sleeping at last (pokemon fanfiction)

o.

When he was eighteen, Blaise Tournesol vowed to never use Arceus's favor. Despite owning the respect of the god (and rightfully so -- he hadn't fought tooth and claw for nothing), and being the most arrogant asshole known to teenage humankind, he found that he had nothing to wish for, for his stubborn morals really did overshadow any sort of selfish petulance.

Twenty-two years later, he wishes eighteen-year-old-Blaise had been selfish then. Screw maintaining the order-of-the-universe, something only described in speculative fiction novels he'd consumed with vigor when he was younger. It had been a once in a life time chance. Now, forty year old Blaise finds that Arceus doesn't remember him -- so the Pokemon claims.

"Really?" Blaise murmurs, gazing at the night sky. The smooth granite below his feet is weathered with the desert wind, as plain looking as his own countenance, but the entire area thrums with an uneasy energy. He knows Arceus is listening, watching his move, watching the man sit down on a shattered base of what used to be a pillar. "You don't remember me at all? Are we that small to the gods? A minute splotch in the infinite timeline that you all govern..."

Who are you? 

The voice echoes in the lonely vicinity. It is one that he cannot hear, but rather feel in his chest like his exoskeleton is the rattling strings of a piano. Chills sweep up his spine, a symphony of the macabre. There are a trillion ghosts of the past climbing up his throat, seeping through the pores of his skin, and not a single god to meet him face to face.

"I saved you back then, Arceus," Blaise shouts. He grabs a handful of his own hair, brushing it out of his eyes and brandishing a clump like it's a weapon. "Remember? The freak with the white streaks in his hair? The freak that came with the equally ragtag group of friends, the one that nursed you back to life after you picked a battle you lost?"

Another thrum through his shoulders. The audacity. I remember the arrogance of that boy. I thought you were him no longer, but it seems like you've proved me wrong.

"I had planned for this to be a nice chat," the man begins. The air before him shimmers and warps, casting a chilly glow across the floor. "You know why I'm here."

"To bring them back?" 

Blaise turns and scoffs when he sees a boy, his hair a mane of pearlescent snow and his eyes a burning gold.

"Don't take the form of him. You of all...creatures should know my sentiment on him."

"Forgive me," the boy says, sitting down and crossing his feet leisurely. "I thought you had told me once upon a time I couldn't understand human emotions?"

"You know what I meant, you goddamn--"

"I can't bring them back," Arceus says in the boy's form. He tilts his head. "I can emulate them, though." The boy's hair recedes like a rising curtain until it's shorn to a buzz cut, nose sharpening, eyes softening into a rounder shape. Then, as soon as Blaise recognizes the face of his younger brother, it morphs into another person. Nathalie. 

Finally, as if sensing no enthusiasm from Blaise, Arceus picks a more fitting form -- a boy of sixteen, tangled hair a mess of white curls, skin bleached pale, eyes still the same sickening gold. It's a ghost of the form Arceus had donned when Blaise had first met the god, back when the god was stripped of his power and sent down to die on Earth.

Blaise clicks his tongue. "You can't even keep the right color scheme."

"Forgive me," Arceus says. He doesn't sound very sorry at all. "I know you liked Noah."

"Yeah, until he told me he was a deity and proceeded to ruin my life," replies Blaise. He'd sort of expected Arceus's indifference now, but a small part of him wished it different. Wished the fantasy novels had been different, that maybe gods could change, gods could feel feeling, gods could empathize.

The one thing that he knew the books were wrong about was that gods couldn't die.

He'd test out that hypothesis today.

"You forgot one person to shapeshift into," Blaise remarks, and upon hearing the critical words, Arceus's eyes widen. The god, just like Blaise, cannot handle any sort of failure. It's one of the many things they share in common, and one of the many things Blaise hates about himself twenty times more just because of that fact. "Do it. You must remember who."

Arceus is quiet.

"I'll give you a hint," Blaise says, narrowing his eyes. He can already feel his teeth gnawing at his lips in anger. "Their name starts with a J."

Arceus startles. "Jai--?"

Before he can complete the name, Blaise's fingers release from the god's chest. An old dagger fashioned entirely out of obsidian is lodged in Arceus's chest, but no blood drips from the point of entry.

"This is for the ones you've ruined," he says, pushing the handle forward, deeper into Arceus's chest. The god does not splutter, but his eyes dim slightly. "The ones you've shunned." He applies more pressure. "The ones you've left behind."

"The ones you want to avenge?" Arceus says primly.

"You get me," Blaise agrees amiably. Already he can see the moon beginning to fracture, the sky darkening into the void of nothingness. "Darkrai was right. You are the worst type of god."