 Hours and he would be home.

At least for a little while.

“Pick it up men! You’re S.A.S soldiers who are somehow being outsmarted by a flock of Wooloo?! You herd Pokémon like old people screw!”

While the ethics of that statement was questionable, the sound of Captain Waters broke Soap out of his trance. He stopped, turning his head towards the open field. A group of men and their Pokémon partners all stood lined up at one end, a herd of Wooloo in the middle. At the other end, a couple of Yamper’s stood beside their trainers, their whole bodies wagging with joy at the prospect of herding. The sight brought a small smile to Soap’s face. He knew exactly what this was.

The Wooloo Test. 

A staple of S.A.S initiation, it was more so created for the Officer’s amusement than anything else. The task was simple: soldiers had to work together with their Partner Pokémon to herd a flock of Wooloo into the designated area. In doing so, they had to ensure they avoided the Yampers who were determined to herd the sheep Pokémon back to their original starting point. The task was designed to cement teamwork between Pokémon and their human partners. At least, that was what their captains told them. Most of the time, it ended with a Wooloo tackling an unsuspecting soldier to the ground or a Yamper shocking either a Pokémon or a soldier.

Soap watched each man for a while before walking towards the fence by Captain Waters, Curiosity tugging at him as he leaned over the fence, resting some of his weight on the fence to give his knee a break. Waters’s Corvknight, Alp, chirped and hopped towards him, lowering his head down for Soap to pet him. He smiled and ran his hand over Alp’s head, watching the red eyes close in content. It was only when his giant bird Pokémon was towering over Soap that Waters noticed his presence.

“MacTavish.”

“Waters,” Soap greeted, his stoic wall back up once more. “I see you’re making your men run through the Wooloo test.”

Waters laughed, amusement swimming in his eyes as he grinned maliciously. “Indeed. It’s a fun one. Plus, it helps me figure out how the men work alongside their Pokémon outside of battle. Solving puzzles and the like.”

“That’s what you tell your men, I am assuming?”

“Indeed,” he hummed. “I can see why Captain Price enjoyed it so much.” Noticing Soap’s flinch, he was quick to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“It’s fine,” Soap said quickly, waving him off, briefly taking his hand off Alp before the Corvknight bit his knuckles in annoyance. He jumped in surprise before turning to scowl at the bird. “OI! What was that for?”

Alp simply let out a “rehahaha” noise as if mocking him before forcing Soap to resume, shoving his head under his arm. The Scot rolled his eyes while Water’s laughed, eager to jump on the distraction. Soap knew it wasn’t a secret around here that he’d had never handled his former CO’s or Pokémon Partner’s death well. Yes, he would have preferred to have not spoken about it anymore then he had too, but he appreciated Waters’s acknowledging his discomfort and trying to ease the conversation into less treacherous territory (with the help of Alp, of course).

Before Soap could ask another question, a yelp cut him off, drawing Waters’s and Soap’s attention back to the field as one of the men lay flat on his back. A Wooloo stood over him, a small ‘baa’ leaving its lips as it flopped down on his chest. The man’s Persian, it seemed, was more interested on watching its Partner struggle underneath the ball of wool as his partner called for him. Even Alp was interested in the man’s plight, turning his head away to watch the chaos, blinking his red eyes. It appeared that pets could only be stopped on his designated time, not the other way around. Hypocritical, if Soap was being honest. But who was he to argue with the Raven Pokémon?

“Do you mind lending me a hand, Bacon?” Bacon, who Soap could only assume was the Persian, yawned lazily in response its trainer, tail swishing in boredom. Clearly, the feline did mind helping.

Soap frowned at the nickname. It wasn't the worst one he had heard raising an eyebrow at Waters, who was pinching the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. “Bacon?”

“That’s Eric, also known as Boom, and his damn Persian. Don’t ask me about the choice of name for the Pokémon, but the codename is because the man is a moron. Dropped a grenade at my feet once.” Waters grumbled, a sigh leaving his lips as he pushed himself off the fence. “I still don’t understand how he made it passed selection if situations like this are common.” He turned back to Soap. “I’ll catch up with you another time.”

Soap nodded, watching him jog towards the dispute. He almost laughed as Waters put his hands on his hips like a disappointed parent. He patted Alp one last time, ensuring he had fulfilled his quota of pets from the Raven Pokémon. Apparently, it was not enough. As he started moving away, Alp pecked his head, pulling at his mohawk before letting out another “rehahaha.”  Soap turned to the bird, who was glowering in anger at his massage session being interrupted by his decision to leave. Immediately holding his hands up in surrender, Soap attempted diplomacy.

“No' ma fault, mate. Take it up wi' eh fools over thir.”

Alp screeched, flapping his wings before lifting effortlessly into the air. Soap didn’t wait to see the resolution of the conflict, choosing instead to escape before Alp came back as he stepped onto the gravel path, the distant sounds of baying Wooloo’s and Water’s reprimands falling further and further away.

For the first time since waking up, Soap let his mind wander. He found himself drifting towards his upcoming leave and recounting the schedule for tomorrow. It was simple enough: Soap would take the 07:17 train from Credenhill, Hereford to Bristol Airport, arriving at 10:20am. If there were no delays (which he doubted), it would take him roughly three hours to reach the station. His flight left at 10:35, but the time from Bristol to Glasgow was only an hour and fifteen minutes, at which point he would meet best friend Rodolfo (or Rudy as he preferred to be called).

Completely doable.

Soap had been eager to spend time with his roommates in Glasgow. He had not spoken to Farrah or Valeria in quite some time. Though he had heard from Alejandro, who had a bizarre fondness of sending him either cute Pokémon videos or random pictures of Santos, his Umbreon, at 3am nearly every day. At least Rudy had been more sensible about when he sent videos of his Espeon, Yadriel.

Still, it was one thing to call to speak with them and another thing to see them in person. After his god-awful meeting with Shepherd? The small desire had turned into a burning longing, scorching every part of his soul, distracting him from anything else.

He missed Valeria’s cocky attitude and snarky remarks, the small tunes Alejandro would hum as he completed chores around their flat; Farah’s soft, knowing smile and how she could always tell something was wrong; the conversations he would have with Rudy about anything and everything, his best friend somehow always there for him.

Then there was Glasgow’s nightlife. Even if he didn’t take part in it as often as his roommates did while he had been on leave, hearing the joyful shrieks of people stumbling home from drunken benders was, oddly, something he found comforting. He missed visiting the Underground and going for a drink with his friends, and surrounding himself with people just like him when the cross he wore around his neck started to burn.

He stopped and reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, shoving one into his mouth as he grabbed his lighter. Up ahead, two men were approaching and talking amongst themselves, a Machamp and Rhydon trailing beside them.

Soap moved off to the side, leaving enough room for the party to pass and turning his back towards them. He flicked the lighter a couple of times, the old piece of scrap metal refusing to hold a light.

Flick. Nothing.

Flick. A slight spark.

Flick. The flame ignited, holding it long enough for Soap to light his cigarette, or “death stick” as Roach had affectionally called them after he had forced the entire team to binge Star Wars. He took a big whiff, the nicotine hitting his system almost instantly, the tension in his shoulders fading with the smoke he exhaled into the air.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, telling him the young men had their eyes on him. In the quick glance over his shoulder, Soap could see the admiration and bewilderment swimming within them, indicating they no doubt recognized him.

Joy.

Rather than drawing more attention to himself, Soap took a page out of Price’s book, not acknowledging them with anything other than a nod before turning back to face the street once more. Slowly but surely, the men’s voices drifted away, and Soap found himself turning around.

Only to look up and find that the Rhydon who had been walking with the two of the men was still standing there, staring at him with ruby eyes.

Its head tilted curiously, eyeing him up and down as if searching for something. Based on the smaller sized drill on its snout, Soap presumed this Rhydon was a female. The military had an obvious preference for female Pokémon for one specific reason; they were inclined to be more aggressive and ferocious than males. It had always made Soap chuckle when people had wrongly assumed Sarge was a male, only to find out when she bared her fangs, coercing an apology more closely associated with the babble of a child.

But now, being alone with a female Rhydon without her trainer nearby? It made him reconsider ever laughing about such matters again. Sarge wasn’t here anymore to protect him if the Pokémon found slight within their interaction. He would take the relentless pecking of Alp’s metallic beak over an angry Rhydon’s drill horn.

The creature was an absolute beauty; her gray coat shone in the sun like a gleaming silver moon basking in the light of day. For a moment, Soap considered seeing if his image would be reflected at him like a mirror. The cream-colored horn was perfectly trimmed and sharpened, polished perfectly like a newly acquired blade.

All facts pointing towards a human partner who cared immensely for his Pokémon.

“Hi lass,” he said softly. Not wanting to startle her, he dropped the freshly lit cigarette onto the ground before stomping it out. He could mourn the loss of a good cigarette later. Pokémon where, after all, mysterious creatures that humans where still learning so much about. Rather best to proceed with caution on all fronts.

The Rhydon blinked; her narrow red eyes looking back to her trainer walking away before focusing on him once more. There was a certain intensity to her gaze, and it gave Soap the impression she was listening as she let out a small, inquisitive warble.

Soap huffed humorlessly, speaking to her as if a question had been asked of him. “Aye, no' really, it’s bin a shitty morning.”

Another understatement of the century. Here he was, the Captain of the One-Four-One, talking to a Pokémon that wasn’t even his partner. Truly, this day had taken a turn for the worst if he was this desperate to talk to someone.

Oddly, Soap didn’t feel any embarrassment talking to the Ground/Rock type Pokémon. It felt nice to simply speak openly to someone who cared for once. Even if he wasn’t giving explicit details and was being presumptuous in assuming the Rhydon cared about what he was saying.

The Rhydon huffed at him, eyes softening as he spoke. Soap did not have a chance to ponder what she was thinking as the creature leaned down towards him, tilting the giant cream-colored drill on her snout away from him.

At least he wouldn’t be stabbed for what he was going to do next.

Reaching forward, he rested his hand on the Pokémon’s head, tracing circular motions over its gray scales before traversing over the triangular points resembling ears. The Rhydon let out a purr, tilting her head further into the caress and earning a smile from Soap.

For the first time in so long, Soap felt a flicker of warmth run through his chest, a feeling close to contentment. This wasn’t his Pokémon partner, these are emotions he shouldn’t be feeling, but he allowed himself to indulge in the stolen privilege before he was forced to put back on the guise of Captain MacTavish.

Yet tranquility exposes weaknesses in the most fortified of masks.

Soap closed his eyes, surrendering himself to a memory of a warm nose and joyful bark, of a wagging tail and eagerly tapping paws as if he was petting Sarge once more, running his hands through his beloved partner’s beautiful, jagged striped fur, and resting his head in her shaggy, beige mane. He could allow himself to shed tears and trust Sarge would never tell another soul, loyalty beating in her heart just as fiercely as the flame blazing widely in her veins.

He let himself fall deeper, he could imagine the ghost of Price’s hand at his shoulder, one of fatherly warmth, protection, and pride conveyed through a simple gestured enacted by rough, calloused hands.

He could let go. Finally allow himself rest aside his former captain and partner, no longer feeling the need to tread water and fight against such a warm embrace.

He could bid farewell to this Rhydon, perhaps thank her, before writing an apology to the men he was leaving behind as he accepted the shadows within his broken soul, letting them pull him deep into the embrace of those he had mourned alone for so long.

“Topaz!”

Just like that, the illusional ideation was instantly shattered, the ghosts returning to their graves, forcing his ascent back to the surface while he struggled to breathe on his own, floating once more.

The memories had finally pulled back completely like ocean waves crashing against a beach when the panicked voice came closer; Soap turned his head towards it as Topaz lifted her head slowly. Both human and Pokémon finding a young man running towards them, his short auburn hair sticking to his forehead; had it been a bit longer, the hair would have covered his eyes. His dark brown eyes switched between the two, his cheeks red in embarrassment. Somehow, Soap found a laugh bubble within him as he heard Topaz grunt in annoyance at the disruption.

“Topaz! Stop bothering Captain MacTavish! You-“

“It’s okay,” Soap said, patting Topaz one more time as she straightened herself upright, rolling her shoulders. “She’s a lovely Pokémon. Fit’s yer name, lad?”

Soap was tempted to laugh at the blank stare upon hearing his Scottish accent, though he took pity and kept it to himself as the poor lad raised his hand in a shaky salute.

“H-Henry,” The young man stuttered, eyes shining with pride as if Soap had paid him the highest compliment. How odd it was. a few simple words from him held more weight than he even considered. Henry’s mouth opened as if he wanted to say more, but no sound came out, too starstruck to say anything as his eyes darted to the ground, shuffling his feet like a nervous schoolboy.

Topaz, unlike her partner, had no problem voicing her approval of Soap’s remark. She smacked the ground with her tail and let out a loud roar, making a flock of Spearrows skitter from the trees in a panic before they returned, angry squawks filling the following silence.

Soap eyed both trainer and Pokémon, unable to help himself as he analyzed the two. What was it that Pokémon saw in their human friends that others could not. What drove a bold Pokémon like Topaz to orbit around a timid man like Henry? What hidden beauties or strengths did Henry hold that Soap would never know?

What had Sarge seen in him all those years ago, when he had been nothing more than a disregarded teen who had never been given a chance? When he had been nothing more than a hollow husk of a man forced to be an adult too soon?

Such ponderings would not help now, but Soap was unsure they would ever leave. He found himself in the precipice of being stuck within the past and future, but never the present. It felt so distant and impossible, shrouded in nothing but mystery.

“Weel Henry, take care O’ ‘is girl here, hmm?” Soap nodded towards Topaz, patting her one last time, the Rhydon closing her eyes briefly in bliss. “Ye done a great job raising her.”

“Y-yes sir. Of course, sir. Will do…sir,” Henry stammered before scrambling on his feet towards his friend. Topaz eyed Soap one last time before following, falling in step with the Machamp. Even from here, he could see the excitement in Henry’s posture and the widening eyes of his companion before they ambled along.

Soap’s gaze lingered on their retreating forms for a while longer, a pang of wishful desire fluttered in his chest. The memories from before bursting forward in his mind like flowers blooming in spring, craving to see the light of day even for a moment, addicted to the brief attention when Soap had allowed himself to fall earlier in Shepherd’s office. However, he knew it was nothing more than a deception nostalgia would hum deep into his heart like a siren’s call, trap him in a trance he would never want to leave.

Yet you had been so willing to fall moments before, a sadistic voice whispered, what a tragic misfortune you have chosen, Soap.

Soap gripped his arms in frustration, the urge to scratch at scars and burns long since healed becoming more of a neurotic need with each passing day, something the army shrink would love to hear about. He flinched, forcing himself to focus on the squelch of his boots against the small puddles littering the pavement.

Anything to keep his thoughts busy.

Weaving his way around another group of men and their Pokémon, Soap’s salvation finally appeared on the horizon in the form of five buildings aligning the road. The bright yet dark red color acting as a harsh yet welcome contrast to the dull navy of the training grounds. Each building held separate barracks depending on the regiment and the captain within, but at that moment Soap didn’t bother to focus on anything else around him other than opening the door and going to his quarters.

“Sceptile!”

Well, that and the peevish cry coming from above.

Soap sighed, holding his hand over his face to block out the sun as he peered upwards, meeting the scrutinizing stare of Gex, Roach’s Sceptile, who glared at him with a look of offense. He tapped his claws on the roof, sprawled out like a lounging Liepard, preparing to absorb the rays of the awakening sun. His bushy tree-like tail smacking against the roof in clear impatience.

Pokémon had their own personalities, of course. But when you are a captain assigned to watch over the wellbeing of your soldiers as well as their Pokémon, you learn to recognize patterns and behaviors of both. Somehow, Soap found it easier to predict the attitudes of Pokémon then their human friends, and it was now that such a skill came in handy.

Soap found his mind recounting every mental note he had made of Gex: how his seriousness and calm demeanor were his greatest strength, letting him formulate plans of attack, how his unique training allowed him to recognize commands through sign language by Roach even when his movepool reached into the double digits, his acrobatic approach to battling and how the leaves on his elbows could sharpen into blades that could cut their way through almost anything.

How, against all odds, all these factors made Roach and Gex one of the greatest combinations, and that wasn’t even considering Roach’s second Pokémon.

But just as such characteristics proved vital in the field and meant the difference between life and death, his seriousness often dipped far too often into pride, making Gex find the smallest personal offense in unintentional accidents and faults, leaving little room for empathy unless provided an explanation.

It didn’t take a genius to know the root of the reptile’s furor: a lack of acknowledgement on Soap’s part. Even if he had been trapped within his own mind, this was something Gex’s pride had chosen to find insult in.

“Morning tae ye, Gex,” Soap nodded in acknowledgement, a small smile on his lips. His mask may be able to fool the best so-called ‘empath,’ but it could never fool a Pokémon. Hopefully, it was enough to at least appease the reptile. “I’m sairy I didne see ye there. Lost in ma own mind.”

Gex narrowed his eyes, shuffling slightly with his verdict pending. His tail swished again, a rustling noise filling the silence like a judge’s gavel echoing in a courtroom. There must have been something in his demeanor allowing Gex’s forgiveness as the Pokémon nodded, resting his head back down and closing his eyes. The yellow nodules on his back glowing faintly in the sun, resuming their task of absorbing the star’s bountiful rays.

If Gex was out here sunbathing, it most likely meant that Roach was inside. Soap frowned at the thought. He had overheard yesterday the Ghost and Roach discussing their plans for leave, Ghost choosing to stay on base while Roach would head back to his flat in London. If he remembered correctly, Roach was supposed to leave today.

Soap opened the door and stepped inside, the earthly tan-painted walls gave off an odd feeling of security, somehow allowing the uneasiness of his body as he knelt, untying his shoelaces, and leaving the boots by the door to clean off later. Best not to track mud through the living space when he already gave his men enough of a lecture about keeping things tidy.  

Upon entering the kitchenette with silent feet, Soap turned on the dim lights and opened a cupboard. A line of mugs greeted him like a standing Roman army. Some of them had fun designs, such as Obi-Wan Kenobi from Star Wars saying “hello there!” (Roach), or had funny quotes like “Does anyone feel like dying?” (Ghost).

Grabbing his Scottish Flag mug and positioning it under the instant coffee machine, Soap grabbed a carton of milk before returning to his place, watching the Coffee filter into his mug. If he was going to get work done, caffeine would be a nice treat to an already shitty morning, which would get even more shittier once he started working on the paperwork before him.

“Effie!”

Out of the corner of Soap’s eye, Bug the Espeon jumped onto the counter beside him, sitting on her hunches as eyes stared at him expectantly. The red ruby on her forehead still shone brilliantly in the fluorescent lighting. Her green fur seemed to be sticking up in some places, indicating she had been in the middle of cleaning herself before deeming Soap more interesting.

Bug was Roach’s second Pokémon. The rules of the S.A.S. stated each man could only have one Pokémon Partner; a considerably better ratio compared to six Pokémon per soldier; Bug, however, was the exception to the rule for one specific reason.

Her Telepathy.

Roach’s mutism made communicating in the field more than a simple struggle, it soon became a matter of life or death. Bug was able to project Roach’s thoughts to another, allowing him to communicate in the field without sign language (although he preferred it on base).

Unfortunately, that also meant Bug had the ability to read another’s mind, which became a problem when she exposed Meat and Royce for stealing a flare from one of the other regiments to use a birthday cake candle for Ozone. Soap had a field day completing an incident report for that fiasco. Thankfully, Roach had also explained that “reading people’s minds without their permission is an invasion of privacy” and wasn’t allowed, but Soap held a sneaking suspicion Bug didn’t care and read their minds without them knowing anyway. 

Bug had always secretly been one of Soap’s favorite Pokémon on base; not just because of her personality, but because of how she reminded him of Yadriel. In so many ways, she kept the homesickness at bay.

At least, she used to.

Now, Soap felt the longing for home infect his body, a disease running rampant, and the cure that Bug once offered was now something the fever adapted to, the soothing balm now a contagious disease growing stronger by the moment.

Still, he forced himself to smile, to wear the mask the world required of him.

“Hello sweet lady,” He greeted, holding out a hand for Bug to sniff, her wet nose pressing against his pointer finger before she rubbed her head against him, purring. “Am assuming our other bug an' resident haunting ur still asleep?”

Bug stared at him for a moment, head tilting and eyes narrowed as if studying him like a puzzle she wanted to solve. Soap wondered if she knew about the contagion slowly overtaking his mind; if the walls he built and the mask he adorned was hollow and paper-thin. Psychic types were considered the most intelligent Pokémon type, it wouldn’t surprise him if she did know.

Maybe she knew of the demons within, ascending out of hell and into the purgatory of his soul. If she did, it appeared Bug decided to drop the topic as she blinked, nearly making Soap sigh in relief.

“Thee are asleep, as thee predicted,” Bug projected, swishing her tail towards the dorms as if pointing. “I make no boast, but thee cannot enter. I hath been shunned.”

Soap bit his lip, fighting the smile starting to cross his face. The other unfortunate side effect of learning Telepathy? Bug could also project her own thoughts, not just Roach’s. Disorienting as it sometimes was, Soap had come to appreciate the snark from the feline. Her green ears twitched in irritation as she strode towards his coffee mug, letting Soap run his hands over her back as she peered inside, moving to dip a paw in before Soap held it out of reach. Frankly, he was lucky she hadn’t decided to use Psychic and grab it from him.  

“What is inside thee’s mug?”

“It’s coffee. Ye ken whit 'at is,” Soap droned matter-of-factly, rolling his eyes as a smile still twitched at the corners of his mouth. It shouldn’t be this amusing, but upon digesting Bug’s earlier statement, Soap furrowed his brows and frowned, puzzled. “Wait, you ken how til open doors, how dare ye need me fur that?”

Bug tapped the mug, making Soap move it away from her. “I was seeking for a fool when I found you.”

“Hilarious, Shakespeare,” Soap deadpanned, rolling his eyes as Bug hissed. “But 'am not th'one locked out o' ma trainer’s room noo, am I?”. He crossed his arms, glaring at the cat. “Naw what’s eh real reason?”

Bug lowered her tail to the ground, slowly swaying it left to right. “Men in rage strike those who wish them best,” Bug mumbled, and while Soap wasn’t sure if that was the true meaning of the quote, he nodded at her to continue. “Methinks thou would not appreciate useth Psychic on thou’s door.”

“After eh last incident? Nae, I wuid no',” Soap mumbled, inhaling deeply. The paperwork afterwards had been a nightmare he would love to avoid experiencing again. He ran a hand through his hair, allowing his next words to follow softly on the exhale. “Alright, A’ll be thir in a moment, okay? Let ma get ma coffee.”

“Thou hasten time to waste.”

“It isn’t wasting time,” Soap sighed, reaching for the mug. “Am just grabbing-“

Before he could clasp the handle, the entire cup levitated in midair, cloaked in a purple aura and moving to hover over Bug’s head; her once purple eyes now glowed a hypnotizing blue as she leapt off the counter and padded towards the hall; her soft paws silent on the wood while her forked stood upright, curling slightly in complete confidence.

He sighed in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. Well, that answered the coffee question.  

Soap moved and followed Bug into the hall, rows of doors on both sides signaling the presence of a dormitory that each housed one of his men and their Pokémon. Normally, he would have gone about his usual routine and checked the name tags near each door, listing the room’s residents and their Pokémon, a comforting habit he had attained over the year as Captain.

Now? He was focused on making sure his airborne coffee, sloshing dangerously inside its white ceramic stoup, didn’t spill because of a psychic green cat as she stalked towards Roach’s door. His heart nearly combusting with each movement the drink made. It was honestly a wonder he hadn’t experienced cardiac arrest yet.

“Cuid ye please be careful wi’ th’coffee?” Soap pleaded, his Scottish accent somehow accentuating his desperation. “Ma day has already bin shitty enough.”

Bug didn’t answer him, only moving the cup just a bit more violently on its next orbit to the left. A devious smile painted her face, eyes dancing with mischief as she continued trotting down the hall, prancing like a spoiled child. Soap glowered. Maybe he should consider retracting the “favorite Pokémon on the team” sentiment from earlier. Bug was going to give him grey hairs before he turned thirty.

Bug stopped at the last door, looking expectantly up at Soap as she sat patiently. He raised an eyebrow, holding out his hand for his coffee first. The feline narrowed her eyes before settling the handle gently over his fingers, only releasing it from her Psychic once Soap had a firm grip.

With his coffee rightfully returned to him, Soap knocked quietly and opened the door, allowing enough room for the Espeon to slip inside. Bug rubbed against his legs before trotting through, hopping onto the windowsill next to Roach’s bed. As Soap started to close the door, he saw the cat staring at them expectantly.  

“Thou needest seeth this.”

“What are you doing?!”

Bug didn’t answer. In truth, she didn’t need too. It was only after Soap voiced the question that he saw the cup of water sitting beside the bed, half empty but full enough for this psychic cat to make a point or get revenge. Whichever suited her fancy. Though Soap had a feeling Bug craved chaos over anything else.

Turns out, his intiution was right.

The Espeon’s eyes glowed blue, the same purple aura that had surrounded his coffee mug earlier now enveloping a cup of water beside Roach’s bed. Slowly, Bug moved it above Roach’s head, her eyes never leaving Soap’s wide-eyed gaze as the man held a finger up, pointing it toward her.

“Ye better no'-“

He never got a chance to finish his sentence. Almost instantly, Bug tipped the cup down completely, the water falling onto the face of Roach as he jolted out of bed, whipping his head around to locate a perceived threat, but finding none other than Bug who seemed to be uncaring of the heinous glare directed her way.

Soap had to cover his mouth to stifle his giggle, leaning against the wall as he watched Roach run a hand through his soaking wet hair, the undercut style making it easier to manage, although Soap noticed it was starting to grow out on the top. His hazel eyes still held the fogginess of sleep, a yawn pulling his mouth into an ‘O’ shape as Bug leapt into his lap.

It was then Soap decided to make himself known before he fell back asleep. Knocking slightly on the door again to announce his presence, he entered the room. Roach jumped, eyes wide with surprise as Soap leaned against the man’s desk, letting his accent fall back once more.

“Sorry mate. She held my coffee hostage until I let her in. Whatever she tells you, it was her idea. I simply complied.”

Bug didn’t even react to the traitorous statement, simply twitching her ears as Roach signed, “Believe me, that’s more common than you think. She’s done it to Ghost when he makes a cup of tea. I’m just glad she didn’t use Psychic on the door again.” 

Soap hummed, taking a sip of his coffee. To his relief, he was glad Ghost was also a victim of Bug’s ploys, though the thought was something he would never voice out loud. Ghost would surely kick his ass if he caught wind of it. “You heading out on leave soon?”

“Yeah. About an hour from now. I’m all packed and wanted to get some sleep. Everyone else already left. I think we are the only ones still here.” 

“That explains the quiet,” Soap mumbled, though loud enough for Roach to hear as the blonde laughed softly at the joke, stroking Bug behind the ears.

Gary “Roach” Sanderson and Simon “Ghost” Riley had always been his two favorite soldiers. Yes, no captain should have favorites, but Soap could not help it. There was something about both men that just made him naturally gravitate towards them just as the moon circles the earth.

It felt natural. It needed no explanations or questions; it was something Soap was content on never understanding yet accepting all the same.  

Roach’s naturally quiet and observant attitude somehow perfectly embodied both his grass type and his psychic type partners perfectly. A fallen leaf on a forgotten pool, unaware of the ripples he left in his wake or the longing he awakened within others with his departure. Never disruptive, his presence was a calmness Soap found himself melting in, wanting to claim it all for himself.

Ghost, on the other hand, was more secretive; a man who hid his troubles behind a warm smile and a friendly Pokémon battle. In another life, he would have been an amazing gym leader, perhaps a Champion had he chose to continue that pursuit. He had defended him against Shepherd’s judgement whenever the old man harped on him, eased his doubts when Soap believed himself unworthy. He gave him trust when the world gave him every reason not to do so again.

They had been the men to help pull Soap back onto his feet following Price’s death, whether they realized it or not. He strove to be better, no longer for himself as he had followed the incident on the highway bridge, but specifically for those two men who followed him steadfast into danger.

While he was happy to see Roach after his shitty meeting with Shepherd and before the lad left, the question that had buzzed around his mind since he saw Gex sunbathing on the roof still plagued his mind, urging him to voice it as he met Roach’s eyes.

“Wait, everyone already left?” he inquired, slowly raising his coffee to his lips. “I thought Ghost was still here.”

Roach shook his head, his hands moving again. “Ghost said he had some family stuff to take care of. Got a phone call and took off with Wraith to go on leave. Guess Shepherd was okay with it. He went into your room though, said he needed to borrow something, and you would be okay with it.”

The mug had made it halfway to his lips before Soap froze, the heat tickling his face. Ghost had always been a private man, he knew there where wolves behind the skull-mask, but the details had been something Soap had never bothered to push him on. So long as the man took care of himself and his work on the field was not affected, then Soap figured he didn’t need to know.

His men were entitled to privacy, after all.

Yet, he had never heard anything about Ghost’s family, unless he counted his Lucario, Wraith. Hell, Soap didn’t even know he kept in contact with them. Whenever his men were assigned leave, Ghost always chose to stay on base, without fail. Soap had even invited Ghost to spend Christmas with him, Farrah, Rudy, Alejandro, and Valeria back in Glasgow one year; even then, he declined.

He made a mental note to ask about it later. But putting the pieces together, it was crystal clear what Ghost had gone into his room to borrow, and a huge part of Soap hated how easily Ghost had predicted his feelings towards the matter.

“Ghost, you sneaky bastard,” he grumbled.

“Do you know what he was referring to, sir?” Roach asked curiously, breaking him out of his line of thinking.

“With his family? No, I don’t,” Soap replied honestly, drumming his fingers against his mug. “He’s never been one to talk about it and I’m not one to push. Regarding what he wanted to borrow, if I had to guess, it would probably be one of my weighted hoodies-”

“You have weighted hoodies?!” Roach asked, the excitement clear in his voice. He maneuvered Bug off his lap and threw back the covers, standing up as he bounced on the balls of his feet.  “Can I borrow one?? I’ve always wanted to try one!”

“Not you too” Soap groaned, clenching his eyes shut in mock annoyance. With his favoritism came the curse of never being able to say no, and he had a feeling Roach was on to him, but he could still put up a fight. “I only have so many, and I need one for my own leave! Ghost has my other one!”

“Correct! You only need one! Please?! I promise I’ll give it back before I leave!” Roach begged, eyes pleading.

Maybe he could forgive himself for surrendering this one time.

“Okay, Okay! You can borrow one!” Soap conceded, pushing himself off the table and walking towards the door. His room was across the hall anyway, it wouldn’t be that much of a hassle. “But I am expecting you to honor your promise and return it before ye leave, deal?”

The grin stretching across Roach’s face as he nodded vigorously was all the confirmation his heart needed. Soap found himself returning a soft smile, and he knew, then and there, he wouldn’t truly care if Roach honored his promise.

Not if something he gave him brought the lad solace.

Keeping his room tidy was something Soap made a habit of at a young age. Just as the saying says that an apple keeps the doctors away, an immaculate room warded his priest-father away from prying back the layers of deception he had painted over the years.

The army hadn’t changed that. If anything, it had cemented into his being further. When Soap opened the door for Roach (and Bug) to follow, he knew what image would be presented.

His bed was immaculate, covers and sheets smoothed over as if no one had ever slept there. Thankfully, Roach didn’t notice that the blanket was weighted too, else he asked to take that too. Atop of it sat his duffel bag, unzipped yet empty of contents, the items he prepared to pack lying next to it. A small bookshelf stood near his desk, lined with old drawing journals and some titles for pleasure reading, not that Soap ever had the time for that anymore.

Everything was in its place.

Except for the closet, whose door flung open and a couple of clothes sticking out as if someone had been in a fury, making him twitch.

“He could have least hung up the clothes or put them on the bed,” Soap grumbled, rolling his eyes. He walked towards his desk, setting down his coffee before picking up evidence of the aftermath. A small laugh escaping Roach at the comment, making his heartbeat go just a bit faster as he walked into his closet.

Temporarily forgoing to pick up the mess Ghost made, Soap instead placed everything into a pile on the floor to be hung up. He grabbed the two remaining weighted hoodies, one olive green and the other a light grey, off their hangers. They were too hot for this weather, a small reminder he needed to consider getting a weighted vest, but they would do the job.

The only other piece of furniture was the desk facing the window, only adorned by a lamp, a planner, and a picture frame. But that was not what his eyes focused on as he walked towards Roach.  

His eyes flicked towards the sketches of men and Pokémon on the wall next to his bed, stoic gargoyles lingering in eternal sleep. The edges of the parchment were frayed, as if hands had traced the shapes and memorized the features.

He knew what faces and Pokémon resided there and for a moment, he hoped Roach wouldn’t inquire about. Thankfully, Roach walked towards his desk, ignorant of the faces staring at him. Soap watched as he picked up the frame as Bug jumped and sat on the desk, watching the coffee swirl within.

Roach’s eyes found his own, an inquisitive look flickering hesitantly within, perhaps afraid to ask the question prowling his mind. Eventually, he signed. “Who are they?”

The question beckoned Soap out of his regrets like the snap of fingers, making him blink. He walked to Roach’s side, fingers brushing against Roach’s knuckles as he took the frame into his hands. The picture inside was of Valeria, Farrah, Soap, Rudy, Alejandro, and all their Partner Pokémon, taken before his and Sarge’s first deployment with the 3^rd Battalion Parachute Regiment.

They had been so young, and yet, all of them appeared older than their own realities, each hardship shaping them into adults before the law had even considered them as such.

Soap wondered how he must have been when he returned home to them on leave after the incident on the highway bridge; when he woke up screaming as the events played over and over through the night, forcing Alejandro and Rudy to wake him up as he’d watch Griggs fall after pulling him away from danger, as Zahkeav held a gun to Gaz’s head and pulled the trigger, the Russian’s body falling shortly beside the man after Soap unloaded Price’s M1991 pistol into the terrorist’s back, but not fast enough before his two men turned, ready to unload their bullets into him before Sarge jumped in the way and-

Not now.

“They’re my flat mates,” Soap said softly, setting down the picture on the desk. “We’ve been friends since school, before I joined the army. I’ll be visiting them during leave.” He turned away from Roach, unwilling to meet his eyes and see the curious stare no doubt looking back. Instead, he laid the hoodies out on the desk, changing the topic, “Now, pick your poison. Which color ye want?”

Roach blinked, attention moving from Soap to the hoodies and back to him again. Thankfully, the blonde dropped the conversation, picking up the olive-green hoodie and slinging it over his shoulder. Before he could stop his own impulse (or figure out where the fuck it came from), Soap grabbed the ends of the hoodie, zipping it almost all the way up. Seeing the way Roach’s eyes went wide, he quickly moved to explain himself. 

“The zipper on this one has a habit of sticking.”

No, it doesn’t. He was lying. Coward.

He took a step back, admiring his handy work. Honestly, Soap was amazed that the hoodie wasn’t as loose as he originally thought it would be. Then again, Roach’s figure was slenderer than his own, regardless of muscle mass.

The hoodie suited him well, complementing his blonde hair and hazel eyes. Soap found an odd sensation of heat rushing to his face, as if he was seeing Roach in a new light, one he couldn’t truly identify. It was a stupid thought anyway. Still, Soap found himself clearing his throat, smiling.

 “Looks Good, Bug.”

“Thou said my name?”

Soap and Roach both jumped, eyes wide as they stared at the green feline. Both, it seemed, had forgotten Bug was there. More importantly than that, it was only then Soap realized the term of endearment he had used was the root of the confusion, the one that had caused Roach’s face to turn beat red.

What had he meant when he said Bug? Why was his heart beating like a wild Rapidash, galloping too fast for his own body to handle? It was an honest mistake; one he could easily write off with a barely believable explanation-

“Thou did not think this through.”

“Yeah no-“

“Me fears thou does not think regularly at all.”

Soap glowered at the Espeon, the smugness of her tone made his face burn. It was one thing to make a mistake, it was another to have Bug call him out on it. He moved his eyes towards Roach, mouth opening slightly to voice an apology when a phone dinged, making both men jump.

Roach pulled out his pocket, the screen lighting up briefly as he read the highlighted message. A faint “SCEPTILE” echoed in the silence like a siren’s call, only less enticing and more demanding. Bug’s ears perked forward, a loud “Effie!” answering Gex and filling the room as Roach’s shoulders slumped.

“My ride is here early…”

Soap watched Roach deflate before him. Even Bug seemed to notice as she leaned against his side, purring softly when her trainer ran his fingers through her green fur. There was something about the way he hunched his body forward, as if to deliberately make himself smaller, that had him concerned.

Just as he had with Ghost, Soap had never pried information about his personal life before. Now, guilt ate at his gut for only realizing the distress now, analyzing their prior conversation in Roach’s room for any signs he could have possibly missed.

Instead, his mind provided him with incidents the days prior. How Roach had started distancing himself from his best friends, Toad and Merlin, while spending the other half of his time with Soap and Ghost. But even in those past few days, once leave had been mentioned for the 141, Roach had started interacting less and less, drawing in on himself like a Squirtle hiding in its shell.

He had clocked it to him simply not feeling well, but now? Soap worried if there was something more, something he missed.

Soap could lead Roach into the fray, could protect him from those who wanted to kill him, but that could only extend within this base and into the field, and it hurt him more than any bullet or stab wound ever could.

Perhaps it was such a fact that drove him towards his next course of action.

“Take the hoodie with ye on leave,” Soap answered hastily. Maybe this could be his small act of redemption, a contract to forget the mistake, even if his heart rebelled at this atrocious decision. “Make sure to take good care of it, yeah?”

There was something about Roach and Ghost having his hoodie that made his heart swell. Not pride nor ego, something else. Something Soap wanted to recoil in fear from, a desire more intimate and focused.

Soap wasn’t sure he wanted to follow that line of thinking. It felt untouchable, unattainable. A privilege that he never considered himself to be worthy of indulging in. Not since he was sixteen and had accepted such a thing would never be a possibility after he had laid with another man.  

But it was hard not to comply when he saw Roach’s astonishment, his gaze studying his face. There was a strange intimacy to it, as of the lad was trying to memorize every single feature, painting a mental picture in his mind like a keepsake. Soap deliberately ignored the blush creeping up to his face again, forcing himself to meet Roach’s gaze.

Before he could even register what was happening, Roach launched himself at Soap, wrapping his arms around him tightly in a hug. The impact made Soap stumble backwards a few centimeters before he laughed, returning the hug and clasping Roach on the back.

The smell of damp grass and earth wafted up Soap’s nose, clearly another alluring temptation breaching his defenses. He had a hunch Roach had spent the morning jogging with Gex and Bug, though he doubted the Pokémon had been more so spectators than participants; the mental image alone was amusing enough.

“You told a lie. An odious, damned lie; upon my soul a lie, a wicked lie,” Bug whispered. Ominous and forlorn, the primitive accusation rumbling like subdued thunder. “To thine ownself be true.”

Soap chose to ignore the telekinetic Shakespearean cat, focusing on the man before him. His woes where not the focus here, nor should they ever be. He needed to be a leader, for the moment he doubts himself, the lives of his men, of Roach and Ghost, would be forfeit.

Sometimes reassurance was needed, even for the most resilient beings.  

“It won’t be long Roach,” Soap whispered, squeezing the man ever so tighter. He didn’t want to let go, he wanted to stay, to savor something he would never have yet others would. Even so, he pulled away, hands resting on Roach’s shoulders before he moved away, reaching into his pocket pulling out his phone. He held it out to him, a new blank contact blinking back at Roach. “Tell ye what, if you need something, send a text, aye?”

Roach’s eyes widened before he nodded, taking the phone, and typing in the numbers. Before long, he handed the phone back to Soap as his contact greeted him, a small bug image next to his name, making him grin.

“Never took ye for the emoji type.”

Before Roach could respond, a sharp BANG on Soap’s window made them both jump, hands reaching for imaginary weapons no longer at their side and causing Soap to almost drop his phone. A flash of green disappeared near the top of the window, catching their attention before it materialized before them into a specific green Pokémon hanging upside down and glaring at them through the window.  

“SCEPTILE!”

Soap snorted in surprise, making the younger man duck his head in embarrassment. His hands started furiously signing something to Gex, something Soap couldn’t make out over his attempt to stop laughing, but it seemed Roach’s request was only making the Sceptile bang his head on the window again.

BANG BANG-  

Before Gex could complete his third, consecutive bang, Bug flicked her ears back in annoyance, eyes glowing blue as a familiar purple aura cloaked itself around the Sceptile. Briefly, the men saw the Sceptile’s eyes widened before his body was thrusted out of sight, a muffled thud could be heard outside underneath Soap’s window.

A moment passed before Gex reappeared, dusting himself off and growling at the Espeon, who simply swished her tail in satisfaction. Before a fight could ensure (and add to his paperwork), Soap picked up the green cat as Roach signed a message to the Pokémon; The Sceptile let out a hiss before moving out of sight, this time of his own accord.

“Seems like ye better go” Soap chuckled, patting Bug in his arms as she rubbed her head against his face, purring. “You said you packed everything, right? Need help getting it to your ride?”

“No. Don’t want to bother you.”

“Ye're never a bother, Roach,” Soap reassured. “Don’t think for a second that you are. I’ll walk ye out.”

He walked with Roach towards the door, opening it with a bit of struggle thanks to Bug as Roach stepped out and headed to his room, grabbing his rucksack, and slinging onto his back as he held out his hands, taking Bug into his arms as the two ambled down the hall, standing close enough for their shoulders to almost brush against each other.  

Soon, these barracks would be completely empty and silent, solitude occupying the desolate rooms for a week before its residents and their Pokémon returned. Energy and brotherhood found itself fracturing into parts between the men who lived here, broken pieces of a puzzle connecting back to their original starting place, wherever that may be.

For now, the sounds of Roach’s boots against the floor combated the silence as they finally reached the front door. No words were exchanged between the two men, none needed to be either. Goodbyes and reassurances had already been offered and accepted, no reason to repeat it.

Instead, Soap simply smiled at Roach, watching as the man opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight before closing it behind him once more.

And that was that.

Soap allowed muscle memory to guide him back into his room, the journey seeming to take even longer without his companions by his side. He should be feeling like a child left home alone by their parents for the first time, a giddy sense of excitement rising in his chest now at the sense of privacy presented before him. Perhaps he would have once, had life not forged him into a jaded blade.   

Before Soap had turned down the hall towards his room, a large crash sounded throughout the building, startling him into Captain mode, as if the sound had flipped a switch inside him. Leaning against the wall and peaking around the corner, he strained to hear any sound that would give him a hint as to what was going on.

The sound of broken glass answered the inquiry provided by the temporary silence, followed by an exclamation of “O' Fuck!” in a distinctive Scottish accent.

Soap frowned, easing his stance, and marching towards the door. So help him, if it was the men from another regiment trying to pull a prank, he would light their ass on fire-

Except when he opened the door, the sight that greeted him seemed like something out of a horror movie.

In the middle of his room stood a giant Charizard, sniffing around his room as if searching for food. It was taller than himself, standing roughly at 2.06 meters. White bandages stained red covered its back and wrapped around his stomach; another cut running near over its snout dripped blood onto his floor, deep enough to need stitches. The flame on its tail wavered and flickered like a burning light, and while Soap was not an expert on Charizard’s, he knew that a flickering tail pointed towards sickness and declining health.

Now, however, Soap had more pressing worries to consider. Such as how a giant Charizard was somehow loose in his room. But before Soap could even finish the sentence, before he could even comprehend how a Charizard was standing in his room or where its partner was, the Pokémon turned, eyes widening as it noticed his presence, raising its claws as if in surrender.

“I ken ye canny understand me, but trust me, I didny die anything!”

It talked.

It fucking talked.

Hell's fuckin bells-

“You talked…” Soap’s voice shook as his spoke, his whole-body trembling as he pointed to the creature before him. “You fucking talked.”

He had to be dreaming. He just had to be.

But as The Charizard’s eyes widened with every word, wings dropping in astonishment as its mouth fell agape, Soap somehow knew he wasn’t dreaming. Somehow, he knew reality had presented him with a big fucking conundrum he didn’t know how to solve.

“Ye…did ye just understand me?” asked with such disbelief that Soap knew it was somehow genuine. This was somehow real. 

Soap leaned against the doorframe, his knees shaking and struggling to support his weight. For once, he didn’t feel the pain as intensely as usual, but that probably had to do with the fact that there was a talking Pokémon in his room.

“I’m going to throw up,” Soap announced, bile creeping in the back of his throat as he started to hunch over. His back and knee screamed at him not to, but at this point, nausea proved to be the stronger adversary.   

“Oi! Nae, ye don’t. I need yer help an'-” the Charizard went silent for a moment before it moved closer to him without Soap noticing, raising an eyebrow upon inspecting Soap closer. “Johnny?” 

“STOP TALKING!”

If dizziness had not swarmed him like a group of angry Beedrills, he would have recognized the take on his name that no one in his life had ever used, but feeling lightheaded, cold, and clammy even with the increase in temperature due to the creature before him would do little in aiding his memory.

Soap knew he was going to pass out, he could feel the dark wave ready to plunge him under, but the one thing his mind would remember, was one simple word.

“Soap? Is 'at ye?”  

He was glad when his face met the floor.

Chapter Text

To say Aodhán the Charizard was eager about this upcoming mission would be the biggest overstatement of the 21^st century.

There were a culminative group of things he wanted to be doing instead of laying here on a shaky aircraft. His favorite idea was curling up somewhere warmer and sleeping for the next eight years. Maybe the Charizard would have shared the same enthusiasm if he had the energy for it.

But when exactly had anything gone in his favor?

Their mission was simply a resolution to a manhunt that Aodhán once believed would have no end, the final act of a tiresome play everyone-Pokémon and people alike-could not wait to end.

Find Hassan, Disarm the missile that will thousands of civilians and Pokémon alike, and rest to prepare for the next mission they would inevitably be called for.

Exhaustion from the past 24 hours was finally collecting its debt, settling deep into his bones. Tokens of abrasions and contusions from the confrontation with Osmond “Oz” Ryan-Graves’s second in command-and his Feraligatr, Gatorade, illustrated the brawl he had enlisted into to protect Rudy and his Espeon, Yadriel, from further harm.

Such brutal wounds were, after all, to be expected in the aftermath of such a barbaric clash.

Pokémon Battles and Brawls are twin moons of each other. Similar yet different, cut from the same cloth but both serving a purpose the other could never fulfil.

Pokémon battles are civilized things; hosting comradery, strategy, and rules keeping each party in line, the playing field fair, such as the limit on how many moves a Pokémon could use. Battles allowed Humans and Pokémon to show their cohesion, to work together to win against their opponents and demonstrate the unity between Pokémon and Humans that had allowed both species to survive.

It was only one aspect of the truth. The other part remained unspoken, the history something both Pokémon and Humans would rather bury beneath friendly competition, but war brought forth buried truths that should never return to the light and indulges them all the same. There was, after all, a reason they were called “battles" when such a title is only given to fights within greater wars.

The rules of competitive battles held no place in war, in true war. Their human partners knew that. Understood it, even. In the clash of life and death, there are no boundaries keeping wild souls within a cage when fighting for their survival, not when Death was the referee.

Battles are for the children born in times Peace. Brawls are for the bastards conceived in War.

Fights to the death between two or more Pokémon, the only form of fighting Pokémon enlisted in war participated in. No rules, no set amount of moves a Pokémon could use. What truly mattered was a Pokémon and their trainer's intellect, skill, and power, because at the end of the day, those were the only things that guaranteed another day among the living. The only true victor in such carnage was Death itself, always leaving scars on one’s body and pride; hydrating itself by awakening the primordial bloodlust from philistine times within creatures of immense power, turning the reasonable drought for violence found within the most sentient living beings to a flood of bloody water.

Battles quenched this hidden bloodthirst within Pokémon and humans in the confines of civilized living in the same way war acquitted atrocities committed by soldiers; A beast of burden laying coiled in their shadows, unspoken of and willfully ignored, finding just enough substance among friendly battles.

But war summons that monster hibernating deep within, turns the most amicable Pokémon and humans into twisted and demented killers, forced to accept lies as truth to justify the blood on their hands, to convince themselves it was a needed necessity for a greater cause: the dedication to insuring peace and safety.

Aodhán would like to say Brutus had not played fair, to claim foul play in barbarity where rules hold no weight, but that would be a lie. The truth was he had been better; callous and cunning, he had used the monsoon that had taken residence above the base, knowing it would hinder the Charizard’s visibility and attacked when the surge had been its highest. The true beast of burden lied within him and his own failures.

True to form, he hadn’t been careful enough, too ignorant of the battlefield no matter how many times Phantom, Ghost’s Hisuian Samurott, had chastised him for being unobservant, for simply charging into things without thinking and believing he could simply “pull through.”

“Stop treating this like it’s a fucking game, Aiden.”

Aodhán hadn't listened, and he paid the price. Such carelessness had left him vulnerable, the same way his trust had allowed him to be fooled so easily that he didn’t realize the betrayal until it was too late. Rounding the corner with Rudy, Yadriel, Alejandro’s little brother Mateo, and his Flareon, Olina, aboard his back; only to be stopped by savage jaws slicked with Ice Fang clamping around his neck, cutting off his supply of air.

Florida’s Feralgatrs truly were something else; the image of Gatorade galloping towards him on all fours using its formidable Aqua Jet followed by the potent pain was something Aodhán would not forget anytime soon. It had only been when Rudy, panic stricken and overwrought, had screamed “NO!” with a booming voice, somehow louder than the thunder above, that Aodhán truly understood the predicament he was in and felt the guilt burning in his stomach; fiery and acidic.

He truly never learned, did he?

Aodhán had made the same mistake before when he had fought against Xiomara, Valeria’s Houndoom, during Johnny’s ploy to gain the trust of Valeria and Diego; before they had known Valeria herself was El Sine Nombre. A well aimed Sludge Bomb, shot off just a few moments quicker than Aodhán’s Dragon Pulse could counter, had nearly taken the Charizard out of commission as the poison set in. It had nearly killed him.

Johnny, considerate and kind as he always was, thought it best to give him a break. His patience with him somehow in an overabundance even when the Charizard had pouted like a child at the decision to be left behind.

Aodhán’s glare burned holes into Johnny’s back with his arms crossed, waiting for him to turn around and acknowledge his presence. With how deliberate he was about keeping his back to him as he situated his gear, he was adamantly ignoring Aodhán on purpose, attempting to draw this out as much as possible. Whenever the Charizard growled or stomped to get his attention were anything to go by, he freezes only briefly before continuing.  

He rolled his eyes. Smoke puffing out of his nose as he snorted. What was it with humans always choosing to hide their emotions rather than discuss them? If Johnny was not going to make the first move, then Aodhán would.

As if on cue, Johnny slipped a blue headset over his right ear, the device so familiar as it reflected in the bright, fluorescent light. Wishful hope started to rise in his chest at the sight, his tail lightly swishing from side to side, barely able to hide his excitement at the implication the sight provided, only to be throughly disappointed when Johnny said " naw," shooting down his hopes without even bothering to look.  

The Battle AR was a device used only by Special Force Operatives to communicate and synchronize with their Pokémon partners on an instinctual level, providing a basic sixth sense so humans could keep tabs on their Pokémon partner, letting them be a second shadow following them into hell. Each combination was given a pair of Synergy Stones-one embedded into the Battle AR for trainers while the other was given to the Pokémon to wear; usually in in the collar holding their dog tags, though it varied for each species.

There was one pair in particular who could do more than just sense where the other was. Both could break through the communication barriers. Who, with their Synergy Stones, could telepathically speak with one another as if they shared the same language, feel what emotions the other was at a given time.  That pair was, and always had been, Johnny and Aodhán.

Aside from their skill, Johnny’s natural proficiency, and relentless dedication, the synergy of their bond had been one of the main reasons Price and Captain had taken them under their wing, becoming harsher and stricter in their training and setting them apart from the rest of the cadets to reach their potential.

It had paid off. Selection came; and it saw both Johnny and Aodhán passing all three sections of the course with the highest possible marks, had passed the Psyduck Test and Decidueye test for Demolition experts and Snipers, respectively, with ease. All of it resulting in Johnny becoming the youngest candidate to pass the SAS selection in British Army history.

However great an asset their bond could be, it was also their biggest downfall; but that was something they would only truly understand after the Los Voqueros base had been taken over. At this moment in time, it provided a source of comfort, and that’s all that truly mattered.  

Yet ever since Johnny had returned from interrogating Valeria, he had been distant. The normally impish and eager gleam in his eyes was dormant, the small embers left to be forgotten in a blizzard of trepidation and unease. Where there once had been confidence guiding his gait, it was now uncertainty and trepidation prowling the territory of his soul; weighing and pulling him deeper towards the earthly seams, ready to claim his life too soon.

The rainbow colors of the Synergy Stone embedded in his collar morphed into a dominant lavender hue, suppressing the other colors as his displeasure rose. When Johnny started to reach for the smoke grenades, Aodhán smacked his tail on the ground, startling the Scot into nearly setting one off. It rolled off the table and onto the top of Aodhán’s foot, the Charizard lightly kicking it back into his human’s palm.

‘Ye might want to be careful wi’that,’ Aodhán said smugly, fangs and teeth shining in the light as he crossed his arms. ‘They hev a tendency to go aff in untrained hands, ye ken.’

Anger at the comment had been the expectation, the desire even. Aodhán wanted to stroke the flames within Johnny, ignite with life held not long ago, to have it scorch and smolder hot enough to part torrential oceans and reduce forests to cinders, provide light and hope in an otherwise shrouded, blood-stained duty of old.  The fire within Johnny needed room to breathe and burn, and his compliance in an unearned defeat was smothering it of much needed oxygen.

It was painfully ironic timing, considering the weather had decided to be moody, drenching the world in a cold shower with equally frigid winds.

“Haud yer wheesht, Aodhán!” Johnny grumbled, voice tired and bleak, purposefully ignoring the odd looks from the lurking Shadows nearby. No real heat simmered within his words, tensing shoulders only serving to fuel Aodhán’s worry while his disappointment rose in tune. The Battle AR headset on Johnny’s left ear changed colors, now reflecting a purplish pink, the combination of colors being one he had never seen before and unable to identify. “Yer aff yer heid!”

‘’Am no’ eh wan who is ignoring thir best friend,’ Aodhán grumbled. Their connection was abuzz with agitation, pinching and piercing, invasive. He watched his boy grip the edges of the table holding his gear, squeezing so hard his knuckles turned white, as if attempting to will the rigidness out of his form. ‘how ur ye making me stay behind?’

Aodhán was ready for Johnny to thrust a finger at his chest and yell words he didn’t mean, letting the inferno simply breathe and ridding himself of the distorted dome snuffing its oxygen. But there is no response, just a shake of his head. Aodhán raises an eyebrow, snorting and pushing his head against Johnny's back to make him stumble a few steps away. Johnny's anger flares, but Aodhán doesn't back down, snarling in challenge and stomping his foot. 

Do it. Come on, Johnny. 

Instead, Johnny sighed, pushing his hands off the table and walking towards his Pokémon. Removing the fingerless gloves and shoving them in the pocket of his vest, he settled his hands on Aodhán’s snout, relishing in the warmth and vitality of his draconic friend, the same way he had when he was younger and his mother had tried to force womanhood down his throat, raising hell when she had the privilege to see her son for who he deserved to be seen as.

Oh.

Aodhán lets his own anger falter back to its depths, returning the gesture and pressing his forehead against Johnny’s own in turn, unfurling his wings to wrap them around Johnny and offer more privacy, huffing warm air in his face. A fix of temporary satisfaction filled his soul when he heard a quiet laugh. One hand cupping under his chin while the other encircled the back of his horns. Both closed their eyes, staying in the position even as footsteps of both humans and their Pokémon scuffled around them, shouts of orders being issued and Shadows preparing their own assortment of gear for the assault, thunder cackling above them like a rumbling scream; the lights flickering underneath its intensity for only a moment before returning to normal, though neither of them noticed.

This embrace was just for them, a small enclave of comfort their job always seemed hellbent on breaking. A brotherhood of two with burning pasts, but adamant on spreading their warmth before they’re extinguished too soon. Never making the other wait, always coming when called, both one half of a whole.  

“Ye’ve done enough, Aodhán,” Johnny said quietly, guilt and remorse brimming in his eyes like the ancient pestilence it was. He pulled away, a downcast mixture of a grimace and smile only served to nearly drown out the kind shades of blue with a dull grey. “It pishin it doon out there. Ye hate the rain.”

It was true. Aodhán did hate the rain. He had sat beside Phantom during torrential downpours in the hopes he would understand what made the rain so special to his friend; why Phantom’s eyes would flicker with hope when clouds would blot out the sun, grey covering blue, how such a sight would coax the smallest of smiles out of Phantom when it finally did rain.

But aside from his basic knowledge of how rain revitalized the earth, Aodhán never did truly gain the understanding he had been looking for, not completely, anyway. He had simply learned to begrudgingly appreciate it if it brought Phantom joy. In the end, it was enough for him to consider his mission complete.

Still, rain had never been something that stopped the Charizard from participating on missions before. SAS Pokémon were trained to operate under the most extreme weather conditions, especially ones that gave them a disadvantage. He had recovered from the poison well enough to be considered fit for duty.  

It was a fact Aodhán tried to argue, a last-ditch effort as much as it was an almost low blow. ‘ But- ‘

“Please,” Johnny begged quietly, cutting him off and leaning on Aodhán’s forehead just a bit more, hugging him closer just as he had before he’d evolved, when he had still been a small Charmander. Dismay fits his voice into broken shards, scrambling them around in an image Aodhán could not recognize. Johnny never begged. Not for his mother’s love. Not for his brother’s understanding. Not for Ghost’s affection. Never. “Mek 'is easy fo' me.”

Aodhán picks up the bond once more to continue his argument, to throw wrath against the wall instead of simple inquisition, but the slight tremble underneath his chin from Johnny’s hands cradling his head, the distress dancing across the bond in what felt like graceful pirouettes, accumulates into a powerful infantry halting any attempt at an advance.  Opening his eyes, Aodhán caught Johnny’s eyes searching his own with desperation, holding him as if he would disappear in his grip. It was only then the Charizard understood how important it was to Johnny that he stayed; shoulders and wings slouching in defeat and reluctant acceptance.

With a nod, Aodhán relented with a heavy sigh, watching Johnny sigh in relief and rewarding him with a beaming smile; the closest one Aodhán had seen from him since the Charizard had awoken in the Los Vaqueros's Pokemon Center after being treated for poison, when this lingering cloud of doubt made itself home in the eternal sunshine of his boy's mind. 

A petty part of him still wanted to call the reasoning an excuse, to prove that it was simply something to pacify the guilt Johnny had no right to burden himself with. He was not the reason his Pokémon had been stuck in the infirmary of the Los Voqueros base; it had been Aodhán’s fault.  But Johnny wanted him to stay, to rest and heal; so Aodhán conceded defeat and trust his best friend’s life in the hands of others, watching him take solace from his agreement until he became repose. A wide smile on his face as he gave a sendoff for his boy to go off to battle without him.

Because who was Aodhán to deny his boy anything?

So, Aodhán had stayed behind, standing beside Rudy with Yadriel perched upon his head, watching as the military trucks carried Johnny out of sight towards zodiacs and a battle he would not participate in and an enemy Aodhán could not protect him from.

He had forgotten a crucial detail. One he only realized when the Scot had spoken to Rudy and Ghost in the stillness of the safehouse, believing Aodhán to be curled around Phantom and Yadriel in the depths of sleep, his wings providing them the comfort of a heated blanket.

“-Peróname, hermano,” the distant call of Rudy captured Aodhán’s attention; muted, sad, and dull; all emotions not befitting of the man he had come to adore. Slowly rousing himself from sleep, reluctantly embracing the painful ache bruising his body, he listened to the hushed voices nearby. “He tossed me out of the way, took the blunt of the blow.”

Aodhán resisted letting out a chuff. Rudy spoke as if that was a surprise, something he wouldn’t do again because of the man’s previously held wariness of fire and Fire Types alike after Hassan nearly burned him alive. Of course, he would; without a second thought.

The thought process of humans was something Aodhán would never understand. Always so willing to falsify a narrative when they never believed it to be possible.

Johnny’s hands, which had been running down Aodhán’s back, ceased their concentrated massage around the jaw-shaped teeth marks, easing the lingering ache. The change in the air was thick, nearly suffocating. Aodhán felt the same fear from before tightening, a spring about to burst. From his position atop the Charizard’s back, Yadriel cut his cleaning session short, forgoing his obsession of ridding himself of the rainwater and preferring to listen to the conversation. 

Phantom, meanwhile, pushed himself closer, soaking up while providing warmth simultaneously, resting his head on Aodhán’s neck, light snores brushing the Charizard’s ear and remaining unbothered by the sudden change. Aodhán was tempted to wake him up, but he doubted the Hisuian Samurott would be helpful in the state of fatigue he was in. His grumpiness would only serve to make matters worse.

“Johnny?” a slight scuffle to his right, a miniature chorus of movement, coming closer as the sound of metal tinging against itself echoed in their space. Another presence with a deep, rough voice welcoming itself into their fold. “What is it?”

“Wis...wis it Ice Fang an’ Aqua Jet?”

Rudy’s eyes widened, and it was all the confirmation Johnny needed. He paused, letting the question linger in the air; setting down the gun he had been reloading onto the table and walking towards them with haste. The temptation to reveal ulterior motives taking root within his soul. 

“How did you even know that?!”

“I felt it..” the worry within Johnny’s voice caused Aodhán to abandon his quest for sleep, choosing to listen while still hidden under the façade of rest. Their link flared with agony, carried towards him on wings of terror.

The sensation of a heart stopping when someone it beat for was believed to be dead. A sensation of falling and pounding into the ground with a sickening crack. All of it beat savagely between the two like a creature of its own design .

“Oan the way back from th’rig…I-“Johnny’s voice trails off, wrapping his arms around himself, digging his nails into his bicep, so dangerously close to his gunshot wound that Ghost had to pull them away, running his own gloved fingers over his knuckles.

Aodhán tossed the statement around in his mind, trying to find the origin of such pause, his tail slowly swishing side to side. Yes, Johnny had slipped the Battle AR on when he had been prepping his gear, so ingrained in his routine he had not bothered to change it, even when his Pokémon partner was staying behind; but he had justified the decision by saying Aodhán would be able to ‘check in’ with him and know he was alright. It had done wonders for Aodhán’s nerves, had allowed the Charizard to still feel and sense Johnny’s emotions, to know his boy was still alive.

The adrenaline pumping through his veins, the surprise that burned upon the swaying of the cargo boat, the excitement when seeing the missile launch and descend back down onto the rig, witnessing the explosion after-  

All of it had been comforting until Aodhán could no longer feel him anymore, because Johnny had lost his battle AR after being shot in the shoulder by Graves himself. With one of them sans their Synergy Stone, Aodhán and Johnny were rendered unable to communicate or sense one another, flailing aimlessly while hoping their friend was still alive. It had only returned when Ghost gave back the cracked earpiece to the Johnny, having picked it up when Graves had been distracted by Johnny’s escape.

At least, that’s what the story had been. What was Aodhán missing?

Apparently, he was not the only one confused by Johnny’s cryptic statement. Rudy and Ghost gawked as if he had grown a second head, a discrete look passing between the two as Rudy moved closer, kneeling beside the Brit. The only two who remained unperturbed was Phantom, still either dozing or consciously ignoring the disturbance; and Yadriel, who had fancied himself to return to his previous task of cleaning himself of the rainwater. Aodhán had suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, only able to demonstrate is frustration with a low, rumbling grunt. Such help, both were.  

“…did you hit your head, Johnny?” Ghost asked. Clearly not the best choice of words, though Aodhán could not help but understand his reasoning for voicing his question. 

Frustration bloomed within Johnny, coiling around their connection, his accent thickening as he glowered.

“ Nae, I dinnae ya numpty. I deh lie.”

“English, MacTavish.”

“’At wisnae even a common saying!”

“English.”

“Ye bampot-“Something snapped in Johnny just then; the stress and burden of the past few hours finally cutting through composure relief had granted him. Lunging forward, he grabbed onto Ghost’s vest, pulling until he was centimeters away from his own face with his lips curled up in a sneer. “I. dinnae. lie, Ghost, I ken whit I felt.”

There was a silence, agitation still held a pulse within their bond even if it was not towards the other directly. Aodhán did not raise his head, keeping his eyes closed, but he could envision the vexation thawing away Johnny’s patience as his face twisted with honed fury. Rudy, the only essence of calm it seemed, pushed the two apart, leaving his hand on Johnny’s chest before offering his uninjured arm a light squeeze.

“Can you explain what you mean, hermano? What do you mean ‘felt?’”  

Johnny took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Despair chafed against his previous anger, brushing it away until loathing resignation took its place atop the throne, worry assisting as its advisor. Soon, it became a chanting war drum, eroding the doors of the Scot’s composure as he rubbed his eyes.

His boy was losing himself, and Aodhán would never let that happen.

Pretending to still be asleep, he yawned, pushing himself up just a bit before landing his head on Johnny’s lap with a thud, nuzzling his hands for pats. He felt Johnny jump in surprise, fondness for his partner thawing away the agony just enough to steady him. A hand ran down his back, the blanket draped over him to encompass his body and help retain the warmth he lost from the rain before the strokes once again resumed. Johnny truly did give some of the best pets (Price was a close second). Aodhán had no complaints, simply sighing in contentment and earning a chuckle from Johnny. He felt hands rub the sleep away from his eyes before continuing their journey over his neck.

Johnny breaks the silence once more, dividing his focus between seeking the comfort of his partner Pokémon and speaking. “Dae ye remember when I doubled over in pain oan eh ride back from th’rig, Ghost?”

Ghost’s eyes narrowed, shooting an angrily bemused look at Rudy as he scoffed. Even with the mask covering his face, he looked positively miffed. “I was there,” he deadpanned. “I pulled the car over once Alejandro noticed.”

“Aye, but a lot has happened since-“

“Yes,” Ghost sighed, exasperated. “I remember.” 

Johnny nodded, smiling weakly, his face turned red with embarrassment, combing a hand through his hair. Aodhán nudged him again, ignoring Johnny’s scowl and huff as his boy continued. “It…it felt as if summat bit me..like ma blood wis replaced wi’ice…being savagely ripped apart at th’shoulder…choking as if drowning an-“

Ghost placed his hands on Johnny’s shoulders, a thumb caressing his cheek before returning to its previous perch. “You dropped your Battle AR when Graves shot you, Johnny. Even if you hadn’t lost it, the most your…” he stopped, trying to find the right words.

“Unnatural?” Johnny supplied weakly, his usual bravado faltering the longer the conversation progressed. Aodhán had to once again resist giving up his cover to comfort him, though it was getting harder to do so.

Ghost glowered, though Aodhán discreetly noticed the hidden grimace as he squeezed Johnny’s shoulders. “It’s not,” he said firmly. His voice was resolute, making it deeper in pitch. “It’s in a class of its own that sets you and Aiden apart.”

It seemed so odd, to have watched this dynamic grow, to witness Ghost comforting Johnny, openly showing signs of affection. Before, it had always been Aodhán and Johnny. Johnny and Aodhán.

Now, within this haven turned hellscape, displaced to be hunted in the rain washing away the blood of mass executions, predators turned into prey, hunted down by traitors cloaked in righteousness, the dynamic had evolved. Now, it was Aodhán and Johnny, Ghost and Phantom; just as much as it was Johnny and Ghost, Aodhán and Phantom. 

The Charizard could wholeheartedly admit how beneficial it was to have another person and Pokémon looking out for Johnny, to view him with the same importance he did; but someone at some point would have to call out the denial of feelings between the two. Aodhán may not understand humans as well as Phantom, but even he could notice this weird mating dance of denial.

“Ghost,” Rudy spoke slowly and cautiously, leveling his gaze. “He named the moves in the correct order they were used. He wasn’t even there.” he furrowed his brows at Johnny. “Has this happened before?”

It was then something hit Aodhán, resounding in his mind like the grumbling thunder above, pounding against the roof like galloping hooves, memories and pain flashing behind his eyes and traversing through his body.

The presence of another in his mind. A chilling scream blending into his own roar of pain. Emotions not his own battering against his body’s need to survive. Body shaken from a despairing sob amidst broken pants of labored breath, clutching the small remains of a bloodied and ripped scarf that belonged to a dead companion. The fear born from solitude within danger, predator turned prey. An aching and leaking wound.

The realization struck Aodhán down into an inescapable abyss of blame, shadowy hands holding him just out of reach of the sun, just as it had a million times before. Aodhán had felt Johnny’s pain, just as Johnny had felt his own; and that was something which should have been impossible.

There was a reason why Synergy Stones were considered to only be for the most elite soldiers. Allowing a trainer and Pokémon to link their consciousness together as if they were one being was a dangerous prospect, at least without the proper safeguards. There is a line that must be drawn, to identify where one ends and another begins, to not lose one and have the other become nothing more than a feral, unrecognizable creature. The stones themselves provided a protective barrier, allowing just enough of a connection while preventing such a cross. Even so, the military took extra protective measures; scheduling psych evals every week and requiring officers to note any changes in the demeanor of their soldiers and Pokémon.

Loose cannons, just like loose ends, were not a part of the field manual, and they could not be tolerated.

Aodhán had heard of the mishaps and failures whispered in the perceived empty halls, the accidents of humans and Pokémon losing any sense of sanity; deteriorating pairs from standing soldiers to objects of study, kept behind glass walls and watched with monitors while humans in lab coats tried to understand a diseased mind. Price had warned them to keep quiet, to not tell anyone, but it had not been long before the higher ups had discovered this strange phenomenon during a practice test of an upcoming mission. Threats had been made to remove Johnny from the SAS all so they could assist in their research, “for the good of everyone else.”

Though, they never included them when referring to “everyone else,” did they?

Price enlisted the help of Laswell, formed Task Force 141, and attempted to stake claim to Johnny’s presence, prevent it from ever occurring. Yet there was only so much even a man like Price could do. A deal had to be brokered. Johnny could keep his position within the S.A.S. and Task Force 141 as a demolition’s expert and sniper, under the condition of assisting researchers to uncover answers.  

Same threat, now disguised as a beneficial offer.

The predicament had caused unrest between the team, especially Ghost and Phantom. The thought of Johnny and Aodhán being removed from their team after finally forming a brotherhood, destined to become nothing more than a forced volunteer for the benefit of others, left anxiety to fester in their chests.

The scientists had called the reading of the risks being balanced out by the potential benefits as informed consent, but Aodhán called it intentional deception. After a while, their research cumulated to finding nothing on the origin of their unique bond. It only made things worse. All this time of being poked and prodded, and there was nothing to show for it.  

They had both been released with harsh instructions levied to Price from Doctor Curry to report any changes or “mutations” of their bond. While Price had agreed upfront, he'd revealed his true loyalty the moment he had turned to Johnny afterwards and contradicted his agreement, calling Johnny to speak to him in his office and promise something else entirely.

“Soap. If anything changes, you tell me or Ghost, alright?” his voice had been nothing but a whisper, as if afraid someone was listening into his private office. Looking back on it now, perhaps that truly was a possibility. “You tell no one else. Do you understand?”

At Johnny’s nod, he had relented, even walking the two back to their bunk to avoid any unwanted questions from fellow teammates.

Aodhán blinked himself out of the memory, finally surrendering his facade with a drawn-out yawn. He could feel Phantom’s eyes on him, scarlet and piercing, most likely watching the slow spiral rolling within Aodhán’s mind like a hurricane. The question the Hisuian Samurott desired to be asked remained unvoiced, settling alongside the nervousness taking space between the two. He pushed his weight against Aodhán ever so slightly, the Pokémon equivalent of a gentle squeeze and the gesture indicating an invitation of being there when the other was ready.  

The temptation to confess his own concerns was nagging Aodhán, to seek comfort from someone he saw as an older brother and a best friend. It would be so easy, to unload some of the burden keeping him grounded, to lean on the shoulders of a friend. But why should Phantom continue to deal with his problems?  Ever since Aodhán and Johnny enlisted in the S.A.S., all Phantom did was protect and shield him-from other Pokémon, from teammates holding a vendetta against Johnny, even from the researchers when they came to request for him and Johnny, all because he couldn’t do it himself. He met his gaze and saw the raised eyebrow, but simply shook his head and offered a small smile.

It didn’t convince Phantom, not in the slightest if the furrowed brows were anything to go by, but it would hold him off from prying deeper. That was what the Charizard had been hoping for.

Plans had been made afterwards. An oath sworn between the trio of men that none of them would mention what the implication of what such a thing meant, Rudy even going so far as to not breathe a word of it to Alejandro, all the while Aodhán was left standing there like a selfish, gullible fool, forcing others to pay the price for his negligence. Aodhán hadn’t been able to protect his friends from his mistakes altogether. He may not understand how he had let Johnny feel each wound etched into his body, but the blame still lied with him. Just as he'd let the enemy hiss lies into his best friend’s ear, telling tales of his death as they presented his bloodied blue and white scarf-gifted to him before his and Johnny’s deployment-as proof of his demise.

Even worse, Aodhán had not been beside Johnny to protect him, choosing to willingly stay behind against his better judgement. In pushing his own comfort ahead of his boy's safety, he had failed. 

It had not just been Johnny he had let down either, his blame even reached out towards Alejandro's little brother, Matero, and his Flareon, Olina, when the Shadows had taken over the Los Voqueros base. 

Aodhán may have been able to save Rudy and Yadriel, but that had mattered little when his injuries had forced Mateo and Olina to stay behind in the hands of traitors, all because he had been too weak to carry them all to safety, slowly losing blood from carelessness and watching his life wash away with the freezing rain collecting on his skin. With tears in his eyes and a remorseful smile. Mateo's voice had hitched in fear while addressing Rudy for what could have been the last time, the words echoing in the absence of speech.

“I apologize in advance for the insubordination, sir.”

Such hauntings humans could breathe with their own language and burn upon the skin of even a Fire Type like himself, pain that came from the denial of deliverance as Rudy . There was nothing that would ease the scar of guilt over his heart, throbbing with each beat as he watched his partners interact with one another and then himself.

Not Alejandro’s gratitude for Aodhán conveyed in soft yet trembling strokes across his scarred muzzle from the claws of a Feraligatr he had once called a friend, so many emotions rippling through his soul and dancing in his eyes; his words barely audible and uttered in his mother tongue, swirling in Aodhán’s mind like grains of sand picked up from a lonely wind only becoming whole upon reuniting the sky with the earth.

Not the affection hug from Mateo seeping with joy, ruffling Aodhán’s head as he wrapped his arm around the back of his head, forcing the Charizard to lean down and accommodate the shorter stature due to his immense height. Not the clouds of despair breaking in Phantom’s eyes when they finally saw each other again at the safehouse, relief at seeing his friend alive after being told of his execution causing the usually reserved Pokémon to tackle him into an embrace, saying nothing. Not even the consolation of pulling away from Phantom to see Johnny alive, his heart stopping and pumping once again, blue meeting blue as Aodhán tackled his best friend into a hug, licking away the grime on his face while his Johnny laughed and wept at the same time, the sound as wet and gurgled as the mud he laid in, his tears mixing with the last of the rain.

None of those things could erase the remorse wrapping itself around his soul like ivy across a stone building, making his misery its own source of energy, sucking away life to be diverted for its own uses.

If the Charizard was being honest with himself, he was glad that it was Rudy waiting beside him for the rest of the Task Force and not Johnny, who had left to prepare their plane for their departure. This despair was one Johnny would have instantly recognized, adding unneeded stress before a high priority mission. No. Johnny didn’t need to know. Aodhán appeared fine, he felt fine physically, so he would be fine until this mission was over. This truth was not a complete lie, just more so an incorrect connection of the dots to influence a certain narrative he needed everyone else to desperately believe.

It would be the truth until this mission was over. Everything else would fall into place later.

“Aodhán” Charizard-Fire/Flying

Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish. TF-141

LONESOME DREAMS

Chicago, USA

04 Nov. 2022 0400

Flying over the Great Lake was the most peace Aodhán had experience on a mission in so long. Sure, he couldn’t skim the water’s surface as he wished, but the ambience of the helicopter’s blades, the chill in the air, the blue waters holding the reflection of the moon was nothing short of euphoric.

Even amidst the anxiety from Johnny and the discomfort from his new and temporary operational harness, Aodhán couldn’t help but let out a small roar of joy, performing a small twirl and covering himself in the sky’s embrace, briefly falling before steadying himself once more. Price pointed at him, a chuff of amusement leaving his lips somehow heard even through the sound of rotating blades “Someone is feeling better.”

“A relief, that,” came Ghost’s dry voice through the radio. The weird fondness in his tone was still a surprise to Aodhán, even after the events of Las Almas. He may hold adoration towards his boy, but he didn't think that would have extended to him, not after the rough start they had after their first meeting. “Phantom was worried. Kept pestering-” a sharp banging sound, followed by a curse, echoed on the other end of the line. “Ouch! What the hell?!”

Price frowned, sharing a glance with Captain Pikachu and Johnny before speaking. “Sit rep, Ghost?”

“Phantom bonked me.”

A stagnant silence stretched through the radio channel, nobody knowing how to respond while Aodhán and Captain Pikachu shared a look, the latter shrugging. Out of everyone on the team, Ghost was the last person to ever use such an interesting, odd, and perhaps what most would consider an “upbeat” phrase. That was more of Johnny’s forte. It was out of Ghost's character enough that Price, the man who had known Ghost longer than everyone else, was rendered to simply gawking in bewilderment.

Captain Pikachu hopped into his lap, waving a paw in front of his partner’s face, only pulling away once Price blinked in surprise and seemingly snapped out of his reverie. Price smiled, scratching his Pikachu behind the ears and watching as his partner's leg twitched upon his fingers hitting a ticklish spot. He whispered something quietly, earning a pleased “chaaaa” from Captain Pikachu.

“Bonked you?” Johnny repeated, tasting the word across his tongue; his lips puckering like he’d tasted something sour. Glancing at Aodhán, he smirked at his Charizard, a jovial lilt to his tone upon this presentation of new material to tease his LT with. "Where ye learn 'at?"

“It’s an American saying,” Ghost said defensively, nearly stuttering in his quest to justify his choice of words. It only succeeded in making Johnny chuckle while Price covered his mouth, trying to help save his lieutenant from further embarrassment as he pretended to adjust his mustache. “They say it the most.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, LT” Johnny said slowly, trying so hard to not chuckle over coms as he prepared the next stage of his banter; breaking metaphorical bad news like a doctor ready to rip off the Band-Aid and lay bare a clinical diagnosis for all to see. Truly, the Scot was making the most of this situation. “But…Yer not American.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Ghost drawled. Fondness could still be heard in his voice, the engaging banter something he and Johnny had done multiple times before, but apprehension was now an unwelcome guest entering the party, changing the dynamics of a friendly conversation slowly but surely.

“I know this must come as quite the shock,” Johnny continued, oblivious to the small change as he continued in his teasing. “Ye learn it from one? 'Eh word, I mean.”

There was a long pause, the tension once hidden now filling the joyful conversation occupying the space only moments ago. The smile on Johnny’s face fell ever so slightly, worry clouding his eyes. Somehow, a simple sentence appeared to have taken things too far, and no one knew why. Though Aodhán noticed how worry and sympathy shown in Price's eyes, looking at the helicopter he knew his lieutenant was stationed in, and it almost made the Charizard pause

“I did.” Ghost said tersely. A warning for most, but that had not stopped the Scot before. 

Johnny snorted, trying not to let the sudden change bother or worry him, intent on keeping their banter alive-if not to hastily make amends. “Ye gunna tell me who taught ye 'at ridiculous word?”

“No.”

The sharp bite in Ghost’s answer shook Johnny to his core, blinking in surprise at the sudden change. Emotions bounced towards Aodhán through their bond in a frenzy-surprise, hurt, annoyance, anger-beating in tune with his own heart until they became his own. Anger rises in Aodhán’s gut alongside his trainer’s, billowing into a wildfire. He feels Johnny reach out towards him, halting his warpath with a shake of his head, eyes narrowing while he shifts in his seat. The silence drags on, discomfort having blossomed in full, neither Johnny nor Ghost, willing to give in; that is, until when the radio cackles to life once more. 

“We’re in the US, Johnny,” Ghost said. His voice pitiful yet still tense all at once, even now unwilling to let his guard down after such a sudden shift. The words are not a balm to Johnny and Aodhán’s irritation, simply an olive branch born out of the awkward tension of two men refusing to yield, though both of them should. “Ever heard the saying ‘when in Rome, do as the Romans do?’”

“Yer pulling ma leg, at’s no’ a saying,” Johnny stated as he rolled his eyes. Taking the bait had clearly been a method of tabling his anger for later. With every mission, there was a chance one of them wouldn't return. Finishing any final adjustments to his FTac Recon Battle Rifle, Johnny pushed himself off the seat stiffly sit beside Price on the floor, swinging his legs over the side to let them dangle in the open air. “We aren’t in Rome, either.” 

Aodhán could practically hear the inhalation of breath from Ghost on the other end of the radio, the sign of an incoming explanation for Johnny, alongside a soft reprimand, for him being both “smart and stupid at the same time” the whole team would be subjected to hearing; though Aodhán was not entirely sure it would be well received by Johnny at this very moment, not when their agitation was still strong. Thankfully, Laswell’s voice cut the lifeline of the conversation abruptly short, preventing it from descending into further madness, much to everyone’s silent relief.

“John, be advised. I have some news for you.”

Price sighed, rubbing his temples in preparation for a headache. Of course, things wouldn't go according to plan. When did they ever? When would he learn this simple concept?  These were questions, he decided, he would give attention to after the mission, voicing a question he dreaded an answer. 

“Am I going to like it?” Price asked dryly, ignoring the inquisitive glance from his Sergeant and the confused head tilt from Captain Pikachu. Aodhán had a feeling he knew the answer would be no, but he still held onto hope. 

“Probably not,” Laswell chuckled. The fondness in her voice was impossible to miss, piquing Aodhán's curiosity. She spoke like a mother reminiscing about sons she had not seen in so very long. “That’s not going to change the news, however.”

“Which is wha-“ Price never got to finish. Whether it was fate timing things perfectly or just coincidence, Aodhán would never know, but it made for an introduction no one would forget.

A sudden, sharp whoop of “YEE HEE!” was all Aodhán heard from behind. Furrowing his brows and tossing a quick glance over his shoulder, he spotted two large shadows flying towards him at high speeds. His eyes widen in horror, a yelp of surprise leaving his lips; he only had seconds to dive out of the way, dipping low and feeling the rush of air travel up his back as the interlopers passed by on strong winds.

In the wake of such speed, a miniature, slightly less (though that wasn’t saying much) form of hell broke loose.

The helicopter is thrown off balance, bucking and twisting like an agitated Taurus underneath the pilot’s control, alarms blaring and flashing in rapid colors, casting Johnny and Price in a hue red light. A steep curve to the right caused Johnny to fall forward, flying out the side door, only barely managing to grab ahold of the helicopter, catching himself with a grunt as his body swayed dangerously back and forth, weakening his grip.

“FUCKING HELL!” the strain in the Johnny's voice was unmistakable; fear emanating across the bond combining with adrenaline to pound on the tether with relentless force, twisting in Aodhán’s stomach like a sword. The Scot's legs flailed uselessly in the open air as if he was running, the cold biting his fingers and digging into the metal, scrambling to try and pull himself back into the helicopter. An unintelligible scream from Ghost echoed through the radio, cackling underneath the bellow yet somehow still able to pick up the desperation within such an utterance. From the pitch and tone, it was clear Ghost had shouted Johnny’s name upon seeing him hanging half outside the helo.

Price and Captain Pikachu lunged forward, grabbing his hands, and attempting to hoist the Scot up. The rocking motion of the metal bird made it a continuous struggle, both forced to multitask between holding their seat and onto Johnny himself. If Aodhán was being honest, it was Price doing most of the work, but that was an observation the Charizard kept to himself. Aodhán huffed, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. Yes, the situation wasn’t funny. Not even in the slightest, considering they had no idea who or what was the cause; but a slight, intrusive, immature thought of ‘what would Johnny do without me?’ crossed his mind with amusement.

Before the Charizard could move and help Johnny back into the helicopter, Captain Pikachu suddenly slid to the right and off the metal flooring of the helicopter, into the embrace of the open, a breathless shout leaving his lips; Surprise and panic tracing its hypnotizing touch and clouding any semblance of poise the Pikachu usually embodied. Price was left with little time to react, only able to reach with an outstretched hand towards his partner in freefall; their fingers missing each other by a margin, only able to grab onto the Pikachu’s hat, pulling it off his head as his partner fell towards the lake below.

“CAPTAIN!”

The scream tearing Price’s throat was something no one on the team had ever heard before. The combination of a young boy and a grown man all at once, torn between pleading to some higher power for things to be okay, but understanding such a thing was impossible at the same time. Binary oppositions tearing a soul apart at the seams until only scraps remained.

Fucking hell.

Aodhán prepares to dive after Captain when he feels a cold shiver run down his back, the premonition of being watched looming and hovering nearby. Not by the gaze of a predator viewing him as prey to be hunted, but with an intimacy leaving him vulnerable and exposed. Halting his movements for a second, Aodhán quickly glances over his shoulder, not exactly sure what he is expecting to see but readying himself for anything. But there’s nothing there, visually at least, aside from the things he had already seen. Intuition never lies if one understands the cues, but Aodhán knew this went beyond a simple instinctual warning. It was a chance meeting between two Pokémon-one alive and one long since dead, its vitality found in the world around him.

The warmth of another’s soul, racing against the chill wind with a speed and grace reminiscent of flight. Fiercely loyal and brave. A benevolent guardian within a lonesome dream. A shade from a life not completely different from his own, but unique enough to be unrecognizable and unfamiliar.

The possessive urge to reach out with his soul a bit further, even when he was not exactly sure what he was doing, just to feel this presence and ask the questions demanding to be answered, was an encompassing distraction. It was food placed in front of a ravenous feral, holding it just out of reach; close enough to taste but far enough to longingly mourn and rage for.

Shaking his head with a growl, Aodhán cleared the distractions away, filing them in the back of his mind. There was no time to ponder such wonders. A couple of minutes may have passed, but it was a couple of minutes where the tide could now turn against his favor. His wings had not completely healed either, still sore. Even with the energy the nap on the plane had provided, Aodhán’s body was still paying the price for the risks taken in Las Almas. Pushing past his limits now could render him broken, but this predicament had left the Charizard with little choice. It was either Captain’s life or potential medical leave.

Who Dares Wins. Aodhán just hoped the odds were in his favor.

Narrowing his gaze on Captain falling some meters away, a yellow dot amongst a broad canvas of navy blue, Aodhán dove after him. Wind howled past his ears with a predatory ferocity, trying to imped on his descent. The pressure would have suffocated him, had it not been for his Flying Typing gracing him with protection against such conditions.

Give a little more.

Spurring himself further, Aodhán can feel his muscles protesting the abrupt demand issued to his wings, threating to snap against the strain. Even amidst the wind, gravity worked alongside him for once, pulling him down to earth as he tucked his wings ever so closer to his body. The scream rippling in the back of Captain’s throat suddenly broke free, piercing the air in a shrill shriek.

Go a little further.

With one last beat of his wings. Aodhán soared past Captain, maneuvering himself underneath; a sharp, searing pain burned through his muscles. He briefly clocked the relief shining in Captain’s eyes once he recognized who it was before taking in a deep breath, biting his lower lip in anticipation for the pain that would no doubt come.

Now.

Suddenly unfurling his wings, Aodhán could hear just as he felt the sudden POP resounding and stretching his wings, thunderous agony resulting from limbs pushed past its limits. It did not take long for excruciating pain searing his nerves like a bolt of lightning, the heart of the storm taking root at the center of his back, tearing his senses and composure to shreds as he let out a yowl.

Captain bumped against his back, paws gripping for purchase on the uncomfortable, borrowed, non-fireproof vest. His friend was safe, though he couldn’t bring himself to celebrate. Aodhán could make out that Captain was screaming something, but the voice was a distant echo against the hurricane in his mind, lightning bolts of pain alighting every single nerve in his body.

He did have an inclination as to what the Pikachu was so frantic about, the realization through a haze of suffering. They were still falling towards the lake; gravity clearly having not been appeased with the effort placed forth.

With a curse, he stretched out his wings further, tears pooling in his eyes and blurring his vision from the pain. He allowed the air to assist in steadying himself above the waterfront, resolutely finishing the job with one final flap before coming to hover above the lake. The labored breathing and uneven, rapid wingbeats leaving small ripples across the water’s reflection.

For a moment, it felt as if time stopped. Not out of despair or horror for once, but rather for the chance to simply breathe. Much to his chagrin, Aodhán starts to feel exhaustion pulling at his mind, the agony filling in the vacancy adrenaline had left behind, now demanding to be felt in full.

It was only at the breath tickling his shoulders and the soft pats from warm paws that Aodhán remembered the small passenger aboard his back, the one he had fought the sky for. Turning his head to look, his eyes met Captain’s, brimming with worry and gratitude. His ears twitched, mouthing opening to speak-

When a shrill cry resounded from above.

Aodhán snapped his head upwards, spotting the shadow of a large Pokémon circling back around and heading towards them, distinctively large with a blow flame atop what Aodhán assumed to be its head, white eye-like markings resembling the aviator goggles Johnny often wore when riding upon his back. A growl of agitation rippled at the back of the Charizard’s throat, a Flamethrower lying in wait to sear and burn as defensive fury fueled him. Small crackles of electricity echoed in his ear, Captain preparing himself for the same thing

The Pokémon pulled away from the shadows as it came closer, revealing itself to be a beautiful Hisuian Braviary gliding towards them on the wind with an envious ease. Black feathers extending across its back, wings, and tail appeared as if they had taken the colors of darkness as its own; opaque and beautiful. The feathers behind the formation of blue flames were more voluminous, fanning upwards.

It left Aodhán speechless.

Hisuian Pokémon had been classified as endangered many years ago by the Pokémon Association, most now living in protected reserves from poachers to preserve the breed. Phantom once mentioned how Ghost had to “jump through hoops” to register him as a partner Pokémon, but Aodhán could not recall the specific details. He’d have to ask him about it after the mission.

The Hisuian Braviary hovered in front of Aodhán, matching the Charizard’s wingbeats, albeit steadier in its movements, and creating its own ripples across the lake’s surface. A Kelvar vest, like Aodhán’s own, covered most of its body; leather girth’s wrapping around its midsection and neck to hold a large leather saddle in place, a necklace held its Synergy Stone in place, swinging in the presence of the wind. Two men sat astride its back, both wearing Battle ARs, though only one Pokémon was present. Most likely, the other Pokémon Partner was tucked away in its Pokeball. The taller one hugged the stomach of the shorter man in a death grip, clearly not used to flight, while his partner peered over the fluff of feathers atop his bird’s head; shoulder’s sagging in relief as he eyed the Charizard and the Pikachu, patting the Hisuian Braviary before speaking into his own radio.

“Metal 0-1, this is Metal 0-2. Be advised, I have a visual on the Charizard and Pikachu. Both are fine, though the Charizard’s wingbeats are uneven. Might have pulled a muscle from overexertion, but he’s holding his own.”

Aodhán snorted, attention pulled away from the words relayed as he yelped. He turned, only to find Captain lightly pressing against his injured wing; face pulled into a tight grimace of remorse. He raised an eyebrow, the unspoken accusation from the Pikachu of Aodhán “pushing past his limits” residing between them, making the Charizard’s blood boil in fury just as it made him turn his head away in shame.  

“You most definitely pulled a wing muscle,” Captain said, thankfully choosing to not bring up such a detail. He sighed. “It’s a wonder you’re even flying right now.”

Aodhán didn’t say anything to that partially stupid comment. He had carried Yadriel and Rudy through Las Almas with lacerations from the bite of a Feraligatr, he could hover over this Great Lake for a bit. Even if it was painful, he was needed for this mission to succeed. No way was he going to sit out. Not again.

“I will admit, that was some flying,” The Hisuian Braivary praised, making Johnny jump. For a bird of regal prowess, her voice was soft-spoken and calm, teal eyes holding a pacifistic light which would no doubt disappear the moment an enemy revealed itself for her talons to rip apart. “My name is Dusk; my trainer’s codename is Truck, the man behind him is Grinch, his partner is in his Pokeball. I apologize for our other human’s behavior and for the debacle this caused you. Sandman and Sunspear can be…dramatic, to say the least.”

An understatement if the previous display of disgruntled pride was anything to go by, but the faults of one partnership should not be blamed on another.

“Evry’hing worked oot, nae hard feelings” Aodhán said, voice strained from his effort to remain in the air and suppress a growl as Captain continued pushing against his wing. “Am Aodhán, ma partner’s codename is Soap.”

He half expected the laughter such a reveal usually brought with it, heard too often, yet he's proven wrong when Dusk nods, the edges of her beak turning upwards in a grin. Aodhán could not help but return a smile, even if he had no idea what her response would be. “Strong names. I like it.” 

Aodhán struggled to not openly preen under the compliment as Captain pulled himself away from his injury, climbing on top of Aodhán’s head to call out to Dusk with fond recognition clear in his voice that surprised the Charizard. “Dusk! It’s good to see you!” Captain leaned over into Aodhán's eyesight to explain, as if sensing his confusion, gesturing with his hand. “Her trainer is a part of Delta Force. We’ve worked together on missions before; we haven’t seen each other since-” 

Dusk glared, cutting off Captain’s words. The blue flames atop her head glowed brighter, anger dancing in her eyes with a violent tempo. She ruffled her feathers, Truck briefly pausing his conversation to pet her upon sensing her agitation to offer reassuring words, waiting until she settled down before returning to the radio chirping unintelligible words.

A sad fact about being partners with a human is that a Pokémon must be prepared for a trickle-down effect on the decisions humans will make. Should their human find fault in another, there was a good chance they would not see the other. All fine and fair, except when the Pokemon is friends with the Pokemon of the one riddled with fault. The discomfort from Captain at Dusk’s glare was an anomaly Aodhán noticed immediately, submission and regret clear in his movements. Whatever happened between Price and the Delta boys had left its mark on the Pikachu’s relationship with their Pokémon, an unwilling ghost sitting between them, and the fact left a bitter taste in Aodhán’s mouth. However, there was nothing he could do. He knew better than to get involved in something he had not been a part of. 

Best not to think about it. 

Still, even amidst the discomfort between the two Pokémon, Aodhán found excitement rising in his chest. He and Johnny had not worked together with Delta on a mission yet, though he knew the Delta Force was the United States’ equivalent of the S.A.S; had even been modeled after them, if he recalled Johnny's words correctly. The two units shared a close relationship, so it was only inevitable they would they would work together on a mission. The realization let the Charizard temporarily ignore the discomfort. Another challenge to overcome, a chance to prove his worth against Pokémon just as good as those in the SAS.

He’d take it with open arms.

“We haven’t seen each other in a while, that is true.” Dusk stated simply, her voice snapping Aodhán back to attention. “You’ll be working with us again for this one too. Something about regulations regarding a terrorist on US soil. It appears Laswell wanted to keep this contained, no? Sandman had a damn conniption fit when Overlord told him.”

Aodhán winced, nodding. “Meks sense…it is in yer own backyard.” He, like most Pokémon, may not completely understand the intricacies regarding the rules humans have set up for themselves, but he imagined it to be a feeling similar to a prideful Pokémon defending a territory, refusing any help from outside sources because in doing so, they would be admitting incompetence to provide protection. 

Now it was Captain’s turn to glare, Aodhán having drawn anger towards himself; the Pikachu lightly smacking the Charizard’s nose with his paw; Dusk visibly relaxed, chuckling as Captain hissed at Aodhán, “Whose side are you on, mate?!” 

“He’s just stating the obvious. I thought perceptive Pokémon are what the S.A.S. looks for?” There’s cockiness within Dusk’s words, confidence in her smirk. Not in the belief she had successfully taken down her opponent, but in the knowledge she had. 

“And that was the reason the big display that nearly killed me, I’m assuming?” At Dusk’s nod, Captain groaned, rubbing his cheeks with his paws to ward off a headache, small sparks cackling from his red cheeks. “Of course. Why am I not surprised?”

“You expect Sunspear and Sandman to have changed? You’re hopeless,” Dusk snickered, the blue flames glowing brighter when she laughed; the mischievous glint shining in her eyes like the moon on the surface of a serene pond. “I would have thought you’d have learned by now.”

“Am I not allowed to hope?” Captain Pikachu asked mournfully, a smile growing on his lips against his wishes. He leaned his head on Aodhán’s own, trying to hide it as small patches of yellow fur appeared in the corner of the Charizard’s eye.

“Never said you couldn’t,” Dusk cocked her head. “Although…Let’s be real here, minus you falling out of the helicopter, it was somewhat deserved.” When Captain Pikachu opened his mouth to respond, defend his trainer perhaps, Dusk raised a talon up just a bit to silence him. “I am not talking about that; I doubt you would like us conducting an operation on your own soil without your knowledge, no?”  

Captain Pikachu was left with no time to retort when the three Pokémon’s attention was drawn to the sound Truck’s radio buzzing to life, this time the words spoken having more meaning to them. “Roger that, Metal 0-2. We have a plan and are enroute to you and Grinch. We’re Oscar Mike. Out” 

There was untamed fury in the other voice, from wounds never healed and with pain raw enough to seep into Aodhán's bones as if it was his own. Every moment made Aodhán’s curiosity rise, the desire to know who this unspoken ghost was, but just like before, he quelled such seditious thinking, watching the look of hesitation twist Truck’s face. His mouth opened and closed, an internal debate raging within him. He sighs, speaking once more with caution, like he was about to step on a mine.

“Frost? You solid?””

Another tangible and uneasy silence swings between them, tense and resigned with each broken heartbeat. Small waves from the lake below them lapped in small upwards motions, wakey and watery hands reaching out for salvation. Dusk turned, her soft croon breaking the silence and earning her sad smiles from both Truck and Grinch.

“He’s good,” The voice answered curtly. “I’ll tell you both what happened once the mission is over.”

Public wrath morphing into somber privacy, and neither Captain nor the Delta Pokémon would ever say why. 

“Sandman, we still have the Brit’s Charizard and Pikachu here,” the man behind Truck spoke this time, his voice gruff with impatience. He leaned just a bit to the side of Truck to eye the two in irritation, turning his baseball cap backwards. “Please tell me they aren’t coming with us.”

“Gee, he’s friendly,” Aodhán huffed.

Dusk snorted. "That is why he's called-" she cut herself off, tilting her head and waiting for the punchline, something Sandman kindly delivered. 

“Grinch, Sorry to burst your bubble, but they’re with us,” Sandman must have known Grinch would argue, cutting him off before he could speak. “Our issues with Price and the S.A.S. are our own. The Pokémon have nothing to do with it. Keep it tactical, yeah?”

Grinch scowled, sharing a look of resigned displeasure with Truck, though offering no further complaints. Instead, he diverts to a different concern. “What about the Charizard’s injured wing?”

“We don’t have time to attend to it thoroughly right now, not when Hassan has a ballistic missile he’s readying to launch on thousands of Americans. Laswell-“  

“Oh my god, does this mean we are working with Delta Mom’s other children? Our British step siblings across the pond?” Truck asked, his tone of mock hurt making Grinch snort.

Sandman sighed loudly, a small huff from another voice sounding alongside him. “Yes, Truck, it does. Now can you please let me finish?” he waited a beat, continuing. “So long as the Charizard can fly, he can fight, but only as a last resort. I have permission from Price to borrow Captain Pikachu and permission from Soap to-“

Truck and Grinch couldn’t help but sputter, their initial interest lost and buried upon hearing Johnny’s codename as their laughter cuts Sandman off once again, Truck speaking for them both. “Soap?! What kind of a name is Soap?!”

So much for letting this “Sandman” finish. The joking question was one Aodhán heard and overheard about his trainer many times before from Pokémon and humans respectively, enough so that it was losing its novelty and becoming an irritation. He rolled his eyes, huffing, most of his agitation thankfully leaving with the smoke pillowing out of his nostrils rather than being left to rot and poison him from within.

“What kind of names are Truck and Grinch?” The question silenced the two into sobriety instantly, Sandman left a brief lingering pause from the other line to ensure his men were listening before he continued, now sounding positively miffed even through the radio, “but since you two can’t maintain professionalism over comms, I’ll tell you in person. Out.”

The two men flinched at the reprimand, suddenly bashful even if it had been considered “tame” by Delta standards. Captain laughed quietly, muffling the sound with his paw. Dusk turned her head, pinning her partner with a judgmental glare only a bird of prey could manage. Truck raised his hands, still struggling to stifle his laughter.

“What? It’s not our fault! It’s a funny codename!” he defended as Dusk nipped at his knuckles, watching with satisfaction while her trainer shook out his hand as if it was on fire. "Ow! Okay, okay, I get it! bad timing for jokes." He places his knuckle up to his lips, trying to rid himself of the blood. 

“He probably got chewed out by Price for his stunt earlier,” Grinch said, nodding towards Captain Pikachu. “He nearly killed the old man’s pride and joy.”

“That was an unfortunate accident, but thankfully we had our boy-“Truck frowned, pulling his knuckle away from his mouth and  racking his brain for the nickname, only to come up blank and starting to sweat under Aodhán’s inquisitive and confused stare. “uhhh I’ll just stick with Charizard, because I can’t remember your nickname-“ 

“I think it's pronounced Aiden. Or at least, it’s close to that,” Grinch shrugged. “I don’t know. Sounds Gaelic.” Another mispronunciation; he could almost feel Johnny twitching in irritation, but Aodhán was becoming too tired to truly care.

“No shit? Aiden it is then!” Truck beamed, as if he had not been interrupted by his teammate mere seconds ago, stretching a closed fist towards the hovering Charizard. “We thankfully had our boy Aiden here to help! Fist bump?”

Aodhán scratched behind his horns, hesitant to return the gesture as his stomach twisted in dread. He’d done fist bumps with Johnny after a successful mission before, the two having created an “after mission success” ritual that slowly morphed into a superstition when it started to hold weight. The belief was, a mission starts off with a head pat or forehead touch, and a fist bump be offered after a successful operation. If any of things happened out of order, Lady Luck would then change her mind and head elsewhere, smiting either Aodhán and Johnny, or both at once.

But this wasn’t with Johnny, it was with someone else. Perhaps the rules of superstition are different, maybe he was simply overthinking.

Aodhán hesitantly extended a closed fist to “bump” it against Truck’s own, effectively cutting off Grinch vocalizing his doubt of whether Aodhán ‘would fist bump his dumbass back,’ the comment resulting in bickering between the two as Truck boasted about his success.

The Charizard was content to indulge himself in this amusement when his Synergy Stone glowing a dim, orange light; bond pulsing with a fleeting tempo; the telltale sign of Johnny attempting to speak from a long distance. His voice echoed faintly in Aodhán’s head, the message nearly obscured by Johnny’s struggle to maintain focus and project the words he wanted to say.  

Follow Sandman’s lead. Keep Captain safe. Dae push it. Be careful.

Johnny's words are accompanied with concern for Aodhán’s wellbeing, reluctant acceptance of his Pokémon doing this mission with strangers; the desire to accompany his partner alongside the Americans only amplified upon mixing with Aodhán’s own; but both knew this was the only option. Regardless of their feelings on the matter, they each had their own roles to play and a job to do. Aodhán bounced back affirmations and reassurances towards Johnny like skipping stones on a still pool, breaking his partner’s unease with a resolute promise to return safely uttered upon the two words.

I will.

The light fluttering of wings from behind and the shift of Captain’s weight behind his horns signaled the approach of another, most likely Sunspear and Sandman. Turning, Aodhán prepared himself to be met with another bird Pokémon, only to find himself staring at a large draconic creature he had never seen before, making him gape in bewilderment.

The light orange skin and cream-colored, striated underbelly contrasted quite nicely to the Charizard’s own color. A pair of long and thin antennae sprouted from the top of his head with a small horn sitting between them. It’s long, tapering tail, thick arms, and well-defined legs made up for the tiny teal wings somehow keeping this bulky Pokémon hovering in the air as it came to rest beside him. Like Dusk, the dragon adorned a set of Kevlar from head to tail; leather girths wrapping around its neck, stomach, and tail to secure a saddle to its back, two men sitting upon it. Based on their similar position to Truck and Grinch, Aodhán guessed Sandman was the one sitting closest to Sunspear’s head, while the other, whose codename he did not know and who covered his face like Ghost, was the last member of the Delta Force.

Holy mother of Arceus, Sunspear was a fucking Dragonite.

Out of all Pokémon species Aodhán had expected Sunspear to be, a Dragonite-known for its altruism, intelligence, and kind heart-was not one of them. His expectation was a bit unfair, considering a Dragonite could fly faster than the speed of sound and, allegedly, affect the weather. However, due to the rarity of encountering one in the wild, the preconceived notion was not completely unfounded.

Sunspear’s grayish-green eyes levied the Charizard with an amused look, as if he could read the thoughts running wild in Aodhán’s head. Lightly punching his shoulder to gain his attention with a chuckle. “You solid?”

Aodhán nodded just as Sandman patted the Dragonite’s neck, lightly squeezing his legs in preparation for his ascent; strong wing-strokes following a beat later as Sunspear rose higher in the sky, blowing wind into Aodhán and Captain’s face. Dusk followed shortly behind, nodding at Aodhán and Captain before taking position at her squad mate’s side, one feather leaving the array dressed across her wings.

“Ye hev some explaining tae dae,” Aodhán muttered under his breath. The two took up the rear, much to the Charizard’s relief. His injured wing was starting to hinder his ability to keep up. 

“No, I don't,” Captain said, leaning to the right and holding onto his horn to look into his eye, tone filled with the stern refusal associated with a parent scolding a child. “Don’t start with me, Aodhán. I am not in the mood.” Pulling himself back up, he returned to his usual seat. "Focus on the mission."

Just like that, the matter was closed, though like many things in the past few hours, Aodhán had no time to contemplate the strong denial. His next wingbeat made his body seize, a groan of pain escaping his maw and catching Sandman’s attention as he studied him with worry clear in his gaze. The man's mouth pressed into a firm line, gesturing with his head and quietly speaking to Truck. Next thing Aodhán knew, Sunspear had moved to fly beside him, Dusk to taking point in front of them and shooting her own look of concern.

Sandman’s soft, hazel eyes fit his callsign perfectly; an epitome of the soft earth and beaches greeting the ocean and lakefronts, a small curly strand of light brown hair sticking out of his helmet. Offering a sympathetic smile, he held an outstretched hand towards Aodhán’s head, wiggling his fingers to come closer. Veering slightly towards him and resting his head atop Sandman’s palm, he purred as the man’s fingers scratched under his chin, pure bliss temporarily replacing the pain for a short moment as Sandman laughed.

Aodhán expected Captain Pikachu to become jealous at the attention bestowed upon him, but a happy cry from the Pikachu implied he was getting attention from Frost before finally moving to Sandman, hopping on his shoulder briefly as the American scratched under his chin, grinning, though he snapped back to focus when Frost tapped his shoulder, pointing forward at the approaching skyline.

“We’re approaching Chicago now,” he said quietly, a hint of an accent Aodhán could not identity outlining his words.

Sandman shifted in his seat as Captain returned to his position behind Aodhán’s horns as the Delta team leader whistled at Truck and Dusk to rejoin them, their small formation becoming the birthplace of a battle plan. Aodhán snorted, smoke puffing out of his nose as his lips made the smile of an erratic devil. 

Let’s fucking go.  

The response from Johnny was swift and humorous, an image of the lad (now safely back in the helicopter) chuckling to himself, crossed Aodhán's mind.  

Leave some fun for us, aye?

 “Alright fellas, you two are with us. We need to make sure the area’s clear before your boys can land on the building.” Sandman pointed towards the approaching skyscrapers. “The tall buildings provide cover for our enemies just as much as they do us.”

“Getting decapitated by Steel Wing is not how I wanna go out.” Grinch grumbled, adjusting his MK14 and looking down its thermal scope briefly. The Pokeball clipped on his belt rumbled ever so slightly, emanating a draconic presence residing within it. “I’m not really in the mood to become a statistic.”

Truck let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Not a good way to go,” he agreed, black eyes narrowed with focus. His tense shoulders resembled a Luxray preparing to pounce, strategic in its movements while relishing the incoming exhilaration from a fight. There's an eagerness in his being when he turns his head to Sandman with a raised eyebrow. “What’s the plan, boss?”

Though his tone was bitter, Grinch’s mouth quirked upwards. “My money is on the usual split up. Sandman and Frost, leaving me stuck with you,”

“A viable option, yes, but was I talking to you?” Truck drawled, rolling his eyes. “Also, that’s because right now, you can’t go anywhere at the moment without falling to your death.” He turned most of his body to face Grinch. “Let’s also not forget I am the only one who can put up with your grumpy, Christmas stealing ass-“

“Can you two please be quiet for just a couple of minutes,” Sandman pleaded. While his plea had stopped Truck’s roasting warpath, nothing could stop the man from turning around to yank Grinch’s baseball cap down, nearly pulling it off his head. Sandman simply sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Please? Can I at least explain?”  

Watching these men interact reminded Aodhán of the 141, though it wasn't quite the same. There was brotherhood and found family like the Task Force among the Deltas, but something about the bonds between them pointed towards a more intricate bond then the ones forged in the barracks of boot camp or the fields of war. These ran deep, from the days of childhood nostalgia and boyish antics committed with reckless abandon, all unfettered from parental guidance and guiding them to lace the boots of a soldier to their feet.

There was a connection here, ties of kindred tethering these two teams together, whether they liked it or not. Though what its exact classification and relationship was, Aodhán didn’t know; he doubted he would even be the right Pokémon to ask. Understanding and predicating humans was Phantom’s forte, not his. Perhaps the commonality was these men becoming lost and adrift in a world that robbed them of comforts rightfully owed, now comprising each unit respectfully. Some attempting to fill a void like Gaz and Price, some relearning how to accept the morning after secluding themselves in the dark for so long like Ghost, and some pretending to be healed like Johnny; but all their origins stemming from a familiar battlefield of pain.

Then again, all Aodhán could do was guess.

“Thank you,” Sandman sighed, relieved. “Now, returning to your earlier displeasure at the added help, Grinch, the plan is as follows: Sunspear will combine his Mist with Aodhán’s Smokescreen, creating a cloud of smog for us to use as cover.” He turned his gaze to the Hisuian Braviary, nodding in her direction. “Dusk will use her Whirlwind to assist the smog in covering the large area. In doing so, we’ll have the advantage while taking out any flying Pokémon or AQ soldiers.”

“Do you think there will be any resistance?” Grinch asked.

Sandman hummed, contemplating his answer. “I’ll be honest, I don’t think so,” He shifted in his seat. “Having an unusual number of Pokémon flying around the building would draw attention they can’t afford. Still, we aren’t taking any chances. Even if there isn’t, we can still see what we are dealing with.”

“Helicopters can’t fly in smog,” Frost pointed out. “It would be best for Dusk, Aodhán, and Sunspear to clear the air beforehand, or at least enough for the helicopter to land safely.”

Grinch gasped, a hand clutching his chest right over his heart. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the first Frost has spoken!” He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye with a laugh, though there was concern still . “You haven’t said anything since we left base. We were getting worried.”

“Can you blame him? We’re helping not just helping any S.A.S. soldiers, we’re helping Price,” Truck glanced over his shoulder, looking between Grinch and Frost. It was as if Grinch’s earlier annoyance had switched hosts, morphing into a resentment forging his words into daggers meant to cut, not kill. “That fucking Brit is the reason we lost-“

“Truck,” Sandman’s voice was low and threatening, his mouth almost formed a weapon out of the callsign that bit harsher than the chill around them; sharp contrast from the friendliness he’d displayed moments ago. “You’re pushing it.”

Death was peculiar. Whether working as its agent or coming to finally face the reaper themselves, it is unavoidable in the duty of every soldier and the Pokémon accompanying them. From strangers to acquaintances, then friends to lovers, intimacy with such destruction is a guarantee. Most will accustom themselves to it, provide distance from the lives they indirectly ruin, even if it’s in the name of whatever ideal they claim it to be. There is no training to prepare for the inevitable; many will claim they are ready, have accepted fate would come for their soul and take its time, to let them feel every second of it for quick deaths were for the letters sent home to their grieving widows, wailing mothers, and mourning fathers.

A soldier expects it to be their body sent home in a box. Never do they expect to be the one of the few lowering a casket into the grave; because even after preparing for it, humans could never truly escape the belief that bad things would never happen to them.

In the distraction Sandman and Truck’s argument had provided, Aodhán watched Frost procure one American dog tag from underneath his shirt, held on a small steel chain compared to another chain of a longer length resting around his neck, gloved hands tracing small words engraved on stainless steel; pressing his thumb down on the letters as if to brand them into his skin. Spirits cannot answer the questions of the living; at least not with languages spoken on the exhalation of breath. Separation of life and death was strict, a binary that nature would never cross. But they had their own ways of reminding the living they were still here, although such means of communication remained sacred and confidential between the two parties.

Frost closed his eyes, lips twitching in a small smile before tucking them back underneath his gear. The argument had not made much progress in achieving resolution; as skyscrapers appeared over the horizon, Aodhán watched a grieving sibling take it upon himself to stop the conflict a loved one’s apparition unwillingly left behind.

“Well, regarding Grinch’s earlier statement, someone has to keep y’all on your toes,” Frost said, interrupting the argument, pursing his lips as if in deep thought. “Or should I say tires?” he asked innocently, a devilish grin crossing his face at Truck’s astonishment and quickly changing tune to deliver the final blow. “Shame. Seems you’ve lost your tongue to Frostbite.”

As far as puns went, they were low hanging fruit; like the ones Ghost had started to reveal he possessed a “sentimental weakness” towards. A shitty peace offering, but one the men took with open hands.

First Ghost with Johnny on the helo, now Frost with Sandman and Truck. Seems the pattern of arguments and peace offerings was going to be a trend this early morning.

“Focus, boys. Remember, we aren’t just helping Price, we’re doing our duty; protecting US civilians.” Aodhán watched as Sandman held one hand out behind him, squeezing Frost’s thigh lightly, conveying all the things words could never convey before he pulled back, adopting the crucial dour of a commanding officer. “Regardless of our history with Price, we need to that, got it?”

Truck, Grinch, and Frost nodded, determination bathing their faces in an odd mixture of natural shadow and artifical light, created from the night and the fluorescent lights shining from the inside of the Chicago skyscrapers. Mischievous banter was now replaced with solemn silence, each Delta internally confronting a dreaded reality: that a threat from abroad was now attempting to flourish on their land.

Something pressed at the edges of the Charizard’s memory; from when Johnny had been seventeen years old and visiting his cousin, Finn, and his Incineroar, Duncan, (whom Aodhán had despised with a burning passion in his soul because of his arrogance and constant tormenting) at the SAS base in Herefordshire. While they would have gone home early because of the illness Johnny had caught, their departure had been expedited the moment Price had busted into the barracks with an injured Aodhán in his arms, bleeding from a cut bisecting his lips and curved downwards to the left at a sharp angle, curtsey of Duncan.

Aodhán remembers Johnny’s racking coughs, violently shaking his body just as they sapped his strength; cuddling beside Johnny and resting his head on his human’s stomach, hoping his heat would help provide some comfort while he relished the soft strokes down his back. He had left a drama show running in the background, somehow sleeping soundly through it even after he’d pestered his sister, Grace, to buy on Blu-ray, promising he would pay her back “because he needed tae watch it noo.”

Band of Brothers, it had been called, an American war drama series telling the story of the 506th Regiment of the 101^st Airborne Division, US Army, known as “Easy Company,” during World War II. While Aodhán had only paid attention at certain points, a recited quote from one of the veterans had etched itself into his memory, now revealing itself quietly into the gentle light.

“Henry the V was talking to his men, and he said from this day to the ending of the world, we and it shall be remembered. We lucky few, we band of brothers, for he who sheds his blood with me today shall be my brother.” 

Frost reaches into his shirt, producing the singular dog tag he had just tucked away once more. This time, rather than hold it to his chest in a private ritual, he pulls the chain over his head, letting both tag and chain rest on his open palm, holding his hand towards the small space between Dusk and Sunspear. Sandman is the first to place his hand over the tag, clasping his hand in Frost’s own, the tag encased between their palms. Next was Grinch, resting his hand on top of Sandman’s with Truck following shortly after. A tower of gripping hands held together by solid trust.

“Let’s clear the way and make sure we bring these boys home,” Frost whispered. Affirmative nods were exchanged before he spoke again, this time louder. “Lead the way, Gary.”

Most men Aodhán had seen would send their prayers on soft hums towards an entity they were unsure existed, somehow still believing their god would protect them from the fiends and nightmares from hell. Now, the words from before echo in tune with Frost’s vow, directing with its own cadence to the beating of young hearts and the promise made over the tags of a fallen brother. One had become unlucky within this band of brothers.  

Just as humans could breathe hauntings with their language, they could very well exhale beauty with them. A shame they did not attempt such a feat more often.  

Each man pulls back their hand, now preparing themselves for war; Sandman and Truck spur Sunspear and Dusk ahead, the Pokémon shooting zealous grins towards him and Captain before they pull away. Their speed was steady, enough for the Charizard to keep up without injuring himself further; the consideration enough to make him almost balk in surprise.

He smiles to himself, absorbing the comfort the small act offered. He goes to follow, still favoring his left wing and hissing through his teeth, yet somehow managing to push through. He’s only a few meters behind them, slowly coming to rest near Sunspear’s flank when it she returns.

Whoever this spirit is, she was a true Fire Type, somehow still radiating warmth even when the chill of death robbed. There’s the feeling of fur rubbing against his back, comfort easing the ricocheting pain from his wing, now zigzagging his way through his limbs-

Then she’s gone, and the pain returns in her stead.

Aodhán falters in the air for a moment, pretending to give his wing a break (which wasn’t a lie) while he looks around, hoping to maybe see her even if the chances are small. He can’t help the shudder passing through his body upon her departure, nor the urge and longing to go seek it. His thoughts run amok with questions that could never be voiced, lest he lose his mind in the crusade to find answers as he tries to process the information revealed to him.

He could feel Captain giving him an odd look, cooling his skin to a near painful degree. the Pikachu taps his snout softly, causing him to jump in surprise. “You okay, Aodhán?”

Aodhán doesn’t say anything, repressing his curiosity and simply nodding an affirmative with his next labored wingbeat. He waves through the air with an injured wing, pressing forward to catch up to these newly introduced lucky few.

The rest of the flight over the Great Lake was uneventful; stiff stoicism alongside worries for the safety of civilians and each other temporary occupying what would have been the opportunity for lighthearted teasing. They passed over the small boats carrying the Marines and Gaz, spotting Rexy swimming beside her trainer, her dorsal fin almost allowing her to pass for a Sharpedo.

For a moment, Aodhán thought Captain would go against the requests of Delta and ask to be dropped in with Gaz and his Garchomp, Rexy, but the Pikachu never voiced such desires; he simply stretches his arms above his head, his ears twitching with anticipation, eyeing the skyline.

Aodhán hated cities with a passion, too crowded and always smelling unpleasant and foul, although even he had to admit that from a distance, Chicago was beautiful; standing tall amidst the dark pool Lake Michigan became at night. From what the Charizard understood, cities never fell into the standard sleeping cycle most places did, too bustling with life to ever completely stop, but there was something about this Windy City giving off the impression of a beast taking a reluctant nap, setting him on edge. It didn't take him long to figure out what was causing such distress. 

There was not a single wild Bird Pokémon flying over the lake or the city of Chicago in sight, and the realization was enough to send a chill down Aodhán’s spine to the tip of his tail.

In Glasgow and London, there was always locks of wild bird Pokémon flying nearby, undeterred by the stentorian of city life. He could recall one instance before he and Johnny had left for basics, defending a construction worker from a flock of nasty Spearrows hellbent on going after his lunch. Las Almas had been the same, the biodiversity of Pokemon vastly different from the cities back home. Talonflames and Altarias, to name a few, had roosted on the rooftops of Las Almas during their drive towards Hassan’s safehouse. Even in the mountains towering close to the City of Souls, rogue Staraptors having recently left their flock vied for territory in harsh aerial battles above, uncaring of the war taking place below the shadows of their wings.

Chicago should have been no different. Yet there was not a single bird Pokémon in sight.

Sure, there wouldn’t be any diurnal Bird Pokémon laying claim to the sky at this time. In the shroud of darkness, aviaries such as Pidgeots or Staraptors would be at a disadvantage; but there should have been at least Noctowls, Honchkrows, and Corvknight. The night was their playground.

While unsettling, He couldn’t make the call yet. Not when they haven’t made it into the city. It wasn’t just bird Pokemon that thrived in urban areas; there were other species too, such as Rattattas and Raticates scavenging for food, Grimers and Muks waiting to devour the waste from humans and Pokémon that littered the streets. Until he had more information, Aodhán would keep the observation to himself. 

The moment the silhouette of the lit-up Ferris wheel was in view, Sandman patted his Sunspear's neck before gesturing for Aodhán to fly beside them. Sunspear went rigid in anticipation, small puffs of Mist filtering out of his mouth, his eyes gleaming with excitement as Dusk withdrew, letting Aodhán pass to take her former position. The target building, Arch Industries Tower, could be barely made out at this distance from the  red glow it emanated, a scarlet crown amidst a sea of navy skies, a lighthouse calling wayward soldiers to battle amidst the winter chill swelling their lungs and stinging their nose.

Sandman held up a hand, three fingers pointing skyward in preparation for a countdown. “Alright fellas, on my mark.”

The first building they passed marked the start of the dominance skyscrapers held, roofs reaching towards the sky with metal limbs in the hopes of displaying the greatness of human ingenuity; small lights scattered about gave it a speckled look against the darkness within it.

“Three.” Closer. A finger being drawn down, a shuffle of movement from Captain behind his horns, leaning closer to Aodhán’s skin to retain some semblance of warmth.

A Pokémon Center faced the Chicago River, far enough away to be out of danger but close enough to be used in the event this all went to hell. Rather than taking the structure of a physical encasement, it appeared more so as a booth selling merch at a concert, the large red ceiling and giant white Pokeball on top separating itself from confusion.

“Two.” Soon. Another finger.The smile of a fiend contorting Sunspear’s face from kindhearted to wild, a puff of mist leaving his mouth, congregating with the winter chill as Dusk fluffed her feathers in anticipation.

Another skyscraper, the second tallest within their passing radius, adorned a crown of fluorescent gold, a mockery of the real thing and child seeking acknowledgement though never quite reaching for the stars the way others did, and then he feels her again.

His gaze unconsciously turns towards the building on his right; a beautiful canine, gold light made from holy lights unstained by human hands unifying with her fiery orange pelt. She was a sunset given form, resting atop of a skyscraper. A Celestial being, she stared at him with expectation, departing with a nod and a smile on her muzzle, dissipating as if she had never been.

“One.”

Aodhán jumped at the sound of Sandman’s voice, whipping his head hard enough to briefly unseat Captain who struggled to regain his seat. Luckily, the go ahead hadn’t been issued just yet, giving the Charizard time to gather the energy needed to summon his SmokeScreen attack.

“Mark.” Closed fist brought down in a signal, actions taken, plans executed.

The smoke empties from Aodhán’s mouth, merging with Sunspear’s mist and creating a dense cloud of cover. A gust of wind snakes up their back, Dusk’s powerful wings beating the air around her into submission, ordering the wind to carry it and envelop the sides of the building. With the three of them working together, a thick smog covered the target building and surrounding area within a couple of minutes. There was even enough room between the roof and the fog for the helicopters to fly in undeterred.

“Well, that solves my earlier concern,” Frost said.

Sunspear held out a close fist as Dusk moved to fly alongside Aodhán, ruffling Captain Pikachu's head with her pass, holding out a talon to the Charizard, her own form a fist bump. Not even bothering to question it, Aodhán simply closed his fists and bumped the two at the same time, the three sharing a grin and laughing at the sputtering from Captain Pikachu, who was frantically fixing his fur as if he had just realized there was no longer a hat resting atop his head.

“That’s how it’s done!” Truck exclaimed, ignoring Grinch’s annoyed eye roll and sigh; he barely managed to keep his voice down in his excitement as he ruffled Dusk’s feathers, who responded with a pleased squawk. Sandman massaged the top of Sunspear’s head with his left while holding his right towards Aodhán for a high five, one the Charizard returned only a moment later to the joy of the Delta leader.

“Watcher-1, this is Metal 0-1, be advised, we’ve created smog to use and cover our approach,” Sandman reported. “We’re moving to clear out any hostiles and secure the parameter so your boys can move in, over.”

“Copy that, Metal 0-1, keep me posted.” Laswell said. There’s a pause, everyone expecting to be the end of the conversation, only for her voice to take a hesitant pitch, one Aodhán had never heard. “and Boys?”

The Delta boys shared an unreadable look, tightening their shoulders in tense anticipation. Sandman hesitantly reached for his radio once again, squeezing the button. “Yes ma’am?”

“It’s good to work with you again.”

Just like the interaction between Dusk and Captain Pikachu, the tension leaves the men’s shoulders upon the clear diversion, visible relief clear on their faces. Sandman grins, chuckling. “Had enough of your British boys already? Ready to trade them in for some sons of liberty?”

Laswell’s laugh was light and lively over the radio, a stark contrast compared to the woman they always worked with. Rather than the tired and exhausted commander, her demeanor was content and relaxed, as if she had arrived home for the first time in so long. She was from the United States, but Aodhán doubted that to be the only reason. A sportive resonance followed her response and blessed her words. “Maybe, maybe not. Can’t reveal all my secrets now, can I?”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, that sounds like some C.I.A. Bull-shittery meant to fool us,” Truck stated dryly. The surrounding snickers from the other Deltas, even Sunspear and Dusk, was a blow to his straight face, his lips twitching upwards in a smile as his chest shook with repressed laughter. “We won’t fall for your Jedi tricks, we know the answer is..a yes.”

Laswell snorted, a clear, semi-failed attempt to stifle her amusement and return to the task at hand. “I should claim ignorance, but that was a good one, Truck.” Grinch and Truck high fived each other, pumping his fists. “Alright, enough chatter. Let me know when the parameter is secure. Good luck boys, I’ll see you all on the far side. Watcher out.”  

“Alright, you heard the lady. Let’s get this done." Sandman cracked his knuckles and his neck, rolling his shoulders. "Truck, Dusk, Grinch, you three cover the right side. Sunspear, Frost, and I will cover the left. We'll converge at the end and wait for our..British Step siblings to get here.” He ignores Truck's slow and smug head nod, looking at Aodhán and Captain with a soft smile. “You two, go wait and rest on the roof of the target building. Use the fog as cover and avoid any AQ Pokémon. We’ll regroup with you soon.”

Aodhán wanted to say something to Dusk and Sunspear, to persist with his earlier resolve against sitting out like he was once prepared to do a few hours before, yet all he could do is nod at them. The pain from his wing eating any words or thoughts, devouring his focus. He was barely able to acknowledge Captain saying something as Dusk and Sunspear moved out of his sight, preparing to do their respective jobs.

He only wished he could do the same.

The only reason Aodhán and Captain made it to the rooftop was because the Pikachu had been guiding them, pulling on his horns to steer his head and prevent them from crashing into the windows of a skyscraper or, Arceus forbid, of the target building.

What a moment of perfect stealth that would have been.

It had been a struggle trying to navigate directions through the pain after pushing through it for so long. The only good news was Sandman’s earlier prediction of there being no AQ Pokemon seemed to be holding true, even if it had not been confirmed yet, allowing for a semi-easy landing.

Aodhán nearly collapsed once his feet touched the ground, scraping his knees on the asphalt; dragging himself to the corner in a pathetic display of weakness that belittled Charizards everywhere and letting his body slam against the ground. He curled his tail around him, tucking his head under his wing, trying to make himself smaller as the pain took control. The only good thing  was the distraction it provided from the itchy, borrowed gear strapped onto him.

Small victories.

Aodhán swears he closes his eyes for a couple of seconds, vaguely registering Captain Pikachu pat his head in an attempt at comfort, exhaustion luring him into a partial sleep. He's awakened when the silence is broken by chopper blades whirling close by before they suddenly become distant; hands maneuver and bend his wing ever so slightly, attempting to assess his injury with great care. Aodhán yelps, growling and building flames to spew onto an unknowing victim, only stopping when the hands move away from his wing, stroking his nose and scratching under his chin. The scent of gunpowder, metal, and a signature minty undertone-something that had been dormant after the betrayal of Shadows in Las Almas, wafted through Aodhán’s hazy hellscape. Johnny hums softly, though Aodhán can see his composure is broken by the concern in his wide eyes and the slight tremor in his voice, things noticeable underneath the stoicism of an SAS soldier after knowing his boy for so long.

“Whit happened tae being careful?” Johnny asks. 

"Forgive me fo' trying tae save eh yellow rat," Aodhán mocked, puffing smoke into Johnny's face and chuffing in amusement when his boy raises an eyebrow at his antics. "A'll let him fall tae his death next time."

"If you ever do that, I will 'accidentally' kill you with a Thunderbolt myself," Captain declared, standing on his back and studying Johnny as he assessed Aodhán's injury. "I won't even be sorry about it."

Aodhán's lips curls, turning his head around to snap at the yellow rodent when Johnny stops him, shaking his head as the Charizard huffs, rolling his eyes as Price approaches. Captain leaps off his back, running towards his partner and exclaiming soft cries of joy upon reuniting. Price slings his gun over his shoulder, kneeling down as he frantically checks Captain Pikachu for injuries. His relief upon realizing his partner is uninjured is palpable, ruffling his hair before allowing Captain Pikachu to reclaim his perch on his shoulder. Johnny watches his CO kneel next to him, shaking his head. “He can’t fly, sir. He needs to rest.”

Price sighed. “Sandman told me, said he barely made it to the roof and had to have Captain here guide him,” He scratched Aodhán under his chin, listening to him purr at his simple gesture of thanks. “Aodhán will have to stay here, then.”

Johnny frowned, unlatching a Pokeball from his belt, ignoring how Aodhán hissed and tried to weakly smack it out of his hand. “Shouldn’t I return him to his Pokeball?”

Price shook his head, pulling back his hand. “No, Laswell just informed me Hassan has a jammer active locking all Pokeballs not registered under his ID. They just discovered it when one of the Marines tried to call out his Pokémon in front of the building.”

“Aye, bastard wuid dae ‘at,” Johnny grumbled, clenching his jaw in frustration at the added hurdle. “Whit aboot eh Delta Force?”

“Sandman and his team cleared away the AQ Pokémon in the air, they’re now helping Gaz and the Marines on the ground floor. Frost’s Hisuian Typhlosion, Nemesis, and Grinch’s Haxorus, Hank, were getting antsy and a bit jealous that Sunspear and Dusk saw some action, they had to let them out of their Pokeballs a couple of blocks away.”

The confirmation from Price of AQ Pokémon protecting the building caught Aodhán’s attention, reminding him of his earlier observation. Lifting his head, he picks up the bond and projects the question he hadn’t been able to answer through his earlier pain, catching Johnny’s attention.

“Did ye see any wild Pokémon in 'eh city?”  

He watches Johnny process the question, pursing his lips and furrowing his brows in contemplation. His fingers grasp onto his vest, drumming lightly as he turned to Price. “Sir, dae we hev any idea whit Hassan’s Pokémon is?”

Price shook his head. “Negative. Laswell’s working on it. There have been reports of a large, winged shadow flying over Lake Michigan a few hours ago. There are a few leads she’s having her team investigate while she locates the missile.” He studies the Scot’s face, gaze darting between him and Aodhán. “Did he see something?”

“Aye, He noticed thir’s naw wild Pokémon around,” Johnny explained, patting Aodhán's neck. “It’s as if they all vanished.”  

Price goes silent, processing the new information. Captain Pikachu tilts his head at him, fully standing at attention on his shoulders and crossing his arms, trying his best to mimic his trainer's soliloquy. It does not go unnoticed, making Price huff a laugh. “We’ll keep an eye out. Stay vigilant. We can’t do anything until we have confirmation on what it is and where it is,” he jerks his head, addressing the hesitation in Johnny’s eyes as he stands to his full height. “Let’s go Sergeant. Aodhán will be fine. We’ve got a job to do.”

Johnny nods, though he doesn’t move to follow Price as fast as Aodhán would like. He huffs, rolls his eyes, and pushes his boy with his head, even as another bolt of pain shoots through him. Johnny briefly stumbles, forced from a kneel to a hunched over stand before he straightens himself out. He blinks, mouth slightly agape in surprise as his Charizard smirks at him. The hesitation is still there, but finally Johnny nods, trailing his captain as he jogs towards the side of the building, Price strapping Captain Pikachu into his harness before hooking himself to the building. Johnny follows his movements, hooking up to repel down as Aodhán picks up the bond, thankfully still at a close enough distance to not be forced to expel energy to voice his reassurance.

“Listen tae Price. Keep yourself safe. Don’t push it or do anything stupid.”

 The similarity of his Pokémon’s message to his own is not lost on Johnny. In fact, they are enough to grab the Scot’s attention one last time. He glances over his shoulder to look towards his injured friend, blue meeting blue as he smiles-no, grins-back at him.

He watches as Johnny slowly repels down with Price and Captain following close behind, the exchanges between them distant and lost on Aodhán, and it only makes him feel more lonely than before.

The wind carried the smell of exhaust to Aodhán, breaking his nap and stinging his nose alongside the crisp, chilled air. He raises his head and sniffs, trying to decipher what it is while scrunching his nose in disgust and where it is coming from. It’s bad enough to be smelled at this height and ruin his short rest. His shoulder and wings still ache in tandem with one another, though the pain has subsided a substantial amount compared to before.

Aodhán snorted, tapping his metal dog tags in a steady tempo and taking comfort from the beating pulse of his Synergy Stone mimicking Johnny’s heartbeat. He limps towards the edge Johnny, Price, and Captain had repelled down only moments before when he sees it; a beautiful flame in its own man-made right, revealing itself to be a shuddering ballistic missile rising into the air. 

Against the city’s buildings bleeding lights into the darkness, it felt ethereal; a message from a god who had decided the fate of thousands-humans and Pokémon alike-preying on the confusion, awe, and bewilderment that arises when confronted with something a being has never seen before.

But mortals-Pokémon and Humans-have felled Gods and defied legends together before; and this “god” was nothing more than a pretender and taker of innocent lives.

Aodhán spreads his wings gingerly; wincing as he completes a few experimental flaps. There will be more damage to these limbs by the time this mission is done, most likely he’ll be forced to sit out on a couple of missions until he’s cleared to return to active duty. He knows what he must do, an instinct as intuitive as his lungs expanding and contracting, in and out.

She returns with grace, beautiful and soundlessly running to his side with a loyalty Aodhán feels undeserving of, just as he feels confused by. There’s a pressing a weight against his injured wing; the shape so like a canine’s paw print as phantom nails dig into the offending pain, providing another hint that narrows down her identity alongside a balm of relief, slowly unweaving the tension just enough for him to move with less of a hinderance.

Aodhán almost turns his head to look at her, to satisfy his curiosity, but once again fights the selfish desire to know. It seemed as if the world was hellbent on testing his focus on stopping the missile in the air, prepared to display humanity’s ingenuity to kill innocents in the name of revenge. It was starting to get ridiculous and annoying, as if someone was holding it on a fishing pole, dangling out of reach and expecting him to pounce like a Liepard or Persian. 

Bunching up his muscles, Aodhán hunches down and unfurls his wings, launching himself into the sky’s embrace. He expects the pain to return steadfast, but it doesn’t; rather than reveling in such a blessing from a ghost and taking it for granted, he uses it to his advantage, bolting to intercept it. The Fire Blast rising in Aodhán’s throat is the most satisfying inferno he’s concocted in so long, smile glowing orange like a Jack-O-Lantern on Halloween, he focuses on holding the incinerating force back for just a bit longer, eyeing the gleaming metal as he flies over it.

It is hard to predict its trajectory when it is still rising in the air, but if Aodhán had to guess, it would be heading east, cutting over Lake Michigan. Their enemy isn’t stupid, not completely; aiming anywhere in this city, even filled with civilians, wouldn’t be as satisfying compared to the deaths of military and government officials alongside their own people.  

With each second that ticked by, Aodhán’s blood boils ever so hotter, excitement rising in the pit of his stomach as if he was falling from a great height, the adrenaline an addiction he never wants to break. For a moment, his trepidation for the what ifs that will occur if he fails are forgotten in favor of this fervor; but all things come to end.

In Aodhán’s case, it was the aluminum and titanium arrowhead staring down the one living being positioned between itself and the souls it wants to incinerate.

The missile steadily hovers for just a moment before speeding towards him, unaware of its own incoming death. Smirking, Aodhán spewed the Fire Blast into the open air; watching as the beautiful 大 shaped blast bloomed into its own, oxygen breathing more vitality and power into the move, the wind assisting its path towards the metallic devil like an arrow unleashed from a bow.

Five heartbeats later, and the two opposing forces collide.

The supernova illuminates the city like a lovely disaster, the shockwave nearly knocked Aodhán out of the air and shoving him backwards, struggling to straighten out. Heat tickles his face, a good luck kiss from leftover embers as metal pieces fall into the great lake below him. The splashes of fish Pokémon below-most likely Magicarps, Goldeens, and Seakings frantically swimming away in horror-were barely visible, yet still made him flinch. Hopefully, he didn’t cause any harm to the Pokémon who called the lake their home, but it would be insignificant compared to the amount of lives that would have been lost had he not destroyed the missile.

Still, Aodhán wished it never came at such a cost. 

Flapping his wings once more, Aodhán let the wind carry him towards Johnny, letting the innate pulse from their Synergy guide him as he ascended over the same buildings he had passed with the Delta Force not long ago. In truth, he hadn’t noticed how far much distance he had covered until now, adrenaline and the energy from the spirit residing nearby having allowed him to move with such haste. Now, though, the pain was slowly returning to his wing; the magical caress of whatever his haunting had given him finally fading away.

Aodhán had to get back and regroup with the others before it wore off completely, otherwise he would be nothing more than roadkill. 

The target building was finally in sight, smoke from the missile’s path still lingering around as an unwanted guest, a clear path cut through the Smokescreen and Mist hovering nearby. While tinted windows made it hard to physically see Johnny, their Synergy made him easy to find. Right when he was about to cross over the origin of the pulse, a Dragon Tail broke the window, small pieces of glass ejected into the open air, forcing Aodhán to move back and avoid the sharp daggers falling towards him.

Rexy stepped back once Aodhán came into view, watching as the Charizard tucked his wings to fit through the gap provided, landing softly on the tile. Aodhán’s beaming smile was only met with Gaz, Rexy-Gaz's Garchomp, Price, Captain, and Johnny all looking at him in bewilderment.

Weird.

Aodhán’s smile fell, his own confusion heavy as he tilted his head. Why were they surprised? Was that not their mission? To stop the missile before it hit wherever it was intended to? Did he do something wrong? Sure, he was supposed to be resting, but he had sat through the briefings alongside Johnny to know that the mission must always come first, even at a physical cost. 

Laswell’s voice frantically cut through the tense and awkward silence for the second time that mission, cackling through Price’s radio. “John! Do you read me? Was that you who destroyed the missile?!”

“Negative. It was Aodhán…used a Fire Blast and detonated it.” Price looked at the Charizard in question, who closed his eyes and grinned at him-a universal sign among Pokémon that signaled trust and happiness. Price sighed, shaking his head, but Aodhán could still see the small, upwards twitch of his moustache.

Price continued speaking through the radio, but the rest of the conversation was something Aodhán purposefully zoned out, no longer holding his attention. He yawned and looked at Rexy and Captain Pikachu, their surprise melting into euphoria; muffled to not draw any attention of AQ soldiers, but nevertheless still somehow joyous all the same. It was a dangerous contagion to catch in a mission not yet completed, but e.

Aodhán couldn’t help but partake in the small festivity, throwing his head back to emit small embers into the air asRexy unleashed a quiet roar of her own, raising her claws and tapping the air as if playing invisible drums, a little victory dance.  

“We. Fucking. Did it!” Captain Pikachu exclaimed. It seemed he was the most pleased, each word accentuated between each hop, elated, and pumping his arms into the air.

Johnny slowly pushed past Rexy and stepped around Captain Pikachu, who briefly stopped cheering to climb onto the man’s shoulder, jostling his vest to the left. Johnny held his palm out, letting Aodhán push his nose into it; he grins, resting his forehead against his Charizard’s own in a small embrace while Captain pats Aodhán’s nose.

“That’s one problem out of the way,” Gaz said. A small smile graces his face as he watches the interaction, running a gloved hand over Rexy’s rough skin and chuckling when she coils protectively around him, resting her head on his shoulder. It was honestly a wonder Gaz’s hands were so smooth and not full of callouses from constant cuts. “We still have to find Hassan.”

Price nodded, waiting for Johnny to pull away from Aodhán and focus on him before speaking. “Are the Marines and Delta Force with you?”

“They were, but Sandman relayed his team with Sgt. Griggs and Sgt. Jackson to take care of the remaining AQ soldiers and their Pokémon inside.” Gaz shakes his head, blinking as if trying to clear an image from his head.

When he opens his mouth to speak again, he’s interrupted by what sounds like a thunderclap, shaking the undamaged windows. Aodhán’s skin twitches, the tilt of his head indicating he’s trying to listen for something human ears couldn’t. Captain perks his ears while Rexy goes rigid, taking her arm and pushing Gaz behind her.

When the howling wind from the broken window carries the smell of rotting flesh, assaulting his nose; Rexy lets out a sharp yell of warning, one letting Aodhán know there is a tango behind him.

He doesn’t have time to look nor the time to save himself and Johnny; but the choice presented to him in that regard is easy to make, requires no thinking, only for him to act on instinct.

Aodhán bites Johnny’s vest; ignoring the yelp of surprise and pain, he tosses his human and Captain towards Gaz, sending both men stumbling into a heap in a corner near Price. Captain leaps off Johnny, moving back to Price’s shoulder and scrambling to climb up.

Everything else comes too late to even make a difference.

“GET CLEAR!”  An order from Price.

“BEHIND YOU!” A warning from Captain Pikachu and Rexy.

“AODHÁN!” A manic scream from Johnny.

Time ceases its forward momentum, holding Aodhán in place with a vice grip and passing him off to the talons suddenly piercing deep into his Kelvar vest, pressing him into the ground littered with broken glass, knocking the wind out of him.

A brief tumble ensured, Aodhán trying and fighting desperately against his captor, but he’d been at a disadvantage from the start, kept his back towards the window and thus rendered him exposed. Truly, it wasn’t a surprise it didn’t take long for him to be crushed against the tile floor.

Eager jaws gripped themselves around his vest, yanking it off in one harsh motion and exposing Aodhán’s bare orange skin. In a different scenario, where it had been human hands that removed the irritating material, he would have been elated. The vest is tossed aside with little regard; victorious screeching filling the room, flailing wings becoming ominous shadows in his periphery all pointed towards a hellbeast.

The question of the hour, though, was what in Arceus’s name was it.

Twisting his neck around just enough, Aodhán was greeted with the sight of a Pokémon he had never seen before. Reptilian and bipedal, he could have confused the creature for a Dragon Type. Sharp pointy ears rested atop its head, narrow dark green eyes-or rather, eye-burning with an insatiable, primal hunger fueled by relentless hatred.

It took Aodhán a couple of minutes to recognize who it was, only clicking when he saw it’s left eye was missing; nothing more than an empty socket.

Whatever this thing was, it was Hassan’s Pokémon.

Upon noticing Aodhán’s stare, it gave a sadistic grin, one a cannibal would give a rotting corpse (even if it was the one who reeked like one), sensing an opportunity. Pressing its foot on his neck and crushing him against the floor, relishing the desperate flails and airless wheezes leaving his lips, asphyxiation slowly taking hold as stars of opaque black dance around his eyes the less oxygen he inhales. 

Someone is screaming. An agonizing wail nearly ripping vocal cords apart at the seams, nearly drowned out by the stern commands uttered on wavering tones, struggling to maintain composure. There’s a heart and soul backing such an intense, guttural sound, and Aodhán wonders how such a being is not dead themselves. 

Aodhán closes his eyes, ready to let the shadows envelope him in a cold embrace, for this to be it and be the only memory he would remember in the afterlife. Except the pressure on his throat is lifted, oxygen returned to him once more. Aodhán sputters for breath, his chest heaving, rattling in the aftermath of its abuse while still gripped tight from the talons so close to puncturing.

A sob of relief cuts through the discord, and amidst the broken glass, sparking cables, and swirling wind from the broken window, Aodhán makes the connection of where the origin of such sorrow is coming from.

It’s coming from Johnny himself.

Through slitted eyes, Aodhán can see Johnny human thrashing in Gaz’s hold, the latter almost losing his grip a couple of times but still holding firm, even as Johnny tries to elbow him in the side just to rush a Pokémon, one he knows nothing about.

If Johnny has been driven to reckless acts by sheer worry for his Pokémon, Aodhán knows his predicament is worse than he thought.

“All stations, be advised, we have eyes on a hostile, it has Aodhán pinned,” Price relayed, somehow keeping his voice and the grip on his rifle steady. He watches the creature’s eyes follow the red dot appearing to crawl against its body, keeping a close eye on the prey clenched in its talons. “Watcher, do you know what the hell it is?”

Aodhán couldn’t hear the response from Laswell, too focused on pulling oxygen into his lungs with each labored breath. Whatever she had said, however, horrified Price enough that he was unable to prevent it from contorting on his face, eyes going wide and mouth falling open ever so slightly as he cursed, somehow clenching his fists even tighter around his rifle, the skin going white.

“FUCK!”

“Cap!” Gaz called, “What the hell is it?!” Johnny briefly ceasing his struggle against Gaz’s iron grip, both men eager to know what enemy they were dealing with. Price isn’t given much time to respond when Sandman and Frost come barreling around the corner with their Pokémon hot on their tails, taking positions beside Gaz and Johnny.

“It’s an Aerodactyl. The fucker revied it from Old Amber,” Sandman said somewhat breathlessly as he speaks into his radio. "Grinch, Truck, be advised. We have sights on Hassan's Pokemon, engaging now. Stay with the Marines and continue to offer support." He repositions his gun in his hand, keeping his own dot trained on the beast before turning to Sunspear, nodding his head in Johnny’s direction, an unspoken order even Aodhán understood.

It was almost comical, watching the Dragonite take Johnny into his arms and hug him close to his chest, unphased by the resumed flailing as Nemesis approached, standing on two legs once she reached Johnny, eyeing him with a smile as Aodhán took the opportunity to observe what Hisuian Typhlosion look like. Most of Nemesis’s body was cream colored, aside from the purplish-blue fur on her back, extending to the front of her neck in a collar pattern, something that was immediately covered upon bright magenta-red flames wisping from spots around her neck. Her ears drooped behind her head, giving her a more chill rather than fierce look.  

He had heard Hisuian Typhlosions lead lost souls to the afterlife, he finds himself wondering how much of it is true. Now, Aodhán wishes more than anything that Phantom was here, so he could explain to him in his gruff voice the differences between Hisuian Typhlosion and regular Typhlosion, taking comfort in his voice.

Instead, he hears the wrath of a dragon as Rexy stomps her feet.

“I don’t fucking care what this corpse is,” Rexy hisses. A dark purple aura formed around her claws; a callous, cackling growl resounding from her throat as she eyed the monstrosity holding her little brother in a death grip. Her fury only seemed to amuse the Aerodactyl, chuckling mockingly at her rage. “I am going to send it back to hell-“

Rexy is never given the chance to follow through on her threats as Gaz intercepts, placing a hand on her nose to divert her attention towards him, rubbing soothing circles on her head while he speaks into his radio. “Ghost, be advised. Rexy is coming down to get you and Phantom,” Gaz taps Rexy’s shoulder, gesturing towards the open-door Frost and Sandman came from. Her eyes flicker between the door and Gaz, debating on her choices before she nods. The floor shakes with of the Garchomp’s footsteps, the distant sound of more breaking glass.

The formation of plans was lost to Aodhán. Unconsciousness from the intense pressure against his lungs wanting to drown him beneath soundless waves. It was so strange, how senses could work one moment and surrender comprehension the next, slowly shutting down like a dimming light. Voices are encouraging him to stay awake; some Pokémon, some human, all full of love and a franticness that once could put him on edge but now only push him further towards eternal sleep. Aodhán supposed this is what Death itself was meant to be like: losing sense of time, teetering on the presage of an inescapable yet seductive void. He only wishes it was less painful, less obscene and drawn out.

He feels the Fossil Pokémon above him shift, opening its mouth and lowering it in a clear attempt to snap his neck; it only misses him by only a few centimeters, an Electro Ball from Captain Pikachu zapping it in the face as the Pikachu dodges the snapping jaws with a Quick Attack.

An opportunity reveals itself, nestled within the distraction Captain provides, and Aodhán grabs onto it with both hands.

Turning his head around with a snarl, Aodhán coaxed a Flamethrower from the back of his throat, ensnaring the ankle of Aerodactyl with the fires of hell, forcing a yowl from its jaws. Shouts of alarm rise from the spectators around him, the living fossil shaking his leg violently to pry his leg free.

Aodhán sinks his claws in, or at least he tries to, the moment he starts to draw blood he loses his grip, a sharp kick to the head smacking into the ground. Within seconds, he’s pinned down again, the smell of oozing and bubbling flesh now claiming a spot amongst the stench of war.

The stunt does not come without consequences.

Aerodactyl is kind enough to not drag it out for Aodhán any longer. It rips its talons into his skin; blood pouring from the lacerations like spilled wine on cobblestone, sticking to his skin like honey as serrated blade-like teeth spear his shoulder and neck. Aodhán has eaten prey in a similar fashion many times before, when Johnny would take him to game reserves specifically for omnivore and carnivorous Pokémon and let him hunt. Biting the neck cuts off the oxygen, snapping it speeds up the process, so the prey doesn’t feel any more pain.

Now, on the other side of it, feeling Aerodactyl’s tongue greedily lap up his blood and toss him around like a chew toy, its teeth tearing his skin apart, he’s starting to believe that was all a lie, something told to soft hearts to make sure they keep beating. 

Screams of agony are cut off into pathetic gurgles, blood crawls up his throat as Aerodactyl slams him back to the ground. The crunch of his bones resonates in the room, snapping underneath its bite force resonates like an EMP in his mind, nothing but static and ringing filling his ears as he thrashes desperately, talons stabbing into his stomach with a sickening squelch.

Something slams itself into Aerodactyl, its weight pushed off him; with its jaws still wrapped around his neck and throat, Aodhán’s skin goes with it, the flesh a souvenir the carnivore devours with haste, as if it has not eaten in centuries. For all they knew that observation could be true.

Rexy’s rough scales pull Aodhán away from his own carnage, leaving a sickening red trail smelling of iron. She calls to him with worry, tapping his cheek with her claw before she moves away, still staying close by as someone else takes her place, their arms smelling of gunpowder, sweat, and black powder as they press something onto his wounds.

Shouting resounds close by, though Aodhán cannot make out what they’re saying or who is nearby. All he feels and chooses to focus on is the forehead pushing against his own, quietly pleading to whatever higher power would listen, whispering promises and bargains if Aodhán simply stayed.

Worst of all was this small fact, always hovering in this cruel world of theirs. There were many legendries Pokémon in this world capable of hearing Johnny, of giving something to him just once when life had been hellbent on taking at every corner.

Gods could not be bothered with the death of insignificant mortals.

Aodhán is barely able to keep his eyes open, but he fights for it. A feeling of despair and acceptance covers him all at once, submerging him in the depths of an inescapable void. The life he and Johnny lead makes them intimate with Death and all its friends, but this felt different. A scratch in a glass painting somehow throwing the entire image into disarray. Gloved hands press something against his lacerated skin, yet he is barely able to feel the pressure or fabric, his senses slowly fading. Another bad sign, though he can feel the a thumb rub itself against his neck, his head being moved to be rest in Johnny’s lap.

A smile crosses Aodhán’s face. If he does die here, he’d be breaking a promise he had made to Johnny so many years ago, when he had been a small Charmander his human partner had jumped in a raging river to save; had given him a name from his own roots (even if most believed it to be Irish) and had provided him with a purpose, but he could be content with this.

There's a sensation of fur pressing against his side-oily and well-kept. The smell of the ocean mixed with freshwater wafts towards him as each of his breaths becomes more labored with agony. A head rests against his neck, a soft rumbling purr filled with sorrow and pleading with a higher power that would listen. Aodhán knows its Phantom, knows this is the last chance he has to say something to the Hisuian Samurott, but the quietness of death chokes his words, snuffs them under his own blood. 

The Charizard is dying with regrets and unspoken words, but he knows Ghost would be here for Johnny. So would Phantom. They would ground him against an ocean of grief, save him from staying submerged for far too long. The fire burning brightly within his boy would be doused briefly, but it would reignite even without Aodhán. His boy is a survivor, and he could survive without him. 

“Aodhán, you need to open your eyes. Stay awake,” Johnny pleaded through choked up sobs. Even as he fell deeper to the abyss’s embrace, Aodhán could pick up the broken pieces and identify them as the remains of a joyful lad, one he had killed simultaneously with his impending death; the realization hurt more than his physical wounds. “Please, stay awake.”

Even so, the selfish desire to stay and thwart Death's carefully laid out plans was hypnotizing. So badly did Aodhán want to follow his voice, to gaze into the blue eyes of his boy one last time and have it been the one memory he carries with him as he’s guided into the afterlife, a comfort toy against the unknown. Yet when the Aodhán tries to opens his eyes and believes to have actually succeeded, he finds himself still trapped within the abyss’s gloomy shade, ensnared in darkness. Only this time, two pairs of eyes stared back at him from its shadowy corners, sending fear down in his spine.

Blue eyes. Red flame.

Red eyes. Blue flame.

Both blink at him. Pupilless, emotionless, and eerily still in their gaze like watchful sentinels. Aodhán wondered if any life filtered between these shadows, if there was more to the clear vacancy than a simple haunting in the dark, gloomy corner of his soul they had found refuge in. Perhaps the life that filtered between them was his own. Maybe these were the ones who came to take him to kingdom come, or whatever the equivalent for Pokémon was. As the pall of this eclipse locked itself close, fading out the screams and sobs of his beloved Johnny, one last thought crossed Aodhán’s mind.

There was no sense of ‘if’ anymore.

He had broken his promise to Johnny.

He was dying after all.

If this penumbra between heaven and hell was where his soul would reside and Death’s own dreams would him for eternity, then Aodhán wasn’t sure what to think of it. 

There was no more pain from stabbing talons, no warmth from Johnny’s arms wrapped around his neck, no chill from the November air that made each breath sting his nose, no tears falling and hitting his forehead, not a blowing wind from a broken window.

Heaven was allegedly made of light and clouds. Hell was allegedly made of fire and brimstone. Yet the place before Aodhán was neither of these things. There was just…nothing. Nothing but shadows and two binary suns cutting this realm in half.

One was a setting sun; a coalesce of the afternoon fusing into dusk when light was tossed every which way. A welcome to darkness but still providing the joy of midday, painting the sky a vast array of golds, oranges, and reds, the colors of the sun often sung about by humans who called themselves poets and artists.

The other one a rising sun; the glimpse of light ushering forth a new day amidst the bleak darkness, waving shades of blue amidst the gold. Introverted and quiet, their visage is only seen when most of the world is asleep, deemed too much work to witness.  Truly, they are beauties that allow themselves to only be seen by few, the ones who stumble into the morning or night unknowingly; the ones who sleep evades, raw and full of heart that the world forgets they can only speak in hushed whispers.

But underneath each of those suns were shadows chiseled by their light.

Blue Eyes glimmering beneath the setting sun. Red Eyes glaring before the rising sun.

All directed at him.  

Aodhán jumps back, baring his teeth, but neither one recoiled at the threat. Instead, they both just blink before stomping towards him, their soulless bodies becoming forged into being from the shadows. The pair of eyes before him were his savior and destroyer, haunting and blessing, past and future, but neither of these beings were angelic or devilish; simply untamed, powerful beings waiting for his consent to overtake and destroy him.  

Like a well-aimed Thunderbolt, it hits him all at once. This was not death. This was an opportunity. Another chance; but not one without consequence. To adorn either of these shadows would allow him to save the lives of those he cared about.

Price, the man who kept Johnny safe and the father figure who had made the One Four One a found family, healing Johnny’s soul without realizing it. Always giving Aodhán’s nose a pat and offering the best head scratches, better then Johnny’s (though Aodhán would never tell his boy that).

Captain Pikachu, the lively and energetic Electric type Pokémon who somehow woke up motivated and passionate each morning. The one with the plans and backups. A Pokémon who, even amidst other species many would deem more violent, somehow proved himself among the most frightening of all.

Gaz, the collected, soft-spoken, warmhearted lad who filled the brotherly void in Johnny’s life after his own brother of blood had forsaken him in a vehemence of hatred alongside their mother. Always engaging Johnny in conversations, both on base and away on leave, their banter akin to strumming a guitar-melodic and comforting. 

Rexy, the lovely Garchomp who had taken Aodhán under her wings and taught him flight maneuvers he had never thought of. The battle partner that was always willing to engage in a friendly match, both pushing the other to get stronger than before.

Ghost, the man who hid his emotions behind so many walls because he cared so deeply. Troubled by snarling demons with broken cries, keeping him awake at odd hours. no one could blame him for attempting to close himself off just a bit more, to ward Johnny away even if he had already squeezed past him.

Phantom, the standoffish Hisuian Samurott so many feared at first glance, not bothering to look past the scars across his body and see the soft heart yearning for companionship underneath, the one who resolutely defended him from being picked on as a Charmeleon when he and Johnny had first arrived, befoe 141 had even formed. A fact the Hisuian Samurott would adamantly deny it.

Johnny, the boy who jumped into raging rapids to save a weak Charmander everyone else had long given up on, who pushed himself to become better even if it was a detriment to his own health, who loved so fiercely with his heart and soul, even if such devotion would or did leave him broken in the end.

Johnny’s death would make the world tilt off its axis if it ended too soon.

The truth kills just as it hurts. Here, in this eclipse, seemed to be one such murderous moment. How barbaric it was to present him with death when they knew what his answer would be. Nevertheless, Aodhán peered into the two eyes staring back at him from the abyss as their shadows became more illuminated, outlining their figures.

One was a serpent of orange, breathing red flame, its blue eyes looking at him fondly and appearing so like himself as it stood before the rising star. A crown of three pointed horns rested comfortably a top the back of its head, long fangs comfortably cusping around its nose. Small wings jutted out on the wrists while the ones folded behind its back were ragged around the edges and appeared considerably larger than his own; a gleeful smile wreathing its muzzle as it shifted its weight from side to side as it approached him.

Aodhán lowered his head respectfully, trying to appear as small as possible. Shadow or ghost, he would treat this as another member of his species in case this entity decided it would drag him to hell. A nose touched his own, heat blowing into his face. A small purr cutting the tension, tickling the Charizard’s snout.

Quiet deceptions hissed from the shadows, seductive in their intimacy and almost impossible to ignore; whispering false promises of peaceful slumber for all eternity, yet something about it rang of intense familiarity; allowing memories to play in his mind’s eye and stop him from falling.  

Hushed whispers in the dead of night and well into the break of dawn when sleep could not take hold. Soft yet calloused hands tracing the scars on his neck and back, a forehead touching his own. The hum of soft lullabies performed within a larger chorus insomnia conducted. Joyful shouts while basking in the freedom of flight over the Scottish Highlands. An arm thrown over his neck followed by a beaming smile.  

The name arising with such sensations was easy to identify. One making his mouth twitch in a smile.

Johnny.

The three-horned shadow snickered, watched the creasing smile illuminate his face, resting its cheek against Aodhán’s own, purring and radianting nothing but acceptance, moving to stand in front of him as it held out its shortened claws, a clear extension of help. It’s blue eyes kind and understanding, wanting the same thing.

Aodhán is ready to accept its help when the other shadow of the binary peers from its corner, stepping closer into the space, watching Aodhán scramble away hastily upon its approach, crossing its arms with a tilt of its head.   

A draconic entity of black scales and blue flames, its red eyes seemed intent on devouring each layer within him, shedding his skin until it found the vulnerability beneath. It’s undersoles matched the color of its flame, two spikes with blue tips curving upwards on the front and back of its shoulders with sharper blue colored horn tips.  

Obscured memories push against the warmth Aodhán had sensed from its counterpart earlier, mournful cries somehow hoping for an answer. While not as strong, a different essence emanated from the draconic beast.  

Pain from injuries never fully healed. Longing for a love the life chosen never truly denied but somehow forbade all at once. Jaded from the loss of a beloved Pokémon partner of beauty and grace, never given the chance to fully mourn. Born into a family never providing any warmth yet tried to extinguish whatever he retained for himself, the scar running down over their left eye an ever-pressing reminder.  

Just as before, the essence had a name for itself, but it was one sending him reeling back from the black draconic beast in confusion.

Soap.

Aodhán pulls away, more confused than before. There's a question on his lips, a desire to understand a meaning Time has hidden underneath it's waves. Yet he is never given a chance to ask as the draconic beast blinks, its lips peeling back to show its teeth, glossed in cobalt tinted light from the azure flames breathing out the sides of its mouths; tusks of great fire that could turn anything into cinders. For a moment, everything was still, two shadows and one soul standing at a precipice until the dragon spoke, words heavy like a judge’s gavel upon determining judgement.

“We are strangers to each other. You are not ready for me.”

It is so sudden and quick. When Aodhán opens his mouth to ask what the shadow means, to press on how "Soap" can be a stranger when Soap is Johnny, the orange serpent already returns, pressing its cheek against his own as the draconic beast limps back to its corner, and t he serpent's tail snakes around Aodhán’s figure, leading him back to the war he had left on the shoulders of death. Neither one will give him the chance to ask, and he is only left confused.

Still, Aodhán fights to sneak one last glance at the dragon, managing to meet the dragon's Red Eyes underneath the rising sun; so full of distrust, hurt, and longing, it is a haunting last image to see in this prenumbra between heaven and hell. Only when the white light begins to swallow him and the orange serpent in tandem does Aodhán notice the light blue scar bisecting the dragon’s left eye, glowing against its black scales, many more scars spreading like fingers across its back and along its right, painting a picture of lasting pain and untold sacrifices recorded in their own blood. Cursed to carry a heavy burden they never wanted yet another fought for them to have. 

Aodhán wonders if those scars are the dragons own or if they belong to someone else, if the shadow he sees is a soldier from another life so alike and unlike their own, and the thought leaves him floundering in infinite potential meanings. 

He holds onto those feelings for later as he's thrusted awake once more.

Aodhán’s return to the land of the living was marked by an awareness of his body contorting and a harrowing scream.

The Synergy Stone around his neck glows, surrounding his body in bright rainbow colors as it loses its physical form, leaving no brevity to contemplate what had happened or what he had seen, not when time seemed to cease its forward momentum at the familiar feeling of change. 

It was a sensation Pokémon were familiar with after so much growth. Aodhán had been no different when he had evolved into a Charmeleon and then into a Charizard. It was the root of evolution: the surge of power and this pulsating rhythmic tempo to a song only able to be heard when the conditions were met.

But whereas normal evolution was met by a sense of permeant strength accompanying it, this was temporary and painful; fueled by something Aodhán could never have accomplished by himself.

The gaping slashes and abrasions pulled themselves together, the searing heat acting as its own form of gauze and bandage; piercing the skin back into place as the holes in his wing stretched and sealed. His body was being forged into a weapon equal to an arbiter of great violence and destruction. It takes a monster to defeat a monster, after all.

Snarling as he bites back the pain, Aodhán pushes himself away from Johnny, taking his wing and shoving the man towards Ghost when he tries to follow him. Whatever was happening to him now and after, he was not about to let Johnny get caught in the crossfire.

He would burn the world before that happened.

Aodhán caught himself just as before he fell back to the ground, standing like a feral beast, a monster depicted in Dante’s Hell designed to bring pain upon its occupants. His fingers shorten, no longer separated as the claws fused together into a three-tipped digit. Agony erupts in his forearm when two sharp, smaller wings breach out like some infectious parasite, an abnormality seeking freedom from its host.

His tail stretches, becoming longer and more jagged in their sharpness. His head and body feel as if they were splitting and contracting all at once, wings stretching and forming into something grandeur like an emerging Butterfree from the carapace of a Metapod; though he doubted the Pokémon felt this searing pain as the bones in his feet cracked upwards, the soles becoming arched and balancing his weight near his toe claws.

To him, it lasted an eternity; but to the rest of the world, it lasted only a couple of seconds with everyone in the room-friend and foe alike-staring in bewilderment, no one daring to move as Aodhán pushed himself upright, swaying on his feet with his wings drooping to the floor in exhaustion.

A deafening silence and complete stillness were born in the tension; broken only by the cackle of flailing power cords, screaming wind, and the gasps of breath leaving Aodhán’s mouth becoming a misty vapor upon contact with the frigid air. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, letting the chill sting his nose and throat, easing the remaining pain from his body.

Aodhán’s eyes snapped open as he smacked his tail on the ground, an issuing gesture of intimidation the Fossil Pokémon could not ignore. The Aerodactyl, leaning down towards another victim grasped in its claws, a Thunder Fang poised and hovering dangerously close to their neck, hesitated as if not hearing him right.

It was only then he noticed the blur fur.

Phantom.

There is no time to question how he got there, but the Charizard can guess he was the one who pulled the Aerodactyl’s weight off him. He throws his head back with a piercing cry, laced with a challenge every Pokémon-prehistoric or not-understood. It was one that made Captain Pikachu, Rexy, and Phantom scream in horror, their human companions looking on in confusion and concern.

Aodhán tunes out their cries, focusing on the malevolent grin crossing the Aerodactyl’s face, its teeth glinting in the light as the Hisuian Samurott in its claws was forgotten in favor of whatever monstrosity Aodhán had become, licking its lips in preparation for a meal, spreading its wings, and answering with a roar of its own.

A brawl had been extended towards it, and how could such a ferocious creature like Aerodactyl refuse? It would make the meal taste all the sweeter.

Nothing could be done once it was issued. The only thing that would end such bloodshed was the death of the opponent. Ironically, such a thing would also result in an end to this threat, and if his life was required to ensure success? It was one the Charizard would be more than willing to pay.  

Briefly, Adohán glanced over his shoulder and met Johnny’s wide-eyed stare. The way eyes can translate so many things in a single glance would forever fascinate him, and he mourned the loss of how he would never be able to do so again. In the eyes of his partner, his brother, his best friend, all he saw was terror, trepidation, and desperation. All for him.

Words could be constructed from those emotions, a message conveyed even if it was never uttered on the exhale of breath, but to do so would make him hesitate. Resolve was the only thing that would save Johnny’s life, even if it took Adohán’s in the end.

Acceptance made such a burden easier to bare.

The true horror was how Johnny understood Aodhán’s devotion in this moment and how he feared it. Aodhán could hear how the man trying to scramble towards him, perhaps place himself in between to influence a different course of action. Even if their human partners did not understand the parley, they recognized the change in the air itself.

Knowing his human partner as well as he did, Adohán tries not to think about how Johnny’s guilt would consume him when he fell. Any consideration would haunt him deep within the afterlife when he no longer had a burning flame on his tail to keep the shadows at bay; even so, the tears that would inevitably fall from his eyes was almost enough to make him hesitate.

Almost.

Instead, Aodhán simply smirks, lips quirking in his telltale smile as he takes this opportunity to memorize the face of his best friend. The scar on his left eyebrow, the stormy blue eyes swirling with emotions, the signature hairstyle his human’s friends called a mohawk; all of it, he committed to memory, holding it close, before breaking eye contact.

Looking death in the eyes once more, with a sudden flap of his wings, Aodhán lunged.

Aerodactyl met him in the middle, the impact of their collision making they tumble through the open window as gravity pulled them down to Earth. The same snapping jaws and serrated blade-like teeth as before now cackled with sparks from its Thunder Fang just missing his neck. Opening his mouth, he holds the Flamethrower at the back of his throat, sinking his teeth deep into the muscle of the wing; soothing before pushing the powerful flames onto his offender; rough, oozing blisters form on Aerodactyl’s skin in the presence of such scorching heat. The smell of burning flesh and blood came to his nose only a second later, the smokey taste landing on his tongue.

A jerk of the shoulder costs Aodhán his grip, pulling him away from Aerodactyl’s neck as it brings its talons to his left shoulder, finding purchase and dragging them down in a swift arc, painting its claws a sickly, scarlet red while Aodhán's anger burns brighter.

This sadistic thrill from the surge of power was intoxicating, like setting gasoline to a forest fire; even as every nerve flared in agony and made him cry out in pain, Aodhán still felt the grimace morph into a grin of lustful vengeance, heart beating ever so furiously in a desperate attempt to keep up, despite his rapid loss of blood.

Physical moves were not Aodhán’s forte. That was something he was unafraid to admit. His preference lay with Special Attacks, using acrobatics and sniping his opponents with a surprise Flamethrowers-his favorite move-with the occassional Dragon Pulse or Focus Blast. Even with this new form, that hadn’t changed.

What had changed, however, was his desire to get close, to see the whites of his opponents’ eyes as his flames burn the skin away, peeling it back to till blood and bone remain, killing the disease at the source.

Aodhán mauls, marks, tears, sears, and burns Aerodactyl’s body with a different move on each strike; Harrowing screams from the Pokémon and the opportunity to make every wound inflicted creating a sense of gratification and primal determination.

There's a purple aura of Dragon Pulse gathering near his mouth before he bites down into the protective skin, hooking into the knee, and releasing the energy in a painful shockwave. There’s the cackling sound of another Thunder Fang that slices through the air, forcing Aodhán to pull himself back and evade. The sickening pop and rip from its knee impeding the move from making contact, the limb now twitching with uncontrollable spasms. More flames burn at the back of his throat, morphing into a Flamethrower aimed right for the eye he had taken out; left to decay in the sands of Mexico to become a fossil once more, the speed of their fall causing his aim to be off at the last possible second, Aerodactyl moving his head away, leaving his neck exposed for Aodhán to sink his teeth into.

He goes to unleash the next dedicated blow when it happens, halting his movement as the Aerodactyl screeches in its struggle to righten itself.

Aodhán’s vision becomes bisected, somehow showing him two things at once. Through one eye, he can see Aerodactyl and the airspace of their battle. The blood staining his claws from his harsh grip, the lacerations he has inflicted upon his opponent’s body with an animalistic desire while he remains frozen in place.

There's a second soul residing beside his own, and Aodhán is only able to recognize it as Johnny once he filters through the all consuming panic, fear, and pain. Things he could once identify so easily as Johnny are now obscured underneath dread, his boy's spirit barren of his usual bravery, selflessness, confidence, empathy, and intelligence.

It draws the Charizard's attention further away from the fight before him, eyes nearly pellucid with a distant and empty look as he submerges himself deep within Johnny's vision again. 

Johnny is sprawled out in someone’s lap, nervous breaths coinciding with the sound of gunfire, one hand reaching deep into blue and oily fur for comfort, uncaring of the blood staining his hands; the other gripping onto a black hoodie. A gloved hand adorned with painted bones of a skeleton’s hand rests on his face, the fabric making Aodhán's skin twitch in irritation; it suddenly pulls back, snaking itself underneath Johnny's legs as the other one wraps itself behind his shoulders, hoisting Johnny into the air. His grip on the fur remained true, even amidst being lifted and his vision being covered from pressing his head against the hoodie. 

Gunshots bang in the corridor nearby, Pokémon cries and commands to fellow brothers ushered between returned fire unleashed onto their opponent, and somehow all of it feels so distant. Feet pound against the cold floor towards them, stopping when they're close by even if Johnny can't bring himself to focus or look amidst this agony and terror controlling him. The scent of Villa Clara cigars tells him it's Price, the crackles of electric sparks-no doubt from Captain Pikachu-only confirming his guess to be true. Though he's surprised when he hears Gaz speak next. 

"Frost, Sandman, and their Pokémon are buying us time. We only have a few minutes." Johnny can feel Gaz eye him warily, knows there is an obvious question he wants to ask the other two Brits, but something must pass unspoken between them that has Gaz hold his tongue. 

"Rog. We need to clear a path to the ground level. No way we can fly him down when-" Price trails off, the hitch in his voice unmistakable, cutting himself off to avoid revealing too much information at the wrong time. He pats Ghost's shoulder. "Gaz, you, Rexy, Captain, and I will work with the Deltas to clear a path. Ghost will remain here with Soap."

"What about Hassan?" Ghost growls, his chest rumbles underneath Johnny's head, and he can't help but find comfort in the sensation, even if the man is eager for blood.

"He has nowhere to go. According to Sandman, he's stuck between us, the Marines, and Truck and Grinch. Right now, though, our main focus is getting Soap to medical." Price explains. His tone switches, taking a more serious demeanor than one associated with a simple military captain. "Let me figure out an explanation to give, alright? Neither of you say anything until I-"

The rest of the words are lost when Aodhán pushes lightly against Johnny's presence; he can almost feel the fabric of his boy's favorite navy blue shirt and that itchy tactical vest against his head as he whispers hesitantly, not entirely sure if his boy can hear him. "Johnny?"

Johnny blinks his eyes open at his partner's voice, relief crossing his face while Price, Ghost, and Gaz recoil in horror. Even Captain Pikachu, Rexy, and Phantom let out cries of alarm.

"Fucking hell, Johnny."

"Cap'" Gaz's voice shakes, the croaking tone somehow speaking for all of the 141's distress. It only serves to increase Johnny's worry. "Cap, his fucking eye-"

"I know, Kyle" Price says sternly, shooting a glare at Gaz. The lack of a callsign paints the captain's distress vividly, creating a trickle down effect as it travels down the rest of the group. Even the Pokémon feel it too, Phantom growling and Captain Pikachu twitching He squeezes Johnny's hand, attempting to provide a comforting smile. "Hang tight, Sunshine."  

Johnny tries to turn his mouth into a smile, if only to relieve his teammates's worries, before terror crosses his face once again. It starts off slow, creeping forward from the depths of his soul, coaxing his eyes shut and convincing his body to brace for impact, curling deeper into a fetal position as he screams a warning in the form of a name across the link. 

AODHÁN!!

Once again, it is a second too late. Another ongoing pattern this night alongside the miscommunication of humans. 

Aodhán briefly sees the ragged, serrated, electrified teeth gleam in the dark moments before they tear into his back, shoulder, and chest; pain snapping their connection in half as the shockwaves violently pulsate through his body. Aodhán screams as he's shaken from side to side, the Aerodactyl trying to get the marrow out and feast upon rewards of a not-quite cadaver. Its screech of delight from could be heard over the hollowing wind, its tongue digging deeper into the puncture it had made like a Beautifly collecting pollen, blessing itself in the ichor found within his prey as a sacrifice to the god-like ego that this fossil held for itself. Instincts took over, blindly striking wherever he could to try and get the Aerodactyl to let go, squirming against the saw-like teeth, lacerating the gash wider.

The breakage of their connection, however, was only temporary; clicking together again, splintering and sharing the pain, intertwining their souls to share the burden of another. There was a huge possibility the Banished Pokémon itself could hear the combination of their primal screams from the dark hole it resided in, torn out of their throats without mercy or remorse. It was a wonder the anguish hadn’t killed them both, rather forcing their two souls to meld together like melted steel until neither of them could tell where one ended and the other began.

Whatever Aodhán did would only succeed in making things worse. He’s not left with many options to free himself, and his mind coldly makes the decision for him as he places his feet on the scaley stomach, his claws on the shoulders as he takes a deep breath. He pushes Johnny's presence away from his own, erecting barriers to prevent the oncoming pain from breaching through and tormenting his boy, ignoring the way Johnny's panic is only amplified, throwing himself against it. Slowly, he calms, sinking his body against it in defeat, an internal sob shaking the barriers like rattling glass in the face of a strong wind.

Aodhán moves with speed, slicing at Aerodactyl with his forearm wing blade, positioning his feet on the ancient body before pushing against it, beating his wings for extra momentum. His skin is tearing, flesh remaining caught in the jaws of his opponent, yet he continues regardless, eventually wrenching himself free. The sound of tearing skin rings in his ears like the remnants of a ferocious beast from a nightmare, its presence and pain lingering enough to promise a return of such horror. It takes him a moment to steady himself in the air, his claw moving to cover the gaping hole in his shoulder.

A piece of flesh from Aodhán remains in Aerodactyl’s mouth, the bloodied orange clump of skin-the sacrifice the Charizard had made to ensure his survival-now proudly displayed for others to see and remember; his blood mixes with its saliva and sticking to the top of its mouth, a lubricant for an intrinsic beast. Aodhán watched aghast as the Fossil Pokémon chews it briefly before swallowing the piece whole, its throat muscles working to deliver the flesh to the stomach, its tongue lapping up the remaining blood around its snout, removing the evidence as if such a haunting had never occurred.  

Aodhán had planned to make this death quick, to end it with whatever nobility he could salvage for his wounded pride, but something primal within him refuses to let this go. A voice sings sweetly in his ear, seductive and tempting him with the promise of violence, snaking into his blood and coiling around his heart with an elementary lullaby from the devil's befouled blood. 

Puncture its eyes. Slit its throat. Let its death be far from soothing. 

Baring his teeth, Aodhán is more than willing to listen. His Flamethrower builds in the back of his throat with unrelenting power; spewed onto its victim with pristine precision towards the eyes. Aodhán discerns a sick glee satiating the depraved hunger in his stomach as the fire burns bright against the backdrop of darkness, succeding in burning the entirety of Aerodactyl’s entire face, the light blue-grey skin becoming white and coated with puckering red blisters. Once smooth, it now took on a thick, leathery appearance like the cover of a worn journal, the color matching the layer of white and fatty tissue underneath the skin.

Before Aodhán can kill this beast, he senses her, feels her fur wrap his back and coaxing feels of calm, trying to quell his fury, only to be met with Aodhán lashing out with a vengeance, anger giving him a newfound energy, coating his words with venom as they are spat with a callous snarl. 

"'is fiend hurt Johnny. Dae no' try an' stop me."

Regardless of whoever she was, Aodhán will not let anyone stand in his way, having taken an unholy umbrage at the Aerodactyl hurting Johnny through its feasting upon the Charizard's own flesh. His species was one to hold grudges until their death, even carrying them as a form of baggage surprising Death itself. 

She stills, and although he cannot see her form physically before him, Aodhán knows she is studying him with intense concentration, to see if he passes a list of requirements for something important to her. The creation of a  hinderance a test to push against the foundation of his resolve. She wants him for something, though he doesn't understand what. Hell, he still has no idea what she is other than a canine of some sort. I n the end, it seems as if she had been expecting such a response from the Charizard as an image of a wild grin forming around a muzzle of vibrant orange fur flashes in his mind. Her approval is strong though fleeting, and she leaves him with her blessing, watching from her perch amongst spirits long gone, though remaining close in the perimeter of his shadow. 

Aodhán doesn't acknowledge her departure, doesn't acknowledge her lingering around and waiting to see the outcome, he simply rushes forward. Just as the electrified teeth had caught him off guard, the sudden blitz of outrage from the Charizard catches the ancient fossil by surprise. There is no time left for the Aerodactyl to retaliate, the sudden onslaught of wrath summoned from the depths of hell and backed by the undead proves too much for it to withstand; just like the start of their fight, the two plunge and plummet, landing onto the top of a skyscraper some distance from their original starting point. 

Aerodactyl takes the blunt of the fall, Aodhán having trapped it beneath his claws and forcing it to kiss the asphalt rooftop so intimately. The weak rasps escaping its throat could easily be mistaken for terms for surrender, but the weak attempts at plunging its talons into his belly prove otherwise. His teeth sink into the soft skin of its neck, a putrid and rotting smell rising into his nose and nearly making him gag. Pinning the Aerodactyl's wings with his own, Aodhán grapples the neck on either side of his snout, relishing how his victim squirms with newfound fear, lips contorting into a psychotic and rabid grin. 

A twist, a turn, and a resounding SNAP! is all it takes. Where Aodhán had once held the life of an ancient Pokémon revived from extinction between his fangs, he now stands above another body to add to the count. Another enemy that no longer held the potential to hurt his boy, extinguished in one swoop.

Aodhán steps away from the body, paying it no mind. Pain descends upon the short moment of peace, his fire dimming into weak embers, soon to be extinguished in the cold. The wounds that had once been healed upon his transformation now return with a vengeance, re-tearing healed skin like scissors through an ancient tapestry, pushing Aodhán to his knees with a weak sob. The November air that had felt so nice not that long ago stings like needles on his returning wounds. With each heartbeat, his body throbs with sheer agony, each breath costing more life force to complete.

He's ready for things to be over, to find rest in a job well done. Yet when Aodhán turns back towards the building, he sees his boy dangling from an open window by the man they had been hunting. Even as his consciousness hangs on a thin line, he's able to recognize that Johnny is suddenly plummeting towards the ground, flightless and vulnerable, in desperate need of protection. 

One last time.  

Aodhán unfurls his wings, launching himself into the air once last time, flying towards Johnny with speed rivaling that of a fighter jet. He doesn't position himself underneath as he had with Captain; to do so with his vision and conscious wavering would put his boy in danger of being crushed. He lunges forward with a spin, catching Johnny in his arms as his wings shudder under the strain of flight. They won't be able to hold them both for long. With a tired sigh, he wraps his wings around Johnny-a cocoon of protection-as the earth comes hurtling towards them. 

His body smacks against the pavement, bones cracking upon impact, the momentum burning his skin against the asphalt and dirt lining the road before he comes to a complete stop-laying on his side. Aodhán barely feels any of it-the burns from where his skin was peeled off, the lacerations reopened that had once been healed by a shadow residing within him, his body reverting back to the way it had been before. Everything is too overwhelming to be felt independently, mushing together into the pleasant, numbing cold of death. 

But even now, as his heart beats faintly, Aodhán doesn't want to die. He wants to stay here. To feel the wind under his wings, to attempt another understanding of the rain once more, to annoy Phantom relentlessly and battle with Rexy while dozing alongside Captain Pikachu. He wants to stay and see Johnny and Ghost figure out their bond, to see where it all leads. 

He doesn't want to die. 

Sirens screech nearby, promising rescue and salvation; Johnny leans against him, too tired and weak to whisper reassurances or unneeded apologies but providing companionship as Aodhán readies himself to enter the dark, his tears softly pelting Aodhán's skin, growing flowers on a metaphorical grave; both their names are hollered in the distance, both by those they both considered as extended family and a band of brothers only recently becoming aquatinted, worry driving them to save lives that have already been lost; hands pulling his boy away while Johnny screams in anger and despair. 

All of it is a accumulates into a weird song Aodhán finds to close his eyes too.