bedshaped [1/1]
the childhood friendship of aqua and magma's leaders. [archie, maxie]
pokemon; friendship; pg; 3300 words
The sky is cloudless, a never-ending blue as deep as the ocean. Two Wingulls circle languidly high above, extending their wings to catch the subtlest hint of a breeze, a breeze which carries the salty tang of brine and rough sand. The slap of water against the sides of the wooden boat and the occasional cries of the Wingulls are all that can be heard, and once again it’s just Archie and the ocean on a hot, lazy day.
Needless to say, he’s falling asleep. He hasn’t had a single bite in hours (who knows how long it’s been, because time has no meaning when you’re alone upon the sea), and the only creatures he’s seen in the water are a few meager schools of Tentacool. He’s pulled his bandanna down over his face to block the sun’s rays, but underneath it his dark eyes are slowly beginning to close. The boat is rocking so gently, you see, and the hazy glow of the filtered sunlight is making him so very tired…
And then he feels a sharp tug on his fishing rod, which hangs loosely in his hand. Archie sits up quickly, all traces of tiredness gone in a flash, eyes blazing with determination. He will make his father proud today - he’ll bring home a nice catch, and his dad will clap him on the back like one of the guys. And next time he goes out fishing he’ll take Archie with him, no doubt about it, and they’ll come home with story upon story to tell.
Archie thinks of this, and reels in his catch with all his might.
It’s a Magikarp. A scrawny, weak, miniscule Magikarp. It flops around in the bottom of the boat helplessly, clearly wondering where the water’s gone and why in the world there’s a hook inside its mouth. It’s a pitiful sight to behold, for more than one reason. Archie stares at the Magikarp for a few moments, then releases it from the fish hook and tosses it back into the water with an agonizing sigh.
There’s always tomorrow, he supposes.
Disheartened and resigned, Archie reties his bandanna, picks up the oars, and begins rowing for home.
-x-
The boat leaves a trail in the sand as he drags it on to the beach, past the high tide mark. He realizes that he’s not ready to go home just yet - the sun is still blazing bright, and the heat of the day hangs heavy like a weight against his skin. He decides upon a whim that today’s a good swimming day (but he’s an island kid through and through, and isn’t every day a good swimming day?). He’s about to jump out of his clothes and into the water (he’s got his trunks on underneath, of course), but stops when he sees a lone figure shuffling down the beach.
The boy’s not a tourist, that’s for sure. Tourists have wide, inquisitive eyes and shining faces and ugly tropical-print shirts that always look out of place against the never-ending blue. But Archie’s never seen this boy before, and he knows everyone in Dewford Town. The boy has downcast eyes - he’s watching his own feet as they drag through the sand - and from where he’s standing Archie can just barely make out the glum expression on his face. He’s got shoulder-length red hair (like blood in the water, Archie will think many years later), and his face seems too pretty to be a boy’s, but he can’t be a girl with an awkward gait like that. Even at age eleven Archie knows that girls walk with either a sway or a bounce, and this pretty boy has neither.
He stops a few feet away from Archie, looking startled to find someone else within his line of vision. They stare at each other a few moments, appraising. Archie thinks that the boy is too skinny - he looks as if he might blow away in a sudden gust of wind. The boy thinks that Archie looks like a fool, with his grubby clothes and bare feet and raggedy old bandanna.
And then Archie grins and extends a hand.
“Hey,” he says, with all the pleasantry one kid can offer to another. “Name’s Archie. What’s yours?”
The boy looks at his hand for a second too long, almost confused by this straightforwardness, and then reaches out and shakes it hesitantly. Archie’s so used to the iron grips of sailors that this weak little handshake almost makes him laugh.
“Maxwell,” the boy says quietly. “I’m Maxwell.”
Archie makes a face. “Maxwell? That sounds too stuffy.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “I know! Can I call you Maxie?”
“… Okay.” He sounds a bit breathless as he agrees to this, as if no one’s ever given him a nickname before (and perhaps they haven’t).
Archie grins again, flashing his slightly gap-toothed smile. When you’re young, making friends is delightfully simple. A few words exchanged and you’ve got a playmate for years to come. And Archie has a feeling, somewhere deep in his heart, that he and this pretty boy will be friends for a long, long while.
He glances down at Maxie’s sneakered feet and frowns. “Why are you wearing shoes?” he asks, confused.
Maxie stares at his feet for a moment, and then laughs - his first real laugh since setting foot on the island.
“I don’t know,” he says, and it’s the undeniable truth.
Archie and Maxie have a competition to see who can toss a shoe the farthest.
-x-
The days pass slowly, as days in Dewford tend to do. Little by little, Archie learns more about his newfound friend.
Maxie’s parents are scientists - geologists, to be precise - and they’ve come to Dewford to study the rock formations in the ancient island caves. They’re not home much, despite the fact that they just moved in; instead they’re always out at the research site, taking samples and entering data and doing whatever it is that scientists do. So Maxie’s alone a lot, in that big empty house at the edge of town. He says he’s used to it, that the silence and the unpacked boxes and the bare walls don’t bother him, but Archie can tell he’s lying by the way his eyes go all sad and dreary.
Archie doesn’t like the idea of him being by himself all day. He’s taken to stopping by Maxie’s house first thing in the morning, and the two of them run off together to discover what the day will offer. Showing the new kid around the island is a big task - there are literally hundreds of secret hiding spots and uncharted coves and symbolic landmarks to explore and explain - but Archie’s never been known to back down from a challenge. He shows Maxie the Hole in the Wall, a mysterious, perfectly round crevice cut into the side of the southern cliff, the Pelipper’s Nest, a tall rock out in the middle of the ocean where you can see for miles, the Breathing Cave, a cavern near the inlet that is rumored to house an ancient sleeping Pokémon, the Lazy Palm, a palm tree on the northern beach that always drops its coconuts without a fight, and so much besides. Dewford is a place rich with the culture of both sailors and the native island dwellers, and as they walk along the beaches Archie tells Maxie the stories he grew up hearing: the legend of the Tentacruel Sea God, the tale of the Ghost Ship, the ancient myth of the Great White Wailord and the man he swallowed whole.
Maxie absorbs this information, wide-eyed. He’s never lived in a place with so many stories before (or maybe no one’s ever taken the time to tell them to him), and he can’t help but wish that they had come to Dewford sooner. The island town is beautiful in more ways than one.
And it’s made just a little more beautiful, he thinks, by the dark-haired boy with the gap-toothed grin.
-x-
They meet on the beach one day - one of those days when the air feels like hot soup and it’s hard to breathe without charring your lungs to a crisp - and Archie declares that it’s time to go swimming. He’s spent so much time showing Maxie around the island lately that he’s hardly had time for his second favorite hobby (the first being fishing, of course). The excitement is palpable on his face as he prepares to dive into the briny surf, bouncing on the balls of his toes impatiently.
Maxie is far less enthusiastic. He shares a worried glance with his pet Pokémon, an old Golbat named Luna that he carries everywhere on his shoulder (a gift from his parents, to make up for the fact that they’re never around). If possible, Luna gives him a distinctly cautionary look, like the protective mother he’s never had.
“Well?” Archie demands. His pet Poochyena is running laps around him, obviously just as eager as he to get out of the heat. “Are you coming or not?”
Maxie clears his throat nervously. “I… I can’t swim,” he mutters, embarrassed.
Archie’s expression changes from eager to aghast in a matter of seconds.
“You… can’t swim?” He says it as if it’s a heinous crime, though to him it might as well be. Having learned to swim before he learned to run, the very idea of not being able to is more horrific than anything he’s ever imagined.
Maxie shuffles his bare feet in the sand, feeling self-conscious. Archie probably thinks he’s weird now. He’ll probably run back to his old friends, laughing at the new kid that doesn’t know how to swim, and Maxie will be all alone once more. This always happens to him - as soon as he makes a friend, they grow bored of him and leave him in the dust.
But when he glances up, Archie seems to be in deep thought. His face suddenly lights up, and his trademark grin is back in place. “I know!” he exclaims. “How ‘bout I teach you?”
Maxie blinks in surprise. “Teach me?”
“Well yeah. If you’re gonna live here, you have to know how to swim!” His expression is completely serious as he says this, and there’s a determined spark in his eye that says he won’t be backing down from this challenge either. He rummages through his bag and pulls out a spare pair of swimming trunks (somehow he knew they’d come in handy), then tosses them to Maxie and waits for him to change.
After marveling in how pale the red-haired boy is, Archie grabs him by the hand and drags him down to the end of the pier. The sea breeze drifting in from the east feels refreshing after the sweltering heat they’ve been enduring all day, though the sun still beats down mercilessly upon their heads. Far out on the horizon, the blue of the sky seems to melt and drip into the blue of the sea like paint mixing together on a palette.
Archie turns to Maxie with a smile.
“Swimming’s really easy,” he says. “All you have to do is pretend to be a fish. Try it!”
Without any further ado, he promptly shoves Maxie off the pier and into the water below.
When the red-haired boy surfaces a few moments later, floundering around helplessly, choking on salt water, and shouting every obscenity in his eleven-year-old repertoire, Archie thinks (with quite a bit of pride) that he must be the greatest swimming instructor the world has ever known.
-x-
One morning, Maxie is not waiting on his front step like he ought to be. Archie glances around warily, half expecting his friend to jump out from behind a rock or a palm tree and startle him at any moment. But no. Maxie doesn’t play tricks like that.
Something must be wrong.
He tries the door handle and it swings open, unsurprisingly. No one in Dewford bothers to lock their doors, because it’s just one of those places where everyone knows everyone and trusts them implicitly. (there’s hardly any crime, save for the spiteful teenage pastime of stealing from unsuspecting tourists)
The interior is immaculate, without a hint of dust or dirt. Hardly a home at all, Archie thinks, envisioning his own noisy, crowded house. The furniture is sparse, scattered despondently throughout the too-big rooms, and the oppressive quiet settles like a heavy weight on Archie’s shoulders.
“Hey Maxie?” he calls, and his voice echoes and reverberates back at him. “You here?”
Silence.
Then, from one of the back rooms, a sniffle and a murmured “yes.”
Archie finds Maxie sitting in shadow, hair hanging like a blood red curtain over his face, cradling Luna in his arms. She lies stiffly, without a hint of life left in her. Her wings are hanging limp and useless, trailing against the floor, and her wise old eyes stare blankly at nothing.
Archie’s seen dead things before, but not like this. The old Golbat had always been around, perched on Maxie’s shoulder like a watchful guardian spirit. It’s strange to think that she could die so suddenly - that she could ever leave Maxie unprotected.
Archie walks over and puts a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Max,” he murmurs, and isn’t sure what else to say. He’s just a kid, after all. He’s never had to think about death, not really, and he most definitely hasn’t had to console a grieving person. So “I’m sorry” is about all he can think to say, though he’s not quite sure what he’s apologizing for. It’s not like it’s his fault. It’s not like it’s anyone’s fault. But if there’s one thing he’s learned from watching grownups, it’s that they always try to take a little bit of the blame and place it upon themselves.
Maxie lifts his head, and his pale face is blotchy and tear-stained.
“She was old,” he mutters. “It was only a matter of time.”
But Archie can see him screaming inside. Luna had, for the most part, been his only companion before he came to Dewford. She had been there for him when friends and family had not. And now she is gone, and Maxie is stricken with fear. If Archie leaves him too, like all the others did before him, then he’ll be really, truly alone. And he doesn’t think he could take it.
Archie extends a hand down to his friend. “Come on,” he says, with an almost-smile. “We’ll give her a proper funeral.”
They spend nearly an hour constructing a makeshift boat out of driftwood and spare nails. When it’s complete, they lay Luna inside of it, tucking her wings around her like a blanket. Archie does that trick he saw on television and closes the old Golbat’s unseeing eyes for the last time. They stand there for a moment in poignant silence, wondering what to say. But a eulogy seems pointless. Words are quite unnecessary, as they can both feel each other’s emotions churning and roiling like an angry sea.
Together, they push Luna’s driftwood coffin into the surf and watch until it is swallowed by a wave and pulled down, down, down into the deeps.
-x-
One morning, Archie does not arrive on time to meet Maxie at his front door.
The red-haired boy simply stands there, shuffling his feet in the bleached white sand, scanning the beach for his friend’s familiar blue bandana. It’s not like Archie to be late, despite how unorganized he might seem. Maybe he stopped to talk to someone. Maybe he went out fishing with his father and just forgot to tell anyone. Maybe…
After what feels like an eternity waiting, Maxie finally spots a lone figure running down the beach. As Archie comes into view, Maxie can see that he is grinning (of course) and waving a red and white object frantically. He jogs to a halt at his friend’s side, and has to take a moment to recover his breath.
“Sorry I’m late,” he pants. He holds out the red and white object, which is now identifiable as a Pokeball, for Maxie to take. “Getting this took longer than I expected. Stupid dark caves…”
Maxie takes the Pokeball hesitantly. He’s never held one before, but he likes the way it feels in his grasp - a comforting weight. He holds it out, unsure of exactly what to do, and presses the center button warily. Instantly, the Pokeball opens and a flash of red light emerges, dissipating to reveal…
A Zubat.
Annoyed by the early morning light, it flies in haphazard, almost drunken circles around Maxie’s head, emitting a high-pitched sound of annoyance with its new master.
Archie looks more than a little sheepish. “Yeah, well, I was hoping to find you a new Golbat,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “But there were only Zubat in the cave. And since they evolve into Golbat, I thought…” His voice trails off.
Maxie is smiling, his most genuine smile yet, and it’s the prettiest thing Archie’s ever seen. “Thank you,” the red-haired boy murmurs. His eyes are glistening, but just a little - he doesn’t want to cry anymore. “You’re a good friend, Archie.”
They spend the rest of the day training the Zubat (named Luna II due to a lack of inspiration) and teaching it how to be a perfect Pokémon. The first lesson they teach it is not a useful battle move, a clever special technique, or a practical evasive maneuver.
Instead, they teach it to perch on Maxie’s shoulder.
-x-
“Don’t hold on to me so tightly! I can hardly feel my arm!”
“Sorry, Max. You know I don’t like these caves… Why couldn’t we have gone out fishing or something?”
“Cause I found something cool, that’s why. Plus, I don’t like fishing.”
Archie stops dead in his tracks. When Maxie swings the lantern back in his direction, he sees that his friend’s face looks utterly horror-struck.
“You… don’t like fishing?”
“No, I don’t! It’s deadly boring just sitting out there for hours and hours waiting for a fish to bite. Plus, boats make me nauseous.”
“Nauseous?” Archie whispers, appalled. “As in, seasick?”
Grumbling out an unintelligible reply, Maxie spins on his heel and starts walking away, lantern bobbing in the darkness. Archie follows with a harried yelp, fearful of being left behind. The two boys walk huddled together until they reach an open cavern, where stalactites hang like the teeth of a hungry beast. At the far end is a massive stone slab, undoubtedly hundreds of years old, decorated with ancient cave paintings. Maxie lifts the lantern to get a closer look.
“See,” he says, jabbing a finger at one of the more prominent paintings. “This is what I was talking about. I snuck a peek at my parents’ research, and it said that these two are really powerful legendary Pokémon.”
Archie’s dark eyes are wide as he takes it all in. “Wow… What are they called?” His gaze is drawn to the one in front of him, a blue sea creature with brilliant markings all down its sides and long, elegant fins.
“That one is Kyogre, the Sea Basin Pokémon. And this one,” Maxie says, staring at the red creature before him with a gleam in his eye, “is Groudon, the Continent Pokémon. Isn’t it amazing?”
“Eh, not really. It doesn’t look all that intimidating,” Archie says, and shrugs. “Kyogre’s way better.”
“… Are you serious?” The red-haired boy seems to take personal offense at this comment. “Kyogre looks so weak! It’s basically a Wailmer with some pretty designs on its back!”
Archie’s eyes narrow dangerously, and he immediately launches into a long retort about how incredibly lame Groudon is and how Kyogre could easily take the other legendary in a fight.
The Kyogre vs. Groudon debate lasts for an entire week, and even at the bitter end neither side emerges triumphant.
(Neither ever will.)
pokemon; friendship; pg; 3300 words
The sky is cloudless, a never-ending blue as deep as the ocean. Two Wingulls circle languidly high above, extending their wings to catch the subtlest hint of a breeze, a breeze which carries the salty tang of brine and rough sand. The slap of water against the sides of the wooden boat and the occasional cries of the Wingulls are all that can be heard, and once again it’s just Archie and the ocean on a hot, lazy day.
Needless to say, he’s falling asleep. He hasn’t had a single bite in hours (who knows how long it’s been, because time has no meaning when you’re alone upon the sea), and the only creatures he’s seen in the water are a few meager schools of Tentacool. He’s pulled his bandanna down over his face to block the sun’s rays, but underneath it his dark eyes are slowly beginning to close. The boat is rocking so gently, you see, and the hazy glow of the filtered sunlight is making him so very tired…
And then he feels a sharp tug on his fishing rod, which hangs loosely in his hand. Archie sits up quickly, all traces of tiredness gone in a flash, eyes blazing with determination. He will make his father proud today - he’ll bring home a nice catch, and his dad will clap him on the back like one of the guys. And next time he goes out fishing he’ll take Archie with him, no doubt about it, and they’ll come home with story upon story to tell.
Archie thinks of this, and reels in his catch with all his might.
It’s a Magikarp. A scrawny, weak, miniscule Magikarp. It flops around in the bottom of the boat helplessly, clearly wondering where the water’s gone and why in the world there’s a hook inside its mouth. It’s a pitiful sight to behold, for more than one reason. Archie stares at the Magikarp for a few moments, then releases it from the fish hook and tosses it back into the water with an agonizing sigh.
There’s always tomorrow, he supposes.
Disheartened and resigned, Archie reties his bandanna, picks up the oars, and begins rowing for home.
-x-
The boat leaves a trail in the sand as he drags it on to the beach, past the high tide mark. He realizes that he’s not ready to go home just yet - the sun is still blazing bright, and the heat of the day hangs heavy like a weight against his skin. He decides upon a whim that today’s a good swimming day (but he’s an island kid through and through, and isn’t every day a good swimming day?). He’s about to jump out of his clothes and into the water (he’s got his trunks on underneath, of course), but stops when he sees a lone figure shuffling down the beach.
The boy’s not a tourist, that’s for sure. Tourists have wide, inquisitive eyes and shining faces and ugly tropical-print shirts that always look out of place against the never-ending blue. But Archie’s never seen this boy before, and he knows everyone in Dewford Town. The boy has downcast eyes - he’s watching his own feet as they drag through the sand - and from where he’s standing Archie can just barely make out the glum expression on his face. He’s got shoulder-length red hair (like blood in the water, Archie will think many years later), and his face seems too pretty to be a boy’s, but he can’t be a girl with an awkward gait like that. Even at age eleven Archie knows that girls walk with either a sway or a bounce, and this pretty boy has neither.
He stops a few feet away from Archie, looking startled to find someone else within his line of vision. They stare at each other a few moments, appraising. Archie thinks that the boy is too skinny - he looks as if he might blow away in a sudden gust of wind. The boy thinks that Archie looks like a fool, with his grubby clothes and bare feet and raggedy old bandanna.
And then Archie grins and extends a hand.
“Hey,” he says, with all the pleasantry one kid can offer to another. “Name’s Archie. What’s yours?”
The boy looks at his hand for a second too long, almost confused by this straightforwardness, and then reaches out and shakes it hesitantly. Archie’s so used to the iron grips of sailors that this weak little handshake almost makes him laugh.
“Maxwell,” the boy says quietly. “I’m Maxwell.”
Archie makes a face. “Maxwell? That sounds too stuffy.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “I know! Can I call you Maxie?”
“… Okay.” He sounds a bit breathless as he agrees to this, as if no one’s ever given him a nickname before (and perhaps they haven’t).
Archie grins again, flashing his slightly gap-toothed smile. When you’re young, making friends is delightfully simple. A few words exchanged and you’ve got a playmate for years to come. And Archie has a feeling, somewhere deep in his heart, that he and this pretty boy will be friends for a long, long while.
He glances down at Maxie’s sneakered feet and frowns. “Why are you wearing shoes?” he asks, confused.
Maxie stares at his feet for a moment, and then laughs - his first real laugh since setting foot on the island.
“I don’t know,” he says, and it’s the undeniable truth.
Archie and Maxie have a competition to see who can toss a shoe the farthest.
-x-
The days pass slowly, as days in Dewford tend to do. Little by little, Archie learns more about his newfound friend.
Maxie’s parents are scientists - geologists, to be precise - and they’ve come to Dewford to study the rock formations in the ancient island caves. They’re not home much, despite the fact that they just moved in; instead they’re always out at the research site, taking samples and entering data and doing whatever it is that scientists do. So Maxie’s alone a lot, in that big empty house at the edge of town. He says he’s used to it, that the silence and the unpacked boxes and the bare walls don’t bother him, but Archie can tell he’s lying by the way his eyes go all sad and dreary.
Archie doesn’t like the idea of him being by himself all day. He’s taken to stopping by Maxie’s house first thing in the morning, and the two of them run off together to discover what the day will offer. Showing the new kid around the island is a big task - there are literally hundreds of secret hiding spots and uncharted coves and symbolic landmarks to explore and explain - but Archie’s never been known to back down from a challenge. He shows Maxie the Hole in the Wall, a mysterious, perfectly round crevice cut into the side of the southern cliff, the Pelipper’s Nest, a tall rock out in the middle of the ocean where you can see for miles, the Breathing Cave, a cavern near the inlet that is rumored to house an ancient sleeping Pokémon, the Lazy Palm, a palm tree on the northern beach that always drops its coconuts without a fight, and so much besides. Dewford is a place rich with the culture of both sailors and the native island dwellers, and as they walk along the beaches Archie tells Maxie the stories he grew up hearing: the legend of the Tentacruel Sea God, the tale of the Ghost Ship, the ancient myth of the Great White Wailord and the man he swallowed whole.
Maxie absorbs this information, wide-eyed. He’s never lived in a place with so many stories before (or maybe no one’s ever taken the time to tell them to him), and he can’t help but wish that they had come to Dewford sooner. The island town is beautiful in more ways than one.
And it’s made just a little more beautiful, he thinks, by the dark-haired boy with the gap-toothed grin.
-x-
They meet on the beach one day - one of those days when the air feels like hot soup and it’s hard to breathe without charring your lungs to a crisp - and Archie declares that it’s time to go swimming. He’s spent so much time showing Maxie around the island lately that he’s hardly had time for his second favorite hobby (the first being fishing, of course). The excitement is palpable on his face as he prepares to dive into the briny surf, bouncing on the balls of his toes impatiently.
Maxie is far less enthusiastic. He shares a worried glance with his pet Pokémon, an old Golbat named Luna that he carries everywhere on his shoulder (a gift from his parents, to make up for the fact that they’re never around). If possible, Luna gives him a distinctly cautionary look, like the protective mother he’s never had.
“Well?” Archie demands. His pet Poochyena is running laps around him, obviously just as eager as he to get out of the heat. “Are you coming or not?”
Maxie clears his throat nervously. “I… I can’t swim,” he mutters, embarrassed.
Archie’s expression changes from eager to aghast in a matter of seconds.
“You… can’t swim?” He says it as if it’s a heinous crime, though to him it might as well be. Having learned to swim before he learned to run, the very idea of not being able to is more horrific than anything he’s ever imagined.
Maxie shuffles his bare feet in the sand, feeling self-conscious. Archie probably thinks he’s weird now. He’ll probably run back to his old friends, laughing at the new kid that doesn’t know how to swim, and Maxie will be all alone once more. This always happens to him - as soon as he makes a friend, they grow bored of him and leave him in the dust.
But when he glances up, Archie seems to be in deep thought. His face suddenly lights up, and his trademark grin is back in place. “I know!” he exclaims. “How ‘bout I teach you?”
Maxie blinks in surprise. “Teach me?”
“Well yeah. If you’re gonna live here, you have to know how to swim!” His expression is completely serious as he says this, and there’s a determined spark in his eye that says he won’t be backing down from this challenge either. He rummages through his bag and pulls out a spare pair of swimming trunks (somehow he knew they’d come in handy), then tosses them to Maxie and waits for him to change.
After marveling in how pale the red-haired boy is, Archie grabs him by the hand and drags him down to the end of the pier. The sea breeze drifting in from the east feels refreshing after the sweltering heat they’ve been enduring all day, though the sun still beats down mercilessly upon their heads. Far out on the horizon, the blue of the sky seems to melt and drip into the blue of the sea like paint mixing together on a palette.
Archie turns to Maxie with a smile.
“Swimming’s really easy,” he says. “All you have to do is pretend to be a fish. Try it!”
Without any further ado, he promptly shoves Maxie off the pier and into the water below.
When the red-haired boy surfaces a few moments later, floundering around helplessly, choking on salt water, and shouting every obscenity in his eleven-year-old repertoire, Archie thinks (with quite a bit of pride) that he must be the greatest swimming instructor the world has ever known.
-x-
One morning, Maxie is not waiting on his front step like he ought to be. Archie glances around warily, half expecting his friend to jump out from behind a rock or a palm tree and startle him at any moment. But no. Maxie doesn’t play tricks like that.
Something must be wrong.
He tries the door handle and it swings open, unsurprisingly. No one in Dewford bothers to lock their doors, because it’s just one of those places where everyone knows everyone and trusts them implicitly. (there’s hardly any crime, save for the spiteful teenage pastime of stealing from unsuspecting tourists)
The interior is immaculate, without a hint of dust or dirt. Hardly a home at all, Archie thinks, envisioning his own noisy, crowded house. The furniture is sparse, scattered despondently throughout the too-big rooms, and the oppressive quiet settles like a heavy weight on Archie’s shoulders.
“Hey Maxie?” he calls, and his voice echoes and reverberates back at him. “You here?”
Silence.
Then, from one of the back rooms, a sniffle and a murmured “yes.”
Archie finds Maxie sitting in shadow, hair hanging like a blood red curtain over his face, cradling Luna in his arms. She lies stiffly, without a hint of life left in her. Her wings are hanging limp and useless, trailing against the floor, and her wise old eyes stare blankly at nothing.
Archie’s seen dead things before, but not like this. The old Golbat had always been around, perched on Maxie’s shoulder like a watchful guardian spirit. It’s strange to think that she could die so suddenly - that she could ever leave Maxie unprotected.
Archie walks over and puts a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Max,” he murmurs, and isn’t sure what else to say. He’s just a kid, after all. He’s never had to think about death, not really, and he most definitely hasn’t had to console a grieving person. So “I’m sorry” is about all he can think to say, though he’s not quite sure what he’s apologizing for. It’s not like it’s his fault. It’s not like it’s anyone’s fault. But if there’s one thing he’s learned from watching grownups, it’s that they always try to take a little bit of the blame and place it upon themselves.
Maxie lifts his head, and his pale face is blotchy and tear-stained.
“She was old,” he mutters. “It was only a matter of time.”
But Archie can see him screaming inside. Luna had, for the most part, been his only companion before he came to Dewford. She had been there for him when friends and family had not. And now she is gone, and Maxie is stricken with fear. If Archie leaves him too, like all the others did before him, then he’ll be really, truly alone. And he doesn’t think he could take it.
Archie extends a hand down to his friend. “Come on,” he says, with an almost-smile. “We’ll give her a proper funeral.”
They spend nearly an hour constructing a makeshift boat out of driftwood and spare nails. When it’s complete, they lay Luna inside of it, tucking her wings around her like a blanket. Archie does that trick he saw on television and closes the old Golbat’s unseeing eyes for the last time. They stand there for a moment in poignant silence, wondering what to say. But a eulogy seems pointless. Words are quite unnecessary, as they can both feel each other’s emotions churning and roiling like an angry sea.
Together, they push Luna’s driftwood coffin into the surf and watch until it is swallowed by a wave and pulled down, down, down into the deeps.
-x-
One morning, Archie does not arrive on time to meet Maxie at his front door.
The red-haired boy simply stands there, shuffling his feet in the bleached white sand, scanning the beach for his friend’s familiar blue bandana. It’s not like Archie to be late, despite how unorganized he might seem. Maybe he stopped to talk to someone. Maybe he went out fishing with his father and just forgot to tell anyone. Maybe…
After what feels like an eternity waiting, Maxie finally spots a lone figure running down the beach. As Archie comes into view, Maxie can see that he is grinning (of course) and waving a red and white object frantically. He jogs to a halt at his friend’s side, and has to take a moment to recover his breath.
“Sorry I’m late,” he pants. He holds out the red and white object, which is now identifiable as a Pokeball, for Maxie to take. “Getting this took longer than I expected. Stupid dark caves…”
Maxie takes the Pokeball hesitantly. He’s never held one before, but he likes the way it feels in his grasp - a comforting weight. He holds it out, unsure of exactly what to do, and presses the center button warily. Instantly, the Pokeball opens and a flash of red light emerges, dissipating to reveal…
A Zubat.
Annoyed by the early morning light, it flies in haphazard, almost drunken circles around Maxie’s head, emitting a high-pitched sound of annoyance with its new master.
Archie looks more than a little sheepish. “Yeah, well, I was hoping to find you a new Golbat,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “But there were only Zubat in the cave. And since they evolve into Golbat, I thought…” His voice trails off.
Maxie is smiling, his most genuine smile yet, and it’s the prettiest thing Archie’s ever seen. “Thank you,” the red-haired boy murmurs. His eyes are glistening, but just a little - he doesn’t want to cry anymore. “You’re a good friend, Archie.”
They spend the rest of the day training the Zubat (named Luna II due to a lack of inspiration) and teaching it how to be a perfect Pokémon. The first lesson they teach it is not a useful battle move, a clever special technique, or a practical evasive maneuver.
Instead, they teach it to perch on Maxie’s shoulder.
-x-
“Don’t hold on to me so tightly! I can hardly feel my arm!”
“Sorry, Max. You know I don’t like these caves… Why couldn’t we have gone out fishing or something?”
“Cause I found something cool, that’s why. Plus, I don’t like fishing.”
Archie stops dead in his tracks. When Maxie swings the lantern back in his direction, he sees that his friend’s face looks utterly horror-struck.
“You… don’t like fishing?”
“No, I don’t! It’s deadly boring just sitting out there for hours and hours waiting for a fish to bite. Plus, boats make me nauseous.”
“Nauseous?” Archie whispers, appalled. “As in, seasick?”
Grumbling out an unintelligible reply, Maxie spins on his heel and starts walking away, lantern bobbing in the darkness. Archie follows with a harried yelp, fearful of being left behind. The two boys walk huddled together until they reach an open cavern, where stalactites hang like the teeth of a hungry beast. At the far end is a massive stone slab, undoubtedly hundreds of years old, decorated with ancient cave paintings. Maxie lifts the lantern to get a closer look.
“See,” he says, jabbing a finger at one of the more prominent paintings. “This is what I was talking about. I snuck a peek at my parents’ research, and it said that these two are really powerful legendary Pokémon.”
Archie’s dark eyes are wide as he takes it all in. “Wow… What are they called?” His gaze is drawn to the one in front of him, a blue sea creature with brilliant markings all down its sides and long, elegant fins.
“That one is Kyogre, the Sea Basin Pokémon. And this one,” Maxie says, staring at the red creature before him with a gleam in his eye, “is Groudon, the Continent Pokémon. Isn’t it amazing?”
“Eh, not really. It doesn’t look all that intimidating,” Archie says, and shrugs. “Kyogre’s way better.”
“… Are you serious?” The red-haired boy seems to take personal offense at this comment. “Kyogre looks so weak! It’s basically a Wailmer with some pretty designs on its back!”
Archie’s eyes narrow dangerously, and he immediately launches into a long retort about how incredibly lame Groudon is and how Kyogre could easily take the other legendary in a fight.
The Kyogre vs. Groudon debate lasts for an entire week, and even at the bitter end neither side emerges triumphant.
(Neither ever will.)