Apologies in advance. Pretend it's a chapter in a book or something.

---

History?

How could she possibly change history?

June blinked once. Twice. From the weird void of a portal into… wherever the hell this was. Some living room, filled to the brim with holiday decorations. Long strands of pine-tree branches stretched over every single stretch of flat surface, intertwined with balls of red and yellow. This included every single doorway, the puke green couch she rested in, and even above a shitty fireplace shoved into the far beige wall. A tall green tree slumped next to it a similar fashion of decoration, except this one had several candy canes hung on branches. Otherwise, there was a small television hung on the wall to her left and a leather brown recliner also on her left.

Soft music cut through the silence. June recognized it almost immediately: that one bitch that sang that one stupid fucking song and played in every single store and shop known to man. The culprit of the music was a radio sat on a glass coffee table in front of her. In her explosive desire to end the misery that was 'All I Want', June pushed herself forward and quickly hit the power button. The quiet crackle of firewood quickly took over and filled the room with pops from behind the glass.

Fire… Arceus, it was really warm in here. Too warm. Her eyes trailed down, to the thick sweater of green and red she wore. That would do it, yea. Very… odd. When the hell did she put this on? She peeked underneath the green wool, only to be met with her pale skin. Damn, couldn’t take it off.

It felt awfully familiar, though. She’d seen this sweater before, but the answer didn’t immediately come. ‘The Holiday Season’ was never a valid reason to wear such an affront to Arceus, no matter how many people claimed otherwise. But here she was, with it on, and it felt natural as hell. Like she’d worn it before. Forced to don the stupid, ugly, brand-new woolen Stantler-themed sweater by…

Dad.

This was a gift from him two years ago, June realized. He’d given to her as a joke, but insisted she wear it for when they celebrated. ‘An early present’ he said with the stupidest smirk on his face. But… that was also the day that… he…

She had buried it in a box in her closet and let it rot afterwords. It had been ruined anyway. As much as it hurt to remember, she’d gotten it covered in blood and dirty black snow and snot. It was in desperate need of a wash, but this one looked as good as new. Brand new.

And what the hell was that stench? The aroma of sickeningly sweet sweets filled every nook and cranny in her mouth. An awfully familiar smell. Even the way she gagged on it felt like déjà vu. She half expected someone to smack her shoulder and tell her that ‘it beat carbon monoxide from an exhaust pipe’. Even worse, it smelled terribly close. Like it was right in front of her face, presented on a silver platter.

It literally was. A plate full of gingerbread cookies, each one in the shape of a cartoon man with his arms and legs splayed out for the world to see, sat on the glass coffee table in front of her. The top one had frosting of various colors plastered across the face of it. Dressed to look like a fairy-tale creature. June reached out and poked one on the edge of the palte. Warm and still soft to the touch. It bent underneath her finger in a classic 'freshly baked cookies' way.

Dad’s favorite.

“Where the fuck am I?”

She looked around the room. All of this was déjà vu. The star atop the tree looked exactly like the one she threw together when she was four. June squinted at it, desperate to prove it wasn’t that one. Yet it had the broken nub of an arm, from when Dad dropped it trying to put it on the tree the same night.

And the radio was covered in black smudges and a bajillion short scratches. Dad used to drag that thing from the shop into the house every year too, because he ‘wanted to get his moneys worth out of the damn thing, and it works just as well as any any other radio’. The one she had in her own room, back at the apartment. Its antenna was bent perpendicular to the main body: from when she wanted to take a seat but didn’t see the tall black stick poking out from the thing.

But the most damning thing of all was a familiar portrait sat on the table. She missed it in the initial disorientation and confusion, but now it caught her attention like a fisherman a Veluza. It was from her graduation from technical school. Her lemon-yellow graduation robes looked immaculate, and her face even more so. A big, bright genuine smile, as she presented the degree to the photographer. A flash of pride and warmth filled inside her heart. This was one of the few photos she still kept on display. It sat on the kitchen table, and she always stared at it the few times she ate at home.

Because Dad stood right next to her, tall and proud and with a long, lanky arm draped over her shoulder. He held an equally large smile, if not bigger. He stood a few feet behind her, because-

‘This is your accomplishment, but I’m your dad. Just means I get to show you off to whoever looks at the picture. Don’t sweat it, just play along–’

“Junebug, don’t get all mopey on me now,” a voice called out from behind her. Recognition flashed in her head, quickly followed by a doubt that shook every cell in her body. Each hair individually stood on edge like a Purugly on the offensive. That voice was one she’d recognize anywhere. In a crowded room, with her head held underneath the oppressive waters, or even if she turned deaf.

It couldn’t be helped; June rotated her entire body with the speed of a Talonflame. There’s no way it could be him. He was… was…

Alive?

Gabriel, Gabe, Sleigh. Presumed dead two years ago, he looked alive and well as he carried his tall can of beer with him over to the couch. He must’ve went and grabbed it from the kitchen, which was behind the couch. Instincts told her that, but the conscious mind remained dazed. If the shoe fit, then that was the size of the foot. If the socket fit the bolt, then that was its relative size. So if this place looked exactly like her old home…

Did that stranger actually do it? Was this what he meant?

While her mind raced with connections, her physical body reacted much simpler. Her gazed locked on to Dad as shimmied between the table and her legs. A dribble of beer hit her leg, followed up with a muttered apology. He plopped himself down right next to her, and  cleaned his fingers with his mouth. “Shame I haven’t been able to show it off to anyone. You need to invite someone over when I’m around, Junebug. I don’t bite.”

“... Uh, Junebug? You there?” he snapped his fingers right in her face. The loud pops fell on mostly deaf ears. But the movement inspired something inside her. June rushed forward and grabbed on tight to the flesh, blood, skin and bones that was Dad. From something that shouldn’t– couldn’t be. Yet was here anyway.

Even if she knew how this night ended, she could enjoy it while…

… it was young.

“Woah, okay Junebug, I get it, it’s a nice picture,” Dad gently pat June on the back, his voice filled to the brim with care and confusion. Her brain churned hard, though, as she awkwardly realized both how weird this was, and how changeable this past was. If she’d been sent here to change something, change history, then… Dad could be saved.

“Oh, sorry, just,” June spat out as she slowly let go of her father. “Something something. Make time for those you care about. Don’t worry about it. Read it online somewhere.”

“...Right, yea, sure,” Dad nodded along, then  held up an arm in defense, “but it’s n-not that I don’t disagree or nothin’. Just, y’know, out of the blue was all. Didn’t know me getting a drink and your surprise was, well, emotional or nothin'.”

“Surprise?” She asked on instinct. Even if she remembered the answer a moment later, it probably worked out better to feign ignorance. She knew her father would smirk and shrug as he produced an envelope from his back pocket. Its wrinkled, bent shape was promptly offered to her, and she took in in shaky hands.

“This is…”

“Happy holidays June.”

Mauville Apartment Complex. A new home, entirely on her own. A tear sprouted from her eye, and she quickly wiped it away. “But…”

“Come on Junebug, it’s about time you got your own place. Flown out of the nest, so to speak. You and Matchstick would really like some space on your own. That, and Buddy is… well, causing problems with Toxicroak again,” he said. “And I can’t afford to replace all the furniture. Again.”

“But I don’t– wait, replace the furniture?”

“Uh, yea?” He raised an eyebrow, “Don’t you remember, Junebug? Cost me a couple grand.”

“No, that’s not-” June sighed. “No, sorry, forget it.”

So, he hadn’t even been hiding it in the first place. Dad didn’t say it like that before, that he ‘couldn’t afford’ to do it. Even if he hid the truth from her, she had managed to dodge the line that got him to inadvertently out himself as hundreds of thousands in debt. No other reason why he’d use those words. An ember flickered and lit a fire in her chest.

“I just… don’t know what else to say,” June didn’t wipe away the next few salty streaks that snaked down her face. “This is so, what’s the word?”

“Unexpected?” Dad slapped her gently on the shoulder, “I know, I know, not like me. Usually upfront and what not. But… sometimes, the best things in life are a surprise. That and I knew you’d never go along with me to check places out.”

“So you picked the place without me?”

“I picked out two places that you might like, are open, and will be open for the next week. It’s up to you to go on over and sign the rental agreement,” he said. “I can’t do that part.”

“So if I really don’t want to move out–”

“I can’t make you do it, yea,” he took a sip from the frosty can, “but I think you really should. Get a life started without me breathing down your neck. Or you down mine.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She in-turn gave him a quick glare. June never heard him say that, either. Last time, she’d broken down into tears but ultimately agreed that she’d go down the next day. The owner even had the decency to let her sign super late and without a steady income, due to the unforseen circumstances.

“Well…” Dad tugged at the neck of his own sweater, “I’d like to have the place to myself from time to time. Maybe even… y’know… with someone else.”

Oh. June’s face turned hot red, and she quickly turned away. “That's, well, fine. And stuff. But you could’ve just… said that. Or lead off with it. Arceus.”

“Sorry, but it’s not a topic I can–”

“Yea yea, but you could’ve tried to be subtle about it.”

“Junebug, c’mon.”

“What?”

“You’re denser than an engine block sometimes.”

“Why don’t you– actually, no, fair enough. Ugh,” June slouched back into the couch, entirely wishing she’d said nothing at all. “Can we talk about something else, then? Anything else?”

“Well,” Dad suddenly hopped up from the couch, “We COULD.”

“But?”

Once again, a rhetorical question. June knew exactly where Dad was going. Her heart leapt into the back of her throat.

“What, you got a few screws loose up there all of a sudden? Remember what I said this morning?”

“Oh, right. Fuck, I forgot,” she smacked her forehead in exaggeration. Of course she remembered what the hell he’d said. He had a job that had to get done before tomorrow and he couldn’t push it off any longer. The pay was supposed to be fat as hell, and they’d already celebrated the important part of the holidays a few days ago. She’d nearly forgotten that at this point in time, they’d been hanging out for most of the day anyway. This time, though, they ended much more abruptly.

This was the real deal, then. Not only could she influence the past, she could change it for sure.

But how?

“Well,” June bolted up from the green cushion and planted herself in his way, “what if I help you out? It’ll go faster with the two of us!”

“Not this time, Junebug,” Dad bent down and took a single gingerbread cookie from the plate. Then he backed up and went around the table. “I know you know what you’re doing, but this… a whole 'nother beast. Delicate.”

“I can be delicate, you know.”

“June, honey, you haven’t worked on a car this expensive ever,” he pointed at her casually. “You so much as look at it funny, it gets a scratch and the guy is on our asses. Trust me, this isn’t something you want to do.”

“Well, what if I want practice for the future?”

“Do it the easy way,” he continued walking straight into the kitchen. “First time I did, I fucked the car up so bad my boss made me buy an entirely new one for the guy. Besides, I thought you said you never wanted to work on cars like this anyway.”

“Well. Yea. Okay, fair enough,” She kicked herself in the shin and quickly followed him into the kitchen. It was enough to make her almost regret ever saying that. Almost. Fuck those expensive cars. “Maybe I can just hand you tools, then. Make it go a little faster.”

They entered the plainest kitchen known to man. The only decoration was a simple analog clock, which ticked and toked without a care in the world. A stack of paper sat on the kitchen table, and a few plates sat neglected in the sink. Dad blitzed for the table, where a thick black windbreaker was draped over a chair.

“Or maybe I can just sit there and–”

“Junebug,” as he put on the jacket, he turned to her, “you can just say you’re not sure about living on your own.”

“...Okay, alright, I’m a little nervous.”

“I understand entirely. It’s not something you’ve ever done before,” he finished putting on the jacket and gave her a comforting pat, “but I really want to get this job done before midnight, and I really can't afford to be distracted.”

“But… hey, look, if you really want to talk about it, we can do it when I get home if you’re still up. Go over all the important stuff, look up anything you might need to consider. Whole nine yards.”

June stole a glance at the clock. Seven twenty-eight. Fuck, it was almost… don’t think about it. Just figure something else out. “Fine.”

Dad smiled slightly, “Thanks June. Trust me, I won’t let you figure it out on your own. We can work on it together. Just not this one thing that honestly, isn’t even ‘worth the damn time.’”

June chuckled half-heartedly. Funny word choice yet again. “Yea yea. I get it, already.”

He leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Alright, gonna squeeze past you. Need to get my shoes.”

She reluctantly stepped out of his way, and he walked straight out of the kitchen door. June glanced behind to make sure he didn’t double back. When she knew the coast was clear, she immediately started to investigate every nook and cranny in the room. Any massive fire hazards, open wires, or even a spider web in the window. Something, anything, that would get him to stay away from that damn garage.

As she rummaged in the drawers, she heard Dad loudly mutter underneath his breath about his shoes. Thank Arceus he never invested in a new pair of boots whenever it mattered. It gave her precious seconds to keep haphazardly check out the drawers for tiny holes or Rattata droppings. Not even a single, microscopic turd for her to shout out for Dad to look into or call someone about for an hour.

Fuck, there wasn’t a single damn thing in this place. June checked the gas line behind the oven for even a wayward scratch or a bite mark, but it looked perfectly fine.

“You having fun in there, Junebug?” His muffled voice called out from the hall. “Or was the food really that bad?”

“Of course not,” she said sarcastically. Of course the food was bad. It was always bad, but in a uniquely bland way that just made it hard to feel enthusiastic about eating. Like eating flavorless slop mixed with a shit ton of salt and never enough garlic. She always called it Pokemon food when it was particularly unappetizing.

“Whatever. Eat your ‘nutritious fruit’ then, and I’ll eat the leftovers later,” he said.

June’s eyes shot towards the fridge. Right, the produce drawer should be filled to the brim with that sort of stuff. An idea began to form in her mind. A silly one, but maybe it’d buy her another minute. She ran over to the fridge, yanked the drawer open, and pulled out the first sphere on top: a juice, ripe, massive grapefruit. It begged to be eaten, and her stomach rumbled.

She kept the saliva in her mouth as she slammed it onto the counter. “Well, I’m not hungry enough for a whole grapefruit. Come grab the other half.”

“I’m not hungry, Junebug. I actually ate what was made for dinner.”

“Come on, don’t be a baby,” She reached over to the knife rack and grabbed the first one. A chef’s knife, razor sharp and polished to a perfect shine. “Besides, you might actually feel healthy for a change.”

“Just put it in a bag and throw it in the fridge,” he said.

“But–”

When she pushed down, the knife slipped on the rind and flew straight down the curve of the grapefruit. June barely reacted fast enough, as the knife kissed her fingertips and dug itself straight into the counter. She took a close look at her skin, but sighed in relief. The blade only grazed her, with only a little thin sliver of skin as collateral. No blood.

But no Dad either.

“Are you dulling my knives, Junebug?”

“No, just trying to cut–”

Oh no. Fuck. Fuck. She looked down at her fingers, and then back to the knife. There was a way to get Dad to not go to the shop. Not very pleasant. Not at all. Just required one little mishap. A slip, and she’d surely secure their future. No way he’d ignore something that bad. Hell, it wouldn’t even be a weird, unexplainable thing. If anything, it was too perfect. But how hard? And just one bit? Or get a more, y’know, ‘deep’ incision? Maybe it was best to go for the palm. More manageable, and people did it in those TV shows all the time. Would Dad call her a cultist? Maybe just the tips would be better. But she did just slam the knife into the counter, and that might make it less sharp. She heard that dull knives are more dangerous than sharp ones, but did that mean it won’t be able to do what she needs? Maybe she needed to grab another one, or try to sharpen this one really fast. Dad made it look easy. And she’d always wanted to try–

“Well, I’m gonna take your silence as admission of guilt. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Fuck fuck fuck. June quickly put the knife back at the top of the grapefruit. Her other hand placed stupidly underneath its warpath. This wouldn’t hurt that bad, right? How could it? The nerves would be separated. Couldn’t transmit pain if they weren’t attached to the rest of body.

The front door opened. June sucked in deep, braced her core, and shut her eyes really tight. Three–

“I’ll see–”

Two-

“–you later–”

This wouldn’t hurt. It’d be fine.

One.

“–Junebug.”

The knife came down hard. Too hard.

It really really really REALLY fucking hurt.

June let out the loudest, sharpest scream in her entire life. Nerves didn’t need an end point to know that something was wrong. It was white-hot, blinding, excruciating, unbearable, nauseating, awful pain. She couldn’t even comprehend how good of an idea it was to close her eyes as she slowly sunk to the kitchen floor. The urge to grab her fingers–whichever were left– and squeeze tight, just to feel them, was almost impossible to ignore.

But she did. Fear took hold wherever it could and sunk its teeth into her brain. Arceus, how horrid it would be to know just how bad the damage was. Instead, she death-gripped her wrist and planted her forehead onto the cool brass handle. How nice it felt on her skin. A much more pleasant feeling than whatever was going on up above.

One that Dad rushed to investigate, each footstep heavier and closer than the last. “June, are you– oh fuck…”

“D-dad–” June sobbed out. Tears ran down her face like the blood that rushed out of her open wound. Dad moved again, and he hugged her tight.

“Damn it June, I told you to–” he groaned in frustration. June tried to wiggle out of his grip. but he held on tight. “Fuck, fuck. You’re gonna be okay, Junebug. You’re gonna be okay, alright?”

She nodded silently, unable to conjure any more words. He stood up again, and went to the pantry. He pulled something out and went to the fridge. A door opened, and there was the clack of ice cubes. He slammed the freezer door shut, came back, and gently moved her head back. The drawer slid open, and several towels emerged. The drawer slammed shut too, and he set the plastic bag full of ice on the counter. Something was carefully put in it, and the cloth towels were thrown on her hands indiscriminately.

“Come on Junebug, stand up,” She felt him grab underneath her arms and pull. She did so extremely slowly, one foot followed by the other. Both her socks felt wet and sticky, and a wave of awful copper rushed into her mouth as she continued to sob. It got caught in her throat and she coughed weakly into Dad’s jacket.

“That’s it, don’t look,” he pushed her face further into his chest, “just follow my lead. We’re gonna get you to the hospital, and they’re gonna fix you right up. Good as new, okay Junebug?”

His voice cracked while he talked, but she nodded into his chest. Together, they shuffled out of the kitchen, down the hall, and out into the open world.

June soon started to fade out of consciousness, unable to form a coherent thought as she climbed into the seat of a car, which rumbled to life. Shortly after, the slowly pulled away from the building. Away from the house, away from the shop. As Dad kept a hand on her arm, a comfort in the tragedy of this experience, she couldn't keep a smile on her face.

She'd be okay. Dad would be okay. He wouldn't die now. History had changed.

From the void emerged her conscious, forced out by a ray of sunlight. It pierced through the darkness like a lighthouse on a stormy coast, a beacon to follow. For some reason, she didn’t feel the urge to shove a pillow over her face and roll over to the other side of the bed. If anything, it made her want to rise straight up and open her eyes. As her mind slowly awoke from its deep slumber, details made sense of themselves.

Back… home. Apartment home, not Dad home. More decorated than normal, but not by much. Instead of nothing but another clock, there was also a poster of a Talonflame that looked like it was trying to fly straight off the paper and into the real world. Right next to it was a calendar, as basic as could be with a black and white color scheme. It was flipped to December with nearly all the days marked with a black X.

That meant… it was December twenty-eighth. And the clock read nine. Probably the morning, with the bright ray of sunshine and the faint smell of coffee that hung in the room. Did Grigori Sokolov make coffee for her again? It better not be the shitty stuff.

As she went to throw off the fuzzy black blanket off her body, she froze stiff. Her right hand looked normal. Of course it did, it was supposed to. It had been the one that held the knife. The knife, if she remembered right, that absolutely demolished her left hand. Cut straight through the flesh and bone and straight down into the kitchen counter. Arceus, even the thought caused bile to rise in her throat. She swallowed it back down and paid attention to her left hand.

It felt… normal. Her thumb worked splendidly. Next, she wiggled her palm into the bedsheet. That felt in order too, especially since it dug into silk sheets instead of her usual fabric ones. Odd. Not important, though. Which fingers had she mercilessly sliced off again? Come to think of it, she when when push came to shove.

Probably best to rip off the theoretical band-aid. Apprehension and fear filled her heart and pushed out the tired energy there before. Slowly, she pulled her arm from out underneath the blanket. Slowly slowly, inch by inch. Her elbow showed itself before long, and her eyes followed along the soft blue line of her vein. Then, her wrist. Finally, her hand.

A sigh escaped her lips, a breath she forgot he held. Most of her fingers were accounted for and in perfect order. However, the very top of her middle finger was as flat as a dipstick. The nail was gone, and all that was left was a weird stub. It felt even weirder when she felt the skin with her thumb. It sent a shiver up her spine, but she couldn’t stop herself.

But as if a wrapper was peeled off her mind, a single though cut through the mild amusement of no fingernail situation: Dad. He hadn’t gone to the shop that night. And that’s where he had… not come back. But if he didn’t go, then did that mean he was still alive? The math checked out, but a physical example always helped.

June wasted no time and scrambled out of bed. Her heart raced. Dread filled her heart as it pumped, yet hope flooded in with its contraction. She ran across the room and she flung open her flimsy wooden door. Right into the living room, where–

He sat on her couch.

Gabe. Gabriel.

Dad.

He didn’t draw his gaze away from the TV that blared on the far wall, but did throw a pointed thump over his shoulder. “Mornin, Junebug. Coffee’s done, but I’m sure you smelt it from a mile away.”

“June? You, uh, okay there?”

She shook her head roughly and bolted to the kitchen. Warm coffee sounded real nice right about now. “Sorry, yea, just tired. Tired.”

“Sure.”

Sure enough, the coffee cups were found right above the boring, cheap coffee maker. Unfortunately, even with Grigori not the maker of this pot, the grounds inside the cupboard proved her fears right. Shitty coffee. Thus, she poured herself a two-thirds full cup and topped it off with MooMoo milk.

It was a surprise to have to dig out the milk, rather than have it be one of the three things in there. Not bad, just different.

She shoved a spoon into the light brown liquid and quickly retraced her steps back to the living room. The TV was playing the Mauville News Network, which Dad focused on with full attention. June read the headline as she fell down into the plump furniture and sipped on her warm drink.

‘Team Rocket Expands’. Oh. Right. Them. “Turn it up, will you?”

She didn’t see him roll his eyes, but he did as requested. Slowly, the volume rose until–

“--has taken control of Mossdeep City after a long and bloody conflict. Furthermore, they’ve kept their hold on Sootopolis City despite the League’s best efforts. After the takeover, Rocket held a conference to declare the takeover and their soon-to-be domination of the Hoenn region. We will keep you updated as information from the conference comes in, an–”

The TV shut off suddenly. A hollow afterimage of the reporter clung to the dark screen desperately but faded along with the noise. Dad grunted and tossed the remote onto the short black table. He drank from his plain white mug, black as dirt. 

“Rocket got Mossdeep?” June muttered under her breath. That was certainly news. They shouldn’t have control of Mossdeep. Hell, she hadn’t heard of any attacks on Sootopolis either.

“Just announced, but everyone blew it up on social media last week when it actually happened,” Dad talked into his drink. “Fuckin’ League can’t do anything right.”

That short outburst and the mug full of pure, disgusting coffee confirmed it was Dad alright. June sighed another breath of relief. So history was changed after all. The present, or rather near future, would be new territory. But as long as Dad was there, then that was perfectly alright with her. Beat the other past of twenty-twenty-three. Stupid deliveries, or lack thereof.

Thanks, strange weird magic guy.

“Well, that’s nothing new,” June led off. “But we don’t need to talk about that so early in the morning. Bad for your brain.”

Dad shrugged, “Whatever you say. But it won’t matter here in a week or two.”

“Why is that?”

“Oh, right, you went to bed before I could show you,” He pulled out two little books from the other side of him. He looked inside of the top one and handed the other to June. “We got approved.”

“Approved?”

“For Paldean Citizenship?”

Her jaw dropped into her mug. A lot happened in these last two years. A lot more than she could’ve ever guessed. When the fuck did she apply for Paldean Citizenship? Past-Current June had a lot of explaining to do. Especially since she– Dad, had a shit ton of debt to pay off. The Game Corner would rather be tried for assassination than let someone with his amount of debt leave the region.

“That’s… great! Real great. Just… wasn’t sure it'd actually happen,” June took the little black book from him and quickly opened it up. There she was, her face bright with just as many stress lines as she remembered. Guess one needed a passport irregardless of intention. “With all that… you know…”

Dad rolled his eyes, “Junebug, please, I already put myself on the No-Gamblers list. I so much as look at a casino and they’ll try to beat me up.”

That meant the debt thing had been resolved. Not that she knew how. “Good. Good. Don’t want the Game Corner on our asses.”

“They never were, it was the bank. But they haven’t been since I gave them literally everything I owned.”

June flinched. Right. They repossessed the old house and shop before. She hadn’t given up the motorcycle, though. But this time, it would've still be his. Dad must've sold it off then. She'd owned it long enough in the other timeline to understand the sting of knowing it wasn't around anymore.

Maybe he could get another one, if he had a job.

What was her financial situation, anyway? She pulled out her phone and went to her bank app; no way in hell she was still delivering packages in this timeline too. Fate wouldn’t be that fucked up, right? When she pulled up the transaction history, she did not see the multitudes of lower dollar payments directly from a website, but instead fat checks from some ‘Hoenn Auto Repair’ place. So she settled for working under someone after all. At least gross total was above three digits. A very welcome surprise.

So there wasn’t an outstanding debt, she had actual savings, and she was about to leave Hoenn in a few weeks. No known problems, and Dad was there with her. A slight smile crept up on her face as she relaxed into the soft couch.

“What’s got you so happy?”

June met Dad’s eyes. “Oh, nothing. Just… content, is all. A little happy to leave this mess behind. With you.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Some optimism would do me good, maybe.”

“Maybe,” she sipped from her mug.

“Just sucks that Grigori will be stuck here. Still hard to process that the prison won’t transfer him over.”

Coffee flew straight out of her mouth and all over the table. Dad looked over and gave her another quizzical eyebrow. She quickly wiped the brown stain from her mouth, “Sorry, had a cough coming along. Didn’t want to choke. Damn, that sucks.”

Grigori was in fucking jail?! What the fuck? The rest of this information was hard enough piece together, but that? Completely out of left field. That guy couldn’t hurt a fly, how the hell did he get thrown in prison for what sounded like a very long time?

Yet Dad’s face looked forlorn. A sore topic, maybe? One look killed the thousands of questions that sprouted in her head. Some things never changed: if Dad didn’t want to talk about something, he didn’t. She didn’t need a history rewrite to know that fact.

“It is what it is,” was all he offered. “But he doesn't seem that bummed. Doesn't want to start again. He even has a teaching position in there. Role model and all that.”

“Yea. Sounds about right. From what I know, anyway.”

“I guess you never really met him, yea. I think you two would’ve gotten along.”

June nodded. “If only.”

“If only.”

Peaceful silence fell in the room. The clock ticked, and she simply soaked in the presence of this new, easy life with Dad. Neither of them wanted to move.

Correction: June didn’t want to move. Dad set his mug on the table and stood up. “Oh well. No point moping over it. Probably should do something productive instead.”

“Right,” June reluctantly followed suit. Like a Mudsdale, he did not settle for inaction. Guess she shouldn’t act too suspicious. Even if she was from another timeline, she was still June here. Just a little out of the loop. Okay, very out of the loop.

But now was the perfect time to fix that. “Well, I guess I’ll get to work on my room. See what needs to stay, what can go.”

“Little early for that, ain’t it?”

“No time like the present,” June said as she walked backwards towards her room. Dad wasn’t going anywhere, but time was. This was the perfect opportunity to get a little privacy. Look into what happened in the last two years. Especially about Grigori. Hard to imagine him being in jail for any reason, and since Dad was clearly not going to talk about it, then she’d need to find someone who had.

“Whatever makes you happy. Just don’t complain to me when you gotta dig stuff out of boxes every day for two weeks cause you got impatient,” He said.

As June walked backward, she fumbled for the doorknob and pushed the door open. “Don’t worry about me, Dad. You just figure–”

“Your own... stuff... out.”

–

As she turned back around to face her room, she found herself not in her room. In fact, she was now somewhere else entirely. Much warmer than before, evidenced by the way she now heard an air-conditioner on full blast down the corridor. Even worse, her coffee mug had dissapeared. Poof. Gone, as if it had never existed.

The whiplash was almost impossible to comprehend. This wasn’t the simple, easy time change as before. Instead of a reasonable fade to black with the ability to come to terms on her own, she had been thrown into the deep end of the pool and told to figure it out.

She was still in some form of living space, at least. Just an entirely different one, based on the lively orange walls and hard wood floors. Her feet clacked on the ground, a pair of work shoes now on her feet. They felt suffocating, and she quickly took them off.

That was all she got to do before the voice of Dad called out from down the hall. “What stuff?”

“O-oh, nothing,” she called out after a few moments of panic. “Just talking to someone on the phone.”

“Well, get off the phone with your boyfriend and get out here! He’ll meet us down there,” he said.

What? Boyfriend? When the fuck did she get a boyfriend? Even worse, it sounded like she needed the shoes on. She quickly stuffed her feet back into their leather prisons and made her way down the hall. Several paintings lined the wall, all of some bright warm landscape or a tropical forest. They were pretty, at least, but they more served as a background to try and form some coherent thought from.

Boyfriend, warm colors, renter. What the hell did this all mean? She obviously found someone to put up with her in whatever time had passed. Based entirely on colors and her limited knowledge on Paldea, then she was probably there right now. Dad was still here, so maybe he got another shop getting started? Yea, that all sounded plausible. Reasonable, even.

So when she entered the new bigger, much more luxurious living room (they made couches that big?), she hoped her face full of confusion and surprise wasn’t painfully obvious. Dad was there, and he fiddled with a red tie. It looked like he was struggling, and June quickly walked toward him. “Here, move. Let me do it.”

She quickly undid all of his mismatched knots and put the thing together in record time. Even he looked amazed at how deftly her fingers worked, a machine of efficiency and practice. “Thanks, June. Still haven’t figured it out after all this time.”

“And yet you can put a transmission together blindfolded,” she chuckled. As soon as she finished, she stepped back and checked over her shoulder. A mirror, and she looked absolutely amazing. A tried and true business suit, like she was off to work in an office or a university class. Had she gone back to school in this timeline?

Dad was dressed in a carbon copy suit, except his tie was orange... orange. “Still not sold on dressing up for your lease signing, but at least we look professional.”

Her lease signing? June bit her lip, “Well… it’s important! Always need to look good for stuff like this. Not like we do this sort of thing everyday.”

“Yea, yea. Just feels silly. And stuffy. It’s supposed to be thirty-five today!”

“Too late to change now,” June said as she walked away and to the kitchen. There was no coffee this time, but something had been baked in there. On the island in the middle was an appetizing plate of pastries. It didn’t smell overtly sweet, and it was still warm and fresh. Like someone rolled something out, shoved something inside, and folded it back on itself. She grabbed one and took a small nibble.

Cinnamon. Very good. She came back out and took a larger bite. “Good shit. You make this?”

“Oh, so now you eat it?” He gave her an exasperated look. “What happened to getting your suit dirty?”

“I can’t go there hungry,” she shrugged. “I’ll get annoyed. Can’t cause problems with… whoever it is.”

“That’s not a ‘whoever’,” Dad stepped forward and and gave her a hard point, “it’s Mr. Garcia. And if it weren’t for his generosity to overlook our credit history, you wouldn’t be getting your own shop to begin with. So you need to–”

“My own shop?”

“Now isn’t the time to rub it in,” Dad jabbed further, into the middle of her chest, “nor the time to act stupid. Now come on, we need to get out to the roof before the Squawkabilly taxi gets here. They charge double for every minute we’re late. You got all your stuff, your phone, your wallet, the paperwork?”

June felt up her pockets. The familiar weight of a phone hung heavy, and so did a wallet. Nothing familiar to an envelope, though. Must be in her… room? “Good call, almost forgot the important stuff. I’ll go grab it–”

“June!”

“Sheesh, don’t worry, I’ll be back in a flash!” She quickly retracted her steps back from where she came. Arceus, how fast did life plan on moving? If there wasn’t a chance to enjoy the presence of her Dad, then why the fuck did that guy send her back in time? Felt less like a chance to have a perfect life and more like a demonstration. A presentation.

But that wasn’t what she wanted. June wanted to spend time with Dad. Be around for all of it, and not for a couple minutes at a time. Just what the hell was going on?

Whatever, they’d have time to talk and hang on the way to wherever they were off to. That'd be her chance to get a handle on this period of time. She threw open the original door she came from and stepped into–

"Oh COME ON!"

A blur of events and history, all as painfully short and disorienting as the one before. She wasn’t an active participant in this new life, but a spectator called upon whenever necessary. Like she was an actor in a movie, and the viewer was hitting fast-forward past all the ‘boring’ parts. She got to live the 'juicy' bits.

From the start of a brand new promising life in Paldea with her own car shop (apparently), straight into the move out day for Dad. He had landed some work in Levincia, and maybe a girlfriend? Boxes were scattered everywhere, and it was sad as all hell. Apparently her ‘boyfriend’ was there, but she hadn’t the slightest clue who this guy was. He had a fierce accent, tanned skin, chiseled abs, and a love for her that burned 'as bright as the sun'. June had played along the best she could, but ultimately had to come up with an excuse to step out and try to figure out this new development.

Yet as she entered the bathroom, time skipped like a stone. The next bounce on the lake left her in a pretty, midnight black dress with swirls and ribbons and little to the imagination. This point was a lot more romantic, and not that far from the last point. A candlelit dinner cooked by whatever his name was. Admittedly delicious, but extremely hard to play along in as he tried to recall all their highs and lows alongside her. Fucker even had the gall to ask if she was feeling unwell.

But the apex of the scenario ended with him on one knee and desire in his eyes as he popped the question. She called it as soon as he started to slide out of the chair, one hand running through his short, neat hair and the other reaching into his suit jacket. Extremely awkward, to be proposed by a man that wanted to reminisce over the time that they had gone fishing and only avoided drowning by the help of one fateful Dondozo.

But it was touching, and even if she knew next to nothing about the man, June figured that her-slash-other-actual-her would say yes and run up and hug him and kiss him and retreat to the balcony of their apartment and simply enjoy one another’s touch. Intertwined in the warm, humid night as they stood and soaked up the moonlight with one another. His arms were extremely long, and he smothered her in warmth.

Eventually, when things started to get intimate, he tried to lead her back inside and instead lead her into the next point in time.

There were two little fucks coloring at the table, at maybe noon. Kids? Twins? Who knew, they looked almost identical. The man was there too, and he looked extremely happy as he colored alongside them. He greeted June with a wave and asked her to join in. She turned them down, and asked where Dad was. He pointed at himself. She corrected with 'Gabe'.

A honeymoon, apparently. Same place they went, which got a rise out of her ‘husband’ as he described it as a theft of ideas.

Moment after moment after moment. Each one left her more exhausted and exasperated. She could feel her bones grow stiffer and stiffer. Reminders to take her arthritis meds, give the kids a hug and kiss as they go to primary– no, secondary– to university?! They both looked like a bastard mix of her and the other guy, which offered a brief moment of dark humor. At least she hadn’t cheated on the guy with someone else. A cold comfort, though, as they disappeared out the door.

But Dad wasn’t there.

He was on that Honeymoon with his own girl. Pictures of him always showed up, and she always gave them a good, long look. His hair grew thinner and shorter, until it was all gray or gone. He grew a hunch, lost weight, held a cane, yellow teeth, no teeth, with a woman she knew nothing about and who grew old alongside her. A spot the difference game, except there wasn’t a prize because it put a new thumbtack into her heart each time she saw him grow a new problem with his body.

But he was smiling in all of them. That was the one constant that didn’t leave her in shambles, at least. Even in the oldest picture, where June had her own deep worry lines, scars, glasses, and discolored hair (note to self, look up how to spot gray from white hair), he still had that bright, wide smile. He looked happy as hell, and that was enough for her.

But she never got to see him, the one person she could count on to know and anchor her to a scenario. Instead, it was nothing but complete strangers.

A husband that laughed with his entire belly, friends that all complimented her good looks despite her age, and employees that came and went like the leaves on a tree. For better opportunities, for personal, deep-seeded anger at one thing or another that they couldn’t begin to forgive, or to simply experience their own precious moments. Time passed on, and not a single bit of it held news of the outside world.

Little about Paldea, and nothing about Hoenn. Nothing about howard slayte , or Grigori Sokolov , or Josh Devlin , or anyone else she knew. It made sense; they were strangers in this reality. From close friend to compassionate guardian to guy that she knew barely but seemed okay enough, none of that mattered. No one ever knew what she was talking about, either. They brushed her off and continued on with whatever else was going on.

But a primordial fear stuck in her heart, no matter what happened in whatever snapshot in time she found herself shoved in. As the years passed, Dad only got older. Frailer. Weaker. Would his picture eventually be face down? Replaced with some from her own 'family', a group of people that ran up and hugged her but she never could remember the names of.

Fuck all these other people; Dad was a million times more important. She did this for him, not for them. Time slipped past, and she was pulled along ruthlessly. No chance to enjoy what she’d fixed. No opportunity to reminisce about her own past. From before that awful night in twenty-twenty-one.

Eventually, time ran out.

June excused herself from the thirtieth anniversary of her marriage in a fancy restaurant and quickly walked to the bathroom. Just one phone call, it was all she wanted. Just a single chance, five minutes to talk wit him.. As she put the phone to her ear and walked into the bathroom, everything changed to black. The scene had changed yet again, moments before she could say hi.

She had that one suit on, the one she had in her closest in the other timeline. It hung on her frame rather than clung to it, and smelled dusty. Lavender invaded her nostrils as she tried to walk. It felt unnatural to step slowly with a limp. As she entered the main room, the whispers disappeared into the void. Row by row, eyes focused on her.

At the front was a casket. Next to it, a picture of Dad. She was on it too– the one that was on the table the night she rewrote history. Young, full of life, and one step behind her as she held up her diploma from technical school. In the past, he hoped to show her off like a trophy, something or someone to be proud of.

Tears welled in her eyes. So... she had never got the chance after all. Arceus damn it all.

As she passed the rows, one by one, she gained a new set of sad eyes on her back. A strange feeling of comfort washed over her, even though her soul felt cold. The other June would’ve loved it, the one that lived the bulk of life in this timeline. Instead, tried her best to ignore the cautios eyes and waddled to the front.

An open casket. ‘To show him off, like he did you’, a voice echoed in her head. The name danced on the tip of her tongue, and it stayed there stubbornly. A bundle of lavender put on top, each one as perfect as the last. Gentle music hummed from speakers around the room, a song that consisted of three notes that played for a minute at a time.

The next note, one step lower than the previous, started as she finally looked down at Dad. How his eyes were closed, his face perfectly still, and he showed no emotion at all. This corpse did not have make up, so the worry lines and dark spots and all the scars and marks he’d built up over the years were on full display. She was half tempted to trace them, but held back. That’d be weird.

When did he get these? Not when she was around, that was for sure. Dad had a relatively clean face for as long as she knew him. Covered in oil and grease and sweat, as one would in a garage. None of that came to mind. There wasn’t a story to tell or a memory of pointing them out and calling him old. Nothing about this face felt familiar. It was the face of someone who was supposed to be Dad but wasn’t to her.

This… was a stranger. June didn’t know this man. Other June probably did, but she stared at some old guy who wasn’t breathing in a wooden box. As much as she tried, the grief never evolved past the general mood of the venue. No salty rivers down her cheeks. She sniffed, but more from the dust that covered the nooks of her decrepit suit.

Dad was still dead in the past. Even if she saved him, it wasn't in the right way. He was still stuck there, and she had been sent down the river of time. It wasn't often one went upstream a single time. Never twice.

Slowly, she turned around. The room of strangers all had their eyes on her as if they expected her to do something. To say anything at all. To deliver a speech of passion and longing with heartfelt recollections of her time with him. Of all the years spent together, their hardships.

But none of it came to mind. June couldn't conjure up any stories they wanted to hear. She knew it deep in her aching bones. They wanted the times that mattered to them, and those weren't the ones that mattered to her. They wanted to remember the man in the coffin, not the Dad she lost along the way.

This was a stranger.

...No.

These people weren’t strangers. They were friends, family, and loved ones who forged bonds and stuck together and comforted each other in times of need. They all knew one another, if only a little. They could probably do a million times better than her sorry state. Not a peep escaped her lips.

June was the odd one out here. She stood out like a sore thumb, and she didn’t belong.

She was the stranger.

June closed her eyes, and circled back around to the casket. Only then did she cry. Softly, into her withered hand. Chairs scrapped on the tile floor, and people walked to the front of the room. First, her ‘husband’, then her ‘kids’, and then her ‘grandkids’, and then a bunch of ‘friends’ and ‘extended family’. They all wrapped their arms tight around her, until they formed an unbearable ball of heat she wanted nothing more than to escape.

This wasn't her future. These weren't her people.

None of them cried for the same reason she did. They didn't know.

Even though she was surrounded by people and compassion, she had never felt more alone.

A strange noise, and everything disappeared. Gone were the arms that clung to her tightly, replaced with the chilly wind that blew perfectly through the doors of the enclosed space. Her jacket clung to her snugly, yet it wasn’t enough to fend off the cold. June shivered and wrapped her arms over her body.

Wait. She opened her eyes. Gone was the dark venue, Paldea, of a life in the future and in a different time. She was back at the bus stop, in the cold, with an empty stomach and no one around. It was still plenty dark out, and her phone confirmed that not much time had passed at all. But if she was here, then that meant…

Nothing changed at all. She was twenty-six years old, she did not own a mechanic shop of her own, and she did not have a husband and kids. What she did have was a very dead dad, a mountain of debt, and a mountain of kindling that exploded in her chest. Her muscles did not shiver from the cold, but from the rage that blossomed.

Snow had started to fall upon the ground, and it danced in the peaceful night sky as she at the clouds they fell from.

“What the fuck was that?!”

“What, you’re just gonna show up, promise me a new life, and then just–just tear it away from me,” Steam erupted from her mouth as she screamed at no one. “What the fuck have I ever done to you?! I do NOTHING to you, and you do this to me? All I did was get shown something that I could never fucking have!”

June chuckled for a brief moment. Arceus, how stupid she’d been. When the dream world promised her something, she bought into it. Only for it to never return; torn down by those who had once entered it as well. A fact she learned as she scrolled the forums of a website dedicated to its existence. Now, it was nothing more than an actual dream.

And this? A glimpse of a better life? Snatched away by some fucker who thought himself better than her. What was the point of it all?

“SHOW YOURSELF! COME OVER HERE AND FUCKING LAUGH! GET IT OVER WITH SO I CAN BEAT THE SHIT OUTTA YOU!”

No one emerged from the dark of night. June whipped her head around violently, desperate to see the figure appear again. So he could insult her, she could insult him, they get into a fight, and she shows him who not to fuck with. Her fists clenched as tight as possible, and her nails dug into her palms. It hurt, but nothing compared to the bite of a knife.

But nobody came.

The phone in her pocket interrupted her train of thought. A notification cut through the night, and she checked it out. Looked like someone had placed a delivery with her, some toys from the local one in Mauville.

If she hadn’t been so upset with the bill for the first phone, she would’ve chucked it straight into the ground and stomped on it until she felt it grunt to bits and pieces. Instead, she confirmed that she would, in fact, deliver it and violently shoved it into her pocket.

“I don't got all day, you-”

Another ding. June groaned and checked again. Another delivery, same place. She confirmed it, but was stopped by yet another notification. Then a fourth one followed, then a fifth, then a sixth. Soon enough, a few dozen new emails filled her inbox, and all at the same time.“What the hell?”

Maybe there was something wrong with her website. Spam, or something. But… no, everything was working. All the settings checked out, too. Notification on a successful order, send the one who ordered it a confirmation, no delays on orders, no holds–

Fuck. June pulled at her hair. She must’ve made a blackout time on accident. And when it ended at eight o’clock, all the orders came in at once. That was the only explanation as her phone blew up with notifications. It was quickly silenced, but it vibrated violently in her hand instead.

This meant she didn’t have the time to go find that magic fucker and beat the shit out of him. Once again, she’d been humiliated and there wasn’t anything she could do. This anger had to leave her system. It didn't give her a choice. She turned around and charged at the bus stop hut, fist raised. It flew straight into the plexiglass.

It shook the entire structure, but it bounced against its housing uselessly while June dealt with the consequences. Her fist cried out in agony, and she pulled it close to her chest. She inhaled sharply and groaned.

“Just.. go fuck yourself, magic man,” she turned away. June pulled out the Poke ball for Knight, released him, and clambered onto his back. “Knight, go to the Mauville toy store.”

“Corv…”

“Just go, alright? Please? I don't need someone else making look like an dumbass.”

“...”

Knight flapped his powerful wings and ascended into the air, careful not to jostle June around. She looked back, hopeful that she'd at least be able to see the man that had dangled the bait in front of her eyes. That fooled her for the third time.

Nothing. Of course. She clung tight to Knight and rested her head against the saddle. Dreams hurt. They sucked. Always there, and always out of reach. Better to settle for nothing, and expect less.