A/N So, aloha everyone! Been playing Pokemon like cray lately and needed a bit of Wally love. I always liked the idea of taking a little-known/expanded upon character and just... fleshing them out. Giving them life, etc. If someone wrote a Wally-centric AU fic, I'd probably die.

(p.s. if you know of such wondrous people/fics let me know asap exclamation mark)

Also, let me know what you think of characterization/writing style/plot/anything.

WARNING: Slashy oneshot, so implied boy lovin', plus a realistic take on Pokemon (i.e. not necessarily blood but, again, implied), ALSO ANGST hahaha yess

Wally sits alone in his room, cross-legged on the clean, grey-brown wool carpet; Pokémon Monthly balanced neatly across his knees as fixed grins of the Hoenn Championship Top 20 burn brightly up from the glossy, faded pages - and Wally stares back sadly, eyes moving down the various lists of stats, Pokémon teams, and snappy biographies.

He's about to turn the page when he notices a familiar face and his heart stops and he has to force himself to keep breathing after a moment.

Brendan Birch, age 18, Littleroot Town.

That familiar half-hitched smirk, as if he's a heartbeat away from grabbing your hand and dragging you off into just another adventure makes Wally's heart give another skip, and this time he closes the thin magazine and quietly places it on the carpet in front of him.

Across the sun-soaked room (bathed in an orange glow that reminds Wally of Lilycove sunsets and peach ice cream) his gardevoir makes a soft, questioning sound. Effortlessly, Wally feels his mind probed by the psychic Pokémon; effortlessly, his eyes drift closed at the hesitant contact.

We can still go.

He doesn't reply.

When Wally thinks about it – pressing into the velvet darkness of his mind and facing those shy shadows of memory – he might have loved Brendan since they first met.

(Love is such a strong word, but there is no other emotion for how he feels; it is more than adoration, affection, admiration. It is an aching desire that stays with him constantly, nestled beside the dark disease in his soul, the sun eclipsing the moon against the blanket of a dying, silver-studded galaxy).

It's a sentimental, coquettish thought that used to make him blush, but now, when he's days weeks months away from that sympathetic grimace of the doctor, the soft hand on his own, the beeping machines playing the melancholy soundtrack to his life, there's no point in playing pretend.

He still remembers the bored look of Brendan explaining the use of a pokéball, the younger boy fidgeting and glancing down at his own starter Pokémon, desperate to get going and prove to everyone (but especially Daddy) that he was born for this. Wally remembers seeing the ralts, hearing its surprised cry, feeling rather than seeing the weak blue barriers that sprang between them. Afterwards, as he held the pokéball aloft in wonder and turned his gaze to Brendan's own astonished look, he remembered thinking, We can be a team, you and I.

Riding their bikes over the silent ocean, the gigantic metal bridge spanning the distance between Slateport and Mauville like a silver arrow, wingull soaring far above, casting gentle shadows to slip over the grating.

The sharp air hitting Wally's lungs like a jackhammer, his chest weak from laughing and sickness. Brendan shooting past him, his dark hair streaming from the confines of his ridiculous hat, grinning wildly. That wondrous midday sun that made Wally feel like flying, leaving his bike to wheel out of control as he took to the sky, kite-like against the blue blue blue sky -

Never has he felt so free.

Wally opens his eyes.

The blank wall of his bedroom greets him, slanting rays of soft light slipping down the surface to puddle on the floor. Slowly, as if the Pokémon was afraid of startling him, Wally feels his gardevoir's presence leave his mind, leaving him empty and alone.

Sometimes his memories feel so real. They didn't play, cinema-like, before his eyes; no, he experienced them with the force of a sweeping wave.

Wally gets to his feet, shaking the pins and needles from his limbs. Dutifully, he picks up the magazine and returns it (under P for Pokémon) to his bookshelf.

He stands before the single window, looking out over the back garden he tends whenever the weather is nice enough. The dahlias are coming in late this year.

Wordlessly, he crosses his arms, holding his elbows as if to comfort himself from a terror he did not yet know.

With pre-arranged swiftness that never fails to surprise, a surge of self-loathing overcomes him, and he falls against the window, holding himself over the glass with sweaty hands. The sudden presence of gardevoir by his side can't stop the tears that slide down his cheeks, splattering the windowsill with dark spots.

He had to leave Brendan and May once they reached Mossdeep City. The journey over hadn't been too bad – the lively sea air had invigorated them all – but in the week or so leading up to their respective gym battles, Wally had felt ill once more.

The sickness had been kept at bay for almost two years now. Doctors (and aunt Wanda) couldn't figure out why; they attributed it to lots of exercise. Wally (embarrassingly, privately) attributed it to that scared little word: love.

Brendan had been the most upset, though he fought hard against showing it. As Wally leant over the railing of the ship back to the mainland, gardevoir standing serenely at his side, Brendan's mouth was plastered into an encouraging smile whilst his eyes tripped repeatedly across Wally's face, memorizing it for posterity. Wally Waldenburg: ancient relic circa 1992.

May had seemed less – and yet, more - sad than her no-good (future champion) cousin. The corners of her lips were pulled downwards, her chin trembling with trying to stay cool. Her honey-brown hair caught the dim sunlight and Wally stared at the way the wind pulled at it until the harbour of Mossdeep city was somewhere in that direction and the ship brushed the horizon line and he couldn't let himself think of Brendan Birch anymore.

Wally had been sixteen when he left with the fifteen-year-old May and Brendan. He was eighteen when he returned to Verdanturf and to the comforting/suffocating arms of family.

Now, he is twenty years old. No prospects, no friends. He has his books and his Pokémon.

Gardevoir places his hand over Wally's. Beyond, the sun sunk below the horizon, dipping the garden into a blue-grey light, leaving the last dying rays to play through the glass and spill into the spaces between their fingers like ink.

The following morning aunt Wanda allows him outside.

"You can go as far as the Pokémon day care, honey. Stick to that nice meadow with all the beautifly." She watches him over the kitchen table with a look of such tenderness that Wally drops his gaze and stares into his porridge.

When they reach the stretch of cropped grass, dotted with dandelions and loosened jumpluff down, Wally allows himself a great whoop and spins in a circle, arms outstretched.

His gardevoir watches him amusement, his mind meeting Wally's seamlessly.

I miss seeing you like this.

Wally comes to a stop, chest heaving and eyes trained on the grey sky. He doesn't reply for a moment. When he does, he looks at gardevoir, his mouth trying to maintain a trembling smile. "Do you think…" he pauses, looks at his new shoes, and looks back at the Pokémon. "Do you think aunt Wanda will let me go to Sootopolis?"

Gardevoir blinks in surprise. Gliding closer to his master, the skirt of his translucent dress fluttering softly, the psychic holds his hands behind his back (it's an old habit, from an era too long ago, but he's always done it, and Wally has always let him).

Am I correct in assuming that Master Brendan is in Sootopolis?

"That's where the Championships are."

Suddenly, an image flashes across Wally's mind; Gardevoir looks at him meaningfully.

"I know what can happen." Shrugging as if he didn't care, (but heart pounding with that image of death) Wally looks up at the sky again.

There's another moment of silence, this time punctured by some distant yells and the exploding sound of pokéballs. Gardevoir moves closer to his trainer, scrutinizing the boy's pale, upturned face.

It is a long journey.

The reply is faint: "I know."

The Championships will have started by the time we might arrive. Master Brendan could no longer be participating.

Wally's hands become fists. "I know."

Gardevoir follows his gaze, pinned to the Pokémon battle in the distance. A bird Pokémon takes to the air; dodges a weak stream of fire. Beside him, Wally's arm shakes imperceptibly. Gardevoir's eyes drop to the ground.

Gardevoir knows that after so many years of feigning bravery – timid smile at the ready - it is only in these final pages of his life that his trainer needs this final chapter to be completed, before it is all too late.

Wally's Pokémon are called out in a succession of blinding white light. It has not been too long since they were last freed; Wally is a good master and takes care of them, despite his frailty, but even so their bodies are like springs and they yearn for the taste of battle.

The veteran team greet each other; survey their surroundings. They look at their trainer and take in his appearance.

There is a brightness in his eyes that has not been there for years. He is pale, yes. His messy green hair sprouts from his head in all directions, as if he had run his hands through it repeatedly. His smile is shy, but eager for the company of his Pokémon/children.

Wally's roselia is the first to step forward. She curtsies deeply, thorned flower hands brushing the cool tiles of the Sootopolis Pokémon Centre. The delcatty follows, rubbing her face against his leg, as altaria coos quietly and settles her head on his shoulder. It is only gardevoir and the kecleon that stay back, warm thoughts of companionship swaying between one another after what feels like so long.

Unexpected tears in his eyes, Wally laughs and ruffles the top of altaria's head, her blue feathers like silk beneath his palm. "It's only been what, a week, since I saw you all? What's brought on all this?"

But the Pokémon just move closer, trying in vain to block out the black stain of sickness in their master's chest, as if they were the stars fighting the dawn.

"For today's final battle, please give a warrrmmm welcome to our challengers!"

Although restless after eight hours, the crowd screams with renewed frenzy, fatigue forgotten as the two trainers enter the stadium. Above, the twilight sky is almost eclipsed by the powerful lights affixed to the rim of the gigantic structure, plunging the arena in cold light.

"Taking the blue spot today, we have Cheren Shiro, an outside dark horse, hailing all the way from Nuvema Town, Unova!"

The kid who steps onto the raised platform looks absurdly confident. His half-moon glasses flash in the stadium lights, his long thin legs disappearing into the folds of a blue blazer. A girl on Wally's right sighs dramatically and clutches her equally swooning friend.

"And in the red section, our own home-grown challenger - Brendan Birch, of Littleroot!"

And the crowd goes wild, Wally notes wryly. Not likely to cheer on a stranger, the two-thousand-strong arena screams their support for the heroic figure far down on the sandy pitch.

Wally refuses to let his eyes linger for too long on Brendan. His heart is in his mouth and every time he sees that boy he feels like throwing up or laughing deliriously or maybe fainting.

As the countdown on the huge screens around the arena start, the announcer rattles off the general rules over the megaphone. The boy Cheren takes a pokéball from his pocket and – strangely – holds it briefly to his mouth. Brendan holds a black and yellow sphere in his left hand and tosses it up and down, waiting for the signal.

Now.

Simultaneously, both pokéballs are launched into the air, opening with faint cracks like gunshots. The white light takes the form of their respective Pokémon; the crowd holds their breath.

Cheren's Pokémon is revealed to be a stream-lined black-purple panther, dotted with yellow rings on its pelt and a cream underbelly. It gives a shrill yowl and hunkers down to the ground, tail swishing in battle stance.

Wally knows what Pokémon Brendan has chosen.

As the ultra ball slams back into the outstretched hand, the rhydon on the field bellows an ear-splitting war-cry.

If it was at all possible, Wally's heart swells with even more affection. He had been with Brendan when they caught that scruffy rhyhorn in the bowels of the Safari Zone, just a month before Wally had boarded that ship and sailed all the way home. To see the creature now, muscles rippling underneath slate-grey skin, tirelessly trained by Brendan to the beast it was today…

"Let the match begin!"

After the match, Wally is giddy with happiness. Brendan defeated that kid Cheren with only seconds to spare, his sceptile slicing open the gut of the unfeznant just as the clock hit zero. Medics had swarmed the field as Cheren raised a slow hand to salute the boy across the arena, his shadow stretched over the sand like some demon from the underworld.

By his side, gardevoir glides, keeping up with his hurried pace. Gardevoir had traced Brendan's psyche to the Pokémon Centre – and it's now, as Wally leaps up three flights of stairs (lungs burning chest heaving mouth dry) that he feels that finally, finally, what he's come all this way for is now in his grasp.

He doesn't know what he will say; hasn't thought of anything past Hi, Brendan, good match.

Gardevoir tries to catch his eye – maybe darts a hand out to grab his sleeve – but Wally has spotted Brendan's door and has doubled his speed.

He sways to a stop outside number thirty two, his head feeling shallow with exertion. Trembling (nerves, lust) he knocks on the pale wooden surface.

There's nothing for a moment, but then the door opens and Brendan is standing there in a black t-shirt and wet hair getting in the way of his green eyes and Wally has forgotten what to say.

After an awkward moment, Wally grips the doorframe because he's had a sudden rush of nausea, and then Brendan is so close to him, bundling his thin frame into wiry arms and Wally's mind has gone utterly blank.

He grips Brendan back like he's a lifeline (and maybe, really, he is) and buries his face into the other boy's shoulder.

"Why didn't you call me?" Brendan's voice is husky, and Wally realises it sounds strange because it's finally broken. That makes him hold Brendan closer with the knowledge that he has known this boy since he was a petulant fifteen-year-old, and now the strong body against his is anything but adolescent. He has known him and loved him and would do anything for him. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming? Why didn't you, God, why didn't you let me know –"

Just as he pulls away from Brendan, just as the muted sound of gardevoir returning to his pokéball meets his ears, Wally finds himself tongue-tied. He can't talk past the lump on his throat, and though it should embarrass him, he doesn't know if the tears on his face are Brendan's or his own.

Brendan's eyes are lit up, his eyelashes spiky and wet. As he gives Wally a blinding smile, his cheeks flushed proudly, Wally can't take it anymore and pulls the boy close to him again. He can't stop the chill that rushes through him at the feel of Brendan's lips at the shell of his ear, inhaling a breath to speak, and somehow Wally feels that though his time is limited – though he'll never have children or grandchildren or hold a championship trophy high above his head – it was all worth it, for this boy right here.