Third Person POV
Ash stepped away from the fading remnants of the X-Men's battle, his boots scraping against scorched stone. The air around him thickened—not naturally, but with intent. A curtain of fog rolled in, unnaturally swift and dense, cloaking his retreat.
It wasn't the sea mist.
It was Gardevoir, manipulating the water in the air with psychic precision, weaving illusion and concealment around him like a living shroud. To anyone watching, he would vanish like a ghost in the mist—a nameless figure, barely real.
It was dramatic. It was effective.
It was also necessary.
Ash walked deeper into the haze, his hands curled into fists at his sides. The adrenaline of battle had long since burned off, leaving only the irritation bubbling under the surface.
He'd been careless.
He knew it the moment Storm called out to him. He should have masked his presence better. Should have wrapped himself in illusion long before approaching the team. But part of him had thought: they're busy, distracted—they won't notice.
He had underestimated them.
He had underestimated her.
Storm wasn't just powerful. She was aware. She didn't look with eyes alone—she felt the world around her, the pressure in the air, the shift in balance. An Omega-level mutant through and through.
"I should've anticipated that," he muttered to himself, barely audible as his breath fogged in the damp air.
Still, he wasn't too worried about revealing his name. The Ketchum family didn't exactly blend into the background—certainly not in their own circles.
His great-uncle's Steelix had shattered mountains for training, not battle. And back home, the family's ranch didn't have watchdogs. It had Skarmory that could outfly helicopters and spot a threat from five miles out. And his father's Stoutland? Champion-rank. That beast could probably tear through tanks like they were made of paper mache.
The name Ketchum carried weight. Even here, in a world where mutants dominated the headlines and powers tore cities in half, Ash Ketchum would never be insignificant.
But secrecy was still a valuable tool—and now one of his biggest advantages was a little bit dulled.
"I'll have to compensate," he said, mostly to himself.
He walked until the stone beneath his feet gave way to the edge of the island platform. The fog peeled back slightly, the air thick with salt and the faint hum of Gardevoir's psychic presence shimmering beside him.
Then, without a word, they vanished—a blink of white light and static silence.
***
Queens – Apartment Rooftop
They reappeared with a whisper of wind, landing softly on the rooftop of the apartment complex in Queens. The city's noise seemed muted from up here—sirens in the distance, lights flickering across the skyline like stars fallen to earth.
Ash moved to the edge of the building and sat down on the ledge, his legs hanging over the side. Pikachu hopped down beside him, tail flicking.
He didn't say anything at first. Just sat.
The wind tugged gently at his cloak. Gardevoir stood behind him, silent and composed, eyes scanning the city below. Ever watchful. Ever loyal.
Ash stared ahead.
What now?
He had made contact. The X-Men had seen him, heard him, remembered his name. The timeline had been nudged—not shattered, not rewritten… but tilted.
"I was only supposed to watch," he thought. "Only intervene when necessary. What now?"
His eyes narrowed.
He could feel the weight of the coming days pressing on him. More threats. Bigger ones. And more choices.
If helping mutants was the mission—if making sure the world accepted them was his new path—then he'd need to tread carefully. With precision. Every action calculated.
No more slips. No more surprises.
This was a game of shadows and truths.
Ash took a deep breath, and for the first time since the fight, he allowed himself to relax. Just for a moment.
The days that followed blurred together in the mundane rhythm of city life. Ash attended classes, completed assignments, and gradually settled into the normalcy he'd been avoiding. Queens wasn't like the dimensional rifts or battlefields—it was steady, predictable. Almost boring.
Which made it the perfect place to blend in.
***
Ash's POV — Queens, New York, A Few Days Later
It was one of those quiet, in-between afternoons. Not too hot, not too cold. The kind where the city didn't feel like it was vibrating at a hundred miles an hour. I'd just finished lunch, and Freya was passed out on the couch with an old Battle League magazine over her face. Said she needed a "power nap." I figured I'd go grab some bread before she woke up and realized we were out.
Slipping on my sneakers, I unlocked the apartment door and stepped out into the hallway. The scent of floor cleaner and someone's burnt toast greeted me. Normal. Relaxing, even.
Then I stopped.
Across the hall, just locking his own door, was a boy. Around my age. Scrawny, a little awkward in the way his limbs didn't seem to have figured out how to exist all at once. He had glasses that were slightly too big for his face and a worn-out backpack that looked like it had seen a few science fairs too many.
Peter Parker.
I'd seen pictures. Recognized the face. This was it—him. The future web-slinger. The kid who'd eventually be swinging through skyscrapers and cracking jokes while dodging missiles.
For now, though?
He just looked like a quiet, curious neighbor.
Our eyes met. He gave a small nod.
I smiled and raised a hand. "You must be Peter. Mrs. Parker told me about you! Nice to meet you—I'm Freya's nephew, Ash Ketchum."
He blinked, surprised at first. Then he smiled—kind of shy, but genuine. "Oh! Yeah, she did mention someone new moving in. Uh, hi. I'm Peter. Parker." He scratched the back of his neck like he wasn't sure what to do with his hands. "Freya's nephew, huh? Cool. She's, uh… intense."
I chuckled. "You're not wrong."
He opened his door, then hesitated. "Hey, if you ever wanna hang out or something… I've got a pretty good console setup. And some weird science projects that may or may not explode."
"Sounds like my kind of fun," I said, grinning. "I'll take you up on that sometime."
"Cool," he said again, voice lighter this time. Then, realizing how awkward that sounded, he added, "I mean, yeah, whenever. No pressure."
I gave a two-fingered salute as I passed him by. "See you around, Peter."
He waved back, smiling. "Later, Ash."
As I headed down the stairs and out into the street, I couldn't help but think:
One day, this kid's gonna lift entire buildings with a web and a will.
But for now?
He was just a neighbor. A good one.
***
Two Years Later — Queens, New York
Funny how fast the world changes when you aren't looking. One minute, you're the new kid in a strange city, and the next, you're leaning back on your elbows in your best friend's living room, yelling at him for cheating in a racing game.
"You totally bumped me off the track!" I shouted, dropping the controller with exaggerated drama as my kart spun into a banana peel and exploded in digital fire.
Peter snorted, glasses sliding slightly down his nose as he grinned like he'd just cracked the code to the universe. "It's not cheating if I'm better than you."
I rolled my eyes and tossed a cushion at him. "You're not better, Parker. You're just sneakier."
He caught the pillow midair with ease—impressive for someone who still tripped over his shoelaces half the time—and threw it right back. "Takes one to know one, Ketchum."
We laughed, the kind of laugh that came easy after years of knowing someone.
Two years. That's how long it had been since I'd first locked eyes with the scrawny kid across the hall and decided not to make things complicated.
And I'm glad I didn't.
Back then, Peter had been soft-spoken, a little awkward, always flinching when Flash or his gang cornered him in the hallways. The kid carried notebooks like shields and avoided confrontation like it was an Olympic sport. But he was smart. Stupid smart. And kind, in a way that felt rare in New York. He looked out for people. Even when it hurt.
I couldn't ignore that.
So yeah, I stepped in a few times. Flash's locker had a habit of slamming shut at convenient moments. His gym bag mysteriously lost its belt more than once. Subtle interventions—the kind Peter never questioned but always seemed grateful for. He'd give me that half-smile, the one that said thanks, and we'd move on.
Some days after school, we'd hit the arcade or grab dollar pizza. Other days, I'd disappear for hours—Rift work with Freya didn't exactly come with a timecard. She called them "field training missions." I called them high-stakes insanity. Still, I wouldn't trade those days for anything. Larvitar—no, Pupitar now—earned his evolution fighting creatures twice his size. The look on his face when he blasted through that stone beast? Priceless.
But even with the chaos, even with juggling secrets and school, I always made time for Peter. And he always made time for me.
He'd help with my science homework. I'd teach him how to throw a decent right hook. He let me crash on his couch more than once when Freya went out of town. And May? May fussed over me like a second son, always making sure there was extra food when she knew I was coming. Her meatloaf was honestly kind of divine.
We'd grown up together—quietly, steadily. No huge dramatic speeches. No world-ending threats between us. Just good days. Bad days. Shared space. Trust built one stupid race, one missed bus, one half-eaten pizza slice at a time.
And here we were now.
"Alright, rematch," I said, leaning forward with a grin. "But if you pull that banana trick again, I'm calling in backup. You won't know what hit you."
Peter grinned without looking away from the screen. "Pretty sure that's a war crime."
"Only if there's proof," I muttered.
From the kitchen, May's voice floated in. "Boys, keep it down! And Peter, if you lose again, you're doing dishes tonight!"
I grinned. "You heard her, Parker."
"Yeah, yeah," he said, flicking a red shell in my direction. "Try not to cry when I lap you this time."
Outside the window, the sun dipped behind the rooftops of Queens. Warm light pooled through the curtains, soft and golden, painting the living room in the color of memory.
***
The apartment was quiet, save for the soft rustle of papers in Ash's room and the low hum of traffic outside. Freya was lounging on the living room couch, one leg slung over the armrest, flicking through channels with the remote like she was waiting for the TV to do something interesting for once. A half-empty bag of chips lay forgotten on her stomach.
Ash, meanwhile, sat at his desk, pencil tapping against his cheek as he worked through an algebra worksheet. His door was half open, letting in the occasional creak of floorboards and the lazy drone of whatever crime show Freya had landed on.
Then the landline rang.
Freya blinked, looked at the phone like it had personally offended her, and sighed. "Ugh. Why do we still have this thing…"
She rolled off the couch, snagged the receiver, and answered in a flat, unbothered voice. "Ketchum residence, speak fast."
Her face brightened a bit. "Oh hey, twerp. It's been a while."
She listened, then turned and shouted over her shoulder, "Ash! Gary's on the line!"
Ash perked up at that, setting his pencil down and walking out into the hallway.
Over the past couple of years, he'd grown closer to both Gary and Iris. The three of them weren't exactly a tight-knit trio—different time zones and personal agendas made sure of that—but they spoke regularly. Checked in. Shared stories. Teased each other ruthlessly.
Lance and Lorelei stayed in touch too, though their calls came less frequently. The older cousins carried themselves with a formality that wasn't unfriendly, just... official. Still family, but distant in the way cousins often were.
Ash took the phone from Freya, who offered it with a raised brow and a silent gesture that clearly meant 'behave.' He rolled his eyes.
"Yo," Ash said, leaning against the wall. "Took you long enough to call."
"Sorry, I was busy being brilliant," Gary's smug voice crackled through the line. "Not everyone's got time to play hero."
Ash chuckled. "Brilliant, huh? How many lab coats did you set on fire this week?"
"Only two. I'm maturing."
They exchanged a few more sarcastic jabs, catching up briefly—Gary had just returned from Japan, and Iris was apparently with him. Something about a minor Rift cleanup there.
"Actually," Gary said after a pause, "there's something I wanted to ask you."
Ash tilted his head, more curious than concerned. "What's up?"
"You think you can drop by my place tomorrow? Iris will be here too. I could use your input on something… kind of weird."
"Weird like 'Dimensional Beast in the subway' weird or 'Gary let another Rotom loose in the lab' weird?"
"Bit of both. But no Rotom this time, I swear."
Ash smirked. "Sure. I'll come by."
There was a beat of silence, and then Ash casually added, "Hey, Gary?"
"Yeah?"
"You're good with computers, right?"
Gary scoffed. "Am I good with—what kind of question is that? I'm a genius, remember?"
Ash grinned slightly. "Cool. Then do me a favor. I need you to dig up someone for me."
Gary sounded more serious now. "Who?"
"William Stryker. I want all the info and a location. Everything you can get."
There was a pause. No questions. No hesitation.
"Consider it done," Gary said.
Ash nodded, even though Gary couldn't see him. "Thanks, man."
"Yeah. And if this turns into one of your secret operations, I want to know. Iris too."
Ash smirked. "You'll know when you need to."
Gary clicked his tongue. "Still annoying."
"And still brilliant, right?"
"Always."
They shared a quiet laugh before wrapping up the call. As Ash hung up, Freya gave him a sidelong glance from the couch, one brow arched high.
"Should I be worried?" she asked.
Ash shrugged, walking back toward his room.
"Not yet."
***
Evening, a few days later
The sun dipped low over Queens, casting long shadows across the buildings like fingers reaching for something they could never quite grasp. I sat cross-legged on the rooftop, the familiar hum of the city below me—a white noise I'd come to find comforting.
Pikachu was sprawled on the concrete next to me, his tail occasionally twitching. Gardevoir stood silently by the water tank, eyes closed, basking in the golden hour like she could pull strength from the last rays of sunlight.
I let the wind tug at my hair as I stared out across the skyline.
Soon.
The second X-Men movie wasn't far off now. Stryker's plans were already in motion somewhere, hidden in military bunkers and classified files. The mansion raid. The betrayals. The deaths that almost happened.
And Jean.
Her power, buried so deep she barely understood it herself. The control she fought to maintain every day. How it would all crack under pressure if things played out the same way.
I wasn't going to let it get that far this time.
I took a slow breath and opened my eyes, gazing at the edge of the rooftop.
"I'm not a Mutant," I muttered to no one. "But that doesn't mean I can't fight for them."
Freya had been out most of the day—some sorcerer-related mess in Hell's Kitchen. She'd left without waking me, as usual. Some things never changed.
But I'd stayed behind for a reason.
I had prep to do.
Gardevoir stepped beside me, her expression calm, waiting.
"We're going to visit Gary tomorrow," I said softly. "He's digging into Stryker for me. I want a full picture before I decide how to play this."
She nodded, silently understanding.
Pikachu yawned and sat up, stretching like a sleepy cat.
I smiled a little, but it faded just as quickly.
"I keep telling myself I won't interfere too much," I said. "That I'll only step in when it matters… but this does matter. If Stryker gets his way…"
I didn't finish the sentence.
The wind picked up, tugging at the hem of my hoodie.
"They call it fate, you know? This idea that the timeline always tries to correct itself." I glanced down at my hands. "But what if it's not correction? What if it's just resistance? The kind you get when something actually starts to change?"
I looked up at the stars just beginning to peek through the twilight haze.
"Let's make sure we change it."
Gardevoir's eyes glowed faintly. Pikachu gave a soft, determined "Pika."
And somewhere, just beneath the skin of this world, I could feel the next storm building.
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