Mental illness, discussions of sexual assault, vomiting, use of queerphobic slurs, mentions of transphobia, hospitals, misdiagnosis, discussion of medication, arguing, self harm, injuries, trauma, mentions of seizures, discussions of physical/emotional/sexual abuse, discussions of queerphobia and misogyny, offscreen suicide attempt
Wallace was Juan’s little kid. Wallace was the child Juan could never have, and Juan was the father Wallace would never have again.
Wallace was a very quiet, precocious child. He didn’t spend time with other kids his age, whether by his own choice or because they wouldn’t let him. It didn’t matter too much at the time; he easily found companionship with Pokémon. And he eventually found human companionship: Steven and Winona, the best human companions a person could ever have, in Juan’s humble opinion.
They were probably the only things keeping him from becoming a hermit. Well, them and his niece Lisia. But Wallace was a good kid in his heart. Wallace was Juan’s kid.
But now that sickly boy was older. Now he was taller, smarter, wiser, sicker, thinner, weaker, more confused, more terrified. But despite the expectations placed on his shoulders, despite his public image, once you stripped away the facade that was carefully carved to perfection, he was still just a kid. He was still Juan’s kid.
Juan had done everything he could to take care of Wallace: he made sure Wallace had access to well-balanced, nutritious food. He made sure Wallace got exercise through walks around the city or through swimming, as was customary in Sootopolis City. He made sure he got a well-rounded education while also cultivating his strengths and interests. He let Wallace explore his identity with safety and privacy—or as much privacy as a public figure could afford. He assured Wallace practiced healthy and nourishing spirituality. He kept Wallace in tune with his culture and heritage.
But it wasn’t enough, and now Juan had to learn from his mistakes and move on. Not as a perfect mentor, but as the mentor Wallace needed.
-
Victoria and Wallace’s other Pokémon stayed with Juan at his estate. And Victoria… well, she had been acting strangely lately. She had always been a quiet Pokémon, but she always took time to take care of herself.
Now she wouldn’t eat. Now she wouldn’t play with other Pokémon or even converse with them. Now she would just sit by the fountain or the cove in front of Juan’s estate. She didn’t go to the hospital to visit her trainer; she left that for others: Juan, Nicole, Raphael, Steven, and Winona. He needed the familiarity and comfort of people he loved during such a terrifying time.
But then a week or so into his recovery, Wallace had a seizure. He was okay, thank the heavens, but it left him even more terrified than he was before. He begged the hospital staff to let Victoria visit him; he hadn’t seen her since his hospitalisation. It made sense; the two had been inseparable from Victoria’s birth until now. The staff allowed it, but that left Juan to be the one to tell Victoria that Wallace wanted her—needed her.
She was at the courtyard fountain, staring blankly at the rippling water and the Goldeens. Long ago, when she and Wallace were under Juan’s tutelage, they would spend their afternoons there reading poetry. Juan had a book Wallace had been reading recently with him. Perhaps he could try to bring back happy memories.
"Good morning, fair Victoria," he greeted.
Victoria barely looked up. Her eyes were glassy with melancholy, like a tranquil lake in the winter.
"I have some poems Wallace has been reading as of late. Would you like to read some with me?"
After teaching Wallace and guiding him through tumultuous trials of grief, puberty, and his current mental and physical state, Juan knew that it was sometimes better to ask questions that could easily be answered with body language. A nod here, a head shake there, counting with fingers, pointing to things, all of that. Wallace was often a nonverbal speaker, especially in moments of emotional distress.
Victoria shook her head. Well, maybe that was for the best considering she’d been out of sorts lately. Wallace was starting to take an interest in the black comedy of poets such as Dionysios Ueda-Ioannidis and Dolores O. Arima. Poets known for works that centered around drug addiction, mental instability, and suicide. Poets known for tumultuous personal lives. Victoria likely needed something more… positive to read.
"Victoria, Wallace wants you to come to the hospital to be by his side. Do you want to come there with me?"
("I failed them.")
That gave Juan pause.
"...‘Failed them’?"
Victoria curled up, refusing to make eye contact. ("I tried to help them. I tried to heal them when they were sick. I tried to heal them when they were hurt. I tried everything I could to save them. But it wasn’t enough.")
She hung her head and shut her tear-filled eyes. Pain. Insurmountable pain. Pain Juan could have prevented if he had done better in raising Wallace. Juan extended a hand towards her.
"Victoria, can I touch you?"
Victoria was still for a second, then she nodded. When Juan hugged her, she started crying.
"It’s okay, Victoria. You did the best you could. We’re all doing the best we can. Sometimes we mess up, and that’s okay."
Her tears fell on Juan’s coat, no matter how much he tried to comfort her.
("But I’m his partner Pokémon! How could I have failed so horribly?")
Well… Juan had also failed, in a way. Wallace had always been a sickly boy, so Juan had never attributed his myriad symptoms to anything but that. Juan had tried to create a safe environment, but it wasn’t safe enough for Wallace to come out about Megalos’s abuse. Juan had failed.
…But really, hadn’t everyone failed, in some shape or form?
"Victoria, no one knew Wallace was suffering this much. Not his sister. Not his lovers. Not me. Beating yourself up for not knowing won’t do any good."
Victoria looked down at Juan, eyes wet with tears. ("Then what will do any good?")
Juan didn’t have a response to that question, not at first.
“We’ll… We’ll figure out the answer to that question together, okay?”
-
Wallace was laying in bed and staring out the window when Juan came to his room. He was a shadow of the curious child he had once been, an empty shell devoid of any energy or emotion.
Dymphna nodded to Juan as he shut the door. The flickering light had been turned off, likely a choice the doctors made after Wallace’s seizure, so the curtains were open to let sunlight in. Juan swallowed, then he spoke to Wallace:
"Hello, my s—friend. How are you doing?"
"I ha’ a seizure in fron’ of my girlfrien’," Wallace mumbled.
The buzzing of the radiator filled the silence. A few seconds passed, then Juan had to fill it with something else: "Winona told me."
Juan's throat twisted a bit as he recalled that phone call, but he brushed those memories aside. "How are you doing now?"
Wallace groaned loudly, shrivelling up under his blanket.
"They pu’ me on benzos for withdrawal an’ anxiety." Wallace’s words were barely comprehensible. His usual sharp diction was gone; t’s became d’s and g’s became much softer. "Makes me tire’ and nauseous. I hate i'... being here. I wanna go home."
Juan looked to Dymphna. After the Chansey gave him a nod of approval, he walked over to the bed so he could sit in the chair next to it. It was clearly a chair rescued for free from some other building long ago, the elaborate, dark wood in no way matching the simple whites and silvers of the hospital.
"I know you want to go home, Wallace, and you will." But you need to heal, my child. No, he couldn’t say that. That would be too aggressive. So what could he say?
But thankfully, before Juan could try to think of another response, there was a knock on the door, and Nurse Chara Joy walked in with a tray of food: egg noodle soup, potatoes, salad, and juice.
"How are you doing today, Wallace?" she asked as she placed the food in front of him.
Wallace didn’t sit up, and Chara Joy’s kind smile disappeared.
Even Juan felt a bit disheartened. Wallace needed to eat. He needed to eat to get better and get healthier and back to… the real Wallace, whatever that looked like. Not even Juan knew what the real Wallace looked like anymore. The boy had been lying about himself for so long, that everything Juan knew about him felt like a lie.
"Wallace?" Juan put a gentle hand on his student’s shoulder. "Aren’t you going to eat?"
"There’s three people starin’ a’ me. Of course I’m no’ gonna eat."
“Wallace, we can’t keep doing this,” Chara Joy sighed.
Juan looked up at her as he started to stand up. "I could leave so Wallace can—"
"Juan, they have to eventually learn to eat around other people," Chara Joy interrupted. "It’s part of the reason why he’s here."
Wallace finally sat up. "Can’ I ea’ with Dymphna? She’s jus’ like a person."
Dymphna looked up at Chara Joy, who smiled, partially with sympathy, partially with resignation.
"Wallace, it’s wonderful that you’ve grown such a close connection with Dymphna—"
"But I’m a social baske’ case who can’ interac’ with people. I’m a los’ cause.”
No, no, no. Those words hurt Juan’s soul. Wallace was troubled, but he wasn’t a lost cause. He just needed… needed something.
Chara Joy sighed and stood on the other side of Wallace’s bed. "Please, Wallace."
-
Wallace managed to get three bites of food down before needing an emesis bag. At least Chara Joy had managed to get it out of the drawer and under his mouth before he could get anything on the bed.
Wallace shivered as he hacked up what little he had managed to swallow. Juan could only pat his back and whisper that things were going to be okay, as he had done when Wallace was a little boy.
Wallace seemed to be done vomiting, and it eventually dissipated into unproductive retching, then coughing.
"I’ll dispose of this," Chara Joy said stoically as she sealed the bag. "We’ll have to write this down."
She looked down at Dymphna, then turned to leave, flinching at a particularly bad coughing fit from Wallace.
"If their condition gets worse, get me right away."
As soon as Chara Joy left, Wallace, still coughing into one hand and wrapping his other arm around his stomach, fell on his side. He lay there listlessly, facing away from Juan.
"Sh’ gon’ make me do thos’damn protein shakes. Hate ‘em. Hate ‘em. I hate i’ ‘ere."
Juan turned his gaze to the floor, heart heavy with shame. Wallace was so weak, so miserable. Juan just wanted to pull Wallace out of his ocean of suffering and hold him close.
But that would be hard when Wallace was spiralling so deep. He needed more than a hug to save him. He needed so, so, so much more.
(“Mr. Aguado,”) Dymphna said, (“I can leave you and Wallace if you need some privacy.”)
Juan looked up, then nodded at Dymphna’s suggestion. “That would be good, thank you.”
Dymphna bowed before waddling over to the door, shutting it behind her.
The future was very big, and the path to recovery was long. But for now, for this moment, Juan could take the first steps to help Wallace. By supporting him, by… making small talk to distract from the pain.
Yes, that was probably a good place to start.
"Um… How has today been, Wallace?"
Wallace curled up at the question. "I had grou’b therapy. I’m the only non-girl with an eatin’ disorder."
Juan smiled. "Group therapy! How wonderful! How was it?”
Wallace wasn’t as joyful; he shook his head and pulled his blanket over him.
"Terrible. I ha’ two pani’ attacks and one o’ the girls called me a tranny."
Juan’s short-lived smile fell. Even with Wallace’s voice slurred and muffled, Juan could make out that last word.
"Who?"
"Juan, she’s pro’bly goin’ through a lo’ of shi—"
"That’s no excuse for someone to use such terrible language towards you!” Juan snapped. Going through shit or not, that didn’t justify using such… horrible language on someone also going through shit.
Though it did make Juan wonder… was Wallace transgender?
“Why didn’t Chara Joy do anything about it?!" Juan demanded.
"She tried." Wallace turned his head back towards Juan. The older Coordinator froze at the sight.
Sunken cheeks. Ghastly skin. Bony fingers. There wasn’t even a hint that this was the same kid who would lose himself in literature, who would try to connect with the heart of every Pokémon he met, who wanted to be a Coordinator just like Juan.
"Master, have you ever been in a boy’s locker room? They said shi’ like thatta me all the time. Worse stuff, too."
Those words pierced Juan’s heart like a knife. He looked at Wallace with a concerned gaze.
"Wallace… how long… have people been calling you those kinds of things?"
Wallace rocked a bit back and forth, resting his head in his hands.
"Don’ remember. Maybe ten when kids firs’ thought I was no’ straigh’ and when I still wore dresses."
"…Ten?"
Wallace shook his head. “Swimmin’ kids wou’ beat me up because I wasn’ man enough an’ call me worse things than ‘tranny’. I’m used to it.”
Juan’s whole body ached at the thought of Wallace suffering from that kind of horrible, horrible harassment for so long, and starting at such a young age.
Well, now that Juan thought about it for a bit longer, Wallace had been… different from a very young age. There was the fact that Wallace wore dresses as a child, mostly from his own insistence, according to Dorian. There was the fact that, in his pubescent years, he seemed to fixate on suggestive art of men and women alike in his books. Of course, way of dress and looking at art didn’t necessarily mean anything, but…
"Wallace, are you gay?"
Wallace swallowed. "Juan, y’know Winona, righ’? And y’know Steven, righ’?" By now, he was shaking. "I’m… I’m fuggin’ Steven too. I’m some fuggin’ faggie an’ maybe a tranny—"
"Wallace, I’m gay."
There was silence between the two. Juan spoke before Wallace could interject:
"Wallace, I never want you to think that you don’t deserve love, dignity, or respect because of your sexual orientation or gender identity,” he insisted. “If anyone has ever made you feel like that, then I am truly, truly sorry. It’s not right and it’s not how things are supposed to be. Do you understand?"
"No! I can’t understan’ shit! I’m too fugged up to understand anythin’! I’m never gettin’ better an’ I’m gonna die some fugged up freak!"
Wallace fell back against the bed, sobbing and blubbering incoherently. Juan could only hug him.
"You’ll always be mi chiquito, no matter what,” Juan said. “You don’t have to understand now, but I promise, I promise that you are worthy of love no matter who you are."
Juan sat up and took out a familiar Pokéball decorated with Milotic-inspired patterns. He looked over at Dymphna, and she gave him a nod of approval.
"My beloved friend, you’ve been through so much these past few years, months, weeks, even days—"
"Bu’ Imma los’ cause."
"—and a dear friend of yours wants to stay by your side during this tumultuous time."
A beam of blue energy shot towards the floor, and it materialized into a long, elegant Pokémon. Wallace quickly sat up, his mouth agape and his body shaking.
"Victoria…"
Victoria’s forehead went to Wallace’s, and he flung his arms around her. Tears rolled down their faces as they both broke down into loud sobs.
Juan let them cry. They were both going through so much; they deserved to cry.
-
The halls of the Pokémon League were quiet, as usual. Then again, the Elite Four tended to lean on the milder sense in terms of temperament: Ice type Trainer Glacia, Fire type Trainer Moore, Dark type Trainer Sidney, and Juan’s old friend… Dragon type Gym Leader Drake.
Juan opened the door to his friend’s office. Drake immediately looked up from the papers on his desk and stood up.
"Juan!" he boomed. "It’s been ages since we last saw each other! How have you been?"
Juan sighed but put up a smile. "A little tired, that is all."
Drake nodded and crossed his arms.
"How’s Wallace been?” he asked, his voice a little less energized. “I haven’t seen him in a while, and the other Gym Leaders are getting worried."
Juan froze. Had the other Gym Leaders suspected anything? The news had too many rumors to be a reliable source. Were the Gym Leaders drawing their own conclusions about what had happened?
No. Juan knew several of them, and they would never be so cruel. Had they seen the news about Ren’s arrest and Wallace’s hospitalization and put two and two together?
Drake was generally a reliable confidant, but Juan didn’t know if he could trust him that much. Drake was old, and Juan feared that his views were too.
"Wallace has been in the hospital for pneumonia. It was a bit worrying when he was first hospitalized, but he’s been recovering,” Juan explained.
He felt horrible for lying, especially about his own student. But mental illness was so misunderstood by Hoennian society. Juan couldn’t just go around telling people the truth of Wallace’s condition. People already attacked Wallace for his sexual or gender identity; who was to say he wouldn’t face similar or worse harassment for being mentally ill?
Drake stared back down at his desk, a grim expression on his face. The desk was messy and disorganized, but Juan could notice a newspaper with a familiar-looking face: Steven Stone, arrested for petty robbery. With no prior criminal record, he just had to face a fine. But still, why was Steven suddenly getting into such risky behaviour?
There was another mugshot: Ren, convicted of sexual assault.
"Juan, who’s Ren Mizutani?"
Merde.
Juan’s thoughts had stopped with that one word. He couldn’t… How… Why…
"A Gym Leader from the Kanto region," Juan said as flatly and calmly as he could.
Drake nodded slowly. "She didn’t… She didn’t do any of… those things to Wallace, did she?"
"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME, STEVEN?!"
Muffled screaming echoed from one of the other Elite Four offices, followed by banging and incoherent shrieks. Drake bolted from his desk and dashed out of the office, and Juan ran after him.
Sidney pinned Steven against the hallway wall. They were both bruised and staring at each other, eyes ablaze with murderous intent.
"Boys, boys!" Drake gasped, trying to calm his voice. "What is the meaning of this?!"
"He was shit talking me!" Sidney shouted.
"I wasn’t. Everything I said is true," Steven growled. "You’re poor and ugly and you're a little bitch. And your hair looks like a rat ate it."
"I’M NOT!" Sidney shouted as he punched Steven in the face, sending a shot of spit and blood flying.
"GO TO HELL, SHITFUCKER!"
As soon as he recovered and stood back up, Steven went for one more blow in Sidney’s direction. Drake grabbed Steven before his fist made contact with Sidney’s nose.
"Boys! Please!" Drake dragged Steven away from Sidney and then stood in between the two, hands up in case either one tried anything. "Sidney, Steven, deep breaths. Count to ten. This isn’t like you."
"Yeah, no shit," Sidney growled. "What changed, bitch?"
"Sidney," Drake scolded.
Sidney rolled his eyes. "Fine. What changed, Steven?" There was a mocking tone in the way Sidney said the last word.
To Juan’s surprise, that got a rise out of Steven, who lunged for Sidney.
"FUCK YOU!" Steven shrieked, jabbing two middle fingers up at Sidney as Juan held him back. "FUCK YOU ALL! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!" Tears were cracking his voice, but he kept screaming.
Juan had never seen Steven so… aggressive. Steven had always been a mild-mannered kid. Never before had he been so prone to violence.
Juan slowly, slowly, carefully approached Steven and wrapped his arms around him. "Sh… Sh… Steven, Steven, it’s going to be okay."
"IT’S NOT!" Steven half screamed, half sobbed. "NOTHING’S EVER OKAY! NOTHING’S EVER OKAY!"
The harsh sounds of Steven’s howls filled the hallway as he began weakly hitting Juan’s chest. It didn’t physically hurt, but seeing Steven like this mentally hurt. All Juan could do was hold him until he tired himself out.
Juan looked up at Sidney, who still looked angry at Steven.
"Sidney," Drake said, "why don’t you go talk to Glacia?"
Sidney huffed and walked off. As he did, Juan could feel Steven’s breathing waver into gasps.
"Steven, what’s going on?" Juan said softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Steven shook his head. By now, he had gone limp, but Juan still wouldn’t let him go.
"That’s fine if you don’t, my friend. It can wait for now,” Juan said. “Would you like to go sit in Drake’s office?"
Steven nodded and, without looking up, let Drake take his hand. Juan caught a glimpse of the skin covered by his shirt sleeve. It had… light, fresh scars. Drake seemed to notice them too.
"Steven," he said. "Have you been cutting yourself?"
"Only a little," Steven mumbled.
Drake’s eyes widened, then his brows furrowed.
"Steven, what the hell is going on?"
"Wallace was sexually assaulted by Ren and almost died of starvation."
As soon as the words left Steven’s mouth, his breathing stopped, he stood up straight, and his eyes widened with fear.
"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK—"
Juan grabbed Steven before he could fall to the floor.
"Steven, Steven, Steven." Drake put his hands on Steven’s shoulders. "It’s okay."
Steven began to cry again, shaking uncontrollably.
"It’s not okay," Steven blubbered. "He’s in the hospital and he not going to be okay and—"
"Shhh…" It’s okay." Juan held Steven again and rocked him back and forth. "It’s okay. Wallace is going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay."
Drake looked up at Juan with a grim stare.
“Juan, why don’t you tell me what’s actually going on?”
Juan sighed. Lying wouldn’t get anyone anywhere. If anything, lying was the reason Wallace had suffered for so long.
"Drake, Wallace… doesn't have pneumonia. He has… He has a lot of other physical and mental health issues, and…"
There wasn’t any hint of anger or disgust or even pity in Drake’s eyes, just… understanding. He started to walk back to his office, beckoning Juan and Steven to follow.
"Well, maybe it would be easier to talk about this in private."
-
All eyes were on Juan when he entered the conference room.
Seven Gym Leaders—most of them his friends and former colleagues: Rock type Leader Robbie, Electric type Gym Leader Wattson, Dark type Leader Vivian, Grass type Leader Hanada, Psychic type Leader Cruzita, and Flying type Leader Winona.
Cruzita stood up. She was sharply dressed in a pink suit, her generally soft appearance further softened by a sad smile and friendly eyes.
"Juan," she said. "It's wonderful to see you again. How are you doing?"
"A little tired, that is all."
Juan couldn’t count how many times he had told people that phrase in the past month. It came as naturally to him as breathing.
There was a moment of silence.
"How’s Wallace?" Cruzita asked.
Terrible. Awful. The medication was supposed to make Wallace feel better, but for some reason, for some reason, it was making him sleep less. It was making him more irritable. It was making him feel worse.
"His recovery has been…difficult. I don’t know when he’s expected to be discharged."
Juan couldn’t look at Winona right then. That would break his heart into even more pieces. She knew the truth. She knew Juan was lying.
Juan had to be strong. He had to protect Wallace.
"I… I came here so that Wallace could stay up to date with the goings-on in the League."
A girl in a sailor fuku shirt and long skirt—Vivian—brushed a few strands of wavy, dark purple hair out of her face. "He’s not missing much.”
"How so?" Juan asked.
Robbie shrugged and pulled down the face mask he was wearing. His black, unkempt hair was a bit neater than normal, and his black leather jacket was also unusually tidy.
"It’s just that nothing’s happening. That’s all.” He smirked. “Unless you count Wattson’s business stuff, which I don’t."
“Robert,” Wattson scoffed playfully.
Robbie shrugged. “Sorry, old man.”
He pulled out the chair in between him and Winona. "Here, you can keep his seat warm."
"Developments in Mauville City are going smoothly." Wattson stroked his graying, almost white beard. "Gym renovations are almost done. TEPIG is still protesting the Game Corner, but we can’t really close off a venture that’s bringing funds to the city."
Juan caught a glimpse of Winona as he sat down. She was… staring into space with a blank expression.
Wattson continued on about Mauville City. It couldn’t do much to distract Juan from the past month: seeing so many of Wallace’s loved ones suffering, awaiting Ren’s trial and not being able to do anything but pray that she would face justice, seeing Sootopolis City Hall go up in metaphorical flames, seeing Megalos move on so quickly even after all of the pain he’d put Wallace through…
"Juan? Is everything okay?"
Juan looked up at Cruzita. He could feel the stares of everyone in the room, searing into his skin. The air was humid with silence.
Juan couldn’t lie and say that everything was okay, but how… how could he put into words just how not okay everything was?
He couldn’t find a solution with words, so he just shook his head.
Cruzita looked down at a lady with a brown ponytail and overalls, who was sitting next to her. "Hanada, I’m going to go talk with Juan and Winona for a bit. Could you take over the meeting while I’m gone?"
-
Cruzita took Juan and Winona to a different conference room. The two sat across from each other in silence.
Juan stared down at the table. He usually preferred eye contact, but now didn’t seem to be the time for that. Winona didn’t seem to like it in general, and looking at her right now would mean seeing her miserable. Juan couldn’t bear the sight of her like this. He just wanted her to be okay. He just wanted everyone to be okay.
The door opened and closed again. Now, Hanada and her Xatu, Xaxa, were also in the room. Her posture was straight and professional, in contrast to Juan and Winona’s awkward, solemn glances between objects and people in the room. For an eternity, no one spoke. The silence was unbearable.
Finally, Cruzita spoke up:
"Winona, Juan, I don’t think you two should… come to work for the time being, given everything that’s been going on with Wallace."
Winona’s gaze shot up, her eyes wet with tears. "But—"
"Winona, you haven’t been yourself lately. Your performance in battle has fallen by at least 50 percent, you’ve been visibly depressed during every meeting, and…”
Cruzita stopped when she noticed Winona start shaking.
Cruzita continued: “I don’t want you to be working yourself too hard after Wallace was sexual—"
"NO! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!"
Winona’s high pitched cries were sudden, startling, strangled. She was holding her head in her hands, hands gripping her hair. Juan had never seen her in so much despair, and now… god, it hurt to even just look at her.
Cruzita walked over so she could sit down and hug Winona.
"It’s okay, my sunshine."
Winona curled up against Cruzita, sobbing.
"You don’t know what’s going on with Wallace! YOU DON’T!" she bawled. "You haven’t seen him! You haven’t seen what’s happened to him! He’s not okay! He’s not okay! He’s not okay! He’s never going to be okay!"
"Shh… Shh…"
Cruzita held Winona for a few minutes, gently rubbing her hand up and down Winona’s arm.
"It’s okay to stay home and—"
"I’m scared of home," Winona sobbed.
Cruzita closed her eyes, holding Winona closer. "Is there… anywhere you feel safe where you can stay?"
Winona sniffled and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.
"I don’t… I don’t know…"
"Would you like to stay at my place?"
Winona nodded.
Cruzita smiled and looked in the corner, where Xaxa stood.
"Xaxa," Cruzita said, "do you want to take Winona down to the food court to get some tea or hot chocolate?"
With a kind and protective wing, Xaxa led Winona out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Now it was just Cruzita and Juan. And silence.
"What has the…" Juan’s voice trailed off for a moment. "What has the press been saying about… everything?"
Cruzita shook her head in exasperation.
"Juan, if I were you, I wouldn’t bother with the press. I’m in the news industry, and I can tell you for a fact that anyone speculating on Wallace’s life is, 100 percent, without a doubt, full of shit." She shrugged. "Granted, meteorology and gossip are about as different as you can get, but…"
"But what will Wallace think when he finds out they’re speculating about him like this during such a turbulent time?"
Cruzita looked back up at Juan. Her expression was as cold as death.
"What will he think when his own family and friends give into that fear?" she retorted. "Odds are he’ll think something’s wrong with him… something innate and unloveable. And you don’t want him thinking that, do you?"
Juan didn’t want that. He didn’t want Wallace thinking something was wrong with him, be it his sexual orientation, his gender identity, his… psyche. But mental illness was different from gender or sexuality; it was inherently harmful to Wallace. But that didn’t mean Wallace was any less worthy of love because he was mentally ill.
Juan sighed. "It’s a scary world out there."
"It is. But it becomes a lot less so alongside people who accept you and love you." Cruzita chuckled. "Though ‘scary world’. You’re telling me. I’m the only woman on Mauville TV. Every other day, I’ve got someone harassing me. And if I ever want to get married or have children?" She tossed her hand in the air. “Good luck keeping my job.”
"And I’m a closested gay in Upper Sootopolian Society. If someone asks me why I’m not married one more time…"
The two had to laugh, as the tension in the air was replaced by a sort of mutual understanding.
“How many different excuses have you made up?” Cruzita asked.
Juan shook his head playfully. “Oh, I don’t even remember. People have been asking me since I was sixteen. So it’s been… forty years now?”
Juan’s Pokénav buzzed in his coat pocket. He looked down at it, then quickly back up at Cruzita.
"Excuse me."
Now - 2 new messages from: Nicole Papadaki
Hospital
Now
- Nicole
What happened?
- Juan
Wallace tried to kill himself
- Nicole
Juan raced to Tzirachi’s Mercy Medical Center the moment he got that text.
Nicole and Raphael were already in the waiting room. Nicole was shaking, and not even Raphael’s tight hugging could calm her down. Wallace’s psychiatrist, Dr. Angelopoulos, was standing in front of them, explaining Wallace’s current state:
“...going to need to be put on antipsychotics and watched 24/7. We’ll assess him every day until he’s deemed stable again.”
“Could it be the medication?” Nicole asked, voice quivering through tears.
Juan quietly walked into the room as Dr. Angelopoulos answered:
"Usually, SSRIs don’t cause mania unless the patient taking them has bipolar disorder."
He was so calm. How was he so calm?!?! Wallace had gone three whole days without sleep. Wallace had developed horrible delusions and hallucinations. Wallace had attempted suicide. Juan had almost lost his child.
"But Wallace has depression, doesn’t he?" Nicole gasped, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. "That’s what you said he had, isn’t it?"
"Well, misdiagnoses aren't unheard of, especially for bipolar disorder,” the doctor answered. “Oftentimes, it is confused for depression.”
He looked away from Nicole and Raphael.
“If that’s the case, then I’m sorry for my error…"
It was then that Dr. Angelopoulos noticed Juan.
“Mr. Aguado, are—”
Juan turned to leave, rage beginning to boil in his blood.
‘Sorry’? Was ‘sorry’ supposed to make up for all of the pain this misdiagnosis had put Wallace through? Would sorry make up for the fact that Wallace had almost killed himself?!
Juan almost slammed the door, but he decided against it. That would be rude, and besides, part of him still needed to hear the rest of the conversation. So he left the door slightly ajar, breathing deeply as he tried to listen.
"Wallace mentioned dealing with manic episodes with sedatives, didn’t he?" Dr. Angelopoulos asked.
"H-He did,” Nicole replied.
"My first impression was that the mania and mood swings were brought on by anxiety and drug abuse," Dr. Angelopoulos continued, "but maybe those two factors were just worsening an underlying cause."
There was a long moment of silence.
"I’m the only psychiatrist at this hospital, and we can’t exactly afford to have every medication for every illness,” the doctor said. “We just have antidepressants and benzodiazepines. It… might be a while before we can order the right medicine…"
Juan shouldn’t have stayed back to listen. This whole conversation was miserable. Shaking his head, he wandered away from the waiting room door. He didn’t bother to hear the rest of Dr. Angelopoulos’ reassurances.
He was too numb with anger to care about where he was going.
-
Sootopolis Mayor Faces Cholera in the Midst of Political Upheaval; Fate Unknown
Juan felt a lot of emotions reading the newspaper headline, but above all, he felt regret.
Juan had never trusted Megalos, especially not around Wallace. But politics were… messy by nature, and the most Juan could do was let Wallace stay at his estate instead of Megalos’, or try to stay around Wallace when the boy was with Megalos as much as possible.
That still wasn’t enough. That still wasn’t enough to keep Wallace safe from verbal or physical or sexual abuse. That still wasn’t enough to keep Wallace from… from…
("You’re ruminating again.")
Marie gently bumped her head against the newspaper, a sign that Juan was better off throwing it away, along with his thoughts.
There wasn’t much Juan could do to fix the past. All he could do was fix the present, as best as he could. Learn from the past, fix the present, change the future. Learn from the past, fix the present, change the future.
The estate was empty for the day. Juan had dismissed his butler and maid so he could try to find some peace of mind in this hurricane of emotional turmoil.
It was a chance for Juan’s mind to take a break from constantly thinking about Wallace. Juan was Wallace’s teacher, not his father. And besides, Wallace was recovering from his psychotic episode. Wallace was in safe hands. Wallace didn’t need Juan constantly obsessing over him.
…But he needed a parental figure.
-
Tests were done over the next few days. Wallace was off of the antidepressants, he was back in touch with reality, he wasn't actively suicidal, and he was being watched by at least one nurse at all times. He was safe, but he was exhausted. After three days of no sleep, he could now barely get through his therapy and meals. Juan worried about what the reevaluation and potential new medications would do to his present state…
There were indications that Wallace had bipolar disorder, a much more… stigmatized mental illness. Depression was one beast, but what about the countless tabloids about celebrities with bipolar disorder being violent and abusive and—
No. Fuck those tabloids.
No tabloid, no mental illness would ever diminish Wallace’s worth to Juan. As a student, as a person, as a son. Nothing would. Nothing. Noth—
("Mister Aguado? Are you okay?")
Sister Dymphna, was looking up at Juan with a concerned look from in front of the door to Wallace’s room. Juan felt tears on his face. He was crying, wasn’t he?
"I’m… not okay."
Sister Dymphna nodded in understanding. ("You’re an artist, aren’t you? Maybe you and Wallace can process your feelings together through art?")
Juan stopped for a moment.
"...Art?"
Sister Dymphna opened the door and led Juan inside. Wallace was sitting at a small table—not in bed. Chara Joy was carefully watching from the corner as he moved a brush back and forth along with his hands: he was painting with watercolors.
Juan stepped over, still in disbelief to see Wallace actually out of his bed for once again and looked down at the table to see his work. He froze at what he found: people being strangled, drowned, sexually assaulted, cut apart. The human subjects didn’t have eyes, though they were often surrounded by them. Surrounded by watching eyes. Surrounded by hands pointing, grabbing, choking, pulling. Messy techniques. Purple blotches on necks and torsos. Red lines over arms and legs. Gray blotches on private areas.
Wallace had always been an artistic type, despite Megalos’s strict orders against it. His works occasionally dabbled with taboo material, but they had never been this… raw.
Juan took a moment to compose himself, then he spoke: "Hello… Hello, Wallace."
Startled, Wallace jumped in his seat and looked up at Juan. The older Coordinator took a moment to look at the watercolor case.
Juan smiled. "Aqua Ring Watercolors, I see. My my. Whom did you get those from?"
"Steven," Wallace said, voice devoid of emotions and gaze still on his canvas. "And Winona got me some, too. Steven got earth tones. Winona got cool colours."
"Well, isn’t that generous of them. And to get you the same present yet also not? It seems like Fate is a cunning maiden."
Wallace looked down at his art, frowning. "I’m sorry."
That sorry caught Juan off-guard.
"Why are you apologizing?"
"I’m sorry for drawing…" Wallace gestured across the table and the drawings on it. "...This."
Juan shook his head a bit, smiling once more.
"Wallace, there’s nothing to apologize for. If drawing these things is how you process your emotions, well, you’re not hurting yourself or anyone else,” Juan reassured his son—student. “And besides, you’re a talented artist. A very, very talented artist."
Juan knelt in front of Wallace. "Art has always been a means for people to express the parts of their psyches, and not all of those parts are made of sunshine and rainbows."
Wallace collapsed against Juan and groaned.
"I’m getting reevaluated."
"...So I’ve heard,” Juan said, gently rubbing Wallace’s back. “But it’s okay. You’ll get a better diagnosis and better medication to help you—"
"What’s wrong with me?"
Juan was taken aback by Wallace’s question. He looked down at his student in confusion.
"What do you mean?"
Wallace buried his face deeper against Juan’s chest.
"I have all these stupid diagnoses and stupid medications and stupid anxiety and depression and bipolar and shit,” Wallace muttered. “I can’t even function anymore and I’m a freak. I’m a freak. I’m a freak. My brain’s messed up and it’s never going to get better."
Juan hugged Wallace. "None of that changes anything, Wallace. Depression, bipolar disorder, or whatever you’re facing,” Juan insisted. “You will never be undeserving of love."
Tears returned to Juan’s face, and he hugged Wallace tighter.
"I love you so much. And I will do everything, everything to help you,” he promised. “Because so many people love you. So many people and Pokémon love you and care about you. No diagnosis can take away your worth and value."
"Stop crying, Juan!"
Wallace’s words came out in choked screams. Juan looked at him and saw that Wallace was gritting his teeth, at once scowling and dribbling tears from the corner of his eyes.
"You’re supposed to be emotionally stable! I’m the sick freak! I’m the one who’s not okay! Sootopolitans aren’t even supposed to cry!” he shouted. “I shouldn’t have been such a fuckup and started crying, because now you’re crying! Now everyone’s sad and suffering and wasting time and money on me and—! And—!"
Wallace’s words cut out as sobs overtook him. Juan pulled him into his shoulder and just stood there as he let himself sob too. For a few minutes, Juan rocked him back and forth, and the two cried in all of their perfect imperfection.
ncG1vNJzZmiapaGvorPAq5uepl6jsrV706GpnpmUqHyquYyaZKaZop68r7HTrZxmpZGpwrOxjWtwaW1gbHyxrcaeZGs%3D