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wykart · 5 years ago

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The Prodigal Daughter

Summary: The Doctor has some unfinished business on Gallifrey. She has a purpose, and the Time Lords intend for her to fulfil it. (read on ao3)

a.k.a. local girl has a crush on the 13th Doctor, a love of cosmic/psychological horror, and a fascination with the whole Doctor = The Other thing from the wilderness years novels.

Chapter 1: The Promise

Pity, and things were just starting to get good. In retrospect, a little too good.

She’d been thrown out of her TARDIS and crashed right into the next band of wide-eyed, brilliant humans who’d been all too enthusiastic to go along with it all. Humans. They gravitate towards the weird like ions to a gravity belt, buzzing around like flies. Anything to pull them away from the collectively self-enforced misery of the day-to-day. You get the odd few – like Karl – who are more than content to meander through time, always a little lost, always holding the truth back a fraction so as to keep the fear at bay. Not her new best friends. In a way, she had them trapped, even if she hadn’t meant to do it. But, maybe she always means to do it, a little bit, deep down. (All of time and space, what d’you say?) reluctance, because they all have little lives to be getting on with, and little people that rely upon the unceasing perpetuation of those little lives. A web, intricate, all of them trapped in it. (By the way, did I mention, it also travels in time?) splendour, because it’s just a bit too close to magic. They hardly ever say no.

To be fair, she had wholly intended to die, all noble and peaceful-like. All staring out over the brief armistice on the battlefield and lamenting the guttural woes of immortality. Eyebrows had always quite enjoyed his lamenting. All her lamenting went on behind a smile and a brightened glare – fidgeting hands and bouncing feet. She liked the way she moved now, all limber and sporadic. The youth of it. It felt like old times.

She’d taken off the veil after Trenzalore, but it got boring after a while; the sadness, the age, the self-imposed exile. He made a promise to the next one along, a few rules to hold close to her hearts. Laugh hard. Run fast. Be kind. She plays the part rather well. It’s a different sort of relationship. She didn’t up and snatch some young woman away from her life to see the stars with an intimacy that only comes with that one-on-one, that face to face. It’s different, too, because they all joined her at the same time, none knowing more than the other, all of them from the same time, same place – down to the block. They’re predictable.

Things were light-hearted. Controlled little escapades, low stakes, relatively speaking – but more than enough for a few humans. This is who she had wanted herself to be, wasn’t it? This was the promise.

She’s in control, creating a narrative, sticking to the corners of the universe where nobody knew her title. She’s got rules now, too. Better rules than before. The Doctor lies, of course, but she doesn’t advertise the fact these days. Non-interference is a buzzkill, always will be, but she can appreciate the sentiment. Walking away; she isn’t used to that feeling. Maybe it’s a sign of maturity, or maybe she’s just growing cold. Like this – with her rules and her power – she can almost pretend that she really is just a traveller, can act the benefactor while she watches their wide eyes take in the sights. She can almost pretend that there’s no past reaching out from the end of the universe, gripping her neck, ready to twist her back towards home. Ready to snap.

Their influence is spreading beyond their secluded corner at the end of the universe. Maybe in the beginning they were humble about it, promising to patch over their tyranny and lead a civilisation of malevolent indifference at the end of time. Memories of the war still haunting the global subconscious, weapons locked away, gathering dust. Indifference never lasts forever. Curiosity and hunger prevail, scars whiten to a faded groove – even hers. As her species reaches out, tugging at time, twisting it around her like bonds, it is accompanied with an implacable longing for red fields under an orange sky. For a barn in the desert. She wonders if the grass has grown back yet – if it’s struggled up through the arid, fallow soil. She wonders how many survived the war, how many hate her, and how many idolise her? Which faction holds power now, after Rassilon’s usurpation? Do they call her a monster, a renegade, a prodigal daughter, or do they hold her up as some sort of cosmic hero, some sort of god? She isn’t sure which is worse.

And still, the message hangs in the back of her mind, a psychic backdrop, a drone. (Lord President, your presence is required on homeworld. Comply, or we will be forced to take action. Your weakness is known. It will be exploited. Kind regards). Always polite at least, the aristocracy.

Of course, she’s not going to do what they tell her. She’s been disobeying the wishes of the high council for over two thousand years. She isn’t about to stop now. Running is what she’s good at, and running was part of the promise. Still, she can feel them rifling through her head, sifting through her time like a pool of sand. Searching for something old, something powerful. Something she hasn’t thought about since before the war, when she was starting to get a little too cocky and the universe thought it best to bring her down a peg, or two, or all of them. Whether her negligence is a question of hasn’t or can’t is another matter altogether. There’s something older in her bones, deeper. Something that’s been running for even longer than she has. She doesn’t want them to find it.

The TARDIS lands, rougher than usual. She hopes she hasn’t broken any more chairs. The Doctor takes a moment to catch up with herself, pushing that spiralling message down as deep as it will go (it still hums, always singing). She feels displaced, and their grip is only growing tighter, pulling time up over her eyes like a murky veil. It tastes metallic red in her mouth.

A knock at the door scatters the symbols, impact throbbing in her ears. “Hey Doc!” it’s Graham. She quite likes that nickname, it suits her. Hip and – what was it that Eyebrows had said? – down with the kids. “Gave me a bit of a turn there, I almost dropped m’tea!”

She tries to shake the grogginess from her head and plasters on a smile, hair balled around her face like fuzz. “Tea!” she exclaims, shrill, hurtling out through the TARDIS doors in front of a startled and exasperated looking Graham. “I’d love me some tea, thanks very much Graham.”

“Well alright then, I’ll put the kettle on shall I?” he says with a chuckle. He sets his own half-full mug down on the dining table and calls up the narrow staircase. “Oi Ryan! The Doc’s here, get down or you’ll miss out til next Sat’day.” Picture frames line the walkway. Pictures of Graham and Grace as the Doctor knew her, and older ones. A young, rosy woman with braided hair smiling that same, motherly smile. Portraits of a young boy that must be Ryan, stifled in too-high school shirt collars and gazing off-centre into his own thoughts. “He’s havin’ an afternoon nap,” Graham informs the Doctor with a fond, knowing smirk. “Went out with his mates down the pub last night and came back in a right state. I don’t know how he does it.”

“Oh, to be young,” the Doctor muses, only half in jest. Graham barks a short laugh, because he doesn’t see her, none of them do. She’s just fine with that. Oh, to be young. It makes the running so much easier.

“Yaz should be round in a bit, she had some family lunch, extended and all. Makes me jealous just thinkin’ about that food. Do they’ave Pakistani food in space?”

The Doctor is grateful for the invitation for anecdote. “Oh yeah, plenty of em’! Especially in the 31st century when you lot really start branchin’ out. There’s one in the Taureen System just off the Braken Nebula – excellent Karahi. I’ll take you sometime, shall I?” Fast words, wide grin, teeth bared against that incessant noise thrumming against her skull. She tries not to betray her disquiet. She feels sorry for The Master.

“That sounds great Doc,” a flash of concern. That isn’t good. He must have noticed her expression. “I’ll get that tea on. Make yourself at home.” He bustles out as Ryan traipses down the stairs, one careful foot in front of the other. Climbing down a British suburban staircase with a hangover and dyspraxia is a feat of unimaginable skill, and he almost makes it look easy.

“Mornin’ Ryan,” she calls, plastering on her grin again.

He winces. “Hey, Doctor.”

“Big night?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, blinking rapidly as if the action might jerk him awake. “Long shift at work too. I’m down for an adventure, just no more space warehouses, yeah?”

“Well, guess I’ll have to cancel my plans for our space warehouse extravaganza then.” She rolls her eyes in mock-frustration. “Honestly Ryan, you keep me on my toes.”

The doorbell rings, causing Ryan to wince and hold his head again. “Shall I answer the intruder alert?” she chimes, trying for a joke. It’s an old one, overused maybe, but her head hurts far more than Ryan’s does and the joke-making centre of her brain is seeped in Time Lord threats, viscous as tar.

“That’ll be Yaz,” Ryan mumbles. “I’ll get it.” He wanders along the landing, the Doctor following absently, not really sure what to do with herself. When Ryan opens the door, Yaz’s face is almost covered by the tower of Tupperware balanced precariously in her arms.

“Hey Ryan, Doctor,” she beams. “Could you grab a couple of these, otherwise I’m gonna collapse under a pile of Nani’s cooking.” Ryan obediently scoops the top-most lot of containers from Yaz’s tower. The smell is overpowering, and steam fogs up against the plastic, softening it. The Doctor takes the next lot with a hurried grin at Yaz and carries them to the kitchen. Best not to look at her too long, Yaz is good at noticing faces and what’s going on behind them.

“Oh Yaz, you’re a gem, you are,” Graham exclaims as he waves through the parade of leftovers.

“Well I wasn’t about to leave you out was I?” she says, shunting the sparse contents of the O’Brien/Sinclair fridge to make room for her contribution. “How about we have second lunch when we get back. Just make it a long one, okay Doctor, because I am full to bursting.”

“Ooh, lunch with the fam,” The Doctor cries, a little too loudly to be passed off as mere enthusiasm. The truth is she’s having trouble hearing her own thoughts, let alone her voice. It’s like her head is being pushed underwater, deeper, deeper, to where the light doesn’t shine and the creatures are strange.

There’s a shared sheepish smile from the rest of them. Sometimes all of their faces knit together into one. Predictable. All humans look a little bit the same. She can see their time stretching out in front of them, see where it snaps off abruptly, no confetti. A straight line. A grey line. Their youth hangs about them like something tangible, and there’s so little substance to them that they’re often nothing more than pinpricks in the dark. You have to squint. The other Time Lords don’t see them at all. That simple fact is what scares her the most.

“You all good Doctor? You’re sorta just… starin’,” Ryan says, brows knotted together in concern. The other two wear the same expression. Identical. Pinpricks in the dark.

“Hmm?” she inquires, using the sound to give her more time, processing his words. They take a while to filter through. His voice is like tin; thin, rattling. “Me? Very all good, thanks Ryan. Always good, that’s me.” (Am I a good man?) She buries the question. It has a habit of cropping up at inopportune moments.

“Okay then,” Yaz claps her hands together, dispelling the tension. She’s good at that, but it’s double-edged. Yaz notices everything, and the Doctor knows that later she’ll be taken aside and bombarded with questions from PC Khan. Astute, assertive, hopelessly curious. She prides herself on attracting that sort. “What have you got planned for us today, Doctor?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I think I have some idea.” As far away from the Time Lords as possible. What sort of leisure activities could one take one’s humans to at the beginning of the universe? “It’s a surprise, though,” she blurts, when she realises that she’s been silent for too long. The sound of it is sharp, and it stabs up through the din pressing down on her (Lord President). Involuntarily, her hand rushes to her head, a wince, her feet slide and stumble beneath her as if she’s standing on ice.

“You sure you’re alright Doctor? You sure it weren’t you that drank too much last night?” Ryan smiles, half concern, half content. They have no idea what they’re dealing with. She aims to keep it that way.

“Phew, yeah I am, thanks Ryan,” she wipes her brow with the back of her hand. Mock exhaustion. The sort of exhaustion they understand. The tiredness she’s feeling now doesn’t culminate with a sheen of murky sweat on the brow – it’s deeper. It grips every nerve-end and twists. A knife in the gut, slowly spinning in. “Had a bit of a rough landing. I’ll be right with a cuppa tea in me.” She puts her hands on her hips, steadying herself. “Speakin’ of, wonder how Graham’s getting on.” It’s a forced sort of exit. Obvious. Her head hurts too much for subtlety. She wanders off towards the kitchen, past two humans with mouths open in exclamations of concern and protest held at bay. Pinpricks.

…

“Do you think she’s alright?” Ryan asks, when the Doctor is out of earshot. Alien ears though, maybe she can always hear them. He doesn’t linger on the thought.

“Probably, she did look a bit wobbly. Nothing she can’t handle though, right?” she grins. It’s transparent; for herself as much as for him. “She’s an alien, could have an alien cold or something.”

“Do you reckon humans can catch alien colds?”

“Dunno.”

Small talk is difficult. She had quite enough of it that morning surrounded by her extended family all crammed into their little apartment. It’s always the same questions delivered at varying levels of disdain coated in sweetness. Questions like; have you thought about going to university?, do you have a boyfriend yet?, and then; you’re so beautiful Yasmin, you would have no trouble finding a good man. Her mother had cast the odd look her way, a knowing smile, encouragement in her eyes. Her mother had always been supportive of her, but Yaz wondered whether that was only because she still had a chance of ending up with a man, if the right one came along. She didn’t want to believe that – her mum was great, really – but love could be conditional like that. Needless to say, she was looking forwards to a bit of escapism. She even found herself craving a bit of danger. A chase, a monster, a plot to foil.

Talking to Ryan is different. She’d been surprised at the relative ease with which they slotted back together. Primary school was a minefield, especially for a kid with dyspraxia and a tendency to wander off into his own head. The teachers didn’t understand, they thought he was just careless, and every bump and bruise was met with an exasperated cry of ‘Ryan!’ She helped him out, because even then she was a bit of a teacher’s pet. Even then she was a bit of an outcast. High school came with a promise to keep in touch, but all of a sudden there was a new place in which to be an outcast. New eyes to feel pressing upon her back, gleeful. All of a sudden, Ryan Sinclair was a far-off thing, who probably had better things to do, better friends to see. Now, once again, he’s the only real friend her age she’s got. Life is circular like that.

“So, you were down the pub last night?” Yaz asks. Small talk.

“Yeah, me and a few mates. Nothing big though, had work today.”

“Your ‘nothing big’ and my ‘nothing big’ are totally different things,” she smiles. “Tell me you didn’t end up in the park again.” That was part of the night shift, clearing out drunks from the local park when the residents complained about the noise. It wasn’t the picture of justice she’d been imagining when she’d gone for the job – just people being stupid. They did that a lot, she was coming to realise.

“What were you doin’ last night, then?”

“Sleepin’ like a responsible adult,” she grins.

“You should come out with us sometime Yaz. The gang wouldn’t mind, it’d be a good time. You don’t have to drink or nothin’ if you don’t want,” he adds, at the sight of her reproach. Although she’s sure Ryan wouldn’t press her, she figures his friends might be a little more forceful. One does not simply walk into a bar in Yorkshire and not have a pint or two.

“Thanks for the offer Ryan, I might take you up on that,” she probably won’t. She’s just trying to be polite. “Just don’t expect me to go staggerin’ through the park after and listen to your god-awful rap music.”

“That stuff’s mint, Yaz. You’ll come round to my way of thinkin’ someday.”

She scoffs, “will not.”

“How’s the family then?”

“Oh they’re alright. Didn’t have my phone though, so I couldn’t even escape with that. Sonya did though, for the whole meal.” Another eye roll, a gesture her sister often inspired in her. Even if Sonya does have a boyfriend, Yaz is definitely the family favourite. She quite likes being the favourite. It’s an easy thing to do; she can say the right things, smile the right smiles. It works on teachers, family members, even superior officers to a point. It also works on the Doctor. “I had my phone all charged up, but I got this weird call last night that drained all the battery. Probably some foreign scam or something.” But it wasn’t, she knows it wasn’t. She can still hear the bruised voices in her ears. “But still, it was okay. They’re pushy, but you know how families are.” She presses her lips together, and looks at him apologetically, because she remembers that, of course, Ryan doesn’t know how families are, not really. Not big families, anyway, and not since his mum died.

He must know what she’s thinking because he says “don’t worry ‘bout it. Besides, I think I’m about to. Graham’s tryna get me to go to a Christmas do with his family. I’ve managed to avoid it for the past few years since he married me Nan, but now he really isn’t lettin’ it go.”

“That could be nice, couldn’t it?”

“And have a bunch of stuck-up old white folks I don’t know say how sorry they are about me Nan? Don’t think so.” Silence again. Yaz doesn’t know grief the way Ryan does. She hopes she never has to. Ryan winces, bowing his head against the headache Yaz knows is still plaguing him. “I swear to you, I didn’t even drink that much last night. It hit me proper good though, I totally spaced out in the pub, look,” he points to a spot in the middle of his forehead. It’s hard to see against the darkness of his skin, but definitely there. “I fainted or something and banged my head right into the table. Felt like I got concussed ‘cause I got all spacey for a bit.”

“And you just went on with the night?” she asks, in exasperated incredulity.

“What? Nothing’s wrong with me. I did see some proper weird stuff though. Colours on the TV and this weird grating noise – you ever heard anything like that?”

“You sure no one slipped anything in your drink?” She’s heard horror stories about that sort of thing. Mostly from Sonya and her mates. They’re all underage, but that never stops them. Yaz is convinced her sister continuously breaks the law just to spite her, not even trying to hide it.

“Dunno. Nan would’ve been able to explain it, I’m sure. Plenty of people coming through A&E on a Friday night.” He pauses, just a moment, a memory, a flood of grief. “It was real weird though, not to sound like a total nutter, but I heard a voice and all this static. Somethin’ about –“

“A president.” Yaz finishes, gazing at Ryan, mind kicking into gear, whirring.

“Err… yeah, actually. How’d you know that.”

“That’s what they said on the call.” The more she thinks about it, the more she can feel the presence of it; the memory. There’s a hole where her mind has plastered over the event. It’s thin and, with trembling fingers, she starts to peel the plaster back. “It was this horrible noise, like static, you know?”

“Are you sayin’ we had the same hallucination.”

“Startin’ to think it wasn’t a hallucination, actually.” She pauses for a moment, so does he, both of them trying to pull back the plaster, see what’s behind the wall. No substance, just absence – but the scars left behind paint the picture well enough. An inverted image.

“Coincidence?” he offers, clearly not believing it himself.

“I don’t really believe in those.” After everything she’s seen, she doesn’t think she’ll ever believe in coincidences again.

“You reckon it’s alien?”

She almost wishes it is. She could use a bit of a thrill about now. “Should we ask the Doctor?”

“Wait, you don’t reckon her weirdness has got to do with this weirdness?”

“Like I said, don’t believe in coincidences.” And just as she says it, cementing it, the universe goes and proves her right. The phone rings.

…

The Doctor doesn’t hear the tone. She doesn’t hear much of anything, actually, because her ears are pounding with the sound of time twisting, space warping, cries scraping across it like – what was that human saying? – nails on a chalkboard. It was only going to get worse, she knew that. Even if she rushed to the other end of the universe, it would follow her. Maybe slowly at first, but it would come. It would never, ever stop.

She grasps the edge of the kitchen counter for balance. Good old furniture – nice and sturdy.

“Doc?” (Doc, doc, doc) it echoes out and mixes in with the noise. Someone used to call her that. The sound is something to hold onto.

“Yep, yep I’m here,” she groans, speaking underwater again. He’s not even a pinprick now, just an absence. She claws herself back.

“You sure you’re okay Doc?” he’s holding a tray laden with teacups, and those little things she likes – biscuits.

“Oh good, thanks Graham,” she murmurs, reaching a trembling hand out to the tray. She grabs a handful of biscuits and shoves them into her mouth.

“Woah there, watch the tea!” he cries, “you hungry or something? I’ll fix you something proper.” When she doesn’t answer his face folds into an inquisitive line. His face is all full of lines, it reminds her of Eyebrows. She misses those lines, sometimes. Drawn together, they formed a mask to hide behind, the grooves pressed with vitriol and imposing anger. Sharp, icy eyes. This new face is all smooth, wide dark eyes, nothing to pull back and hide behind. She thinks it’s hard for people to take it seriously; the wonder, the youth, the gold. She’d found that out in Bilehurst Cragg, and in a thousand other little ways. Pity, that change was the largest. Nobody pities angry old men. “Your phone’s ringin’, that’s all. Want to go and get it?” Graham again. She can almost see him now – a speck on the horizon.

“Phone,” she mumbles through the mass of cakey biscuits, “p h o n e,” she tries the sound out in her mouth. The sugar isn’t helping much – her tongue still tastes like blood.

“Err, yeah,” he mutters. “Listen Doc, if you ain’t well we can give it a miss this week. Or, you could rest for a bit and pop back – wonders of time travel and all that,” he laughs, forced, drawn out. He’s expecting an answering chuckle and quip. Something bubbling and bumbling to put his mind at ease. (Your weakness is known. It will be exploited).

“They’re tryin’ to undo me,” she whispers.

“What? Doc please, give me somethin’ to work with here.”

“We should get out of here. We should really, really get out of here.” Urgency keeps her sharp, all gasping words, repeating. Fear is a superpower.

“Oi, what about the tea?” Graham cries after her as she darts from the kitchen, coat flying.

“Forget the tea, Graham!” There are worse things to worry about than tea getting cold.

She leaves him standing in the kitchen, tray still clasped steadily in his arms. He’s poured himself another mug, ever the addict, and four clouds of steam waft up into his face, lines pulled up into an expression of surprise.

…

Yaz can’t help it. She’s always been a little too curious for her own good. (Hello? Hello is anyone there?). The TARDIS phone continues to chime, muffled against the wooden panel. She prises it open before Ryan can utter a noise of reprimand. The sleek black phone rattles, and the ringing is replaced with something else. It grows, warping around the tone. Static. Her stomach drops as a memory stirs. The hole behind the wall is flooded all at once. Sweet bruises, bones grinding, and a song that could almost be beautiful, the frequency just a bit too far from what a human throat could produce. (Lord President).

The lights begin to flicker. A dark shape rushes out from the hallway – the Doctor, bright to shadow by the millisecond as the lights crackle overhead. “What happened?” she asks. Snappy, and – but she couldn’t be – scared.

“I – I didn’t do anything,” Yaz defends, casting a pleading look at Ryan. “I didn’t even answer it, it just –“

“Never mind that,” she interrupts, “we need to go, right now.”

“Doctor,” Ryan says, “what’s goin’ on?”

“I’d like to know that too, actually,” Graham says, tray abandoned, out of breath.

The TV blares on suddenly, curdled colour reaching out in tendrils. The noise follows it, and the patterns on the screen swirl into something that could be mistaken for a face. It hurts to look at.

The Doctor cries out, doubling over and clutching her side. “We need,” she gasps, face contorted with pain, “into the TARDIS, now –“ she groans as Ryan’s phone buzzes in his back pocket. He pulls it out with apprehension. It burns hot, phone case melting at the corners. He drops it in alarm.

Yaz is the first one to act, though it’s difficult to think anything at all, let alone move. Each flash of the lights illuminates the scene, the next frame in a stop motion film. Her feet feel rooted, connected to something deep in the ground. She pulls them out and dashes to the Doctor’s side.

“Hey Doc, what’s that –“ Graham’s voice trails off as he blinks, pressing his eyelids together, furrowing those handy lines of his. “Lord President,” his voice sounds like his own, almost. There are more voices towing it along, some racing ahead, some lagging behind. Layered. “Your presence is required –“ he’s shaking, like his skin can’t keep up with whatever’s raging inside it. Blood trails from his nostril in a clear dark line.

“Graham!” Ryan shouts, rushing over to him and grabbing his shoulders.

“Comply, or we will be forced to take desperate measures –“ It’s coming from everywhere, without, within, propagating from each one of them like a beacon.

“Doctor!” Yaz cries, still supporting her friend as she crumples towards the floor. “We need to get everyone inside!”

“Yaz!” Ryan shouts, “I can feel it, I can –“ his eyes glaze, his arms hang limp. There’s a hint of a smile. “Kind regards.”

The Doctor’s face screws up into a darkened grimace, head pushing up against the tide raining down, veins in her neck bulging. Yaz can see a hint of that old anger, the thing she doesn’t know is there, the lines. She seems to growl it. “Leave them alone!” Again, she doubles over, head hanging. A whimper. “I’ll come, I’ll come, I will,” she pleads. Yaz doesn’t think she’s ever heard so much fear. The Doctor’s voice is dripping with it. “Let them go, I’ll come… I’ll come.”

(Lord President).

“Just SHUT UP!” she screams, protest tearing through her throat.

“Doctor, please, we need to go,” Yaz can’t keep the tremor from her voice. She’s been trained to deal with stressful situations – but this is beyond stress, it feels like she’s decomposing. “We need to go, something’s coming,” because the beat is getting louder and her heart throbs in her throat. The song is rising up like bile into her mouth, filling it with words. The world becomes a haze, and she feels nothing at all.

…

The voice at her shoulder starts up the tune, just another voice, amplifying it. Yaz’s voice. The Doctor’s knees give way to carpet. She grasps the stuff in tufts between her fingers, clawing at it like she claws at reality, at texture. They’re still searching, rifling through her mind for the thing that’s stirring there. The thing she saw in the untempered schism.

“Your weakness is known. It will be exploited,” they chorus, dissonant. They know, of course they know, her pleading promises are empty. She won’t go willingly. She’s always been terrible at being psychic, and truths held so close are hard to disguise. She wonders how long her new friends will last before the signal burns them up.

Trembling fingers grasp at her sonic, feeling the familiar sheen of Sheffield steel, reminding herself of who she is now. Just a traveller. No past, just her and some mates, larkin’ about. Calculations rattle through her head, fighting against the tide of the message, the spirals, the bloodied taste. She’s good in a tight spot.

The Doctor raises her sonic as high as the spasming muscles in her arms will allow and fires it off. A beacon of golden light, a familiar buzz, like honey against the bitterness. It flares out, a brief respite. The lights fizzle out and leave them in darkness, the faint glow of a dying bulb overhead. There’s no time to wonder how many seconds she’s got. The weight pressing down on her, stones in a river, lift so suddenly that she feels as if she could float. Mind clear as a summer sky, no tar. She smiles, something a little wicked. Outsmarted again.

Her friends stagger and she shouts. “Let’s go team, into the TARDIS, right now!” They sway, fraught with confusion. Predictable – but the pinpricks grow to sprawling tapestries behind her eyes. “Now!” she emphasises, grabbing Yaz by the arm and frantically beckoning the other two. Thankfully, they don’t ask questions. She has a feeling they’re about to, and she’s not at all looking forward to it. Just as she half pushes Graham inside the TARDIS doors, she feels the beginnings of the hum again. A nibble at the back of her mind. She doesn’t wait for it to start gnawing. She pushes past her dazed friends and half dives onto the lever, not even bothering to set a destination. Run circles around them, she thinks, you’re good at that. It will follow her, though, a parasite. Burrowing under the skin, something she can’t shake. If she stops, even for a second… Well, one thing at a time. This version likes to live in the moment. That was part of the promise.

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skytroops · 5 years ago

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Title; A Pika-Powered Blast Off! Rating; PG Summary; Abandoned fic. Ash and Skye are having a typical day at Tohjo Ranch when a certain trio of criminals appear to cause trouble.

“How can Misdreavus learn Sucker Punch if they don’t have any hands?” Ash asked the breeder standing next to him. Ash had come to the ranch to see Skye, but he had found his boyfriend in the middle of training a racket of young Misdreavus that Skye had bred for a client. Apparently, Misdreavus could only learn Sucker Punch if it was bred into them, like Volt Tackle. At the moment, Mariah—Mr Hunter’s Nidorina—was showing the Misdreavus how to use the move in question. “Becuz da name is weird,” Skye casually told him, his eyes still on the Pokémon in front of them. “Da actual move is mare eh a. . .” he scrunched up his nose in thought, then he gave Ash a quick, but gentle jab in the side with his elbow. “hittin’ fae oot eh naywhere sort eh ‘hing.” The jab didn’t hurt, but Ash made a show of wincing and rubbing at his side like it did. “Then, why is it even called Sucker Punch if it doesn’t need a punch to work in the first place?” Skye shrugged, and after Mariah punched a large chunk out of a rock, he raised his voice to the racket. “Awright, guys! Try ‘n copy wit Mariah did, den try hittin’ da rocks when yae feel confident enough.” The small group of Ghost types separated. Some of them crowded around Mariah while others went straight to practicing. Ash watched two of them size each other up, then fly at each other, only to end up slamming into each other face first. Ash and Skye went to step forward, but the two Misdreavus quickly shook it off and went straight back to circling each other. Skye shook his head. “Don’t jist ram intae wan anuhduh-! Gather yirselves befur yaes go in tae attack.” From his perch on Ash’s shoulder, Pikachu voiced his support. “Pika pika!” “Mis!” The two youngsters called back. Seeing the Misdreavus being so eager to learn made Ash smile. Whoever ended up as their trainers were going to be lucky to have them. Beside him, Skye scratched at himself underneath the front of his overalls. Ash’s eyebrows knitted together in concern. A few weeks prior, Skye had underwent an important surgery to correct his chest. Ash couldn’t recall the exact type of procedure Skye had gotten done, but he knew that the recovery hadn’t been fun. The last time they had seen each other in person, Skye couldn’t lift his arms over his head or even pick Pika up. That was when he had just gotten out of hospital. He said he was feeling better a few days ago on the videophone, but it shouldn’t hurt to ask if he’s okay. “How’ve you been holdin’ up?” Ash asked. Skye’s hand quickly went back to his side and sighed. “Ah’m awright. Jist itchy.” “Still can’t do much?” Skye sighed again, deeper this time. “Ah hivnae been able tae dae much eh anythin’ since da surgery. Ah cannae train da Pokémon da way Ah want tae. It’s bloody killin’ me.” Ash couldn’t imagine how frustrating it must be, not being able to move properly without being worried about hurting yourself. He just knew that, if he had to go through something like that, he would’ve lost his mind weeks ago. “It’ll get better,” Ash reminded him, offering him a smile. “just you wait.” “Aye, Ah know. It’s no like Ah’ve hid tae deal wae worse ‘hings before.” Skye’s right hand flexed, and his face creased slightly. “Bit, it’s been so borin’ jist sittin’ aboot no bein’ able tae dae anythin’. At least when ma haunds goat bug-” A loud, shrill wailing cut the brunet off. The both of them turned their attention to the racket, spotting a Misdreavus seated on the grass, crying. Two of their siblings floated above them, sharing concerned glances. Together, Ash and Skye ran over to investigate. The breeder was quick to bend down and scoop up the crying Pokémon into his arms. “Hey, hey,” he said softly, brushing calloused fingers through the Misdreavus’ wispy hair. The Ghost type buried their face into his chest to cry, but it wasn’t long until their cries dissolved into choked whimpers.. “Der yae go, yir awright.” Ash looked to their siblings. “What happened?” “Mis misdreavus! Misdre!” The two started chattering, their voices high-pitched. After listening for a bit, Skye nodded in understanding. “Are they okay?” Ash asked, kneeling down. “Pi pika?” Pikachu leaned forward to get a better look at the weepy Ghost type in Skye’s arms. “He’s frustrated dat he cannae git da move right.” Skye told him before going back to cooing at the upset Ghost type. “Yae only jist started. Yae’ll git it eventually.” Ash watched the young Pokémon lift his face away from the breeder’s chest to look up at him with large, wet eyes. “Misdre. . .” he moaned. “Everyone messes up sometimes, especially when you’ve just started.” Ash said to the Screech Pokémon, in hopes of comforting the little guy. “I mess up all the time. Don’t I, Pikachu?” Pikachu nodded a little too enthusiastically. The Misdreavus turned his watery eyes to the trainer. “Mis?” “My point is, messin’ up is a part of life.” Ash said sagely. “If you mess up—so what! Just get back up and try again, and keep tryin’ until you finally get it!” As he grinned down at Misdreavus, he thought that he saw Skye’s eyes darken. But when he glanced up to check, Skye had blinked and started speaking again. “Ash is right. If yae don’t keep tryin’, yae won’t learn fae yir mistakes. Noo, come oon.” Skye carefully got to his feet, letting Misdreavus hesitantly leave his arms. “Let’s try again.” Misdreavus looked at him with a skeptical look in his eyes. “Misdreavus mis. . .” “You can do it!” Ash urged excitedly, jumping to his feet. “Just concentrate, rush in, and-” he raised his fists and punched the air. “Pow!” “Pika!” Pikachu mirrored his trainer, his tiny fists moving in quick succession. Misdreavus didn’t look too convinced. Okay, if that doesn’t work. . . Ash turned to look for Mariah, only to see her supervising Misdreavus’ other siblings as they practiced. Okay, maybe not Mariah. He thought about who could help them until one Pokémon in particular came to mind. He snapped his fingers before looking to Skye. “I’ve got an idea!” He retrieved one of the Pokéballs from his belt, and lifted it up for his boyfriend to see. As much as he wanted to help, he didn’t want to step on Skye’s toes and start doing his job for him. At least, not without asking first. Once Skye gave him an approving nod, Ash threw the ball into the air and in a flash of white, Hawlucha appeared. Skye gave Ash a somewhat confused look before giving the muscular Flying type a small wave. He got a short ‘haw’ in acknowledgement. “Hey, Hawlucha. We’ve got a little someone in need of your help.” Ash told his Pokémon, gesturing to the flustered Misdreavus. “See, he’s havin’ trouble learning Sucker Punch, and I thought you’d be able to help out.” “Why Hawlucha?” Skye asked with a raised eyebrow. “He cannae learn Sucker Punch.” “Yeah, but Hawlucha just learned X-Scissor, so I thought he’d be a good teacher.” Ash explained. That, and Hawlucha loves to show off. “Oh aye, yae telt me oon da phone a couple days ago.” Skye nodded. “Dat’s becuz yir aboot tae take oon da Fairy type gym, right?” “Yeah,” Ash answered as he turned back to Hawlucha. “so, what do you say? Think you can help?” “Hawlu!” The Wrestling Pokémon spread his wings, flaring his feathers. “Great!” Ash straightened up, looking to the trio of Misdreavus siblings. “Guys, this is Hawlucha. He might not look it, but he had trouble learnin’ a new move too.” When the three youngster’s eyes widened in disbelief, he went on. “He was learnin’ to use a move called ‘X-Scissor’, and he couldn’t get the positionin’ quite right, so he kept fallin’ short. But! He kept tryin’ and tryin’ like I said you guys should do, and then-” Ash suddenly pointed towards one of the rock targets that had been laid out. “Hawlucha, use X-Scissor on that rock!” “Haw!” Hawlucha raced forward, crossing his muscular wings in front of him. White-pink energy took the form of a ‘x’ across his wings, and he slammed into the rock. Pieces of rock and dust flew everywhere, and when the dust cleared, Hawlucha stood proudly over the rubble. “Mis mis!!” Misdreavus’ two sisters cheered, zipping over to Hawlucha to marvel over the Fighting type. Their struggling brother stayed put, but he had an amazed look on his face. “You wanna be able to do that, right?” Ash asked Misdreavus gently as Pikachu hopped off his shoulder. Misdreavus paused, then gave the trainer a small nod. “Then, let’s do it!” And with that, Ash ran over to the closest rock target and punched it with wild abandon. Pain shot up his arms, but he beared through it. [...] [...] In the skies above Route 27, a familiar Meowth hot-air balloon lazily flew westward. In it’s basket, Team Rocket were doing the usual—looking for Pikachu. “Uoh,” James hung his head as he looked over his side of the basket. “why did we have to come all this way, Jessie? I wish we just stayed back in Kalos with the other twerps.” “Quit your whining, James!” Jessie past after putting down the set of high-power binoculars she had been peering through. “We need to keep a constant vigil on Pikachu so we can strike as soon as the twerp’s guard is down! Besides, wasn’t this your idea?!” “How about da two eh ya shut yer traps ‘n keep lookin’ fur Pikachu!” Meowth hissed, his ears turned back in irritation. The three stared at each other for a long moment before they all sighed and went back to looking through their binoculars. Sometime during the twerp’s travels through Sinnoh, he had started a disappearing act. He would disappear, then reappear a day or so later to continue on his twerpish way. The trio of thieves had no idea why he started doing it, but whenever he did leave, they kept close to his group of twerps to wait for his return. When the twerp suddenly left for Lumiose Airport the day before, they finally decided to follow him. They had gotten onto the same Kanto-bound plane and stalked him through Saffron City to the train station. Much to the trio’s surprise, they found that the twerp wasn’t heading for Pallet Town like they had assumed. Instead, he got onto a train bound for the south-west coast, towards the Johto border. Despite their burning curiosity, the trio had fallen asleep on the train and in doing so, lost the twerp. Thankfully, they were excellent trackers, honed by nearly a decade of chasing Pikachu and his twerp, so it wasn’t long until they spotted their target. “Pikachu and the twerp at 10 o'clock!” Jessie shouted, bringing James and Meowth to her side of the basket. Using their binoculars, the three leered down at the large expanse of field below them. Sure enough, there was the twerp and Pikachu–walking alongside a boy in dirty overalls. They seemed to be talking to one another. “Who’s that?” James asked with a raised brow. “Who cares.” Meowth huffed. “A twoip’s a twoip. We found Pikachu and dat’s all dat matters.” “I suppose. We should start thinkin’ about a scheme then.” James looked at the magenta-haired women beside him. “You got any ideas, Jess?” Jessie didn’t answer him. She was too busy staring out towards the fields they were hovering over. “Jessie?” “…there’s so many cute Pokémon down there.” She said slowly as if in disbelief. “Look at 'em all!” Looking away from Pikachu, James and Meowth saw an absolute smorgasbord. Pokémon all of shapes, sizes, and types were out in the open, practically begging to be snatched up and given to the boss. They had been so focused on looking for Pikachu, they hadn’t noticed where they had ended up. “We must be over a ranch.” James said. “But, shouldn’t we focus on Pikachu first?” “Pikachu 'n da twoip can’t help themselves when dey hear a Pokémon in trouble.” Meowth mewled with a smirk. “If we go down der and start doin’ our thievin’–dey’ll come runnin’! Roight into our paws!” The two Rockets looked at each other before grinning maniacally in unison. “Let’s do it!” Flash. “Wobbuffet!!” === “So, what’s next on the chore list?” Ash asked, turning to look at Skye as they walked together. They had wrapped up the Misdreavus’ training and were now heading to “Uh,” Skye scrunched up his nose in thought. “Ah’ve goat tae check oon dhose Sunkern eggs. Dey wir pretty active dis mornin’. Ah dunno if dey’re gonnae sprout daday, bit it doesnae hurt tae check.” “Sunkern seedlings? Cool!” Ash said excitedly. “That’s a new one for my ‘Pokémon I get to see hatch’ list I’ve got going.” “Yae’ve goat a list? Really?” Skye threw him a wry look. “Well, yae’ve goat a lot tae catch up oon if yae wanna hiv a list as big as mine.” “Like I’d be able to do that!” Ash playfully shoved him, making Skye snort. “I’d have an easier time trying to catch a Dunsparce-!” Pikachu rolled his eyes as he trotted alongside his trainer with Hawlucha. Skye wheezed out a laugh. Ash smiled at him, his face turning hot. He liked making Skye laugh, even if it meant poking fun at himself sometimes. His ego could take a hit for a good cause. “Ah’m sure yae’ll git dat Dunsparce wan eh dhese days, man.” Skye told him before bringing a hand up to his chin in thought. “Actually. . .ah ‘hink we might hiv a Dunsparce up fur adoption.” “Really?” Ash raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “Maybe I can-” The end of Ash’s sentence was cut off by a loud, heavy boom that vibrated through his chest and made the ground shake. Ash stumbled, then quickly turned to Skye. “What was that?” “A-ah dunno,” Skye said shakily. “Dat didnae feel like somewan trainin’.” Over the nearest hill, several Pokémon had started to run over it. Surprised, Ash watched them run past, then felt his stomach drop as he saw the frantic look on their faces. “Skye-” “Some’um’s wrang.” The breeder breathed. Then, with a shockingly determined stride, ran towards whatever was over the hill, even jumping over a trio of Nidoran that got in the way of his feet. Ash, Pikachu, and Hawlucha followed behind, coming to a stop on top of the hill. Ash’s breath caught in his throat at what he saw. In the distance, there was an oval-shaped robot wreaking havoc upon the ranch, chasing and snatching up the ranch’s Pokémon. The sight was far too familiar. Team Rocket! Seeing the thieves made his feet act on their own. He ran down the hill, more than ready to send them blasting off with a good old Thunderbolt—only to be pushed and sent rolling into a nearby bush instead. After shaking off the sudden impact with the ground, Ash sat up to see Skye on his knees beside him. “Did you just push me?! Skye, it’s Team Rocket! We gotta-” He nearly bit his tongue when Skye’s face was suddenly an inch from his. “Dae yae want tae git yirself kilt?! Dat ‘hing is huge!” Ash pushed Skye back so he could speak to him properly. “It’s nothing we can’t handle.” He said confidently. Pikachu and Hawlucha, once behind the bush also, made their agreement known. “Nothin’ yees cannae-” Skye made a frustrated squawk, shaking his head. “Ash, naw! Yae cannae jist run intae danger like dat!” “You were just about to do the same thing!” Ash retorted, pointedly eyeing the hill behind them. “Just a second ago, you were leading the charge.” Skye gritted his teeth. “Ah didnae ‘hink dat wiz wit we wir gonnae be up against! Ah thought it wiz a thief ‘r somethin’! Ah’ve dealt wae people like dat before, bit nothin’ like dis!” “Well, the people in that robot are thieves!” Ash barked. “They’re Team Rocket! Yanno, the bad guys who follow me and Pikachu around all the time?” “‘N how dae yae know dat’s Team Rocket?” Skye asked through his teeth. Annoyed, Ash threw his hands up. “Giant robots are their thing! They do this all the time!” His annoyance hadn’t been lost on Skye, because he scrunched up his face and raised his voice. “Well, den! If dis is normal, yae must hiv a plan right?!” “I do have a plan.” Ash told him as he pushed some bush away so he could see what Team Rocket were doing. His chest tightened as he saw a Nidoran be scooped up and thrown into the ever-filling net on the robot’s back. “Like wit? Run up ‘n attack ‘em? Don’t be stupit, dude!” Skye spat, his tone shifting into a mix of anger and fear. “Ah mean a proper plan!” “Well, do you have any ideas?” Ash asked, voice strained. Skye didn’t answer him. He had turned his attention to the crime-in-progress, his green eyes filled with horror. His whole body had begun to shake when he whipped his head around to look at Ash again. “Ash, w-wit if dey git tae da egg hooses?! Dey might take da babies! ‘R-r worse!!” He shrieked, clutching his head in his hands. Ash shuddered at the thought. He put a hand on his boyfriend’s shaking shoulder. “That won’t happen. Team Rocket are bad guys, but they won’t do that. We won’t let it.” “Pikachu pika!” Pikachu added, his cheeks sparking. “Hawlu!” Hawlucha puffed out his chest. Ash managed to smile reassuringly. “See?” The brunet continued to shake violently as he looked at Pikachu and Hawlucha, then back at Ash. He was doing his best to keep himself together, but his eyes were beginning to well up in panic. Ash wanted to comfort him, but he knew they didn’t have time. He wished Pika was with them; she could’ve helped keep Skye from being consumed by fear. He squeezed Skye’s shoulder. “You don’t need to come with me. You can stay here and hide or you can help the rest of the Pokémon get away.” That seemed to bring Skye to his senses, because his nose scrunched up and he almost looked insulted by the first suggestion. “Ah cannae dae dat-!” Despite his shivering, his voice had become steady. “Ah cannae jist abandon everywan becuz ah’m scared! Aw eh da Pokémon here depend oon me tae look ether dem! How cin ah call masel’ a breeder if ah jist ran away when dey needed me tae protect dem? Ah widnae be able tae furgive masel’!” Ash was taken aback by Skye’s sudden resolve, but he couldn’t help the flutter in his chest. He was still shaking, but his eyes were serious. Even though he was scared, he wanted to do something to help. That was something Ash admired. Even with all their differences, Ash and Skye shared this one thing. Their love for Pokémon. Ash grinned, giving Skye’s shoulder a firm slap. “Now, that’s more like it!” “B-bit, wit ir we gonnae be able tae dae against dat?” Skye spluttered after recoiling. “It’s a giant robot-!” “So? That robot hasn’t got nothing on what we can do.” Ash patted Pikachu on the head. “We can do this. Trust me.” Skye stared at him for a long moment, then took his hands away from his head. “. . .ah need tae ‘hink.” Ash blinked. “About what?” “Aboot a plan.” Skye squeezed his eyes shut. “We’re no goin’ against dat ‘hing waeoot a plan ‘r some’um. Yae’ve talked aboot Team Rocket befur, so ah’m tryin’ tae remember wit yae’ve telt me.” He opened his eyes. “Dey. . .attack wae der Pokémon, daen’t dey?” Ash nodded. “Usually, yeah.” “Wit kind eh Pokémon dae dey hiv?” “Aside from Meowth, there’s Inkay, Pumpkaboo, and Wobbuffet.” Ash answered, turning to look back at the ongoing thieving. “Meowth and Wobbuffet don’t tend to battle though.” “‘N wit aboot dat robot? Yae sayd dis wiz der ‘hing a second ago.” “It is. At least this one doesn’t look as bad as the mind control one they had a few days ago. . .” “Da. Wit.” Skye drawled slowly. “We don’t have time to chat about this sort of thing!” Ash hissed, gesturing to Team Rocket snatching up another Pokémon. “We need that plan, Skye!” The two sat awkwardly as Skye went back to brainstorming. Ash’s entire body was buzzing. He wanted to rush over and save the Pokémon, but he forced himself to stay put while Skye came up with something. Pikachu had started to knead his paws into the grass impatiently and Hawlucha had snapped off a branch from the bush after hearing a Houndour pup howl in terror. “D-dat robot.” Skye gulped. “Yae ‘hink it’s resistant tae electricity?” “Uhh, I dunno.” Ash shook his head. “I can’t tell from here, but Team Rocket aren’t too consistent about making their robots shock-proof.” “Huh. Den, we’ve jist got tae hope dey didnae dis time.” “You got something?” “Ah ‘hink so.” Skye said, turning his body to scan the rolling fields and hills around them. “Ah’m gonnae need Pikachu.” Pikachu? Ash almost asked why, but he didn’t want to waste any more time, so he nodded instead. “Alright. Pikachu, go with Skye.” “Pika!” Pikachu affirmed, looking a little too happy to finally be able to do something. “What about us?” Ash asked as Hawlucha rustled his feathers. Skye moved to get up, his jaw tightening. “C-cin yae keep dem occupied?” He sounded unsure about his own question. “We can do that.” Ash grinned again. “What are you guys going to do?” Before Skye could reply, an explosion rang out and shook the ground. The both of them snapped their heads towards the sound, seeing a plume of smoke. “A-ah’ve kept us too long.” Skye’s voice trembled. “We need tae go-!” Skye was standing and ready to run off when Ash scrambled to his own feet. “But, what are you going to do?” “A ‘hing!” Skye squeaked breathlessly. And then, he was off, running in the opposite direction of the mech with Pikachu following behind him. Ash watched him go, then turned on his heel to head the other way, towards trouble. “Let’s go, Hawlucha!” “Haw!” === “Come on now. Be good little Pokémon and get into our net!” Jessie demanded as she looked down at their targets. Team Rocket have had a blast, so to speak. They had been picking Pokémon like daisies, and were having a lot of fun doing it. Their net was already nearly full, but it wouldn’t hurt to get even more. Team Rocket was always open to welcome more and more members, even if they were reluctant. They had chased and cornered a group of young Pokémon into a deep sand pit with steep walls. Some had tried to scramble up the incline, but ended up sliding back into the basin. Others had just started to cry. The only thing in Team Rocket’s way from snatching them up was a Sandslash, who stood defiantly between them and the Pokémon. Her quills were bristling and she was hissing hatefully up at the evil trio. She had rudely attacked their mech when they tried stealing the youngsters. Thankfully, Pumpkaboo was there to defend their robot’s rather fragile shell by interjecting the Sandslash’s Gyro Ball with Seed Bomb. “Are you going to stop resisting now? It’s getting rather tiring.” James asked, annoyed. The Sandslash spat at him. “Hmph, no need to be so rude, missy.” Wobbuffet, who had been sitting quietly beside Jessie, saulted. “Wobba wob!” “Yeah, it’s not like yous got a choice!” Meowth mewled, pulling a lever to bring one of the mech’s arms up. “We’re gonna take every single one of yus!” With a push of a button, the arm shot out to grab of the Pokémon. . .only to be smashed into pieces by a green cannonball. The three stared dumbly at the destroyed hand, then started shrieking. In unison, they snapped their attention to what had got in the way of their evil deeds. A Hawlucha landed in front of them and uncrossed his arms, their green X-shaped glow fading away. “Good job, Hawlucha!” A voice called. They turned towards the voice, spotting a familiar face standing on the edge of the incline. The twerp! === Ash stood at the rim of the basin, looking down at the scene he had been kept away from. Team Rocket’s robot was a large thing with pale, green-speckled egg shell armor and two sets of arms; one set with claw grabber hands and another set were like hoover nozzles. On the back, a large net was attached. The top was cracked open, with Team Rocket sitting inside it. Ash never understood why their boss would allow them to create such bad pieces of machinery, especially when they never did their job right. Why couldn’t they make good robots, like Clemont? With their egg-robot, Team Rocket had captured several Pokémon, judging by how full their net was, and they had cornered more. He looked at them, and felt sick to his stomach. The Pokémon that Team Rocket had cornered were all babies, too young to fend for themselves and much too young to fight back against them. Did they have any dignity? Stealing Pokémon was a terrible thing to do, but there was something so wrong about putting baby Pokémon into this situation. He had to bite back his anger. If he was angry, he would only get caught up in his own emotions to actually help those Pokémon in need. Though, that gave him an idea. Team Rocket weren’t as devious when angered. “Hey, Team Rocket!” Ash shouted, before sliding down the incline and rushing over to stand by Hawlucha and the Sandslash. “You looking for me?” James was first to talk. He let out a long sigh. “Thanks for the damages, twerp.” “Where’s our Pikachu?” Jessie hissed, her voice as venomous as an Arbok’s bite. “No idea.” Ash said, shrugging. “Don’t be a wise guy!” Meowth hissed. “We saw yus with Pikachu before we started stealin’!” “No, really. I have no idea where Pikachu is.” Ash threw back. “Even if I did know where he was, I wouldn’t tell you guys!” The Sandslash stepped forward, turning to Hawlucha and chittered a question. Hawlucha nodded, glancing back at the trembling group of youngsters behind them. Ash recognised the Sandslash. Her name was Sandy and she belonged to Skye’s father, Lyle. Ash turned to the frightened Pokémon. “You guys need to get out of here. Me and Hawlucha will cover you!” Over a dozen sets of eyes stared at him, unsure and terrified. Hawlucha pointed a claw to the left side of the egg-robot, towards the cover of nearby shrubbery. “Hawlu haw!” “Sand!” Sandy started to feverishly dig into the sand. “Hey, don’t run away!” James whined loudly. “We just want you to get into our net!” Sandy quickly managed to make a sizable hole, enough for several of the group to jump into. She hopped out and shoved a small Ratatta into the hole with her snout. “Slash sa!” She called to the others. Some of them followed the Ratatta, while others were reluctant to budge. “Pumpkaboo!” Ash turned around just as the Ghost-type floated into position. “Stop them from getting away!” “X-Scissor, Hawlucha!” The Wrestling Pokémon launched himself towards Pumpkaboo, his crossed arms turning bright green. Pumpkaboo managed to fire off a Shadow Ball just as Hawlucha got close enough, sending him flying backwards. Hawlucha backflipped, landing on his feet and posing triumphantly, like a gymnast sticking a landing. “Leave them alone, Team Rocket!” Ash yelled. “They’re only babies!” “So?” Jessie put her hands on her hips. “So? So?!” Ash scowled up at the magenta-haired woman. “You’re trying to take them away from their home- their families!” “They were going to leave someday, weren’t they?” Jessie said sharply. “We’re only speeding up the process! And frankly, I’m insulted, twerp. We’ll give them a better family- with us!” “Who’d wanna be a part of your family?” Ash grimaced. The trio gasped dramatically. “Oh, that does it!” James yelped, fumbling with a Pokéball before throwing it. Inkay appeared in a flash of white light. Meowth raised the mech’s twin hose arms, pointing them directly at Ash and Hawlucha. The trainer tensed as he reached for Goodra’s Pokéball. “Thundabolt!” A heavily accented voice rang out and two bolts of lightning struck the hoose heads, destroying them beyond repair. “Wah! Again?!” Meowth yowled, slamming his paws against the robot’s control console. Ash looked up to see where the bolts had come from. On the basin’s rim stood Skye, Pikachu, and Pika. Skye was panting and flushed in the face. The two Pikachu’s cheeks sparked aggressively. Ash couldn’t help smirking at their arrival. “Oh, come on!” James groaned loudly, slapping a hand to his forehead. “We don’t get insurance for this kind of robot. . .” “I was wondering where you guys went!” Ash shouted as the breeder awkwardly slid down the slope with their Pikachu. The two Electric-types hopped in front of their trainers, flanking Hawlucha on both sides. “A-ah’ve goat da plan set up.” Skye said as he trotted up to stand beside his boyfriend, his voice wavering with adrenaline. “Ugh, not another one to deal with.” Jessie pinched the space between her eyes. “But, look!” James pointed excitedly. “He’s brought another Pikachu!” Jessie huffed, crossing her arms. “What? That old slipper?” “WIT?!” Skye barked loudly, so loudly that Ash nearly jumped back in surprise. Pika glanced over her shoulder at her trainer, looking worried. (ending cliffnotes) It begins to rain as James brings out Inkay, and the four of them have a double battle. Ash is beside himself about battling alongside Skye. The battle goes as follows; Pumpkaboo uses Seed Bomb. Pika uses Dig, and hides from the Seed Bomb with Pikachu. Pikachu jumps out to hit Pumpkaboo with Iron Tail. Inkay uses Foul Play, hitting Pikachu. Pikachu is thrown back, and Inkay goes into the dig hole to attack Pika. Pika uses Return, pushing Inkay out of the hole. Pumpkaboo uses Shadow Ball, hitting Pika. During the battle, the rain continues. The TRio taunt Ash and Skye, but as they take a step forward, the ground under the mech's foot collapses. The mech is unable to move. Jin and Tei appear out of the ground, having dug tunnels under the mech as they battled. The clouds rumble and several Pichu, Pikachu, and Raichu make themselves known. They have surrounded the mech. Team Rocket are taken aback, but Ash uses this moment to save the Pokémon in the mech's net with Hawlucha's X-Scissor. Team Rocket attemtpt to stop them, but all of the 'chus begin to spark including Pika and Pikachu. Skye had used Salem's Rain Dance to set up a Thunder that cannot miss. Hell rains down upon Team Rocket with the power of 20+ electric rats. Team Rocket are sent blasting off. Ash and Skye check the stolen Pokémon for injuries and when they see everyone are unharmed, Skye almost faints from adrenaline and relief. Aaand that's it!

#sparky's fanfic woes;#the ghey ass boyfriends;

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