“What do you think they’re all mad about?” June asks her dad. They sit on a public bench, conjured from who knows where. She isn’t sure how they returned from the cemetery, but it only took a minute or two tops. Dreams work funny like that.

It looks a lot like Mauville, but different enough not to truly be Mauville. Maybe how it looked in its earlier days, before June or her dad had ever shown up? It doesn’t matter. Right now, the only things that matter are her Dad and the angry mob that shouts in front of the large building.

The signs on the building change in real-time, the letters a blur like in the cemetery. Except this time, June has no control over what they say. The name changes from very made-up things like ‘Life’ or ‘The World’ into real companies like one of the premier Mauville Game Corner or one of the dozens of insurance companies present in Hoenn. Ones she knew well, unfortunately.

And the signs the people hold change just the same. Reasons, fonts, size– anything that could be different between signs, is. It makes it hard to gather what the hell they’re all mad about, the horde of strangers. None of them look familiar to her, but she remembers reading that the people you see in your dreams are just people you’ve seen in real life but don’t really pay attention to. That sounds about right.

“Lots of things, Junebug,” Sleigh says.

“Like?”

“Can’t you read the signs? Clear as day to me.”

“Yeah right! They’re changing and shit. Try to read one, and it becomes something entirely different. Sure you aren’t the one that can’t read?”

“That so, eh? Weird.”

“What, you seriously can read them? What do they say then?”

Sleigh’s indistinguishable eyes narrow as he tries to make out the signs. “Let’s see here… ‘Leave our Stuff Alone’, ‘Down with Game Corner’, ‘Stop Stealing from Us’, oh, hey, there’s even a funny one, ‘If You Get Lucky, You Can See My Good Sign’. Funnier in my head, anyway. Seems like they’re mad at either the Game Corner, or some debt collection company.”

June raises an eyebrow, “Debt collection? Which sign tells you that?”

“Think it’s the one about leaving stuff alone and stop stealing from ‘us’,” he says.

“Yea, I can understand that one. If you weren’t here, I’d probably be over there with the rest of them. Fuck the Game Corner, and fuck the debt collectors.”

“June…”

“What, you got a soft spot for them? Bastards had no right to do what they did to you,” June says firmly. Trying to steal from the middle class? Fucked up. They could all rot in hell.

“I wouldn’t say that, Junebug,” Sleigh shifts closer to June, “But… they don’t come after people for no reason. Whether it’s good or bad, that’s for you to decide.”

“So, I say they’re bad then. Simple.”

“They aren’t the ones that blew all their money at the Game Corner, though. All their savings. All their daughters–”

“Are you seriously defending some shitty ass company that preys on people and their goons that they send to harass people in debt?”

“Junebug, I don’t think we’re on the same page,” he says. “I’m not defending the Game Corner. I’m not defending their collection people. I’m saying that they aren’t the ones you should be mad at.”

“Well, I am, so,” June pushes away from her father, off of the bench, and crosses her arms, “I don’t know what else to say. They took advantage of you. Not exactly a statement you need to be smart to make.”

Sleigh scoffs, “Did I ever tell you that you take after Mom? Cause you sure do.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” She asks pointedly. Sleigh holds up his hands defensively.

“It means whatever you want it to, Junebug. But…”

“But?”

“It’s hard to apologize for what I’ve done if you don’t think I haven’t done anything wrong in the first place. Even though I have.”

“Because, Dad,” June slides back down into the bench and right up to Sleigh, “You haven’t. Fuck the Game Corner. And fuck the collection services. Now can we please just hang out? And stop worrying about stupid shit?”

Sleigh grumbles, but he puts an arm around June all the same. “Yep, just like Mom.”

“Ok, now THAT time it meant something.”

“It means that whatever you say, goes. Even if I think you’re full of shit.”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Don’t be so mad, June. I would never think of telling Mom that. You, though? Don't need to worry about it! And that's a compliment.”

“Your compliments could use some work,” she digs her elbow into his gut. He exhales sharply and clutches at his belly. However, a quick laugh also manages to weasel its way out.

“That’s my girl, alright.”

Together, they sit and watch the crowd idle around and shout at the building with many meanings. Just like the good old days, whenever they got mad at each other. Just violently throw themselves against at the other until they got worn down and had to get over it. June rarely lost, though, even as a kid. Probably because she’s always right.

But she can't shake that gut feeling that pokes and prods at her mind. Even if it's what they always did, something about it feels off. Like Dad won't relent this time around. Sure enough, he pulls her even tighter into his chest. "Let your guard down, Junebug! You walked right into my secret move..."

Oh no. This move isn't a secret at all. He pushes his arms down hard, pulling her closer and closer than physically possible. "The Bear Hug! Friend taught me this one a long time ago."

"Dad... please, not now..." June says with short breaths. Looks like Sleigh wasn't messing around. This was usually how she lost when she was a little kid, and even a few times as an adult. But it's been so long since he's pulled it out, she completely spaced it. Defeat feels imminent as his grip of love and caring becomes oppressively strong.

"Just gotta say I'm right, Junebug, and I'll let you go! You know how the game works."

"Neeevveeeeerrrrr."

"Then looks like you're stuck in The Bear Hug!" He somehow pulls tighter. Black spots appear in her eyes. How Sleigh manages to do this with just a simple act, she never knows. But stubbornness lets her push through. A full minute goes by of this impossibly tight feeling, yet she does the impossible. She doesn't tap out, and doesn't even consider the idea.

In the end, it's Sleigh who backs off first. Hugging someone so hard takes away all his strength, and he breathes almost as hard as June does, who falls to the wayside. "Damn, Junebug! Never seen you survive so long in The Bear Hug. Did you go and grow up without me, or something?"

"What can I say," she breathes out, "I just know... I'm in the right here."

"Whatever you say, pal."

"Not your pal, guy."

"Not your guy, friend--"

The world blinks. Everything loses its color, fades. Like the dream is on the verge of losing power. But just as quickly as it occurs, it rights itself. Everything returns to its natural state. The sun is just as bright as ever, the crowd still shouts angrily at various things, and Dad is still here. 

Barely any time to react to it going away, but realization soon reaches into June's mind. She breathes harder than before, like the wind is knocked out of her very soul. Sleigh scoots over and starts to rub her shoulders. "Hey, hey, Junebug, you alright? You look real pale right now. Like you've seen a ghost or something."

June shakes her head, "No, no, no... Dad, how do I get more time in this dream?"

"More time? Junebug, that's not how it works--"

"Dad, I need more time. Please, do you know how?"

His lips curl down. "I mean, maybe? But June, don't you want to wake up soon? Can't spend all day at play, you know?"

"Take me there. Now."

Seconds of silence pass as Sleigh considers the idea. However, he finally relents. "Ok, Junebug. But just this once. Seriously."

June nods vigorously, oblivious to what he says at the end of his sentence.

---

Themes - Family

Word Count - Lol. Lmao.

“This is the place,” Sleigh pushes open the heavy, metal door with all his corporeal weight. His featureless face squints against its cool metal, revealing a dark, dreary inside. June barges in, going right past her father with curiosity and determination.

“Seems like the type of thing I’d find in a mobster movie,” June says as she scans the surroundings. This was in her subconscious? When was the last time she even watched a movie?

Like a shitty underground safe house, or dirty bar you’d watch a dozen people have a shoot out in. Except it’s more akin to a bank, with long lines and desperate people begging for something. Dingy lighting made it impossible to make out most of the people, and it reeked of old piss.

Sleigh doesn’t even bother with the lines, walking to the side and towards the back. An office, if the guard that stands by the door is anything to go by.. June follows closely behind, but glances over to a particular person at the front of the line closest to them. He has a large cowboy hat and eyepatch, hands banging on the protective glass.

“PLEASE, I’M DESPERATE, I NEED THESE GRANTS!” He pleads with a teller. Said teller looking unamused and exhausted.

“Sir, the last time you said that you turned around and immediately purchased an exorbitant amount of funeral urns,” they say calmly. “Until you pay back your other loan, we aren’t giving you more money. Even if you try to claim it as a 'grant'.”

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, IT’S FOR MY SEVENTH DOCTORATE,” he punches the glass extra hard. A nearby guard slowly walks forward, pulls Howard off the glass, and starts dragging him to the front door. Several curses and shouts follow, but they get too quiet as they fully enter the back room.

Back office, she corrected. Yep, these were just like those in all those mobster movies. A perfect office filled to the brim with fancy knick-knacks, leather furniture, and one of the biggest, fattest humans she’s ever seen. Sleigh gives a nod to him and leans up against the wall. “Sit down, June. George, we’re here to talk. I’m calling in that favor.”

“Sleigh, Sleigh, please,” the figure swirls in their chair, revealing themselves not as a person, but a Pokemon. A Gholdengo with a cigar in its thick, shiny fingers. It takes a long drag from it and slowly spits out the smoke into the open air. “No greetings? No merry hellos? Can’t even fully introduce me? You hurt me. Deep in the heart.”

He rolls his colorless eyes, “Sorry. George G. Gold.”

“Thank you, Sleigh. You know, you’re a good man. Why don’t you come back and–”

“No,” he cuts him off. The Gholdengo shrugs his shoulders. June crosses her arms.

“So, what brings you here, missy? Not too often I get people here in Dreamland. But, perhaps that should tell me all I need to know,” it leans back into its chair, large belly on display.

“I want more time.”

George whistles, a whine that covers up the outside noise and inside air conditioner. “Well would you lookie here! Got ourselves a hot shot who thinks she can get the world.”

“Excuse me?” June asks.

“You think you’re the first one to ever ask me that? Do you even realize the scope of what you’re askin’ for?”

“Think about it like this,” it taps ash into an ashtray and leans forward. “How many people do you think dream?”

“...I dunno,” June finally spits out. “Everyone?”

“Ding ding ding!” it taps a finer on the desk alongside its sentence. “You raised a smart one, Sleigh! Yes, pretty much everyone dreams. And don’t you think everyone else has nice dreams too? Ones they’d love to live in for the rest of their lives? Especially if it involves lost, loved ones?”

“Shut the fuck up and answer my question,” June snaps. Her dangerous glare only makes the Gholdengo laugh a weird, machine-like laugh. Like an engine trying to rev up.

“Touched a nerve! Alright alright, no need to get upset. Not like I’ve told you no yet!” It takes another drag.

“But, you haven’t said yes,” she points out. She can’t see her father’s hard look, but she does feel his eye bore into the back of her skull. Must be waiting for a shoe to drop.

“Because I don’t give things out. After all, this is a dream bank! Do banks in your world give out free money? If so, you should invite me some time. I’d love some free money.”

“Get to the point, George,” Sleigh says tiredly. How the heck did her dad know this guy again?

“Alright alright, I see you two are in a hurry, so I’ll cut to the chase,” it pulls out a drawer and places a piece of paper on the desk. A pen follows close behind.

“So,” he points to the first paragraph. “I’ll make sure you stay here a little longer. Dream Time isn’t cheap like money, and it’s a hot commodity. So, most I can get you is around… half an hour, maybe.”

“Only half an hour?!” June jumps out of her chair, fists on the desk. “I need more than that! Get me all you have!”

“You should be lucky I give you anything at all, you insufferable mutt,” Gholdengo fires back. Its previous chill disposition quickly changes for a fiery one and it rivals June’s glare with its dangerous face down-eyes-up position.

“Fucking excuse me?”

“June, back off,” Sleigh steps up and puts a hand on her shoulder. “You asked for more time, this is more time. Better to get something than nothing.”

“I’d listen to daddy if I weres you,” it says. The Pokémon didn’t need to spell it out any further than that. Slowly, with the help of Sleigh, she sinks back down into the soft, brown chair.

“...so, where did we leave off,” Gholdengo mutters. “Thirty minutes. Tops. Depends on my guys, but they’re pretty good about getting the goods moved to the right places. You can read it in fine print right here.”

He points to the next paragraph, “Unfortunately, this is where the nice part ends.”

“Nothing nice about fucking me over.”

“Moving. On.” George pushes its finger into the desk. “As I’ve said before, this isn’t a charity. I don’t do handouts. And since you’re new here, I can’t imagine you can buy it off of me. So, this paragraph here says that I, George G. Gold, need some insurance or an IOU or whatever you can do to ensure I get something in return.”

“No better than the bastards at the Game Corner,” June mutters. Sleigh squeezes her shoulder. Either way, George ignores it and moves onto the third paragraph.

“And this one is all the legal mambo-jumbo that makes this a legally binding contract.”

“A legally binding dream contract? What the hell have I been watching before I sleep,” June says.

“Feel you there. You start with the history of the stock market, you wind up watching how all the beauty product companies illegally fish for Wailord to make their stuff,” it says. “Anyway, my lawyers know more than me, and they aren’t here, and it’ll take too long to get into contact. So, either trust whatever they wrote, or you can not take the deal.”

“And here,” George takes the pen carefully between its fingers and offers it to June, “is where you sign. Read it first if you want, but–”

June steals the pen and pushes George’s arm out of the way. She signs it in one fluid motion, barely legible but clearly her signature. Sleigh inhales sharply.

George manages to smile for the first time this meeting. “Finally, you show me something I like! Confidence. You’d make a good business partner. If it weren’t for everything else.”

June shrugs, “I know what I want, and I’ll do anything for it.”

“June…” Sleigh trails off.

“Glad you bring that up,” George snatches the paper from beneath her fingers before she has any chance to do anything else. “Because we need to get your 'compensation' figured out.”

“Don’t care, take whatever, we done here? Good,” June stands up suddenly. Sleigh look at her, face full of exasperation. George's smile gets even bigger than before. Impossible for a normal human, but the Pokemon manages just fine.

“Anything?”

“June, please–”

“Dad, we got what we came here for, yea?” June asks him. Sleigh sighs, rubbing his eyes.

“That’s not the issue here,” Sleighs starts. “The issue here is you made a deal, without reading the fine print, with the dream equivalent of Team Rocket. Dream Rocket, if you will.”

“And this is just a dream, right? Who cares,” June says. She wraps her arms around her father strong, like he had before. “So I’ll have a bad dream later. Or whatever.”

“Yea, yea, sure,” George says offhandedly, eager eyes scouring the contract like a kid window shopping at the toy store.

“Junebug, this isn’t something to blindly rush into. I’m happy you want to spend more time with me, but this… this isn't right!”

Her grip loosens. She pulls herself away from Sleigh, eyes full of confusion. “Wh-what do you mean? Don’t you want to spend more time with me?”

“Junebug, please, don’t do this. You know that's not what I saying.”

“Then what is it about?!” She lets go and puts a hand on her forehead. “This whole time, you’ve been trying to tell me something, to ruin this dream, and I just don’t get it! What could be so important that you need to ruin this perfectly good–”

“June–”

“--thing, and it makes me scared–”

“Junebug, please–”

“--That you don’t love me anymore–”

“--just listen to–”

“--and you’re leaving me behind like everyone else!”

“June!” Sleigh suddenly grabs her sides and shakes her furiously. “I. Am. Dead! I’m gone, and this isn’t healthy! You need to wake up and fucking realize that, and try to move on and stop hiding from the reality of the situation!”

“You think I don’t know that?”

Sleigh, realizing his misstep, lets go and covers his mouth. “Junebug, I’m–”

“Every day, I’m reminded, in some way, that you’re gone. And the one. The ONE time I want to have a moment where I don’t remember, I can’t even have that?” Her bottom lip trembles. Tears spring from her eyes, already cascading down her cheeks. “Why?”

“June,” Sleigh looks to the side, “I–I–I can’t. Do that. I mean, sure, if you had gotten over it, but… you haven’t. I don’t know what you need to do in the real world, but this. This won’t help you June. It’ll only hurt you more. And I don’t want to see your hurting longer than you have to.”

June hiccups. She runs right past Sleigh, out the office, and stomps her way out out of the bank. Sleigh calls to her, but she doesn’t stop. She needs to get out of here, away, anywhere better than this.

Meanwhile, Sleigh lets gravity take his hand back to his side. Empty, empty eyes watch her go. Just what has he done now. Even if this is her dream, and he’s just a figment of her imagination, or however this works– this shouldn’t have been possible.

“Ahem,” George clears his throat. Sleigh looks over. George motions to the door, “I think you should go after her.”

“But her–”

“We both know that it can come later,” George shoes him off. “I ain’t heartless. Go. I’ll get you the time to… fix that.”

A mutter of thanks is all he gets out before he too bolts from the room. George looks back to his contract, his hidden joy returning to the surface.

“Anything at all, eh? Might be time to, say, ‘expand’ my business.”

---

Prompt - Revelations (To the reader, mostly. But we can call it a revelation to/about June too)

Word Count - Lol. Lmao, even

By the time June realizes where she is, she’s already sitting in front of one of the tombstones that line the row. Not that it truly matters; it’s impossible to shy away from the reality of their nature at this point. The dream’s been ruined. Now, the name has full meaning and purpose behind it:

‘Gabriel Sleigh. May his soul find peace’.

It comforts her to be so close, yet it drives a stake deep within her heart. To be near is to be happy, but to be happy is to be reminded. And the memories sting so hard it brings tears to her eyes and renews the agony of it all. Why couldn’t she reminisce without the help of a dream? Perhaps whoever had killed her father had also ensured this heartache its unique, twisted properties.

Maybe this was the point of it all. To visit his grave more often. For the first month, June found herself in front of the chiseled stone every single day. Bundled up in every bit of warmth she could find in the closet, she’d sit in depressed, dismal silence until Grigori Sokolov or Matchstick dragged her back home. Day in, day out. She’s still surprised she didn’t lose a finger or something to frosts terrible bite.

All it took to end that silly ritual was the debt collectors tracking her down and asking for their money.

And she couldn’t even escape them in her dream. The weather only grows worse as she digs her face it her arms and knees. She sits on the cold, hard earth, compressed into an upright ball. Snow drifts down from the sky, a mysterious force pulling them alone in their unpredictable patterns. Each snowflake that lands on June does so with the gracefulness of a Pidove, yet melts soon after. Now her face is not the only thing covered in dampness.

Lost within her own grief, June doesn’t notice the crunchy footsteps until they’re a stone’s throw away. She spares a glance towards the approaching figure. But just as fast as she looks, she returns to her makeshift solitude.

“Hey, Junebug.” Sleigh says. White flakes dance around him in cosmic brilliance.

“Go away,” She says. Her voice is muffled by the chill in her bones.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you,” He inches closer and seats himself on the ground right next to her. “My ears must be full of wool. Hope you don’t mind, but I’m gonna take a seat right here.”

A warm arm pulls June onto her side, caught instead by Sleigh. “Man, it’s pretty cold here. Gonna use you for warmth, too.”

“Stop.”

“What was that? This wool must be magical, cause it’s blocking out all your sad and mean words,” he says. Ugh. Not this stupid joke. He always did this when she was a kid, crying her eyes out or sulking off in the corner. Just like their disagreements, he’d sit there and wait until she calmed down or he insisted enough that she calmed down.

Except she wasn’t a kid anymore, and he wasn’t alive anymore. June ignores him easily, even if she desperately hopes the stone in her stomach goes away, her happiness returns, the warmth emerges from the sun, and everything becomes alright. Instead, minutes drag on as nature does what it wants. Wind whistles through the dead grass. Leaves are carried along too, and the trees rustle their leaves in time with the hidden beat.

If this is how the dream ended, June’d be okay with it. This is what she wanted, right? More time with him? That stupid wish. Those silly desires always managed to come around and bite her in the ass. Usually someone would stop her before she got too far with whatever plan she concocted, but no one’s done that for a while.

But the dream didn’t end. Instead, the silence between them did. “Junebug, aren’t you cold? Maybe we should go to one of those places you like. I think I saw one on the way over. We can get out of this awful cold. Drink some coffee. Talk.”

Nothing. Sleigh sighs and rocks the June-ball back and forth. “I know, I know. Said some things I shouldn’t have. I get what this is about, Junebug—I really, really do. You just want to spend some good, quality time with me.”

“And here I went and ruined it all,” he says gently. “Sorry Junebug.”

June slowly turns her head. “Yea. You did. Asshole."

A smile cracks on his big—no, small lips. “Alright, have your fun. Let it out. Come on. Let me have it!”

She opens her mouth to speak, but something happens behind her eyes. The gears turn, much to his displeasure. “No,” June puts her head back down. “That’s mean.”

If only she could’ve heard his heart crack in his chest.

Instead, he presses his lips together. “Whatever you say, Junebug. Whatever you say.”

So close, yet so far. Just a hair further, and she might’ve been able to move on with her life. The writing was on the wall, clear as day, yet she closes her eyes, covers her ears, and screams so loud it makes your ears bleed. What else did he need to do?

“Then if that’s that, I’m getting out of this cold,” Sleigh lets her go and rises back up. He couldn’t stand to be here if this is how it was going to be. “You coming along, Junebug?”

“…” June says nothing, but uncurls herself. She nods solemnly and reaches up for help. Sleigh reluctantly obliges.

---

“Shitty coffee,” is the first thing June says after they get their seats at the diner. While the weather outside improved marginally, it still held tight onto the dreary winter feel. In here, though, is pleasant warmth and comforting sounds and smells. Pancakes, coffee, friendly banter amongst a few strange faces.

She scrunches her face and slides the mug away from her. “No thanks.”

“But it’s shitty hot coffee. Warms up my dream bones really well,” Sleighs says as he slurps from his own mug. It looks much lighter than Junes, with three creamer cups empty to the side. “Hmm, perfect!”

“Yea, right,” June rolls her eyes. “Maybe if you can’t taste anything.”

“But then where’s the fun in that? If you can’t taste it, then you can’t make fun of it,” he says. This gets a giggle out of the girl, which makes him smile in return. But the smile doesn't last long and fades into his featureless flesh. 

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don't drink stuff just so I can make fun of it," she says. "But hey, whatever makes you happy."

"What can I say, in my age, little makes me happy," Sleigh says. He hides his frown with the mug. "Call me old, I guess."

"Oh shut up, you aren't that old!" She says. For a brief moment, her sadness disappears. The sun comes out from behind the clouds, lively energy erupts within the bright neon red-and-yellow diner, and all is right in the world. Just maybe, she can salvage this situation.

Yet somewhere in the diner, a clock rings loud over the commotion. It doesn’t tell what time it is, but the signal is clear: this dream was close to being over.

---

Theme - Recreation

Word Count - Around 1200? idk

June’s beats hard against her ear drums, at dissonance with the clock that rings incessantly. She looks off to the side, trying her best to find it so she can maybe shut it off. Sleigh looks as well, but with a much heavier face.

“Junebug. Don’t.”

“But… but I thought I got more time! Did that fuck head not get me what I wanted?!” June bangs her fists onto the table. Coffee splashes outside of the mug and makes an awful brown mess.

“George might be an asshole, but he always follows through,” Sleigh says. He taps his fingers on the table, thinking. “Must’ve not gotten you the full amount. That, and, well, we had that little detour. Remember?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. June clutches her face. Her and her stupid fucking… “Gah! Fuck me, I guess! Next time I’ll just… I—I don’t fucking know.”

“Junebug, hey,” Sleigh reaches over and taps her arms reassuringly. He sees what's happening right before it actually does, a lifetime of experience under his belt. “It’s ok. Everything’s gonna be a-okay.”

“It’s not ok, Dad! I don’t want to wake up, not yet—”

“Shh, Junebug. Hey, listen to me,” he stands up and gently places his hands on hers. He smells like oil and gasoline. Comforting. “You’re gonna be fine. And I know you’re gonna be fine, because you’ve made it this far without me. I know you can keep doing it.”

“But I—I—”

“No ‘buts’, June. Just focus on my hands, okay? How nice they feel. Think about them before anything else.” He presses harder, careful not to apply too much force. The pressure draws her attention away from the impending reality. From the awful alarm. A solid place to anchor herself away from the overwhelming emotions and terrifying thoughts. Little by little, her shaking settles.

But this can’t last forever. June knows this. Sleigh knows this. She can’t let this dominate her thoughts, but this is one reality she can not run away from. She pulls her out from underneath her dad's comforting grip. “O-okay. But… when can we do this again?”

“…” Sleigh lets go and sits back down, motioning June to do the same. She does so, even if the idea to leap over the table and embrace her dad pops into her head.

“Junebug, do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Dad, not this again, please—” she starts to say. Terrible thoughts race through her head, but her Dad cuts through them with decisive words.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t dance around it anymore. I’m not going to be there when you wake up,” he says. He circles the rim of his mug, eyes focused on the light brown surface. “If you need me, I’ll be where I’ve always been. But please, only visit if you absolutely need to. Old man’s gotta get his beauty rest, you know?”

“Now isn’t the time for jokes. Please, be serious.”

“I am, Junebug. Look, I won’t be able to respond. Or react. It’ll just make your grief worse, you know? And I can’t comfort you, or calm you down, or anything like that. And it’ll hurt me just as much as it hurts you.”

June stares at him silently. Why doesn’t he understand? Who cares if it hurts her lungs to stand out in the buffering snow or pouring rain? She’d endure the sun at its hottest, or the moon at its darkest. Just the mere presence makes everything feel better. A bump in the road has nothing compared to the mountain on the horizon.

Sleigh seems to read her thoughts on this as his face grows even harder. He lifts the mug and finishes off the rest of his coffee in a few large gulps. He sets it off to the open side of the table.

“I love you, Junebug,” he reaches over once more and ruffles her hair with his thick, heavy fingers.

And then he’s getting out of the seat. June sticks her hand out to him, “Wait, don’t go—”

She blinks. He's back, lifting his mug again. Drinking from the cup. His throat bulges as he inhales the coffee. He puts it back where it just was. Is.

“I love you, Junebug,” he reaches over once more and ruffles her hair with his thick, heavy fingers. And then he’s getting out of his seat. June sticks her hand out to him, “Wait, come back—”

He’s lifting his mug again. “I love you, Junebug.” He ruffles her hair. She reaches for him, “Wait, please—”

Drinking. “I love you, Junebug.” Ruffling. Leaving. Reaching. “Just one more time-”

Again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And—



“Don’t you think you have a problem, girlie?”



Dad’s gone. Replace with a golden statue. Soulless as they come, sitting just where Dad was. Voice like nails on a chalk board. For the second time in her life, June experiences his death. Yet, why does it hurt so much worse? Truth digs into her chest, each breath a struggle.

“Bring him back. Please,” June begs. By this point, she’s too tired to cry. The statue, George G. Gold, shakes its thin head and pushes the empty mug further away. She frantically looks around the diner, desparate to see his face one more time. Even if she can’t remember it that well anymore.

“No can do, June. He isnt' here no more. You should be thankful you got as much time as you did,” it says. From underneath the table, it pulls out the contract she signed earlier and sets it down. “And unfortunately, as much as I hate to ruin such a… moment. I need my end of the bargain.”

“Fuck. You.”

“Arceus above, you’re sad.”

“Go to hell.”

“Don’t know how to tell you this, but that thing just now? Where you replayed that moment? Not normal. Not a good thing. Might want to talk to a psychiatrist about that. I’m not kidding, either!” It steals a glance at her coffee, untouched and as hot as the bowels of the earth. It points at it, “You done?”

She glares down the Pokemon with the intensity of a thousand suns. It ignores the dangerous look and swiftly steals her remaining coffee. “Thanks for keeping it warm! Love this diner. Great pick-me-up.”

“What do you want.” She spits out, voice trembling.

“I’ve been thinking about that. See, you did say ANYTHING, and I’ve been meaning to expand my business.”

“You aren’t real. Your business isn’t real. This is just a dream.”

“Bit odd, coming from you. Did you already forget that stunt you just pulled with Daddy, or?”

“I want to go home.”

“Sure, sure. More than welcome to,” The Gholdengo nurses the cup between its golden hands. “But… don’t’ expect everything to be the exact same. I always get what I want. Remember that for next time.”

Slowly, the dream world recedes into the blank nothingness it came from. The surroundings gain a growing fade. Colors are sapped from everything, draining the life from the scene. One by one, the people fade into obscurity and irrelevancy. As if they never existed in the first place.

Then the walls. It no longer feels hot or cold. There is no light, but the luminescence remains. The table disappears. George, raising a pinky, goes into the void as well. Then chair June sits in. Despite their being no up or down, June ‘falls’ down. Careening into the nothingness of her dream, wind whips through her hair and pulls at her limbs.

“I hope we do business again soon~”

She doesn’t know when, but a voice rumbles inside her chest, then throat, and then—

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—”

---

June wakes up. The first thing she does is sit upright, the momentum from her infinite fall carried into the real world. She greedily gulps up the stale air of her room, which reeks of sweat and despair. The heater is on full blast, fighting back the chill of autumn and the glares of winter. Acidity gags her, but she pushes down the oncoming retch with a thick, nervous gulp.

She’s awake. Her curtains are pulled back, revealing the outside. She’s homed in the bottom floor of the terrible apartments, facing the meek and sad scenery of dying colors and tired trees. Yet a massive, blue and red mass dominates all in these regards. The gentle rise and fall of its chest shows that it lives, its face pointing right towards her window.

Another creature catches her attention. Matchstick. Red feathers coat the dark brown floors and all of her meek sleeping space. While it was resting alongside her, the commotion stirs it from its slumber. Hard eyes glare into her skull. It flaps its wings, one free and one confined into a plaster cast.

A reminder of that stupid island. She lifts the heavy weight that presses down on the bed, a similarly colored coating of hardened fabric. Undecorated from their brief tenure, save for the signatures of the medical staff on deck when they applied it. Matchsticks at least has June’s big, boldened signature all along its face.

She taps her cast against the birds. Pain shoots up her arm. Talonflame caws at her sharply, confused as to why she did that.

But the beads of salty water that drip down the corners of her eyes say enough. She is fully awake. Dad is dead. Her dream is over. Matchstick pulls itself up and shuffles over the thick comforters and pointed tips of feathers to her. It settles down on her lap, plumage shoved into her chest. Another stifling source of heat smothers her chest.

She leans against the mass carefully, as to not disturb the old frail bones that’ll attack her if pressed hard on. This position is all too familiar, a past habit brought back to life in the alienation within her own home. Why even dream at all, if only to torture her? It isn’t fair. Little is.

Crashing cups rouses her before she can settle in. She sniffs hard, but starts to tilt the fire hawk off her legs. It obliges, yet follows her off the bed and across the room as she goes to investigate. Nobody has the keys to her apartment, save for Grigori Sokolov . Even then, shouldn’t he busy with work? The digital clock hanging right outside the kitchen says noon. A record time to wake up for the week, she notes.

Cups and plates lay all over the floor in various states of being. Select glasses toughed the fall with only minor chips. The rest are shattered, turned into puzzles that are impossible to solve. June’s glad she never invested in fine china right now. But what the hell could’ve caused all this damage?

Cupboard doors to her left swing open violently. Matchstick screams at the sudden movement, and June quickly jumps out of their way. Right into the supporting wall, which does not bend for her. Nerves complain, surely to bruise from the run-in. What the fuck? She gasps in shock.

That’s… Cathode? But it’s a lot bigger now—still comparatively small, but big enough to climb onto the counter and finagle past the stiff doors. The thing that scares her the most, though, is its new colors. Not shiny colors, though. Dark yellows and blues, and wisps of black shadows snake off its body. Its currently inspecting the plates, its large backside sticking out from the cabinet.

Yet if that’s Cathode, then were’s Anode? Not a mystery she’d have to figure out as the pantry door swung outward as well. Blinding radiance follows a hidden mass behind the small island, going around it until it reveals itself on the floor. It’s incredibly similar in shape to Cathode, but instead has a heavenly aura to it that she can’t quite describe. Illuminating? Bright? Angelic?

Strange liquid drips off its mandibles. It reeked something awful. Wait, fuck—she put that one weird potion in her pantry, didn’t she? But then how did Cathode get its weird behavior? And how did the miniscule Joltiks evolve into Galvantulas while she was sleeping?

“I was thinking about expanding my business…”

So that wasn’t just a dream? But then how did it… and when did… but that memory…

June’s brain short circuits. This isn’t a problem he has the energy nor motivation to figure out right now. Her bed calls from the other room, begging for her to return to its warm, soft touch and have the aches melt into the springs and wool. Oh please, June, dive into my feather down pillows! If you try hard enough, maybe you’ll find your Dad in dream land again!

June stares apathetically to the chaos that’s started in the room:

Matchstick screeches at Cathode, who has taken notice and now sticks its legs out threateningly. Anode is trying to push some of the mess off to the side and clear a path, but only gets broken glass stuck inside its thin exoskeleton. White and red light clash on the walls, unable to pierce the thick shadow that follows this dark Galvantula wherever it goes. If something doesn’t budge, it might try and actually attack the other two. That’d be an even bigger mess to clean up. And one of them might die.

Sights and sounds and feelings converge into one awful, ugly, congealing mess that’s injected straight into her brain. That bed idea sounds nice right about now, so she takes a step back. Then another. Before she knows it, she’s up against the wall and sliding down.

Once her bottom hits the floor, her brain finally gives up and in to the sweet release of sleep. June slumps in her awkward position, not quite yet ready to face this weird, uncomfortable reality. The one she just left.

The one she hoped to leave behind.

---

Theme - Love (In its own, twisted way)

Word Count - 2200! (Bit more, but more than enough)