Silence reigned over the room as the crushing weight of Sammy’s father’s final day on this earth sank in.

Emptiness.

That was the primary emotion that ran through the boy’s head as he desperately tried to make sense of what he had just heard. He had known, of course, that his father died in battle against a Tyranitar. That much at least had been written on the short note that accompanied the embellished bronze cross that hung in the shadowbox. A part of Sammy had always wondered about the details of his father’s end, but he had kept those feelings squashed deep deep down inside of himself. Thinking about it just made the facts more real.

Sammy’s father was dead. Gone. Forever.

His mother may still be breathing, but she too was dead.

Their old house was boarded up. His old bed was wrapped up in white canvas and left behind. Most of his toys were still in the chest that had sat in the corner of his old room and also wrapped up. Sammy’s grandfather had only let him take a few things from it when they moved. “Not enough room in the truck” he said. Not that it mattered much, as Sammy had long since given the few stuffed Pokepals away to the little kids at school. He had hated how they reminded him of another time. Their stupid black button eyes stared at him and made him feel guilty for trying to hold on to the past. He had hated them, so he gave them away to kids who would love them.

It had been a long time since Sammy had thought about his toys. He had a few, of course. His grandfather had tried to replace the ones he had left behind, but it wasn’t the same, so Sammy had asked for different things. A hula hoop, a slinky, a Mr. Diglett Head doll, and a TinkaTonka brand miniature tractor. They were all fun for a little while. Fun enough that Sammy managed to forget about things for a bit. But he had quickly lost interest in all of them, and had asked his Grandfather if he could help around the farm instead. Sammy’s Grandfather had told him no at first, but he followed him and Paul around anyway. He’d ask them questions like “What’s that thing attached to the tractor?” “Why do you gotta oil the joints in the thresher?” “Why do we grow wheat instead of corn?”

After an seemingly endless number of questions, Sammy’s Grandfather gave in and starting teaching him. The thing attached to the tractor was a combine. You needed to oil the joints just so in order to keep them from binding from the friction. Friction was what happened when two things rubbed together. They grew wheat because of government subsidies and because there were enough damned cornfields around and a good sourdough was better than cornbread. The work was hard, but it kept Sammy’s hands and his mind busy.

So he didn’t have to think about his toys and dead parents.

“Sammy.” Dean’s voice was soft and had lost any of its wavering tone that had been present while he had told his story.

Sammy wouldn’t look at the man. He couldn’t look at him.

“It would be a… disservice to talk about your father without expressing my gratitude.” There was a long pause and Sammy could feel Dean’s eyes on him, waiting for a reaction that never came. “Your father was a hero. There’s no higher title that I could give him. No matter how many we lost that day, the fact is… well, we all should have been lost that day. We were outmatched and outgunned and if it wasn’t for your father’s actions we all would have been.”

A low growl was slowly emanating into the room as Dean spoke. As an instinct, Sammy swiveled his head to the warmth pressing up against his calf. Violet and green ears shivered and twitched as Crescent sought to grant what comfort it could to the boy. A single tear pearled at the edges of eyes that gazed up sorrowfully, full of empathy. But Crescent was not the source of the growl.

Sammy had often seen his Grandfather upset. A tell-tale flushing of the cheeks and a puffing that would preclude a rant about whatever situation had set him off. Last time it was when a sailor on shore leave had drunkenly broken the tavern’s set of swinging doors during one of their visits to the Town Hall. It was usually entertaining to watch the old man bluster and shout and bring his wrath down on whatever poor soul was in his crosshairs. As long as it wasn’t Sammy anyway. This was different. White knuckles popped and seethed. Steel-gray eyes blazed with an intensity that felt as if they would set alight.

A coldness had settled into Sammy’s Grandfather’s voice that seized the conversation in a forceful grip. “Tell me, Mr. Rogers. Perhaps my mind isn’t what it used to be, but from your recollection it seemed that our Takahiro was at the front lines. Far away from the rest of the company.”

Dean swallowed audibly. “Affirmative, sir.”

“Wonderful. These ears have yet to fail me. Now, tell me, Mr. Rogers. Why were you there?”

“We were the platoon tasked with assaulting the objective.”

“I see. Now, it has been quite a long time since I remember the tales that my father told me about military maneuvering, but I don’t recall a particular tactic that required the commanding officer to be at the back of a formation.”

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“There isn’t one, sir.”

“Please correct me if I am wrong. What you are telling me is that your commanding officer instructed a single platoon to take on what amounts to a fortified artillery nest while he sat at the back and watched men and women sacrifice themselves until he could swoop in and steal the glory?”

“I- That is- I-”

“Kindly answer the question, Mr. Rogers.”

Sammy’s neck felt all twisted as he whipped between the two men speaking. He didn’t know that his Grandfather knew anything about the military. He hadn’t even thought about the details of what had happened to his Father. As the silence dragged on and Dean shifted and squirmed under the intensity, Sammy’s old hate came bubbling to the surface.

He had hated Captain Gram for not protecting his Father. Now?

“Yes, sir. I believe that you are correct.” Dean’s voice was hollow.

Perhaps Sammy had another reason to hate him.

----------------------------------------

They were another hour before Sally finally had enough and pulled Sammy from the room. She scolded everyone for making him suffer through Dean’s interrogation and was furious that none of them had thought that maybe Sammy was too young to need to understand the details. As a parting shot, she acidly suggested that they also consider that perhaps Sammy’s Mother would also appreciate them vacating the premises.

“Samuel, when you grow up, promise me you won’t turn out like those idiots.” Sally’s hand provided no comfort as she led him down the hall to the kitchen. “All that talk about death, sacrifices, and politicking was completely out of line. I understand hearing how your Father died. I understand telling you that so maybe… maybe a little closure might do you good.”

Sammy let the woman press him gently into a chair before bustling to the stove and begin heating some milk and sugar.

“But all the rest? Idiots! Could have waited till you were older. No point, no sense in making you have to deal with more than you need to.” A cupboard slammed open and shut, followed by a crunching of a knife on the cutting board. “Springing all this shit on us. What the hell was that old man thinking? Could have had an adults only conversation and we could have made a plan for what was and was not appropriate for a boy your age. But noooo!” Sally drew out the word as she tipped the now minced chocolate into the awaiting pot of heated milk and began to whisk. “Shit-brained idiot!” A steaming cup was plunked before Sammy. “And mind, don’t you take this as an opportunity to start cursing just because I am, young man. Now, drink up. Little sugar do you good.”

His fingers felt numb, but Sammy pulled the mug towards him and blew upon its surface before sipping tenderly at the hot chocolate. The usual sweetness of the beverage was drowned out by his numbed senses. Blood pounded in his ears and all Sammy could feel was anger.

Rage.

Hate.

“Samuel.”

How dare they steal his Father away? His Mother? His family?

“Samuel, honey.”

How dare they use his Father’s sacrifice as a stepping stone?

“Samuel Himada, I am speaking to you.”

How dare they?

“Sammy.”

He looked up, expecting anger on the other side of the table but found only a sad smile.

“Sammy, honey. It is okay to be angry. It is okay to be confused. Hell, I certainly am!”

“They used him.” His words came out hot.

Sally’s smile turned melancholy as she reached out and took the boy’s hand again. “Yes, it sure sounds like they did. Rattata bastards one and all.” The hand was warm. “But, what’s done is done. I’m sure that even if we did complain that they’d have all sorts of excuses. Look, Sammy, honey, I’ve never tried to replace your family. I ain’t cut out to be a mother, and you’ve already got one besides.”

“She’s dead, Miss Summers.”

The hand gripping his own twitched for a moment. “No. She’s right there in the other room. Do you remember what I told you when I first got here?”

Sammy shook his head.

“What your Mother needs more than anything else right now is love. What you need more than anything is love. Calling your Mother dead when she is still breathing is just inviting bad luck. She’s just lost.”

The hand holding his own was warm. “Lost?”

“Lost. Lost in the past, lost because the person she loved so much isn’t there to find her. But, there’s still someone who can.”

“Who?”

Sally’s hand was warm. “Why, you, of course! Now, finish your drink. I’m gonna go make sure those idiots have left, and we’re gonna go back in there and you’re gonna give your Mother a hug.”

Sammy nodded once and let his head hang back down to stare into his mug while he listened to Sally marching back down the hallway. He took another sip of the hot chocolate and found it sweet and comforting. A pressure on his shoes nearly made Sammy startle until he looked down at Crescent reaching up to lay both front paws on his knees.

“I don’t think Nidoran are supposed to have chocolate.”

Crescent huffed as he pulled himself farther up onto Sammy’s lap, one ear then the other popping free from the underside of the table. Crescent was warm as he folded his legs beneath him and leaned into Sammy’s stomach.

As boy and Pokemon sat at the table sharing sips of hot chocolate together, Sammy felt the rage that had threatened to consume him slip away back into the far corners of his mind. It retreated slowly, pulling farther and farther back as Sammy recalled moments of happiness. His Father tossing him up into the air and catching him. His Mother singing a lullaby as she tucked him into bed.

Sammy buried the rage under a layer of love and hoped that it would stay that way.