Paul was the first to speak up. “Kid, this ain’t your fight. Gimme the ball.” His voice was shaking and his face was scrunched into a look of concern.
“No.”
“Seriously kid. Give. Me. The. Ball.” Paul made a grab for it as he spoke.
Sammy was too quick and pulled it in tighter to his chest. “No! I need to be the one to do this!”
Roger’s eyes had glazed over in the meantime and his body slowly melted towards the earth. His knees creaked as he sat heavily upon the grass and dirt. Paul was quite red in the face as he exasperatedly argued with Sammy about why it was a stupid idea to go. Sammy grew more and more defiant as he dug his proverbial heels in and refused to let go of Rooster’s ball.
Dean, on the other hand, was focused on Gram. The psychic Pokemon’s three-fingered grip was tight upon his arm as it pulsed urgently.
“Master Gram, I warned you that this would not go over well. Perhaps there is still time to call it off and just do what you usually do.”
Dean whispered under his breath so that only Gram could hear his reply. “And what, exactly, is it that I usually do, Gram?”
“Punch first, then demand compliance as you punch.”
“You and I both know that going in guns blazing would only make the nest go underground. Then the good people of Pallet Town would be fighting them off for decades. Trust would be undermined and the only winners would be the admins at The League raking in the commission fees.”
“As you are so insistent, perhaps a more logical solution then?”
“I’m all ears.”
“Offer to teach the boy. Give him everything he needs to know for the purposes of this idiotic duel.”
“That…” Dean hummed in thought. “That is actually a great idea.”
“Truly Mistress Sandy chose well; a man who is willing to listen to sound advice.”
Ignoring the side comment, Dean coughed loudly and spoke up. All eyes whipped to him and angry, tired faces stared at his own. “How about a compromise? Mister Roger, Mister Paul, I understand full well your reasons why you do not want Sammy involved in this. I have a son at home myself, and if our positions were swapped I dare say that I would likely have the same reaction.” The two men’s voices overlapped as they both started to retort. “However!” Dean cut through the noise, pushing the air from deep in his diaphragm so it barked out. “However…the fact of the matter is that the Rattata and the Raticate see this as a test. Can the humans of Pallet Town be trusted to keep their word? Should I have perhaps taken a little more time to try and convince them otherwise? Maybe, and I apologize for that. I saw a relatively easy solution and jumped at it. One of the world’s oldest methods, and one that tends to provide immediate results: honor duel.”
Before anyone could speak up, Dean raised a hand up in front of him. “Perhaps a compromise. I will teach Sammy everything he would need to know to win, and with Rooster by his side, there should be no concerns for his safety. No matter what, Sammy comes home safe. Even if Gram brings him home and leaves me out there to face the horde myself.”
When Roger Oak spoke it contained the air of finality. There would be no further compromises. “Fine. But Paul is going with you, and he is going armed.”
“Gram doesn’t have the power necessary to teleport more than one human being at a time. If the worst happens, I can only guarantee Sammy’s safety.”
“That’s fine,” Paul sighed. “S’not like I have family that would miss me anyway.”
Dean frowned and let his concern form his lips into a thin line. “Very well. But keep your weapons hidden until we absolutely have no other choice.” He turned and faced the boy. “Sammy, I know that you’re not my biggest fan…but if we do this you will need to listen to every word I say.”
Sammy stood, still clutching Rooster’s ball to his chest. “I’m ready.”
----------------------------------------
Clouds of dust roiled and churned as Rooster twisted to avoid a purple blur. Dean was currently commanding Sammy’s Nidoran as a stand-in for a Raticate. It barely listened to him, but seemed to enjoy the mock battle nonetheless.
“Remember! Once airborne, they’re wide open for counter-attack!” Dean called out to Sammy. “Your opponent hasn’t had quite enough time to get used to its new proportions. Raticate are twice the size of a Rattata and it shows!”
Sammy grunted and ordered the Machoke to intercept the next flying tackle. “Punch to your right!”
A low-powered fist shot out and nearly connected. A few spines were dislodged from the air pressure despite the relative lack of force behind the blow. Crescent screeched and flared his ears in response, the pale green skin highlighted in the afternoon sun. Undaunted, he charged again the moment his feet touched the earth.
“Rooster! Duck and smash!” Sammy cried out.
The Machoke dropped, curling into a form akin to a boxer’s defensive stance with his arms tight in front of his face. As Crescent’s form passed overhead, Rooster shot upwards. With his eyes wide and focused upon his opponents exposed underbelly, the uppercut connected. Any forward momentum that was leftover from Crescent’s charge was immediately arrested as his body collapsed around Rooster’s fist. Spittle flew in all directions. A pitiful wheezing squeal pierced the air.
Sammy screamed as well, fearing for his friend’s wellbeing. He vaulted forward. His feet beat the dirt as he tried to make it there in time to catch the falling body. But Rooster was already there and much quicker. Massive arms thicker than Sammy’s legs cradled the Nidoran and gently set it on the ground.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Dean was also rushing forward. “Woah, get back Sammy! Never run onto an active battlefield!”
“But, Crescent!”
“He’s fine! He’s a tough little bugger and Rooster was holding back. He’s just winded. Nothing critical.”
Dean’s words were a salve to the distraught child’s heart, but Sammy’s compassionate arms still cradled the Pokemon protectfully. Dean reached down and pulled Sammy back with a gentle tug.
“Give him room to breathe.”
Sammy shook off the hand on his upper arm but complied and stepped back a bit. His words were ragged as they came out in a rush. “Why do Trainers think this is fun? Why do we have to fight? Why can’t we just get along?”
“Loaded for bear, huh?” Dean sighed. “For one, it’s only fun if both sides are into it. Humans have fought each other since time immemorial and some of the greatest bonds have come from fights. Entire countries are born, alliances made. As for why?” Shoulders rose and dropped in a heavy motion. “Frankly, I don’t know. But what I do know is that if you’re already gonna be in the thick of it, might as well be the last one standing…and would you look at that. He’s up and at ‘em.”
Crescent had struggled to his feet and panted heavily, glaring daggers up at Rooster. His entire body shook and the spines upon his back stood up straight. A deep growl grew from his throat that slowly died as Sammy stroked the top of his head between his ears. The ears in question flicked back and forth as the Nidoran’s attention shifted to Sammy. Its eyes shone in the light and its body language said, “I won’t be tricked by that maneuver again.”
Dean stood, patting nonexistent dirt from his trousers and looked up at the sky. “Here’s another bit of advice, Sammy. If you can, only fight when it's advantageous to do so. Sun’s starting to go down and by the time we got to the nest it’d be twilight. We don’t want to be fighting in the dark.” Another sigh. “As much as I know we would all like this to be over and done with, be best if we headed back for the day. I’m sure your Grandfather’d appreciate it if you spent tonight in your bed instead of the woods.”
“Fine.” was the clipped reply.
Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Sammy seemed to have shifted closer to Dean for a brief moment. The boy’s eyes had a brightness to them that had been previously absent.
Perhaps we fight so others do not have to. Dean thought to himself.
----------------------------------------
Sally Summers was in a right mood. Men. Always sending her off to do silly little errands, keeping her out of the loop, and only informing her of shit going down well after the fact. When she had left the house in the morning to do the shopping and let Darlene know that Sammy would be out of school for a bit, Sally reckoned that things would be rather normal. Sammy would try and drive the tractor when Roger wasn’t looking, Paul would egg him on and laugh when he got caught, and perhaps the Trainer would have finished mopping up the vermin in the woods. Sally had even prepared an extra special dinner in celebration.
Sammy’s favorite: fried dough stuffed with potatoes, onion, leek, and minced kippered beef.
The moment that Paul had stomped through the doorway and started hollering about “that rotten bastard of a Trainer” getting Sammy involved in adult matters Sally became immediately irate. Paul may be known to be a bit colorful with his tales, but seeing the man this angry gave her pause. If the story was true, Sally was going to have words with them all. That being said, timing was everything. If she started off too hot, Roger would be liable to shoo her off and she’d be left even further in the dark.
Sally wouldn’t have that. No siree.
So instead, she put on her best happy face and ushered the exhausted males to the dinner table the second that they had all washed up to her satisfaction. She served them their dinner, making small talk as she served them, fishing for news and asking leading questions. The more she heard, the more fiery her temper became. It all boiled over the moment that the Trainer, Dean the bastard, told her how quickly Sammy had learned to think on the fly and adapt quickly to a fight.
“Am I understanding correctly, Mr. Dean, that you’re teaching Sammy here how to fight so he can go have a duel to the death with a Raticate in the woods surrounded by Rattata that would like nothing more than to tear him limb from limb?” Her voice was honeyed venom.
“Er, when you put it that way, I suppose-”
Sally yanked the plate set before the man. “Now you listen here. Samuel. Is only. Eight. Years. Old. He’s too young for the Youngsters even. They won’t take him until he’s ten. And you come into our house, my kitchen, and sit there with that smug look on your face on how well my boy is becoming a warrior?” Her pitch and volume kept rising and rising as Sally spoke. “I’m afraid that you are no longer welcome at my table, Mr. Dean. Kindly hike on down the road to the tavern and get your vittles there.” And with that, Sally scraped off the still-whole fried dough package into Crescent’s (oh, how adorable was that name?) bowl and plunked the dish into the sink. The Nidoran wasted no time in horking down the unexpected treat.
“And as for the rest of you!” Sally’s glare took in Paul and Roger. “Best start shoving what you can in your faces because I’m about to clear your plates. No, not you Samuel. You keep eating. You’re going to need your strength for tomorrow morning.”
Roger spoke up. “Miss Summers, if I’m not mistaken, Dean is a guest of this house. A house that belongs to me. Your employer.”
“Oh shut your trap. You knew what you were getting when you hired me.” Sally jabbed a finger in Roger’s direction. “Now finish your bite and GIT.”
There was a mad scramble as the three older men pulled rapidly away from the table and began making their way towards the front doors. As they passed, Sally could hear her employer grumble.
“Ain’t no use arguing with her when she’s like that. Come on, we’ll hit the tavern, get a pint or two, and may as well fill in the rest of the boys on what the deal is. MacGinnis makes a mean pork pie. The gravy is something else.” Their voices trailed off as they left the house.
Sally turned and looked back on her young charge. “Samuel. You would tell me if they were making you do something you were uncomfortable doing, right?”
“Yes ma’am.” Sammy’s face was stuffed full and he held a pierogi in each hand as he spoke.
Sally fought the urge to reprimand his table manners but decided against it. Let the boy be a boy…even if just for one more night. “Did you see your mother today?” she asked, all the while knowing the answer. Sammy’s dropping demeanor and blushing cheeks confirmed it for her. “That’s what I thought. When you’re done eating, take your pet with you and go tell your mother what happened today.”
Sammy nodded sheepishly then continued to devour the food in his hands. Sally smiled a melancholy smile.
Mirabelle, you better wake up soon. Boy needs his mother, and I'm not cut out for that.