Pokemon Fan Fiction ❯ 100_Situations: Theme Set #1 ❯ Theme #98: Writer's Choice (Guardian) ( Chapter 98 )

Title: Guardianship
Author: Shadow/Phantomness
Pairing: Championshipping (Lance x Red/Ash)
Fandom: Pokémon
Theme: #98, Writer's Choice (Guardian)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Pokemon belongs to Nintendo and Shogakukan Comics. This non-profit, non-copyright infringing fanfiction belongs to me under international copyright laws and taking it is plagiarism. Thank you. *Phantomness bows*

Notes: <> for telepathy, ** for thoughts, italics if a pokemon talks

Warnings: Fanon, shonen-ai, insanity

Summary: What is it really like to be a guardian?

 

When you become a guardian, they leech the humanity out of you. They think it's pretty, all bright rainbows, but real guardians have blood-gold eyes and they wear their scars as the Chosen Ones, hidden under shiny armor and long, flowing robes, and no one ever, ever sees. It almost - almost makes him laugh, because he stopped caring about humans long ago and now, now, he understands why Lance doesn't care.

Except for the others. There are lesser masters, lesser guardians, ones who have sworn loyalty and will do what they are expected to do, though their duties are far less damning than the burdens the Chosen carry. It is perhaps not such a good thing that they exist, but they do live on, and they will, and they play their roles as well as the fancier puppets with their gaudy fripperies and glistening strings.

Red sits next to Lance, wearing sunshine and shadows, and he runs his fingers through long, dark hair, wondering what it was like when he was still young and innocent. He hasn't been innocent in a long time, and even though he scrubbed all the blood out from under his nails after the first kill, he can still see it, if he looks carefully.

He rather doesn't want to.

Lance isn't wearing his gloves today, or his bracelets, or maybe they're underneath his skin, but Red traces over scars cut into pale flesh and wonders why Lance bothers to keep them. Maybe to remember, except Lance shouldn't need that since Lance remembers everything, every life, every death, and sometimes he thinks that Lance would rather forget.

He listens to Lance's heartbeat, and feels the Sacred Sword pulse. Waiting. Watching. Charlotte is still alive, though for how much longer he doesn't know, but if he needs the Shield he'll have it in an eye blink and that's comforting.

Charlotte reminds him of ashes and starlight, sometimes, but Lance is the moon disguised as the sun, all brassy flames one moment and cool liquid the next. He leans his head against the crook of Lance's shoulder, and hears Lance's breathing.

Lance turns, and his eyes are a little less mad, but Red doesn't mind that Lance might not be socially sane or acceptable. Red kisses him, and smiles, and thinks of how he would like strawberry ice cream, maybe with whipped cream and a maraschino cherry on top, and then later he'll go play with his pokémon.

That will be fun.

He takes Lance's hand and skips out, past the beach, and the corpses of the unfortunates strewn in their wake, and watches as the foam splashes against the seashore in diamond spray, and as Charlotte comes out of the kitchen with blueberry muffins, he cheers, and Lance smiles at him and ruffles his hair.

Today, Red thinks, is going to be a good day.

 

End Fic

Completed 3/12/07

I am in such a bad mood today, and I have no idea why. Must be the brainless students I tutor coupled with long chemistry lab that makes me go insane…

… Urgh. This fic is actually quite creepy, isn't it? ^^