you've got a lot of nerve.

But that’s his own thing. It’s Silver he’s dealing with right now, Silver – who’s trying to turn this whole thing back around on him, which really pisses him off.

It pisses him off because it works.

‘You know what? Fuck you,’ he hisses –

– shoving the other boy away, which is a terrible idea; that just gives Silver avenue to escape, but he can’t help it. He’s two seconds away from making things physical, and that’s just. That’s just.

… Silver doesn’t deserve that. No matter how much of an asshole he might be.

His temper’s a mess, lately.

‘I’m not doing anything because I’ve got pricks like you to deal with,’ he says, voice thick with tension. ‘You and Kotone. And who the hell knows where she went.’ 

But it’s a weak argument, even to his own ears. 

There’s so much he could’ve stopped already – and he ignored it all to search out his friends.

The weight of responsibility falls on his shoulders, all at once, and Gold bristles.

‘So – what? What’s it got to do with you? S’not like you’re out here trying to help.’

His tone’s defensive, he sounds pissed off, but he’s already starting to lose steam because –

‘… are you?’

He’s not sure – and for once, Gold wants to believe it.

Maybe he doesn’t know Silver as well as he thinks. Or maybe Silver hasn’t changed as much as he thinks he has. Neither thought is particularly appealing, and that in itself - that’s good, in a way.

The stance he adopts isn’t meant for fighting; but it isn’t meant for fleeing, either. He’s simply standing his ground. Physically. Mentally. Verbally.

“You don’t have to ‘deal with me!’” he shouts, angered by the very notion. “I can take care of myself. Kotone too.” She’s stronger. Perhaps stronger than either of them. Silver, at least, is aware of the possibility, but even blind to it, Gold should know that she doesn’t need a babysitter.

The fire in Gold’s -- everything. His eyes, his words, his stance. The fire licks the fuse of Silver’s temper, bringing him closer and closer to something he’d rather not think about. Not now.

But when Gold doubts him, that’s what really sets him off.

Silver doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even bat an eye when he’s hauled forward – and he doesn’t say shit, either, not until the silence has settled around them like burning ashes. And then.

He backs down.

Gold stares at his outstretched hand for a long time, grip loosening on the other boy’s collar. He’s never been one for planning, but it’s like this scenario never entered his head at all. The tension thick in his every motion says he’s ready for a fight.

But Silver, he’s backed down.

So –

So what?

‘Fuck that,’ he curses, releasing Silver only to bat the Trainer’s hand back into his chest. Like he’s just gonna take his Pokemon and run. What is this guy thinking? ‘You really think I’d go with that? Are you just – how stupid are you?’

He’s not done, though. Gold, he takes a stance like – like he’s still prepared to fight, but it’s more like he won’t take no for an answer. ‘Either all of you come with me or nothing. Or I’ll keep – you know I’m gonna keep following you, right? Just give up, Silver.’

The moment those last couple words are out of his mouth, he winces – but he soldiers on.

‘C’mon. You don’t have to fight.

“You’ve got fuck-all to prove.”

What a fucking joke.

Annoyance becomes acid in his mouth, spitting poison like he knows there’s a corner just behind him. “Is that supposed to be a threat? Following me? Be my guest. I don’t care if some small fry like you wants to tag along as long as I can keep going.” Venom aside, the invitation is genuine. What he fails to express is that he’d -- as much as he hates to admit it at a time like this, he’d appreciate a bit of backup.

A bit of company.

Hints of the friendship he won’t allow himself to want resurface in his speech as he presses on. “Have you seen this place, Gold? It’s a madhouse. These people -- there are other versions of us out here. Or --" Shit. Hesitation.

New track.

“Are you really going to stand by and let this happen?

Ignoring his friends. Pushing himself too far. Pushing everyone away, friend or foe, eyes on a prize that never even existed in the first place.

The nostalgia smacks Gold straight in the face. He stares at Silver for a long moment, scowl hardening, mouth setting in a thin line. If this is just like before, then… the guy won’t listen to a single word he says. It’ll take more than an argument to bring him down.

If it weren’t for everything else that’s happened, he’d probably be laughing.

He takes another step forward instead.

‘You’re so stupid,’ he says with a scoff, not once breaking eye contact. He’s not the loser here, thanks. ‘I’ve seen you, asshole. You’re gonna get yourself killed. You’re gonna get your partners killed. So, what – things go to hell and you stop giving a shit?

‘You’re better than that!’

Supposed to be.

His next words are a sigh: ‘So basically, what you’re trying to say is –’

– Gold stops before him, dragging Silver forward those last few inches –

‘I gotta thrash you myself to make you listen, huh?’

He’s got a lot to say, as usual, and as usual... Silver tries to filter the worst of it out. It might have worked if he hadn’t caught that bit in the middle, the part that’s making him rethink - a lot, actually.

Is he really better than this? Is he better than any of them out there in the Hive City he’s trying, however misguidedly, to protect? Just as they immediately fell upon their alternates, so too did Silver. 

For half a second, he looks away, wondering if Gold is right, if he ought to stop before something happens to him, or to his partners. Because that’s what they are now: his partners. They aren’t his tools to be used as he pleases, but creatures -- friends -- with their own thoughts and emotions.

He meets those amber eyes again.

Is that regret or remorse he sees reflected back at him, from his own eyes?

Fingers close around a handful of minimized Pokeballs. “Take them,” he insists. “Get them healed. Do whatever the hell you want with them.” They, at least, are better than this. It’s all he can do to leave them with a trainer who is as well.

The last part is what really gets him, and who the guy is hits hard…if hitting hard meant it left Proton laughing. 」

Wow. And I mean wow. This is the best fucking laugh I’ve had since this shitty fight started. You’re definitely not the Silver I’m familiar with.

「 The way he says the other’s name is emphasized, like it’s purposefully mocking. 」

If he was some hapless wimp off the streets, he might be a little intimidated, as any sane trainer would be when they see the scarlet brand on his chest. Unfortunately for this wannabe, Silver’s lightyears above and ahead of any ordinary trainer.

It’s this jackass who ought to be scared. Executive or not, his world or another, Silver is still above him, and he has no doubt that he could crush this guy beneath his boot if he so desired. If he had time to waste, he might -- but he’s got better things to do than intimidate worms like him.

(Or so he says.)

“Listen, jackass. I don’t give a single shit what your Silver does. I’m the Chief Executive, and as long as you’re a member of Team Rocket, you’re my subordinate.”

So, Silver. He must think he’s real clever, right? Going around the other city with his head held high, challenging everyone he sees without mercy. He’s good, too; he’s never had to retreat, only ever pressing forward with the confidence of victory. Triumph is the emotion he’s worn on his face the past few days, that and anger, a self-righteous kind of annoyance.

And Gold, he’s not having it.

Tailing the prick hasn’t been easy. It’s been all he can do to catch glimpses of the guy, keep on his trail before he runs off again. The conflict thick in the air has him on edge, too, has Gold really feeling like he’s come alive, but it’s nothing compared to what it’s done to Silver. It feels like they’re ten again, chasing and being chased and fighting.

He doesn’t hate it, but he’s done.

This is it.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Far from a dramatic showdown, Gold’s moving, closing the distance with an unhappy scowl. ‘I’m not gonna fight you. Get real.’

He thrusts a hand out and tips his head.

‘We’re leaving, Silver.’

“Like hell I am.”

Who the hell does this guy think he is? His babysitter? His father? What a riot. He doesn’t care who he is or what he’s deluded himself into believing; this kid doesn’t hold any sort of power over him. What will he do when Silver rebels? What can he do? In his eyes, nothing.

A familiar voice demanding an answer hits his ears, and when he turns he’s met with an unimpressive sight. Needless to say, his face twists into disbelief.  」

Are you fucking serious? Last I checked, genius, I didn’t take orders from daddy’s little disappointment.

Silver scoffs. “The only disappointment I see here is you.” He gives the guy a quick once-over, lingering for a single second upon an insignia that matches his own. A Rocket, but not one he recognizes. In other words, he’s expendable.

“What are you, a grunt? There aren’t many people you don’t take orders from, and everyone takes orders from me.” And in case he somehow hasn’t realized, he adds.

It’ll be a real shame if he’s got to prove it.

Proton’s already champing at the bit, sour as he’s been these past few weeks about his broken finger, and Petrel is almost shocked he hasn’t started an all-out brawl yet. Not that it matters: they’ll get there soon enough, whether Petrel wants any part of this or not.

<<Jeez, the two of you have a lover’s spat or something?>> The cigarette is slid back between his lips for a long drag.

<<Alright, since I don’t have to be so nice anymore, you want to hear something, little mister daddy issues?>>

‘You heard him, right?’ he says suddenly, words aimed at Silver but stare on Proton now, engaging, threatening. He still hasn’t stopped coming forward; by the time his feet hit critical space, that area between shit-talk and fight, he’s already pushed past it. ‘Has something to do with me. Actually, s’got a lot to do with me – and I mean. If we’re being nice now…’

It’s like he’s got blinders on. He practically ignores Petrel as he gets in Proton’s personal space, stopping just a foot away from him. ‘I can’t just ignore ‘em. Right?’

The pause is meaningless. He surges forward and grabs the ridiculous R on the Rocket’s chest, dragging Proton down to his level. The look in his eyes is dangerous.

‘You ready for Round 2, fucker?’

He locks eyes with Gold, and doesn’t move an inch as he’s approached. The distance shortens dangerously, and it becomes evident this is mere moments from becoming a similar scene to the one it was a few weeks ago, and Proton has true little complaints. He’s still bitter, humiliated over the injuries he’d received, and regardless of what he’d dealt already…

He wanted to give it back tenfold.

Hands fist in his shirt, and he hisses slightly as he’s tugged downwards towards the other’s far shorter level. There’s liquid malice in those green eyes, and for a moment he simply gives the younger a dull look before he allows his lips to twist upwards. 」

That depends, shit-for-brains.

Are you?

「 Without one hesitation, one hand tightly balls into a fist, then shoots up and immediately slams down towards the younger’s face. 

Just like last time. 」

His own stupidity comes forth in the form of words, spat at the Rockets as if they tasted of brimstone. “I don’t give a damn what either of you has to say.” He doubts that will keep the taller from telling him something he absolutely does not want to hear, but he says it anyway, as staying silent is hardly an option.

When Proton leaps into action, so too does Silver, though not nearly in time to prevent a hit on either side. As if the two were creatures of rational thought, he shouts, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you idiots think violence is gonna solve anything?”

What he catches up to somehow just figures. 

At least he takes the cigarette out of his mouth before speaking.

<<If it isn’t the boss’s son – how’s life been treating you, kid? Not so good if you’re here, probably. Look, I’ll be straight and level with both of you: our business doesn’t involve you in the least. See, I’m being real nice.>>

Silver’s not supposed to be here – but then, neither is that asshole, turning the corner like he’s got every right to hang around. Gold lurches forward a step at the sight of him, expression darkening immediately. ‘Course… ‘course more Rocket douchebags are here.

‘Yeah? You’re being “nice?”’ he yells back, co-opting the conversation. He starts walking, coming in on the two Assholes Supreme. ‘So you don’t mind if I’m “nice” too, right? Help you out a little?’

He tosses a hesitant look over his shoulder, but doesn’t stop. Petrel being here is one thing, but Silver, he doesn’t have to hang around at all.

He’s better than this.

He slides beside his partner in crime without a care for the advancing younger boy, head cocking at the outburst and allows a scoff to slide from his lips. 」

Oh, what? You wanna carry our belongings like a good bitch boy? Or maybe you come crawling back to have me kick in your skull again!

Never took you for a masochist, but apparently breaking in your face wasn’t enough for you, was it?

「 He was really not in the mood for some little asshole’s bullshit.  」

The scowl he presents them is almost acidic in the way it burns. “Don’t fucking call me that,” he threatens, well aware that he’s never once spoken his name to one of these goons. “I don’t associate with cowards like him -- or you.”

Then it’s Proton’s turn to chime in where he’s not wanted, and Silver’s eyes narrow further, burning scarlet beyond the grey. As Gold moves forward, so too does he. No longer is the blade of his tongue focused on his enemies, but one person he could almost call a friend. 

“I said, Stand aside, Gold. This doesn’t concern you.”

It doesn’t concern either of them, in the end.

Immediately forgotten when a familiar voice rings out, cracking ivory and shattering the calm.

His shoulders hitch up and he grins, turning back towards his rival.

‘Yeah? What goal’s that – being a loser?’ he challenges, eyes brighter than anything in the store as he closes the distance. His words are sharp, but the way he greets Silver is not; he gives him a rough jostle that says look alive, a boyish expression of happy surprise.

Maybe it’s sappy, but who the fuck cares? He missed the guy.

‘Hey. When’dyou get here?’ Gold continues. He backs off a step. ‘Looks like they already grabbed all “the best” and had to settle for you next, huh?’

“Unlike you, I have a goal that’s actually possible: being the best trainer there is, hands down.” He has a long way to go yet, and he knows that now, thanks in part to boy before him.

He’s kind of just asking for trouble, walking around in this place – and what do you know? He finds it.

Sector 3 lives up to its reputation by delivering him trash with a giant R on the front, hanging out before a building like there’s nothing wrong at all. Just the sight of him is enough to send Gold’s blood boiling, but he doesn’t move to pound him – not yet.

There’s an echo of pain in his chest but it doesn’t keep the kid from calling out a warning.

‘Hey – ASSHOLE!’

‘Still up to the same shit?’

 His fingers halt, twitch, and then slowly curl the moment a familiar, grating voice hits his ears, bright green eyes sliding through the shadows beneath the brim of his hat, lips slowly curling as he barely swallows a feral growl.

Just who he wanted to see. Not. 」

Hey, you fuckin’ parasite.

Still having trouble breathing your nose? Poor baby. Too bad your mommy isn’t around to kiss it better like she always does, right?

Few people wander in the third sector without a reason. Naturally, Silver has a rather compelling one. He’s on the hunt for a certain something, but what he finds instead... he can’t decide if it’s better or somehow much worse.

“I shouldn’t be surprised to see you lowlifes here. Step aside, Gold -- I can handle this rat.”