these crooked little things

by MashpotatoeQueen

Summary:

Ash thinks it’s weird that, at sixteen, he no longer fits in Brock’s couch.

 

Ash is aromantic and asexual. He also really loves his friends,

(A series of one-shots)

Notes:

• For chasingsunnydays.

this is all just Ash being so very aroace because comfort character vibes, man, and Ash has those Vibes.

For WellIWannaDie, cause they keep leaving me absolutely gorgeous comments that make my heart ridiculously happy. Hope you enjoy. <3

I do not give my consent for my work to be fed I to any AI. Thank you.

Chapter 1: Brock

Ash thinks it’s weird that, at sixteen, he no longer fits in Brock’s couch.

There was never ever any real growth spurt. Just Ash, catching inches little by little, trying to grow more into himself, into the world. He’s not tall by any means, but he’s matured enough that people stop automatically assuming he’s some wide-eyed kid who’s never engaged in a serious pokemon battle in his life.

It’s nice, even if it means being lanky and unwieldy. Even if he had to awkwardly look up how to shave, Pikachu laughing at him in the reflection of the pokecenter’s bathroom mirror. Even if it feels like every single pair of shoes he gets only lasts a month or so at most.

Even if it means he no longer fits perfectly in Brock’s second hand couch.

But there's also something oddly satisfying about having to cram his toes into the cushions, the longer limbs unable to lay flat across the lumpy expanse the way that they used too. Now his knees crook upwards, Pikachu cradled between his thighs and his chest, a little ball of warmth. 

"Chu…"

The petulant frown his best friend gives him is undeserved: Ash has paused in giving him scritches for literally only a second. With a roll of his eyes, he begins the soft motions again. "Sorry buddy," he says, sarcastically, and receives a tail to the face for his efforts.

"Brat." 

Pikachu just hums in response.

If he tilts his head just right, leaning over the arm, he can see Brock shuffling around in the tiny apartment kitchen. The stretch of his neck pops something in his jaw, loudly, and Brock startles upwards, glancing at him.

Ash offers him a grin. Brock rolls his eyes and goes back to cooking, juggling spices between dark palms. 

It’s quiet, here, in his friend’s little apartment with its piled textbooks and collected knicknacks, picture frames on the wall. It always smells of good food, this place, whenever Ash stops by to visit. It smells a little bit like home. Brock has been talking recently about moving out to live with his girlfriend, and a part of Ash will be sad to see it go.

It was a constant. There aren’t a lot of those in his life, these days.

“Pikapi,” Pikachu murmurs, nudging under his chin, and he realizes he’s been staring into the middle distance for a while now, that Brock has been saying something, words spooling out from the kitchen unheard.

He winces.

“Sorry,” he calls, “What was that?”

Brock pokes his head out the doorway, his eyes scanning him over like he can see right through him. Maybe he can. Maybe he sees that Ash hasn’t been sleeping, that there’s a bruise on his collarbone from that tumble off a cliff, that he died, again, and he’s still trying to relearn how to breathe.

“I was just telling you food was ready, if you wanted to come serve yourself. But I think maybe you can just stay there, and I’ll bring it to you, alright?”

Embarrassment flashes through him, and he makes to stand. “No, no- Brock, it’s fine, just let me-”

He gets waved off, and before he can protest further Brock has already come out with two steaming bowls full of stew. Ash balances his portion carefully on his knees, and Pikachu scrambles around under his arms and over his shoulders to balance on his head, leaning precariously forwards to breathe in the steam.

It’s quiet, for a minute, clinking spoons and the humming of the lamps. Pressing against soft cushions and swallowing the nostalgic tastes of his home on the road, Ash tries to take this moment and plant it in his chest, to keep time still. 

 But the world keeps spinning. He wonders, if he could hold the entire earth, if it would be as warm as the cheery little dish in his hands. 

He breathes.

“So,” Brock says, and he smiles small when Ash glances up at him. “What did you want to talk about?”

Shrugging, he shoves another mouthful of food into his mouth to avoid answering. Partly because he doesn’t know. Mostly because he doesn’t know how to say what little he does know.  Words never come out right. The only talking Ash has ever really gotten good at is the language of battle, and even then he messes up sometimes.

This is him working his way through an aftermath. He knows that. He remembers the mountains, that freezing biting cold, the man monologuing about how everything he was doing was for true love, the legendary at his feet screaming.  

Ash remembers standing there, feeling sixteen, feeling a million years old, feeling stupid and feeling pissed off and aching with cold. The legendary had almost brought down the mountain with its rage once it was released, and it had been everything Ash could do to calm it down.

He remembers dying. He remembers gasping back to life with Pikachu’s frozen tears in the collar of his coat.

Brock is staring at him, waiting for an answer, and Ash has none to give him. The cushions are warm against his back and he’s just breathing, breathing, because he’s still here. Because Pikachu is curling up carefully on his shoulder- a warm, secure weight. Because he doesn’t know why standing on that mountain top made him feel so wrong inside, like something was just a little broken, just a little off.

This is where Ash goes when nothing makes sense. Brock has a way of saying stuff that de-confuses everything. That makes Ash feel a little less like an idiot.

“I don’t want to date anyone.” He starts, and stops. The words fumble awkwardly in his mouth. “Like, ever.”

There’s a nod from across the way, Brock’s eyes slightly confused but open, accepting. This hadn’t been what he expected to come out of Ash’s mouth, but it hadn’t been what Ash had expected either.

“And I don’t wanna marry or anything either.”

Another slow nod. Pikachu runs his claws through his hair, little soothing tugs. This shouldn’t feel as embarrassing as it does. Still, he makes himself press onwards. “But you really love your girlfriend, right? You look at her and you like kaboom- wow, I love you.”

“Yes? …. Ash, where are you going with this?”

Good question, he thinks, and tilts his head to look at Pikachu, who looks right back at him. The air comes stale into his throat, and for a second Ash could swear that there was a cold tinge to it, something frozen and dying.

He breathes again. Spices and steam. Pikachu’s fur tickling his nose.

This is an aftermath. This is just fine.

“It’s just, you also love me, too, right? What we have is important, too, even though it isn’t. Romantic. Even though it’s not true love, or whatever. It’s still real.” The words come out too quiet, stumbling, and Ash swallows around them and then smiles, because it seems kind of silly to cry about something like this. 

Brock is looking at him, looking, and once or twice he glances at Pikachu, too. The older boy always had been the best at translating for his best friend, outside of Ash, and usually he’d appreciate it but right now that stare is just a little too close, a little too concerned, and it makes something tight curl up in his throat.

A bubble of laughter escapes, and he relaxes his shoulders with it. Places his empty bowl on the floor and readjusts Pikachu so his buddy is once again in his lap. Breathes and shrugs and moves on, tries to just move on.

The man on the mountain almost destroyed a legendary for some twisted true love, and Ash doesn’t want that. Not ever. 

But there had been a woman on the mountain, too, with long brown hair and fire in her eyes. She had been trying to save her boyfriend, and had followed him to do it. After coming back down she had thrown herself onto him and they hadn’t let go of each other for hours, and Ash hadn’t wanted that either.

And he’s fine with that. It’s just. 

This is supposed to be the happy ending, right? Loving someone like that. He didn’t have the attention span for them, usually, but his mom loved to watch movies and he’s had a lot of friends over the years who loved to gush about romance. It’s enough to know how these things are supposed to work, at least. Vaguely.

And Ash doesn’t love anyone like that, never will, doesn’t want to, and he wonders where that leaves him.

He probably wouldn’t care, really. It doesn’t matter. As long as people are happy Ash is usually pretty happy too.

It’s just-

It’s just that he keeps dying, and he’d like it to matter to people outside of Pikachu, his pokemon, and his mom if it sticks. To really matter. Ash wants people to know that he has been here, walked this green earth and loved it. Fought battles and won. 

Cushions. Spices. Brock’s warm gaze and Pikachu’s rough tongue. He’s zoned out again, laughter faded to nothing, and the shame of it cuts him to the quick. 

The panic never lasts very long. This is an aftermath, and soon enough there will be an after-aftermath, and Ash and Pikachu will be fine. It’s routine, by now, these shakes that come and fade after death, after gasping back to life. He’s pretty good at dealing, by now.

He shouldn’t have bothered Brock with this. He shouldn’t have come here. Next time, he’ll be stronger.

But for now-

“Sorry,” he says, and offers a quick, fleeting grin. “I don’t know what I’m talking about. Anyways, what’s up with you? How’s school?”

But Brock is getting up now, coming to crouch in front of his too small couch. He’s looking at Ash like he’s a puzzle, and maybe that should make him feel wary but this is Brock. Brock is safe.

“Ash,” his old friend says, voice calm, voice steady, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but if it was somehow a choice between you and her, you’d be top pick, every time.”

He blinks. Blinks. Brock’s smile is small and a little sad, like he can’t quite believe that Ash doesn’t know this. Sometimes he really is thickheaded. “We’ve got history, man. I mean, I love her. Felicity is amazing and I’m so lucky to have her in my life, but you’re basically my brother and that means you come first. Got it?”

Oh.

Okay.

He nods, and he’s still holding back stupid, stupid tears. Pikachu is looking at him like, you big dummy, of course Brock loves you, and Ash is going to have to buy his silence in ketchup. He’s sure of it.

“Got it.” His voice cracks, but Brock seems to believe him, offering another kind smile and retreating back to the other room for refills of stew. Ash takes the spare minute to compose himself. To blink at the ceiling and breathe, breathe.

He’s alive. Breathing is something he gets to do, still. This is something he gets to keep.

In the kitchen, Brock begins to hum.

Chapter 2: Misty

“So you don’t ever think about it? Growing up? Getting married? Settling down?”

Misty's eyes are so blue, when she looks at him. There’s sunburn peeling on her cheeks and her tank top bears more than a few stains, coffee and ink and other worldly grime. There’s a tear under the left armpit, bleached spots of fabric scattered down the front. This is a shirt that has been lived in. She does not care that it is not beautiful.

Ash had teased her for it earlier, nonetheless, talking with his hands and his widest shit-eating grin. She had stuck her tongue out at him and called it her most comfortable, telling him to shut up like she was eleven again, and he was ten, the seven years between that lifetime and this forgotten. 

There’s none of that energy now, exaggerated and playful as it may have been. They sit on the roof of the Cerulean Gym, bare feet swinging, glass warm beneath them. Misty looks at him, her eyes blue, blue, blue, and Ash doesn’t know what to say.

Pikachu, on Misty’s lap, flicks an ear at him even as it dozes. If he needed it, all he would have to do is say the word, but-

But it’s Misty. This girl knows him more than most, used to be able to name and label each of the scars trailing up and down his forearms, used to meet him on his journeys step for step for step. She was there at the start of it and that means something, to him, even if he could never put into words why.

So he breathes. Shrugs. Turns to look at the sun.

“No, not really. I mean, uh,” and he grins, here, knocking his ankle against hers. “Can you imagine? Me? Falling for someone and staying put all the time?”

“I used to.”

Misty winks, when he turns on her in shock. Then she lets out a little awkward laugh and falls back onto the roof, arms flung wide above her head. The motion of it startles Pikachu, who lets out an unhappy chirrup and hops over to Ash’s lap. He makes sure to handle the little yellow mouse much more gently as he lays down besides her, cheek pressing against warm glass.

“Used to?”

“Yeah,” she says. Laughs again, a little too loud, and rolls her eyes. There’s a scar by her elbow that came from a fishing accident: he remembers the way she had yelled at him after he accidentally got tangled in her line. There’s a scar on her cheek that he wasn’t there for, a knick that bled and scabbed and healed while they lived their separate lives miles upon miles apart. “I used to think about it sometimes. Growing up and getting married to you.”

The look on his face must convey some of the weird panic fluttering inside his chest, some of the complete befuddlement of it, because she laughs again. Except this time it’s much more genuine, just Misty and her scrunching nose, her crinkled eyes and crooked smile. It has Ash laughing with her, even though it doesn’t quite make sense yet. 

“We would have killed each other-” he chortles, and Misty slaps him on the shoulder, rolling her eyes.

 “Oh, shut up. It was- you know. I was eleven. You were like one of the first people to treat me with some basic human decency.”  She pauses, considering, before sighing. “But yeah, you’re right. We definitely would have bashed eachother’s heads in.”

Ash knows Misty doesn’t need his anger over her childhood, doesn’t need anyone to fight the battles she’s already won. So he grins, wide and bright and teasing, and is rewarded with a kick in the shins. Pikachu grumbles about that, nap interrupted again, and Ash pats soft yellow fur and then crosses his arms beneath his head. The sky above them turns dull oranges and pinks, slowly slipping into dusk.

He tries to imagine it for a second. Waking up under the same sky every day of his life, sleeping under the same stars. Not romantically. Not- like that. Just. If they were friends. He could stay here and help Misty tend to the Cerulean gym. They could have pokemon battles every day - Pikachu would love that- and he’d scare her with bug types and she’d throw him in the pool. Maybe they’d go camping, sometimes, reminiscing about the old days. Maybe destiny would stop crashing into him if he finally settled down. 

It’s a nice thought. All of it. It's a little boring sounding, too: Ash has never done well in staying still when he knows the world is out there, wide and beautiful and waiting for him. 

He breathes. Pikachu is a familiar grounding weight on his lap. “I guess I could do worse than marrying one of my best friends,” he offers, and Misty’s smirk softens into a smile. There’s something understanding in those blue, blue eyes, something kind and a little amused. She reaches out and grabs his hand, giving it a squeeze. Her callouses, different from what they had once been but no less strong, no less Misty, press against his own.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

He offers her his own grin, and then both their attention shifts when Pikachu stands up and stretches, plodding further up onto his chest. It accepts a little head rub from Misty, but then it turns all its energy on Ash, gaze hopeful. 

“You’re spoiled, ya know,” he murmurs, and gives in. Fur runs softly through his fingers, and his best buddy’s happy croon fills the air.

Laughter, brilliant and catching. “Honestly, Ash,” Misty says, her face not quite hiding her bemusement, “it’s probably a good thing you’re not interested in romance. Anyone who’d want to date you would have to accept they’ll always be playing second fiddle to Pikachu.”

Pikachu preens, arching its back underneath Ash’s palms. There’s a smug little smirk on its face as if to say, But of course.

Brat. 

...which doesn’t change the fact that it’s most definitely true.

So Ash laughs with her, and the sun sets, and the world spins on.

They lay on that roof for a long time, watching the stars peek out from the night sky one by one by one. Here in the city, there are less of them, but both Ash and Misty have seen their fair share of truly brilliant galaxies. He likes to think they’ll see more, before they're done. 

They talk. They catch up. Stories told to cross the distance of time. It’s been a while since they’ve shared space, been able to talk in person rather than across pixelated screens. It feels good to hear her voice unmodulated. It feels good to sit with this girl and know that she knows him, the ugly parts and the unsettling crevices. It feels good to relearn eachother’s scars.

Chapter 3: Pikachu

Notes:

this chapter fought and fought with me, but I think I finally got it to where I want it :)

older aro-ace ash getting a happy ending that doesn't involve completely settling down or getting married? In MY fic? it's more likely than you think

The house is in the middle of some big ol’ clearing in the woods, a couple hours walk away from the nearest city. There is, apparently, a great forest cusping the outer edges of the property, and a lake visible from the back porch. 

Ash tries to take it all in with fresh eyes. The ribombee buzzing among the wildflowers and the tall grasses trailing up to his knees on either side of the worn cobbled path. He could have sworn he saw some stantler in the distance, before his approach startled them off.

Their approach. Pikachu curls into his arms, dozing, hind leg wrapped carefully in bandages. The nap isn’t surprising: the pain medication it’s been taking has a side effect of drowsiness, and the past few days has involved a lot of carrying a cranky sleepy bundle of yellow. Ash doesn’t mind: he will take a little heavy lifting over his best friend’s tight whimpers any day.

It’ll heal. That’s the important thing. All it needs is a little time and a little rest, according to Nurse Joy, and then Pikachu will be right as rain and running around just like usual.

Unfortunately, it does mean that Ash is functionally by himself upon their arrival at the house. His shoes scrape against stone and he watches, out of the corner of his eye, as a small pack of watch dogs poke their head above the grass, big eyes curious and a little wary.

Ash waves, and the heads disappear back out of view. Cobbled steps give way to worn wooden porch.

He breathes. Pikachu shifts in his arms, perking up just enough to look around at their new surroundings. Grumbling, it nudges his arms, and Ash takes it as the signal it is to move Pikachu onto his shoulders.

Then they look at the house together. 

His house, soon.

(Their house, but that’s a given.)

Ash didn’t even particularly want a house originally. It’s not like he has any plans to stop his migratory habits anytime soon, especially with all his new Champion duties and the exhibition matches and becoming a Pokemon Master and all the legendary stuff. Even without all that, though, life on the road just… it suits him. And at this point, if he needs a place to stay in his various travels, he almost for sure has someone who’s willing to take him in. He’s got friends scattered around the map, and he loves stopping by to see them all, catching up and sharing strengths. Sharing growth.

The only reason- the only reason- he’s doing this is because of his pokemon: you can have more than six pokemon hanging around at a time if you own the right kind of property to house them in. Professor Oak, for all his generosity and awesomeness, lives in Kanto and sometimes Ash spends ages and ages away from his home region and then he has to make do with video calls or transferring pokemon over five at a time and-

Yeah.

So.

House.

Ash Ketchum is getting a house.

Already got it, technically. Ash had money enough- exhibition matches, so many exhibition matches - for the purchase, and Dawn had helped him find listings. Although he didn’t really understand all the paperwork, his mom did, so she had helped him out with that, and now they’re here. All there’s really left to do is get the keys from the previous owner and then he’ll finally have a place to put as a permanent address outside of his childhood home.

“Ready for this?” he murmurs, and Pikachu gingerly shifts on its bad leg, leaning forwards to spark their cheeks together. That’s a yes, then.

One step, then another. There are some scratches and scuffs on the floorboards, but everything seems solid. He’s gonna have to be careful with his fire types, though. He wonders if there’s anyway to fireproof wood. Maybe he should ask Gary.

Ash knocks on the door. Hardly a second passes before a voice comes out from within. “I’m coming, I’m coming-”

Shuffling feet against carpet, and then an older man swings the entrance wide open. He’s balding, and shorter than even Ash, and has the sort of smile on his face that invites other people to smile along with him. It’s a good sort of smile.

“Well, you must be Ash Ketchum. The name’s Kenzo, and it sure is a pleasure to meet you.” All the words come out in one long rush, dark warm eyes looking keenly into Ash’s own. But then Pikachu shifts, leaning ever so slightly closer, and all that stark attention refocuses. “Oh! And who is this sweet critter?”

“This is my partner Pikachu,” Ash says, automatic, and then his brain catches up enough for a smile of his own. “It’s nice to meet you too!”

Kenzo invites them inside, gives them a grand tour. Ash takes in the high ceilings and the worn comfortable-looking furniture and the scattered nooks and crannies. He thinks, I can work with this.

While they walk, Kenzo talks. He's getting the sense that the older man is a chatty kind of guy. 

"We bought this house as a summer home, my Zowi and I. Was always a huge procession, coming out here and making everything habitable again, but she loved it, she did… a very outdoorsy person, that woman…"

Ash winces, and Pikachu shoots him a worried glance. Waving the look off, he scolds himself for not considering the fact that this sale was a result of loss. "Did she, er, did she pass away? I'm sorry if she did."

"Wha- no! No, course not, boy. Nothing so drastic as that. We got a divorce a few years ago, after our boy moved out. Realised we just didn't fit each other anymore. Got married young, thought it would last forever, you know how it is."

Ash did not. Ash really, really did not, but he tries to smile anyway. Kenzo prattles on, quite oblivious.

"Anyway, it was all quite amicable, She lives up further north, now, closer to her side of the family. Bet me I wouldn't be able to maintain the property, knew I had no green thumbs. Said I don't have the heart for it either. And what do'ya know? She was right. Owe her fifty dollars now I do…and o'course half the sale price..."

They're in some sort of drawing room. Curtains cover the windows, but Ash can imagine this place when the sun comes in. There, Lycanroc would love to stretch out long on that fern patterned couch. That corner could be made into a climbing structure of some sort. Somewhere to roost for his birds, maybe, or somewhere for Sceptile to lounge.

Ash wonders if he can grow something here. He wonders if he can plant his hands in dark soil and coax out of it something new.

Pikachu hops down from his shoulder, managing to stick a three-footed landing and proceeding to tentatively limp around the room. It sniffs at a dusty cushion, sneezes, and peers back at him as if it's somehow his fault.

"Anyway, boy, enough about me!” Kenzo says, turning on him abruptly. Ash cocks his head to show he’s listening even as he watches his best bud make his slow way across the floor back to him. “Strapping young lad like yourself, what brought you to buy my house? Hmm? Little far from the city, eh?"

Teasing. It's all just teasing. Pikachu's tail would be less jaunty if it was actually annoyed.

"I don't know," Ash says, swooping his best buddy back up into his arms, "just felt like the right time, I guess. And it's pretty out here."

And quiet, he thinks, but he doesn't say it.

For a moment, all there is between them is silence. Just breathing lungs and creaking floorboards and the world spinning round outside. Kenzo stares at him, considering, and Ash shuffles awkwardly on his feet. Unconcerned, and apparently already exhausted from its little stroll, Pikachu is halfway back to sleep. 

“Well, it’s as good a reason as any. I should introduce you to Esther. You’d get along with her, I think.”

“I look forward to it,” Ash says, and then they move on to examine the bedrooms upstairs.

 

That night, sleeping outside because the stars were bright and calling to him, Ash breathes deep and studies the silhouette of his new house, the way it cuts out a jagged shape from the horizon. Tomorrow, the rest of his pokemon will be coming. They’ll be fixing up the greenhouse, retiling the roof. Maybe they’ll take a break to go explore the woods or swim in the lake. They’ve got time.

His mom had called him earlier, and he had shown her the grounds, the bedrooms and living rooms and the hallways in between. They had talked about plans. This is where a good roost could go. There could be a perfect place for some kind of homemade battle field. Yes, he’ll make sure to come back and visit her in Pallet Town, too.

“It’s a big house,” she had said.

“I have a lot of pokemon, mom.”

“I know, I know, honey. But won’t you get lonely? Up there all alone?”

It hadn’t been the first time she asked about his apparent loneliness, and it probably won’t be the last. She worried about him, how he sometimes went travelling without human companions. His lack of intention to settle down. She doesn’t quite get why he doesn’t date, for all that she loves him and he knows it.

Pikachu shifts, curled up on his chest. Breathes and breathes and breathes. Ash counts his buddy’s breaths and doesn’t quite understand his mom in turn. He’s never lonely. He’s got Pikachu. He’s got a whole wide world of friends who love him.

This house is set in the foundations of that love. It’s gonna be full to the brim with his pokemon whenever he’s here, and he’s ecstatic to see them more often. Brock and Misty have already made noise about coming down to visit him, helping out while they get everything set up. The probability of Team Rocket leaving a house warming gift is high.

Scrolling through his messages on his phone, he sees that Serena has invited him to her wedding, that Bonnie wants another battle and Traci has a research exhibition. Cynthia is asking about hosting a charity event. Kukui has sent him some pictures of Lei, who is getting so big and happily carrying a large litten in his arms.

Ash switches out of his messages tab and starts looking at flights. Hums, quietly, when Pikachu shifts in his other arm. Scratches behind one long yellow ear and listens to how the bandages scratch in turn against the material of the sleeping bag. In about ten minutes he’s gonna have to fish out another dose of pain meds.

But for now they lay there in the quiet and this great big world spins round. “Pikachu,” he murmurs. “I think we’re gonna be just fine.”

Pikachu’s eyes open in slits. It adjusts, reaches just far enough that it can lick the closest piece of skin, which just happens to be the underside of Ash’s chin. Croons, softly, upwards and outwards and out into the night air.

“Yeah. Yeah, bud, I love you too.”

Notes:

Thank you for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed!

*hugs*