We're all characters in unrefined plots. There is no narrator to neatly explain things, no omniscient voice that details the important people in our lives in one, hefty paragraph. Some people think of their lives as fiction. We build up to some climax–that turning point in our lives–and resolve ourselves into solution. "And they lived happily forever. The end."

Some people are constantly looking for that happy ending. I'm just looking to be happy.

...

Species Name: Dawn

Chapter Seventeen

Around her left wrist was a pearl bracelet. Lucas hadn't noticed it until now when he looked down at her hands and saw her playing with them, sliding the bracelet off her wrist and letting the cold pearls wrap around her fingers. He watched as she pressed her finger against one pearl before sliding down to the next one and repeating the process, like they were beads of the rosary. Her mouth seemed to be invisibly chanting something – a silent prayer.

She turned away from the window they stood in front of and saw that his eyes were watching her hand movements, the silent mutterings to herself. She pressed her lips together and looked up and down from her bracelet to his face. "A force of habit," she said as she directed her attention toward the window again. "I actually don't realize I'm doing it until someone notices."

"I hadn't noticed until now," he said.

She smiled to herself. "Maybe my force of habits became yours, too. The way you run your finger down the brim of your beret when you're nervous was mine."

Lucas hadn't realized his lifted hand was midway between the right side of his cap and the left. He immediately dropped his hand, finger brushing against his nose as Dawn giggled lightly. "I didn't notice you did that until we got on the island. You were doing it after we took that one picture together. You better have not deleted that. I want it emailed to me."

"I didn't. And okay."

Dawn nodded and moved her bracelet around her wrist. She pressed her hands against the cold, metal windowsill, the bracelet sliding down and stopping before her knuckles. Her eyes were busy – the room she was watching was busy but gawkily still at the same time – people who weren't sure how to react but knew they should.

"What were you muttering?" he asked.

"He's awake," she said.

It was the strange, how everything just happened. There was solemnity in their entrance of the hospital room, the disappointment weighing on everyone's shoulders at their lack of anything new but the grace to pretend there was the semblance of something there. Yet within seconds of Dawn depositing one of her key chains into Lane's hands, Lane awoke, blue eyes weary but at the same time alert, focusing on the bewildered girl, and then, with a flick of the iris, the dilate of the pupil, focusing on him: Lucas, the boy who did ... nothing. He did nothing for once. No titles to follow that up with. A someone turned him into a nothing. Who was this someone?

She was a human female, a fourteen year-old bordering on fifteen. One who was five foot, one inch and on the lighter end of weight in comparison to other human weights. Her hat was white, dark-blue hair clipped back with white-gold barrettes. She wore a red scarf – he always found it awkward that the pair of them had red scarves they had carried with them for years now – with a pink, ruffled skirt that she loved to wear, so much so that she would walk in biting, freezing wind just to show off, to quote, her "fabulous legs." A personality that was nosy, interested in the things around her, refusing to allow her "subject" to get away without finding her answers. Someone who was determined, focused, confident in the face of adversity but still prone to weakness. Able to read into things, into the slight of movements, the smallest of expressions. A lover of sweets. A lover of cities. Sometimes forgetful. Means well. Overall confusing. Her name was Dawn.

He realized quickly that it was the feather that awoke Lane almost the very instance Lane's eyelids flickered open. He had no idea why; what properties in feathers would be able to awaken the boy from the sleeping spell that they still haven't pinpointed the reason for. He could make hypotheses. The feathers, which could be run under tests to see if they are from the cresselia breed, may contain some sort of material, a cure, which immediately entered Lane's body through his pores. The feathers could help alleviate future problems like this; perhaps it could even be used to create new remedies for those often fatigued. A new source of energy.

But when Dawn asked him, "How did he wake up?" he couldn't bring himself to answer her with his assumption. He was about to tell her that, could remember the answer burning on his lips, but suddenly stopped himself and said, "Who knows?" and tacked on a, "Maybe it's magic," a few seconds later, not to be condescending but because that's what it was: magic. Now, anyway. Maybe he wanted to humor her. What good would it have done to tell her it was the feathers when his theory was just as ridiculous as the myth this entire ordeal was possibly based on? The feathers have some shit in them that did something to wake Lane up. I have no idea what. Right. Good one.

There was an onslaught of questions when Lane awoke and after Dawn murmured, "Hello, Lane." How are you feeling? Are you okay? Did you call the doctor? Someone call the doctor (okay, that's not a question). But it was Lucas's ominous question that was answered first: "Did you dream?" He asked it so tersely, so alarmingly, that it startled everyone to stop talking in order to hear the answer.

Lane looked at him, confused. "I think," he said. "There was a castform in it. Oh, and I dreamed I failed my trainer's test." He scrunched his nose at the same time Lucas raised his eyebrows. "Then there was this thing with Julie and a train and some weird game. And Julie's mom's memorial"–Dawn noticed Alyson close her eyes tightly at the lackadaisical way her son said this–"and me being in Lance's cartoon. That one was neat."

Lucas dreamed of Barry's death, Cyrus chaining him to a pillar before killing him, and Dawn doing very friendly things. He told this to no one, lied about it to Dawn, and he vaguely wondered if the boy was lying too. He wouldn't pry into unwanted territory, though, and left it at that with a nod. Maybe Lane got off easier than Lucas did. Most people do.

Dawn brushed her fingers against Lucas's back as she passed him by. He turned away from the window to look at her, and she motioned him to follow her with the nudge of her head. "Let's leave them alone for tonight. It is late after all, and we had a long day," she said as they walked down the hospital's narrow hall toward one of the exits. The glass doors spotted with drops of rain opened when Dawn's boot hit the entrance mat, the cold, moist air engulfing them. Lucas crossed his arms, grasping his upper arms with his fingers while Dawn tugged at the ends of her scarf. She exhaled, watching her breath turn into condensation. "I used to pretend I was a smoker when it was this cold and you could see your breath."

"How healthy," he said dryly, fiddling with his keys, fingers brushing against the feather key chain Dawn gave him earlier. They walked down the ramp and hit the wet asphalt. Lucas kicked a nearby stone and watched it skitter across the pavement before coming to a rest near a marble water fountain topped with a blissey statuette. The wet walk reflected the streetlights, and they were entwined in the gold. He could see why Lane enjoyed the imagery.

Dawn locked arms with him as Lucas pocketed his hands in his jeans to keep his fingers warm. He felt her lean into him as he pointed his head up briefly and looked at the night sky still patched with clouds. He focused straight ahead toward the buildings where lights bled out the windows. Dawn had pressed the side of her face against his arm, comforted. It was only when he asked, "Now what?" that she pulled away and looked at him, bewildered. She didn't answer him, but he noticed her grip his arm tighter, like she was afraid. "I mean ... Lane's awake."

"Mhm," she said in agreement as she twisted the ball of her foot and let the loose asphalt crunch. She pulled her head away and turned her sight toward the black sea, letting her hair drape behind her back.

"So now what?" he repeated.

"That's up to you, really," she said.

"Huh?"

"That's up to you," she repeated.

"Why?"

"You had other plans before this, didn't you?"

"The Battle Frontier–"

"So you'll be going to that now," she interrupted as she turned her head straight, nostrils flaring.

He was taken aback by the fierceness in her tone. She didn't sound upset or angry but determined, focused on something. He didn't know why, but when he looked into her eyes, he quickly pieced together the reason. The tears were starting to form; she was determined not to cry. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, perturbed.

"What?"

"You're crying."

She wiped at her eyes with her free hand, nose wrinkled. "I am not," she said in the same firm tone from earlier.

"You're trying not to."

"Am not."

He grimaced, lips pursed. "Okay."

"Don't 'okay' me."

"Fine."

"None of that either."

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "You're avoiding my question."

"What question?"

"Why were you about to cry?"

Dawn released Lucas's arm to cross her own, fists pressed into her armpits. They wandered aimlessly down the street. It was only thirty-five minutes past nine, but the city was hushed – he amounted it to the rain. He separated the sounds. A car honked in the distance. Past the sound of the waves crashing into the docks were the kricketot hums. He turned his head toward the right to stare into the shops then turned back to the left and saw that the tears had returned. She sniffled, wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, and did her best to look stoic than broken.

"It's dumb," she said, stopping.

He fidgeted with the brim of his hat. "What?"

"That I miss you but you're still here."

"Miss me?"

Dawn exhaled slowly, watching her breath dissipate. "I like you, Lucas."

She said it slowly, or maybe time slowed down, like that one time when they almost kissed in Harbor Inn. (Apparently one of Dawn's many powers includes the slowing down of time.) He could make out each syllable, could see each slight shift of her mouth: the way her mouth smiled with the "I," the way her tongue flicked past her top front teeth with the "like," and the way her lips puckered with the "you." I like you. He liked the way she said it: so honest, rhetoric so simple, yet there was complexity with the mouth motion.

"I know," he said, blinking. He felt his nerves kick up, and he suppressed that energy into his feet as he rocked back and forth.

"I don't mean that in the stupid 'just as friends' way either. I really like you."

"I know," he said quietly.

She stopped in her tracks, staring at the tops of her boots as Lucas stared at the top of her head. He gently pulled on her elbow to move her away from the street and onto the sidewalk when the two of them were caught in the headlights of a passing car. They stood in the warm light of a bakery. Lucas looked inside, staring at the cakes positioned on clear pedestals, and tried to ignore the hunger pains that kicked up whenever the breeze blew and let the scent of baking bread drift in their direction. Dawn's left hand had dropped from her armpit so her fingers could slide around her pearl bracelet.

"Dawn," he said. He felt like he should do something. If they were in some sort of corny romance movie, he assumed he was supposed to raise her head by gently lifting up her chin, stare into her eyes, and tell her that things, whatever those things are, would be all right, but real life dictated that his attention should be more on the cakes than the girl. He wanted to do something – he felt like he should – but his limbs didn't obey his corny thoughts. All he could say was her name. He suspected she was waiting, probably waiting for him to say it back, but he couldn't even do that. It was frustrating.

Dawn lifted her head and twirled her bracelet around her pointer finger. Her eyes were no longer watery. "I suppose," she said slowly, "that isn't enough to make you stay here."

He laced his fingers behind his neck, ripped his eyes away from the cakes to look at her, and said delicately, "I'm afraid not."

He watched her sharply intake breath as she paused. "I know," she finally murmured. "I figured I should try. I had to, you know? Just so I wouldn't wonder."

"It's what I like about you."

He noticed Dawn look at him curiously at this statement, but he didn't bother clarifying. He dropped his hands, letting them swing by his side. They continued to walk down the pavement patched in wet and dry because of the striped awnings that hung above the shop doors. As they walked, he felt Dawn's fingers brush against the back of his hand before entwining themselves with his. He stared at their moving, distorted reflection in the window of a darkened shop lit by a streetlamp across the street.

"I guess," she began, looking at Lucas, "in a way I'm sad this is all over. Don't get me wrong – I'm glad Lane's awake. But ... it's just ... I feel like something is over. It's silly. Nothing is over. Nothing is ever over. Nothing has even happened. But repeating that in your head doesn't make that feeling go away in your heart. I don't want what whatever we have to be over, Lucas."

Lucas awkwardly looked away from Dawn's face and toward the sea, noticing rope curled around the railing. He desperately tried to change the subject; Dawn's current rambling was the last thing he wanted to talk about. "When I was little," he began, lightly pressing his fingers against the back of her knuckles, "my mom brought me to some amusement park. You know, one of those historic things. She said it would be educational. I think Barry came with us." He mentally scratched his head at the randomness of this conversation.

She was looking at their hands, and Lucas knew that she was thinking about why he ignored her last statement and began his own train of thought. She played along. "Sounds cute," she replied without looking up. "What did you do there?"

"I learned how to make rope."

"Yeah?"

"It was the most boring thing ever. Then the guy made the rope into a lasso and pulled me in with it, and I dropped my ice cream. Not a fun day. Evil stuff, rope."

Dawn brought their entwined hands up and pressed her cold nose against the back of his hand. "I don't get you," she said, her lips brushing against his skin. "One day you treat me like I'm some sort of swamp thing and the next day you're telling me bouts about your childhood."

They stopped at a street sign lit by a nearby streetlight. He knew he should be leading them back home before it got too late and too cold, but he found that he didn't want to leave. Something strange washed over him, like that one guilty feeling in the library except it rested more in his throat than the pit of his stomach. Was he feeling sad that this was all over, too?

He tried to rid himself of the emotion. "Does that bother you?"

"It's what I like about you."

The wash hit him harder. They stood next to a streetlight. Lucas ran his free hand down the concrete pillar while Dawn gripped their entwined hands tighter. "Besides," she added with a tight-lipped grin, "I like a challenge."

They stood there as Dawn swung their hands back and forth and Lucas pressed his hand harder against the streetlight, staring up at the golden bulb that drenched his face in its light. It had started to drizzle. Dawn lifted her face and let the light rain sprinkle down on her, bangs sticking to her forehead. Lucas mused that during this point of a corny romance movie, he was suppose to cup her face in his hands and kiss her, but he didn't have the balls to do anything but seduce the streetlight with his strokes.

He was fine, you know, fine with the way he was. He knew he was alone; he didn't mind that he was alone because things are better off that way for him and for everyone else. He hated hurting people because he had to leave all the time, and it's better to cut ties in one clean, but painful, swoop. It's me caring for others by not caring for others. But in such a short span of time, Dawn took years of carefully crafted logic, made it look apeshit retarded, and flipped it onto its head, and suddenly he cared for someone else. Goddammit. He had to get over it. It's for the fucking best, Lucas.

"Let's go home," she said as she dragged the top of her boot in circles across the pavement while letting go of his hands to curl hers into the sleeves of her jacket. "I just wanna go home and put on warm pajamas and cozy up in bed with a cup of tea and a book." Her eyes followed down the concrete path that slowly stripped away Canalave's civilization the further away she looked. "Don't you wanna put on dry clothes and just bask in the relief of this finally being over?"

No, that was the last thing he wanted. They weren't soaked–yet, anyway, and they wouldn't be if Lucas could pull his stupid hand away from the sexy, sexy lamppost and get out his umbrella–but he would rather stay wet than give into the future dooming him to be alone and the thought process that kept telling him that him being alone was a good thing. He had no idea what that had to do with umbrellas. His thoughts were all tumbling around in his head like jeans in a dryer, thick and heavy and filled with loose change that rattled around or something. He had no idea what the hell he was thinking anymore other than corny thoughts that didn't match his interactions in real life. And laundry.

"Yeah," he finally said. He pulled his hand away and curled it into a fist. That wasn't what he wanted to say. That wasn't what he was thinking.

Dawn smiled at him and nudged him in the arm with her elbow. "Come on, you dork. Let's go." She started to walk forward, toward the future (enough with the corny metaphors that pass as thoughts, Lucas) while he lingered in the past (what did I just say about this metaphor?), or what was going to be the past but was still currently the present, and now more rambling brought to you by Mr. Mime Floor Cleanser™. He had to say something.

"Dawn," he said, mouth tugged down, eyes squinted as he took a step forward when she was already five steps ahead.

She stopped and turned her head, hair swinging to the side. "What?" Her eyes caught the golden glint of the streetlight. Lucas started to breathe heavily for some reason – he had no idea why – as his nerves maneuvered back up his legs and rested in the back of his throat and noticed that, hey, these tonsils make good punching bags: let's practice boxing with them. What was so hard about saying what he wanted to say, that she wasn't all that bad to be around? That he, too, didn't want to leave behind the "whatever" they had built up to do his own stuff and for her to do her own? He wanted her to use that timing slowing power she had.

She instead used another power. Lucas wondered how she did it sometimes, how she could read into people's facial expressions and assume–usually correctly–the things a person was so concerned about. He assumed she would have giggled in glee about his new feelings toward her and bug him with whatever schoolyard taunt she could think of, but her empathy overrode all, and maybe she needed the comfort, too. She knew he was worried about time. She knew that he ... that he ... Disgusting stuff. That's all you need to know. Disgusting, cutesy stuff. How pathetic. He couldn't even say it in his head.

Get over it, he repeated in his head. Get over her. You have to.

"We do need to come back tomorrow," she said as she took two wide steps forward to stand next to his side again. "To check in on Lane and all that fun stuff." She pulled on his arm to make him start walking down the gold, empty streets like he was a stubborn jackass, and he obliged.

"Yeah," he said.

"And, you know, you do need to pack up for that Battle Frontage–"

"Frontier," he muttered.

"Same diff. I mean, that's an extra day or something, isn't it?"

Not really. "Yeah."

"So don't worry about time," she said.

"I'm not." He was.

The concrete stopped and the long grass started, tangling around their ankles. She let go of his arm and walked ahead, stretching her hands over her head and grasping at the air. "Hey, question," she said, stepping on a twig and cracking it in half. "Important question!"

Lucas put his hands on top of his head, elbows extended out. "What?"

"There's a fair coming to Jubilife in a couple of days, and since you're going to be here still for a couple more days, I thought you'd might like to go with me. It'll be super fun. We'll get hyped on sugar and we can both vomit it up on the zipper ride."

He looked at her funny as she stopped in her tracks, smiling. "What do you say?"

"I ..." He was expected to be at the Battle Frontier in a couple of days–they were angry enough that he had put it off for so long–and as much as he wanted to stay, he knew he couldn't. He was about to say no, tell her that he had things to do, people to see, pokémon to battle, any excuse he could muster so he could unfortunately return to the life he had become so accustom to, and that he could go with her to something else later if she still wanted to–maybe, if they were lucky–but her eyes suddenly snapped up towards his and quickly swept back and forth, reading his face. And like that, a light hope disappeared into heavy disappointment.

"I keep forgetting that you've got other stuff to do," she said with a forced laugh, trying to ease the tension. "Sorry. Don't worry about it. I mean, I've got other stuff to do too and ... yeah."

She was the one making excuses now? "Well, I'm glad you understand, I guess. I do gotta get out of here as soon as I can," he said, dropping one hand to run it down his pokéball belt. Torterra, Lucario, Magmortar, Honchkrow ...

Honchkrow ...

Shit. He made a promise to the damn bird that he would take her out. The damn bird knew saw this coming. Lucas would have to thank him later.

"Well, wait," he sighed with fake exasperation. Might as well pretend that he wouldn't enjoy it for now. "I guess I can go if it means that much to you."

She opened her mouth, surprised. "Really?" she asked. "I mean, I was just throwing it out there, and I thought you might want to, and if you have to leave, I don't want to stop you–"

"I want to," he said. For once, the thought matched the dialogue.

She wrapped him into a hug and clung around his shoulders as she kicked her legs up, and he melted into her.

Dawn swiped Lucas's hat off his head and threw it on top of her own. "Come on!" she said gleefully, skipping backward, his hat bouncing. "If we make it home fast enough, my mom might make us something to eat!"

Free food was all the motivation he needed to hurry him up. Before he could chase her down, something vibrated in his pocket. He pulled out his cellphone and read the text on his screen.

. . . . . . . . .

From: 011-555-5215
To: 011-555-2134

Fwd: Hey, it's Dawn! Hope you don't mind that I got your number from Lucas's phone. I think me and Lucas are going to Jubilife's annual festival in a couple days, though I still gotta ask him. I was wondering if you'd like to come join us if you're in the area! It'll be super fun! Call or text me back so we can sort out stuff! Love, Dawn

You fucking jackass. You told me you didn't have her number. I will see you there. And I'm fining you a million dollars for that. – Barry

. . . . . . . . .

"Lucas!" Dawn stamped her foot and pouted. She was already a few feet ahead. "Hurry up!"

She really couldn't stop meddling with things, could she?

He groaned and chased after her.

He'll get over her another day.

And they lived happily ever after. The End.

"What? That's it?"

"What do you mean 'that's it?' Of course that's it." He closed the notebook and gently patted its worn-out cover. He pushed himself further up the bed, causing the springs to groan under his weight, and pressed his back against the oak headboard.

"Daddy, you can't just end a story with 'And they lived happily ever after, the end,' and expect it to just be finished."

"No, Laney?" He leaned forward, pressed his forehead against his daughter's, and grinned as her blues stared into his. She kissed him on the cheek, pulled back, and giggled as she swiped the old, red notebook from his grasp. He tucked his tangled hair behind her ear. "Then you tell me how the story should end."

She scrambled to sit straight in her dad's lap and pulled open the cover. "You're suppose to kiss her and sweep her off her feet." She brought both hands to her face to stifle her embarrassed laughter. "Besides," she added, "I still have no idea what happened to everyone."

"No?" He stared up at the ceiling lamp that was connected to a ceiling fan circulating cool air.

"I mean ... what happened to everyone afterward?"

The father turned toward the door and saw the warm eyes of Laney's mother peek through the open crack, a smile on her face. While she wouldn't pester him to wrap things up, he could tell she was getting anxious about Laney going to sleep soon; she had school tomorrow, and it was already forty minutes passed her usual bedtime.

"You, sweetheart, need to sleep," he said as he tore his eyes away from the pink door and jigglypuff wallpaper to look at the little girl.

"Please, Daddy?" She pouted and crossed her arms, notebook resting in her lap. "Just tell me what happened to everyone really, really, really, really fast, and I'll sleep really, really, really–"

"I get it," he interrupted with a laugh as he pulled his daughter further up. She leaned against him and nuzzled her head below his chin while propping the notebook up in her hands. She turned to the last page her father read to her and stared at the messy cursive. "Who do you want to start with?"

"Aly and Eldritch!" she repeated.

The dad brought his left hand up and ran it down his cheek to chin, feeling the stubble. "Well," he said slowly, softly, "you know they were fighting, right?"

She nodded eagerly. The top of her head rubbed against his chin, leaving a tickling sensation. "And you said that you and momma wouldn't fight like that."

He grimaced. "Right."

"So are they okay? They stayed together and stuff?"

He watched the wooden blades of the ceiling fan circle . "Yeah, sweetie," he said slowly. "Eldritch and Aly ... They managed to work things out and ..." he paused, heart beating rapidly.

She took notice and looked up. "What about them?" she repeated.

He hesitated, scraping his top teeth against his dry bottom lip. "Eldritch was still a fine sailor – is. He is. Aly, once Lane left for his journey, decided to run a pokémon daycare. They're well, those two."

She seemed satisfied with the answer much to his relief, so he asked, "Who else would you like to know about? Lane?"

She nodded again and turned her head slightly.

"Well, after Lane got better in the hospital, he returned back to school."

"Yuck." She stuck out her tongue.

"And at nine, he got his trainer's I.D. and his first pokémon and started his journey."

"So ..." The girl's face screwed up in confusion. "Why did he start his journey at nine?"

"Some people need to, Laney."

"Need to?"

He nodded. "Burning desire and all that. He did become a pretty good trainer if I do say so myself. His starter was a buizel that went on to win the speed swimmer championship in the pokéathlon in Johto against Misty's starmie. And he did, I must say, get the dragonite he long desired for and is quite the accomplished dragon tamer." He smiled to himself and kissed his daughter's head through her hair. She turned around to face the alarm clock on her polished chestnut nightstand, resting the side of her face below his chin and curling up.

Laney's murmured in response, hands losing their grip on the notebook. Her father tenderly lifted her up so he could remove her from his lap and lay her down, placing her head on the pillow. He gently pried the notebook from her hands. "I think you're too sleepy to hear the rest," he said, pulling the blanket over her and tucking her in. "I'll tell you tomorrow night."

"No," Laney moaned tiredly, eyes still closed. "Tell me ... tell me about–" She yawned.

The father sat on the edge of the bed, fingers pressed against the metal spiral that had unraveled six holes from the bottom. "Lucas and Dawn?"

"Mhmm ..."

He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. "They're something, too. The end."

"Daaaaad ..."

His smile widened. He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Laney's tired form. "All right. After that fair in Jubilife, Lucas went off to the Battle Frontier. Dawn worked on her thesis, more inspired than ever. Lucas is still a decent trainer, I suppose, and Dawn is as annoying as ever."

The little girl giggled, opening her eyes a crack. "And that's all that happened?"

He nodded.

"No kiss at all?"

He shook his head. "None at all."

"So he did get over her?"

He shrugged.

"He's a brat."

"I agree." He kissed Laney's forehead. "Now sleep. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

She looked back at him, sleepy-eyed. "Good night, Daddy."

He stood back up and stretched his arms over his head, fingers pressed into the gaps between the notebook's coil. He strode over to the door and flicked the light switch down; the ceiling light turned off, and the gentle glow of the teddiursa night light illuminated the room. As he opened the door and was about to slip out, Laney's voice rung out again. "Daddy?"

He poked his head into the room. "Hmm?"

"Thanks for telling me that story."

He smiled and nodded to himself. "You're welcome. Sweet dreams." He closed the door. His wife was leaning against the wall adjacent to it.

"You're such a liar," she said with a smirk, arms crossed.

"Prove it," he challenged, fanning through the notebook's pages with his thumb.

"I listened to your 'epilogue.'"

He rolled the notebook into a tube and stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans. "And?" he asked, walking down the hallway, his wife following after him. He stretched his arm out and brushed his fingers against the white plaster wall.

"You twisted the facts."

The father emerged from the hallway and into the living room, his eyes directing themselves on a family portrait hanging above the brick fireplace taken a couple of years ago before Ben left for his journey. He looked so baby-faced back then, cheeks chubby, dark-blue hair sticking up at the cowlick even though his mother tried her best to flatten it down with her fingers and, much to his dismay, her saliva. He guessed the boy was still baby-faced (and would always be to his mom), only recently hitting a growth spurt and, again much to his dismay, a change in his voice that would send his voice bending down only to randomly rocket back up with a crack. Evan, two years older than Ben, was threatened to return home for a week, with one day dedicated to the portrait and the other six used to feed him adequate nutrition.

Laney's mom took notice of what her husband was staring at. She wrapped her arms around him and stood on tippy-toe to rest her chin on his shoulder. "It's weird to think that Elaine is near Lane's age back when we first met him," she said.

"Give or take 730 days."

She rolled her eyes. "Number technicalities. Point is that we're old." She reached out and grabbed the rolled-up notebook from her husband's pocket, unfurling it and trying to flatten down the cover that was bending upward. "So why the lies? When you finally agreed to tell Elaine that story, you told me you were going to be one-hundred percent truthful about it, give or take a few details. Oh, I also love how you worded that one dream."

"Dawny dear did do very 'friendly' things," he replied. "And who said those dreams stopped?" His wife smacked him in the rear with the notebook but smiled nonetheless. "Let's chalk up my little 'epilogue' to one of those 'give or take a few' details."

"It's strange is all. Of all things to lie about ..."

"It's more of a twist of the truth."

"A lie," she repeated.

"Most truths are opinion anyway."

He wiggled out of his wife's grip and lead her to the couch, sitting down. She flipped through the notebook as he looked out the open window, the night air pleasant on his skin. He looked out; the contest hall, the biggest one in Sinnoh, was the brightest building in the city, the lights outside its clear doors flashing different colors and its roof alight with LED bulbs. There was a contest going on; he was surprised that his wife didn't bother him to call a babysitter for the night and go with her, but he figured that she wanted him to finish the story he had been telling Laney for the past few nights.

He ran his hand down the top of the couch, his fingers picking up dust that floated from the outside into the quaint two-story house. His wife had curled her legs up, the leather making scrunching noises as she did so, and tucked her socked feet under her rump. He let his fingers dangle out the window, letting the wind graze it.

A girl once told him that stories were one part telling, the other part interpreting. Different people pick up certain wording, certain vocalization, and convert it into something that may not resemble the original source. As a storyteller, you become aware of these sorts of things: what one person picks up as significant is something that someone else might brush off as unimportant.

Truth, he realized, was too concrete. When you believe something as true, it takes a lot to rip your mind away from it. It leaves your brain inflexible to change. This is what works. We don't need other solutions. Storytelling opens you to possibilities because it's not entirely truthful; you're aware of its subjectivity and you take it with a grain of salt. You are able to see different perspectives.

His truth was that everyone was happier without him in their lives. His truth was that it was him not caring for others that made him care for others. He believed this for years; it was the conclusion he came to after years of observation. It took a kiss from a girl with a red scarf and a hard knock in the back of the head from a blond-haired boy to snap him out of it.

Cynthia used myths to find truths. Lucas used myths to hide them.

Eldritch was, indeed, a fine sailor. He loved adventure; he loved the sea. A good man in most regards but thrown into situations too early. He left his pregnant wife when she was five months pregnant with their second child, another boy Alyson would name Robert Luke. Alyson said Eldritch and she had their issues to work out, that her being pregnant wasn't the straw that broke that camel's back, that them separating was better for the baby because it was supposedly less stressful, but it didn't give Lane solace.

"'Real men are sailors,'" the dragon tamer would mock one night in a bar in Johto. "Leaving your wife when she was five-goddamn-months pregnant is manly alright."

Lucas told him that Eldritch did remain in his children's lives, even if he and his ex-wife were on shaky terms, and was still a concrete presence in Robert's life until the very end, and Lane shouldn't forget all the good his father had done, but Lane snorted and chugged down his second beer, slamming the glass bottle on the polished wood bar top.

"Even before then, he'd be gone for months, Lu, months. I slept with my door open, paranoid that he would be leaving without saying goodbye. And when he was gone, I still slept with my door open just so I would know the very moment he came back. It rattled me."

"I used to be annoyed with how protective my mom was, but now I get why," the twenty-nine year old added. "She was afraid of losing me. We went through rough times, me and my mom, and I sent back as much money as I could without starving myself when I became a trainer. I know she probably wanted me to stick around when Rob was born, but we needed the money. So fuck that man. He left his wife with no means to support herself."

Lane was only seven years younger than him but spoke with questionable rage that reminded Lucas of the despise he had after the Team Galactic conflict. The both of them were forced into positions they weren't meant to be in at that age; they had to grow up too fast. Lane only recently hit his rage-point as Lucas called it; he vaguely wondered if Lane's finalization as one of Johto's Elite Four members was what unleashed the rage he had at his childhood, much like Lucas's first championship win unleashed his, but at least Lane channeled his anger at appropriate times where it didn't consume his life.

Of course, he could be angry at other things. Eldritch died a few months ago, a few days after Lane got inducted into the Elite 4, from a heart attack.

"He would," Lane said. "Whenever I think about my induction, I think about his death. Lovely."

"You're angry that he died," Lucas replied quietly, peeling the beer label off his bottle.

"No shit."

Lane only went to the funeral because his brother and mother begged him to go. Lucas watched Lane in the front row stare stoically at his father's mahogany casket, one hand tightly gripping the hand of his mother's, as the minister muttered something corny that Rob would later comment his father would laugh at. It was at the reception that Lane would see Julie again, a coordinator who specialized in water-types. Rob would also comment that if Lane and Julie, who were currently dating, got married, the best man's toast would be awkward. "'Well, they both found each other at Dad's funeral and ...' Insert some sort of joke with bad taste."

"Lane, similarly, was stiff in certain body parts," Barry chimed in.

"Exactly."

"Memorials, you know, are Julie's and my thing," Lane later said. "It's a little creepy."

They never really talked about it, Lane's sleeping spell, not because they were afraid to talk about it but because Lane really didn't know what to say.

"I'm telling you the truth," Lane answered for the nth time as he sat between Lucas and his wife on a bench as they watched Elaine and Rob's daughter run around the jungle gym in a Sinnoh park. "All I remember was me being in Lance's old cartoon, something with a castform, failing my trainer's test, and Julie's mom's memorial."

"I dreamed of Barry dying," Lucas replied quietly. "And I remember you were in it when you were little, which was weird. We were wearing trench coats and were trying to stop a lady from stealing dishwater soap. Then I was chained to a pillar and Cyrus killed me. Lucario was a riolu, who then turned into a castform that tried to chew my ankle off. There was someone talking during all of this, telling me that he thought I'd understand what was going on, why he was doing this to me. He wanted to stop me from helping you. He knew everything about me. It hated me."

"Darkrai?" Lane asked.

"You were disturbing his energy sack," the wife said idly. "Darkrai sustain energy through their prey while they're sleeping; the myth is that the prey's dream is converted into energy. It's not something you can actually prove, but sleeping prey is easier to deal with than one that is awake. Dreams are influenced by even the most minute events that we witness in real life. Because Darkrai was on your mind, Lucas, it makes sense that you would dream of it."

"But I don't know if I did," Lucas said. "I just remember someone ... talking, narrating through the events happening. I don't know if it was Darkrai or my conscious."

"It's a little odd that Lane only has scattered recollection of his dreams that weren't as deranged as yours, Lu. You can recall them vividly. When you both awoke, you were completely wiped out while Lane was bouncing all over the place as soon as he awoke."

"My mom said I always had too much energy and wished I would be a little quieter," Lane said with a grin. "Like I said, I don't recall anything negative. I awoke happy if anything."

"I didn't," Lucas muttered.

"You weren't happy to begin with back then," his wife chimed in.

Alyson, meanwhile, had to sell the house in Canalave due to monetary constraints. She moved back to Kanto to live with her sister who helped her get back on her feet, though Alyson fell into depression all the same.

"Understandable," Lane told him that same night in the bar. "She was going through a divorce, she had a new baby to take care of, and her oldest child was in a region far away with their only communication being his scribbled 'I love you' notes tucked in the cash he sent to her monthly. But I'm proud of her. She finally became independent after wanting it for so long. She went back to school, Lu, got licensed to be a pokémon breeder. Runs a successful business. Bought her own house.

"She's messed up in her own right, but I suppose we all are."

He didn't comment on his mom's suicide attempts, an overdose when Rob was one year-old and again when Rob started his journey nine years later. Maybe that was slotted into the "messed up in her own right" part. Lucas supposed his own description of "doing well" was an odd way to describe Eldritch and Aly respectively.

Lucas could tell Lane was still messed up over his father leaving, his adventure being more of a job (compared to his dad finding his job to be more of an adventure), his mother's depression, and, finally, his father's death. He seemed to find solace in his new job–being a gym leader was busy enough; the Elite 4 was triple that–and with Julie and a support system of close friends. At least Lane was smart enough to know that he needed people in his life during his darkest times, unlike Lucas years back who felt having friends would make it worse.

It took a kiss and a blow to the head to make him snap out of it, not one after the other and not necessarily in that order. It was hard to leave her at first, but he knew he had to – champion duties and all that fun stuff. Barry was pretty much the reason why Lucas kept contact with her so constantly, almost to the point that shewas the one that said, "Enough already." He blamed Barry. Barry pointed to himself on the video chat Lucas was having with her and called himself his pimp.

"That's not what a pimp is," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Then I'm just awesome," he replied haughtily.

When Barry saw him again after their fallout, he immediately smacked him for "various things," as he would call it, and pretty much ignored the tension. It was like nothing happened between them, though that might be because neither of them discussed their time apart. It was awkward when either of them tried to bring it up, or it just amounted to bad timing where Lucas would be called for emergency champion duties or Barry, who had taken his father's place in the Battle Frontier, would have to jet off to deal with a challenger. If not that, one of them would go off tangent and talk about something goofy, and the other person would laugh to ease the tension.

Barry, funny enough, had the most normal adolescent phase out of the bunch of them–as normal as adolescents can get–even though he was definitely the oddest. Lane always grew alarmed with Barry's ability to stop things at the drop of a hat and forget prior engagements. "Lack of commitment makes me uneasy," he said.

"Don't press your daddy issues on me," Barry muttered. "Wasn't like my dad was all that present in my life either. Lucas's, too, but his plethora of issues is from entirely different things, like his silly hat and some shit about hating myths that acts as a facade for his hatred toward Cynthia."

Lucas stared dully at him as Barry continued, "Not like I have a family anyway."

He knocked up some chick during a one-night stand a few weeks after he said that. She was currently seven months pregnant. They weren't dating and probably never would.

Dawn, meanwhile ... Well, she was Dawn. After Lucas left after the fair, she, too, left Sandgem, spread her wings, and made it all the way to Jubilife, the next town over. "Well, it's true," she remarked on the video phone. "The people do come to me here." She did venture out and visited her beloved Hearthrome among other cities and continued her study. She met Bebe who was impressed with Dawn's thesis and gave her an eevee to help. After half a year, the eevee had evolved into an espeon, which became Dawn's main focus in her first published paper. She was currently published in a few scientific journals, some with her maiden name and some without.

It was hard keeping in touch with her, even though he wanted to and was forced to for a while by Barry. Sometimes the times were off; he was either busy or she was. Sometimes he was in areas where she couldn't call him; sometimes she was in areas where he couldn't call her. At times he wanted to give up, but she was right that one night years ago: she was stuck in his head and she wouldn't go away easily. But slowly, their connection start to fade. They started to drift apart, and soon they were back in a position of being nothing more than acquaintances. Both of them were too busy to be saddened by it and both of them saw it coming. Barry was mad, like they were only keeping in touch to keep Barry happy, but he, too, got over it. Dawn and he went only saw each other for a couple of days every few months to check in with Rowan, and their meetings were awkward but polite. He figured it was for the best; they both had goals that required their full attention.

She sprung a kiss on him one spring night, making him melt into her all over again.

They were still far apart, though Lucas managed to localize himself more in the Sinnoh region (though he had to go out of the region every now and then), but he made a conscious effort to see her at least once a week. They dated for a couple of years before he, too, sprung a surprise on her, only it came in a velvet box and was able to cut glass. He, as usual, stumbled on his words, and the romantic event took place in Rowan's laboratory as she was discussing the unusual feces size of the newborn turtwig. They married in Amity Square, only a few blocks away from their current home. Rowan became ordained to marry them off, stating he wanted to be a part of the day where his two favorite prior apprentices got married, which Dawn found endearing and Lucas found creepy. Rowan had retired a few years ago when he was diagnosed with early Alzheimer's. Dawn was currently trying to transfer the files in Sandgem to the laboratory she worked at in Hearthrome but with little success.

And Lucas?

Still champion. He did lose a few times. The first time was when he was seventeen due to him being a dumbass. The second time was when he was twenty-five and Dawn was expected to go into labor with Evan, their first child, any second. The third time was only a few months ago; apparently Eldritch's death had played a bigger role than expected. All three trainers, now champions, that defeated him rejected to play the "official" role, to serve as the figurehead champion, which brought Lucas secret relief. Ignoring the whole "What the hell will I do for a job?" thing, Lucas always believed he was the best person for the job. There's no one you can trust more than yourself. Some truths die hard. Some truths don't die at all.

He did publish a few books on battle techniques and was currently co-writing a paper with Dawn on how battling effects the relationship between trainer and pokémon, but other than that, he was nothing with his champion role. "You never lose your roles," she told him. "You're always going to be your mama's baby, Rowan's apprentice, or that silly boy with the hat."

"None of those pay," he replied dryly, running his finger down the brim of his old beret.

"I realized that love is amounted in cash," Lane would tell him a few weeks later in the Johto bar after Lucas's conversation with Dawn. "I felt like I wouldn't be lovin' my mom if I didn't help support our family, and I felt my dad's love only came through the signed checks. I think my universal truth is that nothing is solid without the money to back it up."

"How unfortunate," Lucas commented back, still on his first beer while Lane was on his fourth.

"Is it not true?"

"I used to think sex, money, and power were the three things that motivated people, and that people use one of those objects to get the other, and it was all meaningless in the end."

"Now you don't think that?"

"No, I still think that. I just realized that those three things can branch out into something beautiful."

"Like cherry blossoms on trees," Barry commented idly.

"Like cherry blossoms on trees," he repeated. "It just depends on the direction you take it. You can't lose sight of that simple motivation behind that motivation."

"I do it for my mom," Lane said.

"Myself and my pokémon," Barry commented. He looked at Lucas. "You?"

"Dawn," he answered.

The three of them didn't talk after this, the blare of the television and the conversations of other groups enveloping them before Lane said, "That was the lamest thing I have ever heard you say."

"Seriously," Barry tacked on. "Get more drunk."

"Or is it less?" Lane joked.

We learn from other people's stories. If there's anything he learned from Cynthia, it was this. After knowing Lane's story, Lucas learned to be very present in his children's lives, even if it meant blowing off important meetings to watch Evan's baseball game, Ben's science fair presentation, or Elaine's ballet recital. No matter where he was in the Sinnoh region, or even if he was in another region, he made sure to make it home a few times a week. He'd keep his friends close. He'd work out troubling things with his wife.

Why did you lie and end the story on a good note? Because he could? Because he got a sick thrill lying to a child who hinged on every word he said? He honestly didn't know. When Dawn asked him to read to Elaine, and when Elaine, while looking through the bookshelves in his den, picked out his old notebook instead of the usual fairy tale that lined the bottom shelf, he told himself that he would tell this moment of his life exactly as he remembered it during the days he wrote those passages, give or take a few curse words. But when it came to the end–the epilogue as Dawn called it–he couldn't bring himself to say what was really happening.

The myth, in the end, is a myth. There was enough distance between this section of his past and his current position that he was unafraid to look at it, unafraid to speak of it, unafraid to judge it. This is what Cynthia did in order to understand a culture's history; this is why she passively stood by. Lucas's history, his role in defeating Team Galactic, was important, but it was a story that he could never tell without bias; there was just too much emotional baggage. Cynthia, who stood at a distance, could tell this story for him. Her mantra was learning of a myth to learn of a people. His was to protect people. Both roles are necessary for the world to evolve: a hope for a future and the remembrance of the past.

When it came to the present situation, Lucas couldn't answer Elaine truthfully; he couldn't separate the storyteller from his story. This part of the story was still in motion. He didn't know how it would end. He preferred it that way.

To tell a story is to tell yourself. He could only hope that people would remain not just as storytellers but as stories instead. It is, after all, how you find the truth.

"Dawn," he said, snapping his head away from the night to look at her.

She looked up from his notebook and smiled. "Yeah?"

"I love you."

She closed the notebook and handed it to him. "I love you too." She stretched over and kissed him before leaning against him. He wrapped his arms around her, their legs outstretched on the couch. The two of them looked out the window as Dawn reached up and pulled his hat off his head. "I see you're not over me yet."

"I blame the bird."

She laughed. "And they lived happily ever after?"

"They lived happily."

Dawn smiled up at him. "That's good enough for me."