“What?” Sammy’s mind was blank. Everything about that afternoon was a jumbled mess of blood and nerves. Tines piercing fur and flesh. The overwhelming scent of offal and blood. Eyes that blazed with hate and fire. Teeth. Sammy’s leg ached. His vision swam and he attempted to clutch at the tent-pole but missed. Before he could fully lose his balance, Crescent was there propping him upright. His brain was spinning and the words spun round and round like the picture of the fossil above his bed.
The farm.
Dean watched as both Roger Oak and Paul rushed to the boy’s side, peppering him with questions.
“Are you okay, Sammy?”
No. They attacked the farm.
“Woah there. Sit down. Drink.”
They were trying to kill Crescent.
We tried to scare them off but they wouldn’t leave.
Gram set a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezed over and over - his version of a whisper. “The boy is too young, Master Dean. He has no experience in battle. Are you certain that this gambit of yours will succeed? I calculate a thirty percent chance that it ends in failure.”
With a penitent sigh Dean whispered back, “It will work. Have faith.”
Gram’s estimates had proven accurate, but did not account for the Ratattas’ intelligence. When Dean approached the nest he had been immediately surrounded by hundreds of the creatures. Even if Gram had been invisible, Dean had been stalked and watched ever since he had entered the treeline. Only a quick layer of barriers had prevented Dean from getting immediately drowned in the swarm.
Negotiations had been brief as Dean established himself as Pallet Town’s representative. Thankfully, Dean’s hypothesis had proved correct. Former Army scouts, the Raticate pair understood the basics of parley and were willing to discuss a truce between themselves and the humans.
It was then that the third presented herself. She screamed of the injustice that she had suffered and threatened to splinter the nest and seek out her enemy. Many Rattata agreed with her, gnashing their jaws in approval at her vitriol in a sickening equivalent of applause.
“Bring me the small one that bites with steel! Mate bitten by this one. Pups bitten by pointy poison one. Bring me the small one and the pointy one and I will bite so that they cannot bite again. No sharing of berries until the biting is over. Many tails follow me. Bring me the small one or many tails will hunt.”
Being vastly outnumbered and already surrounded, Dean was forced to agree. Even if he had brought Rooster out there was no winning those odds. Tension filled Dean’s core as he took a deep breath. He spoke in a measured tone, hoping to explain the situation without further alarming the group before him.
“Until she is satisfied, the third Raticate will continue to stand in the way of any meaningful progress.”
They hurt me.
They hurt Paul.
Is that not enough?
“Spit it out, Man! What are you not saying?” Roger Oak’s voice strained as his knuckles grew white at his side. Even as the Nidoran growled and flared its ears, the old man stood adamantly by Sammy’s side.
I didn’t want to kill it but it hurt me first.
They were going to kill Paul.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
They were going to kill me.
Dean swallowed hard. Dancing around the topic wasn't helping in the least. “Sammy and his Nidoran have been challenged to a trial by combat. Only by defeating her will the dialogue resume.”
The survivor.
I didn’t want to fight.
“Sammy’s only a boy! You can’t possibly be serious!” The elder Oak was screaming now. “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time! He shouldn’t be involved! Paul was there… what about him?”
I didn’t want to fight.
They made me do it.
“I’m only telling you what they told me! Listen-”
A fierce shove landed squarely on Dean’s chest. Paul’s face was crimson and his teeth were bared in a snarl. “No, you listen. Bossman hired you to fix this fucking pest problem and you have the gall, the sheer fucking audacity, to come here and tell us to send a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter?” Angry tears ran down the young man’s face. “Send me instead! I’ll go!”
I didn’t want to, but they made me do it.
Dean restrained the part of him that demanded retaliation. Sweat beaded down his forehead as he scanned the faces of the raging men before him.
They started it.
“I. Am not. Sending the boy to die.” His words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, the tension wavered. Dean seized the lull and pressed on. “I was able to convince the Raticate that Sammy be allowed to fight by proxy. If his champion should fall, it would mean the end of negotiations. I call up the League and they send out some heavy hitters to clean up the nest. There would be no additional charge as I would foot the bill. Should Sammy’s proxy win, might reigns as right and the nest will discuss terms. I have no doubt that Sammy will win.”
I hate them.
Roger Oak spoke through gritted teeth even as his gaze began to reflect the tiniest amount of uncertainty. “And where, pray tell, does your confidence come from? Who are you going to send in instead of the boy? Paul? Yourself? Me? Who?”
They started it.
Dean pulled Rooster’s ball from his belt. “Not a human. That would only make things worse. We can’t compete with them in a one on one anyhow. If this was a contest of endurance, maybe. We’re pursuit predators. We chase until our prey is exhausted and then descend upon them. No, the proxy needs to be another Pokemon.”
I hate them.
He knelt, the fatigue of the sun and the weight of his decision pulling Dean down to the dirt. “Sammy. Your Nidoran is untrained and you don’t know how a battle works. How do you feel about a temporary trade? Rooster is experienced. He’s done this many, many times.” Dean set the Pokeball before him, the bronze Staryu welded to the top glinted even in the shade of the tent, worn and polished by years of him rubbing it.
They started it.
Dark shadows hovered under Sammy’s eyelids. A faraway look that stretched for kilometers as he stared past the ball, past the tent, the fields and into the forest beyond. Paws pressed upon his chest and ears tickled his chin as the Nidoran chirruped and purred. Seeing no response, the “pointed poison one” abandoned his efforts and strode forward. Eyeing Dean warily, it kicked the be-starred ball towards Sammy’s feet. It rolled until it settled between the boy’s legs and rocked there.
I hate them.
Silence reigned in the tent. None of the adults said a word as Sammy reached down and gripped the Pokeball.
They started it.
“Fine.” Sammy’s voice was very small.
Sammy’s Grandfather thrust his hand towards the ball. “Sammy, son, I can’t let you do this. Let Paul go instead. I’m not about to lose my grandson. We’ve already lost too many.”
The ball was pulled away and in towards the boy’s chest as Sammy shook his head. His voice was cold and sent a shiver up and down the spine of everyone present.
“Grandpa, they started it.” the thousand-yard stare shifted and landed onto Dean. “But I will finish it.”