Summary: Gimult already had his adventure. He got his starter and built his team and saw the world. He was content to live in peace in a back alley of his hometown. Situations abound, and memories from a past life force him to action. It's time for a second journey now, following the sporadic path of Ash Ketchum and his sordid relationship with destiny.
Link: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13440654/1/
Word count:67k
Chapters:17
Chapter 1
The door to the old pub creaked as it opened, letting in the chill of the winter air. Tiny white crystals gushed in for the five or so seconds that the door was open, and the patrons all seemed to scowl from their places in their booths. Still, the newcomer didn't seem to mind. He rushed to slam the heavy oaken door behind him and stomp his weathered leather boots on the mat.
He unwrapped his thick red and blue scarf from around his neck and shucked off his coat, before hanging both articles on the coat hanger near the door. He grumbled, an action that echoed through the otherwise empty bar, alerting the other patrons to his deep, tired voice.
"Winter comes every year, and yet I am never prepared for it."
And it was like that, as if his sentence was a secret password, that the other patrons turned their withering glares away from the door. They turned back to their drinks and their vulgar conversations as they huddled in the limited light of the establishment.
The newcomer paid them no mind. He shuffled with heavy steps over to the bar and all but collapsed onto the stool. He propped his arm on the counter and rested his head in his hands. He stayed as such, a crumpled-up mess of a man, for a few minutes. He said not one word.
When he finally spoke, it was with long, drawn out words. His tired, gray eyes focused on the bartender as he talked. "Hey, Gimult. Let me have whatever it is you got back there."
Gimult, in his white button-down shirt and black suede jacket, didn't even blink at the man's order. He rested the glass he was polishing behind the counter and moved to grab the man's usual.
Lavender Town Vodka was a strong drink, meant to warm the bones of those who lived in a chilly place. The town itself wasn't all that cold. On the contrary, the climate was temperate at best. With the constant presence of ghost types, however…
Well, Gimult didn't like to concern himself with the goings on of that particular place. He didn't understand why people lived in a place that practically sat on the cusp of the Reverse World. Luckily for him, he didn't have to. All he had to do was pour the man his strong vodka.
The man— old if only by the silver-white hair that topped his head like snow atop a mountain— took the full glass of alcohol and downed half of it in one go. He closed his eyes and seemed to allow himself to be whisked back to a time long gone. The wrinkles on his face smoothed out, releasing an entire day's, or week's, worth of stress at once. His fingers, hitherto clenched into fists, slowly relaxed as he let the alcohol run down his throat.
"Thank you," he said. The tinge of unrest, be it fatigue or anger or both, seemed to bleed out. He reached for his pocket, only to be rebuffed.
"I couldn't ask you for money. I could never charge you for your time here."
The old man paused, his lips stretching out into a thin line. "I couldn't possibly drink for free."
"You've been doing so for the last three years."
"Not by choice, mind you."
Gimult chuckled. It was a deep thing that came from his chest, echoing through both his ribcage and the quaint little bar. "Everyone has a choice. You might not be able to choose whether I take your money, but you can choose whether or not you frequent this bar. It's not like I'm the only person in Pallet Town to sell alcohol."
And the two devolved into laughter, at the same time and intensity, their conversation having long since become routine. The old man downed the last of the liquid and pushed the clear, crystal glass over to the bartender. "Another round, please."
Gimult raised an eyebrow but poured the glass anyway. He waited until the man had taken his first sip before talking. "Hard day?"
"Yeah," the old man said, and his words seemed to fall out of his mouth. He sighed heavily, the sound akin to the sound of a breeze through an empty corridor. "Days at the Lab are rarely ever relaxing, but today was especially bad."
"Pray tell?" Gimult asked. He placed the bottle of Lavender Vodka relatively nearby while he turned to fetch another glass.
"A bunch of children started off on their journey today."
"Already?" Gimult asked. His voice raised a few octaves as he considered what most people remembered as a fond pastime. Obtaining your first Pokémon and setting out on an adventure was a big moment, and it brought a smile to his face to hear of another generation of Trainers. "It seems like it was just yesterday that you sent out the last batch."
"Six months pass quickly," the old man said, but punctuated the statement with another sip of his vodka. He downed half of the 11-ounce glass in just two draws. Gimult looked at the man's face. The many wrinkles seemed to return as he relived his day, making crisscrossed grid lines across an almost leathery skin. He wasn't looking at Gimilt, but instead at his cup, eyes taking on a wistful look. Gimult knew the look well.
"They will be fine, Samuel," the bartender said. "They know what they're signing up for."
"No," Samuel said. His voice was harder than usual as he peered up at his conversation buddy. "They don't. They think they do, but they don't. They know of tamed Pokémon, and Champion Pokémon that dance on his tv screen and never rise a claw or fang to their trainers, but they have no idea of a wild one. They have no idea that a wild Weedle, cautious and scared for its life, is just as dangerous to their wellbeing as any Charizard or Salamence. They have no clue that the supposed 'weakest' Pokémon Magikarp can jump thirty feet into the air and land on them, knocking them out and possibly splitting their neck. Most of my trainers die on the path from here to Viridian, and those that don't die in Viridian Forest."
The old man polished off his glass. He pushed the cup forward and waited. Gimult dutifully refilled it.
"I don't like sending those children out so young," the old man named Samuel finally said. It is entirely too early for them."
"I agree, but they must learn somehow."
"They're walking to their deaths."
"I was their age when you sent me out."
"And I didn't like that either," Samuel said. He sipped at his drink. "The fact that you're alive now is a result of your unusual cunning. You're not the norm, Gimult."
The bartender didn't say anything. He refilled the old man's glass before lifting the plank separating the back of the bar with the floor. He made his way over to booths, pouring and making light conversation before making his way back. By the time he did, the old man looked to have thought of something else to say.
"Do you remember the starter I gave you, Gimult?" he asked. The words were the whispers of a ghost. They came out hushed and quiet, as if he were too ashamed to even say them. His eyes were focused like a Pidgeot's on his glass, so Gimult was sure that he missed the nod.
"Yes. Mimey is still with me now. He is the best friend I could have ever asked for."
"He was a Mime Jr. Gimult. They can't even make barriers at that age."
The bartender nodded. A forlorn thought quirked the edge of his lips.
"Mimey lacked the ability to do a lot of things. That didn't stop him from learning."
"You could've died, Gimult." The old man's voice rose in volume. Not much, but enough to startle the other patrons again. They glanced towards the bar, some even rising from their seats, but the bartender waved them down. Samuel either didn't notice or didn't care. He kept speaking. "Your ingenuity and odd maturity kept you alive. It kept you safe!"
Samuel's voice then fell. A certain rawness snuck in, and even Gimult felt the emotion that had been kept on a tight leash until then.
"It won't be the same for them, Gimult." The old man took a sip of his alcohol. His rate of consumption had finally started to slow. "They're all going to die, the lot of them."
Gimult nodded. He replaced another glass amongst its kin in the rack before retrieving another.
"They attended those classes, right? The ones you forced on them?"
"Of course they did," the old man huffed. "I told the League that I would not send any more children out unless they attended seminars on the reality of the world."
"So they knew?"
The old man laughed. It wasn't one borne of humor. "There is a difference between learning about something from a book and learning about something from experience. I can shove as many pictures of a Mankey tearing a Nidoran horn from tail into their heads, but it won't stop them from being a bunch of brats with wanderlust." Samuel drained his glass. "He's... going to die."
Gimult turned his attention away from the glass. "He... Right. Your grandson left with this batch."
Samuel shook his head. "No... no. Gary is fine. He left in a car, on the main road. He thinks he's traveling with a gaggle of cheerleaders, but they're all Elite Trainers who specialized in espionage. I love the kid, and he's a very bright one, but he's as clueless as a bag of bricks when it comes to his pride. He won't realize that I'm still coddling him until he's well into his journey. By then he'll be able to take care of himself."
Gimult chuckled. "Showing favortism, are we?"
"Hardly," the old man said. He pushed forward his glass, but waved off the alcohol. "I know my limit, Gimult. Water, please. And no, I'm not showing favortism. If I had my way, Gary wouldn't be going on a journey so soon at all. I couldn't stop him, however. My son and his wife had already given him permission. So I could at least protect him. If the other parents cared for their children in the way I cared for Gary, they wouldn't be allowing this to happen."
Gimult didn't respond. He continued to wipe down his glasses until he was sure that they were clean. When he finished, he turned back to the old man, only to see him staring.
There was a question there. One that he was waiting for Gimult to ask.
"If not Gary, then who?"
And then it was as if the old man had suddenly lived every year he had ever lived twice. He sagged, and suddenly Gimult was aware of why the old man was here.
He was here to repent, and there were no religious organizations in Pallet. Samuel was agnostic, so he likely wouldn't have gone anyway.
"He was a bright boy..."
"He's not dead yet, Samuel," Gimult said. He went ignored.
"... a little brash, a little slow, but bright as the sun on a clear day. He challenged Gary's intellect with sheer stubbornness. He tackled every problem with such brute force that it was forced to bend before him. He was... lacking... in theory, but he more than made up for that in showing his creativity in practical exercises. Did you know that the little idiot charged into a Tauros herd?"
Gimult raised an eyebrow. "The one that went rampaging on your farm a few weeks ago?"
"The very same!" Samuel said with a roar. "No Pokémon, no plan, and no prior knowledge to base the half-assed thought he had rattling around his brain! And yet he charged into the hoard with a confidence that's reserved only for the most Elite of Trainers! You wanna know what he did?"
Gimult nodded, honestly invested.
"He held a fistful of grass Gimult. Just grass. He wore a Miltank shirt to catch their attention—who knows why he was wearing it that day or where he got it— and just hoped that they would get the message. The thing is, they did. And the whole herd ended up following him to another part of my range before they could reach the town."
"Arceus," Gimult said. "How did he do it?"
"You want his words verbatim? He said, and I quote, 'I just had a hunch.' Apparently he saw a raging Tauros before, and it calmed almost immediately upon seeing a distressed Miltank. When he saw that, he started keeping things that looked like Miltank around places where Tauros were known to rage. He has a scarf, a hat, and a sweater somewhere else on my ranch."
Gimult laughed. "You're going to have to find those eventually."
"Wherever he's hidden them, they're so well concealed that even my Alakazam can't find discern where they are!" The old man sipped at his water, then choked as he started laughing again. He waved off Gimult's concern. "And, apparently, the herds rage when a certain type of grass isn't available in the area they're raging. He caught the leader of the herd's attention, shoved the grass into its nose, then led them to the part of the range where he got it from. The little bastard did all of that on a hunch. A hunch!"
"He's certainly a plucky one."
"And a rare existence. You don't find people with that confidence and drive very often."
Gimult agreed. He nodded his head. "And it is this boy that you fear for?"
"Yes," Samuel admitted after a couple seconds of silence. "Good kid, but so very stupid and headstrong. It wouldn't surprise me if he managed to incite a flock of Spearow mere hours after setting out."
Gimult almost guffawed. "I hardly think he's so stupid as to do something like that. Why would he even travel through the Pallet Forest when there is a perfectly viable road between Pallet and Viridian?"
"He's not great with directions."
"The road is big, with signs, and the only actual way out of town."
"Last known sighting of him had him dragging his starter on a rope into the forest."
"Oh," Gimult said. "Oh dear."
"Yup!" Samuel said. "I couldn't even give him an actual starter. I gave the poor kid a nearly feral Pikachu!"
Gimult paused. The old man hadn't seen it, so absorbed in his own guilt, but the bartender seemed to go as still as a statue.
"Samuel..." Gimult then faltered. "I'm sorry, Professor Oak, would you mind giving me the name of that kid?"
The venerated Professor looked up from his glass. "You know I don't like such stuffy titles in here." His nose scrunched up as if he had just smelled something horrible. "But if you must know, then the young man's name was one Ash Scarletta Ketchum. Son of Delia Ketchum, that girl you used to get along with."
Ash Ketchum.
Gimult closed his eyes.
So it was beginning.