grass knot
[~4.5k words, read it here or on Ao3. tagged with Volo and Lance since they appear as prominent characters; Rei-centric]
Why is it that even the thought of confiding in Akari, his closest friend, makes something constrict in his chest, choking out the words?
Rei, caught in the stirrings of a new arc, tries to rise to its call, but trips over the past at every turn.
A full rewrite of that Mysterious Stones chapter where Volo first shows up, from Rei’s POV, plus a bit more. Written mostly before the Arceus Arc began.
(Setting expectations: a lot of this fic is just Rei Thinking About Stuff haha. Love getting into his head! His characterisation is a little bit different/more nuanced compared to the other Rei oneshot I wrote; hopefully you'll still be along for the ride if you've read that one!)
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“Show me thy bond.” It echoes inside Rei’s skull, down to the very bone, the same as in his earliest memories. He nearly buckles under its weight, but it's a welcome feeling.
After so long without direction, this is a relief. Arceus has finally spoken.
The words fit perfectly with the half-remembered fragments Rei had received some weeks ago in the middle of the night. Why hadn't they been intelligible then? What makes now different? The sync stones ultimate are one factor, of course. Maybe Arceus draws power from them, which is strange to say of a deity, but from what he knows of the Plates, it might not be so far-fetched.
Prince Lear disperses the murmuring crowd; so, the audience all heard it too, not just those on the arena floor. Professor Bellis congratulates Bettie. Cynthia, Lance and Steven whisper among themselves. And his mind still whirls with new theories as they gather together.
What does Arceus want?
‘Seek out all Pokemon’ had meant completing the Pokedex. At least, that’s what he’d assumed. Now, this time, Arceus likely means for them to showcase bonds with their Pokemon, given the context. But what does that actually entail?
Cynthia’s words cut above everyone else's. “Rei. Was that voice…?”
All eyes are on him. He breathes deeply, steeling himself, as the familiar weight of it settles in. Things are moving, now.
“Yes. I'm certain. That was —”
“Indeed! That was a message from Arceus!”
His words catch in his throat. Off-balance, suddenly, as all his thoughts fall away, replaced by a swooping feeling he can't quite identify —
He whirls around.
Volo is here.
He takes a few steps back, an involuntary half-stumble, before remembering himself.
Those flashes of movement he's been seeing, the feeling of being watched, a Togepi, unattended: they’re all now terrifyingly validated. He'd half thought them a product of his overactive mind.
“Excuse-moi, pardon me… but who are you?” Professor Bellis ventures.
“I'm Volo — a humble merchant who loves history and mythology!” With that, he flashes a winning smile. Rei could laugh at the sheer audacity of it all, but his thoughts are still strewn across the dusty ground, scattered, and they slip from his grasp as he tries to gather them up. Whatever sense of gravity he’d felt upon hearing Arceus’ voice has completely lifted.
“But more importantly!” Volo continues. “When the arena shone brightly, I also heard that voice.” He brings his hand up to point at the air with enthusiastic emphasis, a gesture still so terribly familiar. Rei clenches his fists, feeling the nails dig into his skin. Not really out of anger. More as a reminder.
The last time he’d seen Volo had been. Well. Memorable. But that isn’t the image that smiles back at him now, tripping him up. He's in Gingko uniform again, complete with ridiculous oversized backpack, which Rei had thought discarded, up there on the peak. Apparently not. Had Volo returned later, still seething, to collect his things? The concept is strangely hilarious.
“I wonder… these sync stones ultimate… might they be some sort of test from Arceus? If we could show him that ‘bond’ he desires —”
“Sorry, test? Arceus?” Cynthia interrupts with a frown, holding a hand out. “What makes you say that?”
“Why, it's quite simple. Arceus' presence was summoned by these stones, in this exhibition, and he requests us to further show our bond. What else could he desire?” Volo says, gesturing widely.
Rei finally pulls himself upright — scrapes his thoughts together into something resembling coherence. The initial shock has drained away, settling into a distant sort of apprehension. He watches silently. Volo’s not really saying anything too unreasonable, but where is this leading?
There’s so much he doesn’t know. What has Volo been doing, all this time? How long has he been on Pasio? What does he hope to gain, approaching them like this?
He’ll let Volo continue, then. It's an opportunity for some of those questions to be answered.
(And it gives Rei time to think of what to say.)
“Well, put that way, that does make sense,” Steven nods along. “Should we organise for more trainers to try the stones, then?”
“Oui, I would love to gather more data!” Professor Bellis answers. “However, the stones are still quite volatile. There is progress on this, yes, but for now, I would like to limit their use, capisci?”
At this, Bettie speaks up. “Yeah, it was weird.” She runs a hand through her Pikachu’s fur, the mouse curled up lazily in her arms. Nobody in Hisui was quite that affectionate with their Pokemon. Certainly not Akari, though she'd grown closer with her own Pikachu over time. As for himself, Decidueye had been standoffish, averse to being carried even as a baby Rowlet. Well, actually — as his distracted mind digs deeper into memory, he recalls — there had been Volo and his Togepi.
He casts that errant thought away, buries it deep once again. Bettie is still speaking.
“And it was like nothing was there, at first, and Pikachu and I had to concentrate really hard. And then — whoosh! Wow! Overwhelming,” she shifts Pikachu’s weight to one arm to gesture with emphasis, “and all at once.”
“And this is when Arceus spoke,” Lance asks.
Bettie nods, now subdued. “It was a rush! I think you guys could handle it, but I dunno if everyone could.”
“If I may,” and all attention returns to Volo. “It seems the stones can currently be used by trainers with particularly powerful convictions, and bonds with their Pokemon,” he gestures with a smile to Bettie. She blushes.
At the casual flattery, Rei can't help the small frown that twists onto his face. It seems innocent enough, but compliments and niceties can so easily mask true intent.
Especially with Volo.
Volo continues. “Perhaps we might solve this by way of a tournament, of sorts. Allowing Arceus to witness our talent and dedication, with the victor bestowed the honour of using the stones! Of course, the winner of such a competition would have the fortitude necessary to handle such power.”
Well, taking that to its logical end… Volo wants to win, and be granted this ‘honour’ he so conveniently proposed. But why go to all this trouble? The stones appear out in the streets quite often — apparently, found even by preschoolers. Volo should have no trouble obtaining them.
Does he know something they don't?
“Bettie here led the first winning PML team, did she not?” At this, the girl in question smiles Mareepishly. “And that is why she was the one to demonstrate the stones, I presume,” Volo inclines his head towards the Champions.
Informed guess, or something more? He thinks back on half-seen, furtive movements, and wonders.
“That's right,” Steven confirms. “Bettie is a shining example to us: a leader of the next generation. We decided there was no better choice.”
“So you suggest we hold another tournament,” Lance says thoughtfully. “Well, there is precedent. Prince Lear,” he turns to the Prince, whom Rei had honestly half forgotten was there. “What do you think?”
Before Lear can reply, Volo reinserts himself into the conversation. “It would be a grand tournament, truly fitting of Pasio's reputation. Why, perhaps, the deity Arceus might even be compelled to descend —”
Ah. So that’s what he intends. “Aren't you getting ahead of yourself there?” Rei interrupts. He means to sound stern, but it comes out sounding more incredulous. Not at the idea itself, but at how brazenly it’s admitted.
“Perhaps,” Volo says with a careless shrug. He doesn’t acknowledge Rei any differently than the others, still maintaining their inadvertently shared ruse. “It's only speculation, of course, but it is exciting to think about!”
“Hmph! I believe I was the one being addressed,” Prince Lear declares, arms crossed. His red shades flash dangerously, eyes hidden under their glint. Directed at him, it's almost like the full glare of an Alpha Pokemon.
Rei’s face flushes with heat to the tips of his ears. Great time he picked to enter the discussion. He quietly ducks his head down; the Prince is in charge, here, after all. He'd rather not test his patience.
Meanwhile, Volo just smiles, seemingly unfazed.
There's a part of him that really wants to know how Volo does that. It's just — he's so confident. How can he be so sure that everything will work out in his favour?
“A grand tournament,” Prince Lear ponders, tapping his foot. “And what could be grander than the second Pokemon Masters League?”
“Indeed!” Volo beams. “I'm sure the audience would love to see the clash between a king and a deity, would they not?”
Lear's tapping stills. His guarded stance loosens; he's taken aback. Volo emphasised king, and oh, Lear's official title is Prince. Hm.
There's something more deliberate about it beyond just casual flattery.
Lear uncrosses his arms and seems at a loss, for a moment, on where to put them before straightening up with his hands on hips. “Is that so?” He laughs. “I like the sound of that!” A pause, unnecessarily dramatic. Nobody breaks the silence, not even Volo.
The Prince looks around with some satisfaction and continues. “Very well, then. The winning team of the second PML will be granted the honour of using the sync stones ultimate.” He grins, sharply, red shades flashing once again. “Which will include me, of course. Hahahahaha!”
“You have a real gift for making quick decisions!” Volo says cheerfully. The tension breaks. Chuckles arise from the rest of the group, and Rei can only stare in disbelief. That — that has to be mockery, right? But everyone else seems to take it as light teasing, even the quick-tempered Prince himself.
Against his better judgement, his gaze catches Volo’s.
He doesn't know what he expects to see: amusement? Satisfaction? Triumph? And there's some of that, but it's a wry, knowing sort of look, like a joke shared only between the two of them.
Already the others are starting to animatedly discuss between themselves. Bettie makes a teasing comment to Lear, who scoffs. Professor Bellis says something about checking in on the sync stone technology. Cynthia, Lance and Steven form their own little group again, speaking in low tones, and he can't quite follow their discussion.
It seems like he's the only one who notices Volo quietly slipping away, and he's got half a mind to do the same.
Would it be incredibly ill-advised to follow him? Probably. But he still has questions. And it’s possible that Volo will let his guard down when they're alone.
(Even to him, that seems incredibly optimistic. But there’s things between them that he himself would rather only unearth in private. Maybe Volo feels the same way. And even if not, perhaps he'll gloat, or tease playfully, and let on something of use hidden in the thorned barbs.)
It's not like he has much left to contribute here. Tournaments and competitions and organised displays are foreign to him. The Neo Champion Stadium had felt so different from the kind of battles he’s used to… which, in part, could be why he lost.
He needs to train. If everything rests on the result of this tournament, he has to be ready.
The group seems to be naturally dispersing, at least — Professor Bellis just excused herself — so he won't be missed. With some quick words, he, too, turns to leave. They can handle this part, and Rei will do his.
Prince Lear had mentioned a winning team, and Pasio battles are generally three on three, from what he's seen. Who could he ask? There's Akari, of course. And the clan leaders, but it would feel strange to team up with only one and not the other. A little bit too reminiscent of another time.
His steps carry him nearly to the edge of the arena.
Besides, he's getting ahead of himself. He still has to… well, he should explain everything to them. About Volo.
Even all these months later, it still aches. He had buried it all, hoping to let it rot away, to be free of that thorny mass of contradictory feelings that arose every time he dwelled on it.
But the longer he waits, the more impossible it seems to explain — to explain not only the events of that fateful day, but also his own, confusing silence on the matter. Though he’s tried to plough the field, turn it all over and start anew, it still lies just beyond the surface, and a single misstep is all it takes to snarl him all over again. Why is it that even the thought of confiding in Akari, his closest friend, makes something constrict in his chest, choking out the words?
(Akari is unquestionably the one person he's closest to. But there was a time when that singular title wasn't so clear cut.)
There’s a sort of tunnel that leads out of the stadium, a long darkened archway that passes under the audience stands. He's about halfway through when he hears footsteps from behind, swift and purposeful strides.
His breath catches, for a moment. But Volo left first, and the arena had been flat and wide, with no corners to lurk in. Besides, it's too loud. Clearly telegraphed.
Cynthia, maybe?
He turns. The face that greets Rei is slightly less familiar. “Lance,” he acknowledges the Champion.
“Rei,” Lance greets in turn, stopping a few paces away. Arms crossed, silhouetted against the light of the arena and framed by the tunnel’s dark, arching walls, his tall figure is — intimidating.
He can’t help but wonder whether that's deliberate.
“You left before I could ask,” Lance says, and there's a pause. “As someone who has prior experience with Arceus, what do you think of all this?”
A fair enough question. But the way it's said… sounds a little too carefully worded. Casual, but purposefully so.
What sort of answer does Lance expect?
“It sounds reasonable enough,” he decides to say. As much as he hates to lend credence to Volo’s proposal, he can't think of anything better. It somehow seems to suit their needs perfectly, which he's sure is no accident. “Back in Hisui, I was told to seek out all Pokemon, so I helped with the Pokedex. In the same way, I guess this could help fulfil Arceus' new request.”
Lance nods along, but his brows furrow. “You sounded more sceptical, earlier,” he points out.
Ah. Not really his intent, but… “That was about the more…” he casts about for the right word, “speculative part of it. I don't know if it would really call Arceus down, or anything like that.” Though honestly, he doesn't know that it won't.
“What do you think will happen, then?” Lance asks, with clear curiosity, and, well. He doesn't really have a good answer to that.
“... I don't know,” he admits. “I never actually completed the Pokedex, so I'm not sure what happens after Arceus’ request is fulfilled.” He had been close, but there had still been so many minor tasks that needed finishing, things to busy himself with, to arrange and get in order before he had to face Giratina again.
He hadn't been ready, yet. Maybe Arceus had grown impatient, and brought him here to confront his problems directly. Maybe it cared. Maybe it didn't.
(Seeing Giratina with Cynthia had felt a little like he was the punchline of some divine comedy.)
Lance purses his lips and looks off into the distance, out of the stadium, past Rei. He wishes he could read the man’s expressions better; as it is, the set of his brows calls to mind Kamado, and everything else tangled up with it.
Finally, Lance’s gaze turns directly to Rei once again, and he speaks. “That Volo… you two know each other.”
It’s not a question, but even then, the expression of unguarded surprise he can’t hold back might be answer enough.
Lance has one hand on his hip, the other, at rest, is framed by the drape of his cape. He looks down at Rei as he states plainly, “His clothes aren’t of modern make, so the logical assumption would be that he’s from Hisui. Cynthia confirmed my suspicion. And, historically, Hisuian communities were few and quite tightly knit. It’s more likely than not.”
He tries to keep his expression carefully neutral, as logic digs deeper, dangerously close to things unexplainable. And the earth is already recently disturbed, soft, friable. He can’t offer much resistance. “I've seen him around,” he concedes.
“But why did neither of you acknowledge the other?” Lance looks confused; frustrated, even. “Even a passing acquaintance would be notable, with both of you being here in the future.”
And here — this is familiar. The accusations. The questions he can’t answer. But it’s different; it’s not that he doesn’t know the answers. He just can’t seem to put them in an order that would make sense, to anyone else.
(Does he really understand, himself?)
But eyes are on him, and he needs to explain, in whatever unsatisfactory way he can. “Volo and I… it's complicated,” he laughs weakly, tugging at his scarf. “He genuinely does love history and mythology, you know. I guess I wouldn't be that surprised if he was right about Arceus.” All those times they’d pored over ruins together, Volo excitedly babbling on about whatever legend this one related to — there had to have been the seed of something real, something genuine, in that.
It’s not really an answer. Lance can obviously tell, because he crosses his arms.
“Is he bad news?” he asks bluntly.
There’s no twisting his way out of this one.
Some of the panic he’s feeling must bubble up onto his face, because Lance’s expression softens, just a bit. The man sighs. “Look, Rei, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but us Champions need to have all the relevant information. This tournament, the stones,” he gestures around them, “affect everyone here on Pasio. So I’m sorry about involving myself in your business, but it's necessary. Should we be keeping an eye on Volo?”
It’s obvious what the correct answer is. And every second he delays responding makes him seem all the more untrustworthy. He questions, a little hysterically, why this of all things is what he stubbornly roots himself for, risking this place he’s made for himself in another unfamiliar land.
But his jaw works, and all that slips out of his throat, past the thorny tangle, is a “Maybe.” The most ground he can concede. “Volo’s… passionate about Arceus.” Which is perhaps the biggest understatement of both this century and the last.
There's an expectant pause. He almost leaves it at that, but it seems it's too unfinished a sentiment for Lance. “He wants to be seen by it.”
“The same way you are?” Lance says sharply. Arceus, he picked up on that fast. Rei hopes he leaves it at that. A rivalry fallen apart, twisted into bitterness and jealousy, nothing more.
Nothing world-ending.
It’s not like he doesn’t trust Cynthia, and by extension the other Champions. It’s just… he can deal with it himself. It’s what he was probably brought here to do, anyway. The thought of someone else turning him over, and finding him lacking — fighting his battles for him — makes him uneasy.
“Yeah, something like that,” he answers, with a painful swallow.
Besides, he hopes he can resolve this peacefully. He’d beaten Volo before, even after he’d flipped the rules of battle on their head. And this time Volo can’t upend the script; one good thing about tournaments, he supposes, is that the rules are rigorously upheld. A different sort of battleground.
He wants to laugh at that. Suppositions and wildly optimistic thoughts are his only foundation, and yet it’s enough for him to reject all possibility of outside help.
Then again, if he can’t even bring himself to tell Akari, what chance does he have of breaking that self-imposed silence, here, on less familiar ground?
Lance hums, assessing this. He uncrosses his arms. “If that friend of yours does anything drastic, tell us, alright?” he says. It’s said warmly, but there's something serious to it. An undertone. “Our job is to help out wherever we can, so don’t hesitate to reach out.”
Rei tries for a smile. “Understood.”
Lance nods, and looks Rei up and down, though it's only a subtle flicker of his eyes. His gaze lingers on the scarf at Rei’s neck, which Rei realises he’s been fidgeting with unconsciously. He lets go with faint embarrassment, feeling caught out.
The other man sighs. “You can go, you know?” There’s resignation in his voice. Maybe even something apologetic. In that moment, he seems more like Kamado than ever.
Rei doesn’t want to turn his back to him, but he wants to be here even less. So he nods, stiffly, and turns himself around, continuing the dark walk through the tunnel and out the stadium at a steady pace.
He doesn’t run.
(But his hand hovers by his satchel, where Decidueye's Pokeball rests.)
It’s only when he’s walked for a good while, out into the harsh sunlight, through the town outskirts and to a more forested spot, that the tension drains from him. He sits at the base of a large tree, feeling a little lightheaded.
That was… an interrogation, to put it bluntly. And he can’t really fault Lance for it. To anyone, he's sure, his actions are confusing at best.
Unfortunately, he’s found that he’s less than clear headed when it comes to Volo. He turns over Lance’s final words. That friend of yours. It’s not surprising Lance phrased it that way; everything Rei had said had been carefully woven to lead him to that conclusion.
Except it hadn’t been misdirection, not fully. He does still think of Volo as his friend, despite everything.
He slumps backwards, against the trunk of the tree, feeling the rough bark dig against the base of his skull.
What is he supposed to do with that?
Apparently, one of the worst days of his life isn’t enough to uproot over a year of growing camaraderie and budding friendship. Too many memories knot together, a stubborn tangle impossible to pick apart. He’s tried not to think about them too hard, but they tighten their hold once again, from where they lay dormant and buried.
Many of them have been forcibly recontextualised. He’s second guessed every helpful gift, every directly admiring word, every coincidental and fortunate appearance, as something deliberate and cultivated. But some of it, it seems, doesn't fit so neatly with that singular goal.
One day, they’d watched Togepi use Metronome for an hour, ostensibly for Rei’s surveying purposes. Important documentation of a seemingly random phenomenon, and all that. In actuality, they laughed the entire time, with no useful or coherent records to speak of, as the results became all the more improbable.
They’d camped together, those last months, as the search for the Plates got wilder and more exciting. He knows Volo’s favoured way to build a camp-fire, and how he wakes up unreasonably early in the morning, and that he prefers sweet foods over savoury, unlike Rei himself. A hundred mundane familiarities shared, taking root in fallow ground.
Once, Volo had been his only friend in the entire world.
Is it surprising, then, that he can’t lay this friendship to rest so easily?
He wonders what it means, that the hand offered to him at his lowest point was the same one that always meant to drag him back down. And what it means that he still wants to reach for it.
Had any real feelings been sowed there, on Volo’s part? Or was the entire thing a carefully constructed weaving, an intricate field of grass knots laid around Rei, ready to catch him in their snare?
He can’t quite strangle the hope that something of their friendship still exists, even if neglected and overgrown. And that’s the part that scares him.
He has Akari, and Adaman, and Irida. He has Professor Laventon and the Captain, though they’re far away. Then there’s the Wardens, more friendly faces: Mai, Sabi, Ingo, and all the others; there's Zisu and Pesselle and Beauregard and everyone else in Jubilife. New friends here on Pasio, too.
He pulls out Decidueye’s Pokeball from his satchel, and rolls it around in his right hand. He has his beloved Starter.
He has friends. He has bonds.
Why can’t that be enough?
The Pokeball he’s holding isn't the original. He'd had to break that well-loved possession in two, and recapture Decidueye in this modern device. It's a distant echo of its predecessor, wooden grooves and clunky iron replaced by smooth metal and near imperceptible seams. The weight of it is all wrong.
But despite that, it's still his partner, and that's what matters.
(The two broken halves sit in his satchel, too, carried on his person at all times. It's yet another thing he can't bring himself to let go of.)
He sighs, tracing formless shapes in the dirt. His hand finds one of the sparse clumps of grass that grow here, directly under this wide and mighty tree. Deprived of proper sun, it’s a miracle that there’s any at all.
It seems more and more likely that he’ll end up looking for Volo on his own. To get answers: not only about the stones, and the tournament, and Volo’s intentions with Arceus, but also for his own ends.
Maybe there’s still something there. A single glimpse of life in this scorched earth between them.
He doesn’t know what he’ll do then.
Where he sits, what little grass there is has grown long and ragged, as their leaves stretch and reach for the sun. He sets Decidueye’s ball down and plucks two long blades. With a few simple loops and twists, they’re deftly woven together into a knot. He considers it, looping it around his fingers; tightens it, pulling on both ends, until he can feel the entire construct threaten to snap from the force. He stops.
The thing is, no matter if it was never meant to be real, deliberately sowed, intended ultimately for harvest — it’s all the same, to Rei. He wants to keep it alive. He’s hopeful. Naive. Selfish.
For a single, impossible moment, he wonders whether this is what Arceus meant by bonds all along.
The knot goes in his satchel, where it will turn dry and brittle with time. But kept safe, unbroken, regardless. Maybe his future self will laugh at his sentimentality. Maybe, he won't remember why it’s there.
Wouldn't that be for the best?
He tucks Decidueye’s ball away, with care, then hauls himself up, both hands braced against the dusty ground. There’s dirt under his fingernails. From under the tree’s darkened canopy, he squints into the afternoon sunlight.
There’s a lot that needs to be done. He needs to train for this tournament, for one. Learn more about modern battling. Pull together a team. With that, ask Akari, and perhaps Adaman or Irida. Confront Volo, somewhere in all of this.
After that? Only Arceus knows.
One step at a time.
He finds his footing, around gnarled roots. The grass crunches underfoot. And he steps into the light.
(So maybe I was just snared by the grass knots you laid in my path. But if I wove my own, would you fall for it too?)
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Ride 758: The senpai's few words
Pag 2
1: Aoyagi-san!!
Pag 3
1: Wha- what happened, Danchiku, you stopped so suddenly
2: Why is he here, in Kyushu!?
What is it, what is it
4: He's probably the person I'd want to see the most right now!!
5: What is it, is there someone in the audience area?
Someone you know? You look so surprised
I wouldn't be so surprised even if someone was there
Pag 4
2: He-hello!! You... you came to... cheer us on!?
3: It's been a while, Danchiku
4: Yes.... yes!!
Thank you so much for coming so far to see us!!
5: You got bigger
Pag 5
2: Thank you so much
3: Uhm, actually
There's something I'd like to talk to you about, is that....
4: Aoyagi-saaaan!!
-okay!?
Pag 6
1: What, for real!?
What, are you really here- amaaazing!!
Oi, Issa, I was....
2: Wait... did you just made Aoyagi-san lose consciousness with your tackle!?
3: Aoyagi-saaan!! Hahahaha!!
You're attacking him when he's already down...!!
4: I'm... o... okay...
No, he keeps pausing while talking!!
Hahaha
5: I'll lead you to our tent!! Carry him, Danchiku!!
'Carry him'....
Pag 7
2: Thank you
2: I wished you had told me you'd come though, Aoyagi!!
You forgot to add “san”, Kabuagi
3: There was something... I wanted to talk to you about but
4: I guess it can't be helped....
(You're ending up yielding again, Danchiku)
5: Ah right
6: Aoyagi-san is
Pag 8
1: A member of last year's team!!
He's the column who supported Sohoku from below last year!!
2: Someone who gained experience through hard work and difficulties and debuted in his third year, ran as a sprinter, pulled the team, and brought back the members so many times
3: Without talking, without refusing, he just did it silently!!
5: Even when he was in a pinch, when he was injured, he moved forward with all his might without ever standing out!!
If he hadn't been there, there's no way Sohoku could have won!!
Pag 9
1: He-he sounds amazing, teh
Right!! I'm really flashy, so his way of running is probably the exact opposite of mine
2: Hearing it again, he really is an amazing person.....
and I also know well what happened with his leg on the third day
4: If I was in the same position and got injured.... would I be able to run the same way?
5: “He'll run away right away”
“He's a chicken”
Pag 10
1: In this Inter High that is about to start
Pag 11
1: Since Aoyagi-san came to see us, I'll smash the starting dash!
There's no need to smash, run calmly
2: Should I get subbed out?
I'm still in time
4: “No one will blame you”
“I can be done in fifteen minutes”
5: I'm at my peak now!!
Save it for the race
6: You're an idiot as usual
I'll forgive everything you say, Aoyagi-san!!
7: What can I do, what......
Nothing....!!
Pag 12
1: The stage event is starting soon
Last year's champions, Sohoku High School, representative of Chiba, please come to the stage
Kakaka, it's our turn!!
2: Teh.... I'm nervous, the
There's gonna be tons of spectators!!
3: Do-do we take a video? I'll do it, Sugimoto-san
I'll leave it to you then. I'll finish up here
4: Su-
Sugimoto-san!!
6: Ao.... yagi-san.....
Pag 13
1: Could you do me one favor?
2: Ah- yes!
Do you want something to eat!! Right away!!
3: The food truck is there... is curry alright?
4: …. no
5: A band-aid!? A nail-clipper!?
Leave it to me, after all I worked a lot behind-the-scene last year
6: Oi, Danchiku, what are you doing. Let's go
8: Ye.... yes
Pag 14
1: Take care of that idiot
Pag 15
3: The Inter High is harsh and long
But he's reckless and can't read the air
5: You, on the other hand
6: You always keep an eye on your surroundings and pay attention to what people say and do
And that means
Pag 16
1: That you can make an accurate judgment of risk in any situation
3: The ability to read small details when you're in a pinch is essential in road racing
4: Earlier in the midst of more than a hundred people in the audience area, you
Pag 17
1: found me at one glance
4: I think you know this too, but he can only look ahead
Please support him, take a step back and, as always
5: be watchful
Pag 18
2: Yessir!! Thank you so much!!
4: “Take a step back”.....!! Taking a step back.... yielding, are my...
5: If this small heart is my ability
Pag 19
2: then I'll be the one running, Issa!!
Together with you!!
At full throttle!!
Pag 20
1: Run, Danchiku
Just like I did last year
2: with Junta
3: I'm sure your feelings will give you strength
These are the members of Sohoku, the Chiba prefecture representative who won the championship last year
Pag 21
1: So far they have won two times in a row
3: What's wrong.... your balloon... shall I get it for you?
Pag 22
2: Thank you, Onii-chan
3: That's surprising, Midosuji-san
You're so kind
4: Puku.... I am kind, though?
To
5: anyone who doesn't wear a number bib, that is!!
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all the pain will change into a memory of when we were amazing (mario & luigi-centric post-movie fic, part 2!)
(Part one can be found here!)
(Thanks again to everyone who read the first part and was so sweet about it! Here's the continuation. This is a shorter interlude with Mario and Luigi's family before we get to the main "meat" of the story AKA Mario and Luigi talking on their own in the third part, coming soon. I hope you enjoy, and I appreciate any thoughts/feedback. I will get this uploaded on AO3 as soon as I can as well, if you'd prefer to read over there.)
+
“Hey-o!”
Things had been so quiet on their long, long, long trek back home that the sudden noise made Mario stiffen as they shuffled through the door, every nerve on high alert for a breathless few seconds. Luigi, who had practically sleepwalked the last block with his head leaned against Mario’s head, using his brother's hat as a makeshift pillow, started too, mumbling a greeting that barely resembled the English language, waving at the front door before realizing he was turned around and swaying around to face the warm light of the dining room instead. It looked like dinner was already over, dishes and silverware being cleared away.
“Look who finally decided to show up! Brooklyn’s brand-new heroes!” Uncle Arthur raised a nearly empty glass of what looked like wine in laughing celebration. “What, you save the city from a bunch of weird turtle goons one time and you’re too good to share a meal with us regular bums?”
“They were helping with the cleanup,” Aunt Marie hissed, swatting him hard enough to elicit a yelp. “Where were you out there, huh?” She smiled warmly at Mario and Luigi on her way to the kitchen. “Sorry we couldn’t wait any longer. Gramps and Mia needed to get to bed. But don’t worry, we saved plenty!”
“Probably too busy signing autographs for all the bella signore,” Uncle Tony guffawed. “Hard to blame ‘em! Better enjoy it before they figure out you’re plumbers with no money!”
“Heh, yeah. Caught us fair and square,” Mario said, managing a weak laugh. Luigi let loose a tiny, snorting chuckle too, although whether that was because he was backing Mario up or just blindly mimicking what he heard, too lost in his own sleepy little world, Mario wasn’t sure. They were still holding onto one another, which they’d maintained the entire walk back except in places where it was impossible to proceed in that way (ladders and the like). That way, a repeat of the stairs incident couldn’t happen, and Mario had known exactly when Luigi was getting shaky enough to need a break. He squeezed his brother’s hand as a way to check in. It took a few seconds, but Luigi squeezed back gently, which was a small relief.
“Is that the boys!?” Without any further warning, their mother barreled out of the kitchen like a runaway train. She grabbed them in both arms, her shaking grip tight enough that both brothers wheezed from a sudden lack of air. “Oddio, where have you been? You already vanished on us once! My old heart can’t take much more of this.”
“You’re not that old, Ma,” Luigi murmured, patting her shoulder.
“Sorry,” Mario said as clearly as he could manage with his face smothered in her hair. “Didn’t mean to make ya worry. Just, uh, lost track of time, that’s all.”
“What happened?” That was Dad, moving slower to catch up with her, his brow creased deep. “Are you all right?”
“Never been better!” Luigi insisted, overly bright. The bone-crushing hug had woken him up a little, but now he was using his I’m definitely lying but maybe if I speak at a much higher volume, no one will be able to tell voice. “We were just, y’know, real busy making sure everyone on the block could still…flush their toilets! Everyone forgets how important that is. Can ya believe it?”
“And we had to make sure our friends got home safely too,” Mario jumped in, rubbing his mom’s back with his free hand as she continued to hold on for dear life. You get temporarily swallowed by a giant, man-eating plant in front of your parents one time… “But we’re definitely not going anywhere for the rest of the night, and Aunt Marie said something about leftover food, if you can forgive us…?”
“Of course, of course.” She finally stepped back, but not before one good, firm pinch of the cheek between her fingers for each of them. “You’ve worked so hard, my brave boys. You must be about ready to turn inside out from hunger already. Sit, sit, I’ll bring it to you—”
“Actually, Ma,” Mario interjected as gingerly as possible. “It’s been a really, really long day. Could we, uh, maybe take the food in our room? I know, I know, you don’t like that, but if anything gets messy, I’ll take care of it, promise—”
“Ya can’t be serious!” Uncle Tony spoke up all of a sudden, his chair screeching against the floor as he jumped up. “You two still gotta give us the whole rundown of where ya been! Where did that angry, spikey dragon-turtle-guy even come from?”
“And the tiny kid who looked like a big ole mushroom with legs!” Uncle Arthur added.
“What about that giant monkey in the tie?” Aunt Marie piped up, half-laughing in sheer disbelief as she came back into the room. “He could talk! And not just little words, no — if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was hittin’ on me.”
“Look, I get it, I get it,” Mario insisted as good-naturedly as he could manage. He started to inch towards the hallway with Luigi in tow, who he could feel becoming jittery from all the new noise. All he needed was a few good, firm excuses, a clear escape route, and they were home-free. “It was pretty crazy stuff, right? But seriously, we’re dead on our feet as it is—”
“Then sit down already and take a load off!” Uncle Tony insisted right back. “We’ll make coffee!”
“Nooooo, no coffee for me. Now!? I-I think I might shake right out of my skin if, “Luigi started to joke, only to squeak when Uncle Tony grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to steer him around anyway.
“C’moooon! A story like this can’t wait,” Uncle Arthur groaned. “This is the wildest thing that’s happened since Gramps’ teeth were eaten by that dog on the subway! Have some pity for your elders and their boring lives.”
“We’ll tell ya all about it tomorrow, I swear!” Mario said a little louder, desperately trying to sound casual even as the words scraped up his throat. It was too loud, too bright. A new wave of dizziness swam over him; everything was starting to seem more and more like a dream, his vision smearing at the edges. The only thing that still felt solid, real was his hold on Luigi. He stayed focused on it like a lifeline, even as they were jostled around. “And you’ll understand then why we need to sleep for a million years and then some, I swear, ‘cause we, we’ve really gone through the ringer here...”
“Don’t you think you’ll feel better if you just sit down for a minute?” Ma asked, smiling warmly. “Besides, I wanted to know a little more about that princess—”
“Ya gotta eat anyway!” Uncle Arthur downed what was left of his glass in one swig. “Don’t make us beg!”
“Forget the coffee. We’ll break out the Sangiovese and that’ll loosen you up real good,” Uncle Tony snickered.
Their uncle grabbed at Luigi again, pulling him along harder this time — hard enough that he panicked, his flailing hand struggling for a better grip on Mario’s before they were ripped apart. And that reminded Mario’s fuzzy, exhausted brain of something. A feeling he didn’t know how to describe in words but that cut into him like a knife between his ribs just the same, bone-deep and blindsiding and instantly overwhelming. He thought of—
(pink clouds and faint swirling light and green pipes and weird wind tunnels he could practically swim through and black shadows like soot in the air and lava glowing and Luigi shouting his name, Luigi panicking as he tried to calm him down, Luigi’s hand warm and snug against his because nothing could hurt them if they were together and nothing was going to separate them as long as Mario was strong enough, steady enough to make it that way but then there was a sound like thunder and the pressure grew and grew and grew and grew and GREW AND)
His body acted on its own. With both hands, he wrenched Luigi back towards him a few stumbling steps, out of Uncle Tony’s hands. “No!” He yelled, a hoarse, guttural sound.
Silence, save for car horns on the street outside.
Clarity came over Mario in a slow, creeping wave, quickly turning into a feeling of horror as he registered the way everyone had frozen in place around him, staring with wide, frightened eyes. Even their parents looked stricken. Luigi’s tired expression had flooded with worry too, but there was a glint of something warmer there as well — understanding. I felt it, his eyes said to Mario, as clear as day. I remembered too.
“I-I’m sorry, but we really, REALLY need to take a rain check, all right?” That was Luigi, breaking the silence, talking way more assertively than he usually ever did at home. Most of the time, the others drowned him out, but now, he had everyone’s undivided attention, insistently pointing with his one free hand that wasn’t still clinging to Mario’s. “We, me and Mario here, are a little loopy, all right? Not thinking straight in the least! It’s been a hard day — a hard couple of days! Three days, in fact! Maybe three days, or two! Heck, I don’t even know what day it is anymore! That’s how out of whack we are! Do ya get it already!?”
“Easy there, Lu,” Mario whispered. There was so much frantic gesturing going on that Luigi was starting to throw himself off-balance, swaying dangerously. He still felt ashamed, raw inside from the outburst, but Luigi jumping in had lessened it to the point that he could breathe again, at least. His amazing brother really was full of surprises today, it seemed. “But he’s right. I…it’s just been a lot."
Some glances were shared around the table. Surprisingly, it was Uncle Tony who spoke up first.
“Y’know what? You do look like you’d be shoo-ins for a zombie movie, no makeup needed.” He clapped them lightly on the shoulders one more time and then sat back down with a backwards wave of the hand. “Don’t worry about us. Go on, get out of here.”
“Get plenty of rest,” Aunt Marie said, her smile plainly apologetic.
“Man, that just gave me deja-vu like nobody’s business,” Uncle Arthur laughed. “Remember when they were tiny, Tony? We couldn’t peel them off each other for anything in the world.”
“Oh man, do I,” Tony snorted. “Not without them scratching and screeching like stray cats! Might as well have made you two — whaddya call it again? — conjoined twins and saved a couple steps.”
“There was that one time we were babysitting at the park down the street—”
Mario didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. “Come on,” a familiar, gruff voice said near his ear, followed by two large arms herding him and Luigi away, their mother following close behind. “Get yourselves into the kitchen already.”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Mario couldn’t help but insist once they were there, heels squeaking on the faded linoleum. Several of his stern talking-to’s over the years had started out much like this in the past; speaking up right away and defending himself before the inevitable yelling happened was practically second nature. “I didn’t mean to yell, I swear, it was just—”
“Never mind that,” the older man cut him off. There was something soft in his tone, softer than Mario could remember hearing it before, and that was when he realized that he'd misread the situation entirely. His dad's eyes were dark with concern, not anger. "Now come on. Give me your gloves, and shoes too. Both of you."
Mario and Luigi glanced at each other and then down at themselves in confused unison, dimly registering that yes, they were still wearing all of that, having forgotten to take everything off at the door like they usually did. Some slow shuffling later, and it was gathered in a pile. Their dad plucked their hats off their heads as well (also missed), tucking everything in the sturdy crook of one arm. He used his free hand to ruffle their hair and pat their faces, one after the other.
"You did good out there," he said, "but what matters most is that you're all right. That's always gonna be what matters most to us. I just," he swallowed slowly, thickly, "I want to make sure you both know that."
For one very brittle moment, as his dad held his face in his big, warm palm, Mario genuinely didn't trust himself to not start either laughing or sobbing right then and there — maybe a crazy mixture of both. The feeling passed, thankfully, but he still managed a wobbly smile, a small nod.
“Now go and wash up. Ma will get the food ready.” Sure enough, their mother was already bustling around like a madwoman, plates clattering and half-empty pots simmering again on the stove. “Luigi, you first. Datti una mossa.”
“Yessir!” Luigi looked back at Mario before going, a tired, reassuring, still slightly worried look that said I’ll see you in a couple of minutes, okay? Mario reflected it back, and their dad walked Luigi out of the room, towards the hallway.
“Just promise me you’ll tell us what happened tomorrow, all right?” Mario's attention returned to his mother, who was finishing stirring some reheated sauce with a little too much shaky speed before coming over to him, smushing his cheeks in both hands. “I don’t care how old you two get. You're still my babies, and babies shouldn't keep secrets from their poor mother."
“I promise, I promise! You’re gonna pop my teeth out, Ma!” Mario half-laughed, gently tugging at her wrists so he could talk more clearly. “Definitely tomorrow, okay? Right now, I…I don’t know if I could tell ya if I tried. It’s just a crazy blur, and I really gotta process it all myself, still. We just need a little time."
“I understand.” She drew him into another hug. Mario couldn’t help but sink into the familiar warmth, clinging to her. He’d been so worried about Luigi that he’d never even considered the idea that he might never see his parents again either. The realization hit harder than he’d anticipated. “Besides, I know I have nothing to worry about when you two are together. You do such a good job of looking after your brother.”
(Or even worse, what if he’d been able to come home in the end — but alone? What if he’d had to sit his parents down and tell them that Luigi was…)
There it was again — that sudden, sour feeling of wanting to cry, such a heavy wave inside him that he had to clench his teeth to the point of pain to hold back a gasp.
Stupid, he thought bitterly, almost angrily. What did he even have to be crying about? Once again, he weathered the rush, kept the walls intact by a hair. He closed his eyes and just let himself be held.
“Of course, Ma,” he croaked. “Always.”
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