Run. Just run. Didn’t matter where, or how. Over the hills and through thorns, into caves and inlets, through communes and villages on the island, straight through streams going down the hills and into the ocean. George just had to run. Get away.

Of all the Pokemon that could be here… why her?

He’d shot an icy beam her way the second he realised who he was looking at. Then, as he made his getaway, he heard her yelling - given how deep and gravely her voice sounded, she must’ve been seeing red.

So he ran. Ran as fast as his legs were capable of. Ran as fast as the adrenaline would let hi. His heart pounded against the walls of his chest. There was no time to look over his shoulder. He wasn’t becoming that Garchomp’s lunch now of all times. After all he’d been through. After how long he struggled. She couldn’t have her revenge now.

The rocky side of the island went on and on. For ten minutes, George hopped over all sorts of rock piles and ditches littering the plains, coughing and sputtering from the dust clouds kicked up by his feet. Small as they were, they were fast enough to stick to his fur, dirty his feet, leave a trail behind him. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. And where the dust rose, George wasn’t far ahead.

Another ten minutes went by. Still he ran across dirt and rocks, and there was no sign of that changing anytime soon. No sign of any islanders, either. How was he going to get back to Hein and Terez? Why had he abandoned them? What if they were following him, too? Maybe Gareda had been caught by them, maybe.

But risking his neck wasn’t worth it. For all he knew, they’d let him run, and just Gareda alone was behind him. Flying, sprinting, clawing and biting her way through the dirt like she’d claw through him.

And George wasn’t in the greatest shape. Too much time on the road, too little rest. That had to wait until the Island of Swords, and instead he had to run on sore legs. He always had to run. The world wanted him to run. It had turned its back on him time and time again.

Maybe the Renegade had a point.

George thumped himself in the chest. ‘Don’t! Even think 1bout it!’

He kept the run up, his mind racing with all sorts of thoughts. That one spark opened Pandora's box, and the resulting maelstrom made any thoughts crumble like the pebbles under his feet.

‘Stop… STOP!’

He started to trip over pebbles, bumped his thigh into a rock, and eventually came upon a ditch in the terrain. One foot went right in. The other didn’t make it across. And just like that, he went from running to tumbling, face planting into the dirt.

For a fraction of a second, things were a little peaceful. Then the pain busted the door wide open, and kicked George all over his body. Head, elbows, legs especially. The Dewott groaned it out, spitting dirt out of his mouth. The soreness was too fresh for him to move. His limbs stung the moment he tried.

And that led to one horrible conclusion, whose lumbering footsteps announced its arrival. Heavy, dragon-like to George’s ears. Then, that gruff, masculine voice.

“Damn, lil’ guy. You got some legs there, chill out!”

The Garchomp hopped over the ditch, then shuffled right in front the Dewott lying crumpled inside. He sank through his knees a little, head bent down and looming overhead. George’s eyes slowly went up. Meeting him halfway there was world’s most obnoxious grin. The kind that felt annoying to even look at.

“Need help getting out?”

The fall sucked. This could be his last breaths. George scowled back anyway.

“No.”

The landshark cracked up. “Daaaamn! And I thought my sister was bad,” he half-said, half-laughed. George tucked his ears back against his scalp, his scowl turned into pouting right after.

‘...Who the hell does she… he even think he is?!’

“You know, I thought Gramps and Ms. Fancy woulda told you no one’s gonna get youhere, right? Did they? I mean, you looked at me for like half a second, then looked like you’d seen a ghost, then boom! Almost froze my face off! Had to chase after ya! And I needed some help, too!”

Wings flapped overhead; a shadow passed over them both. George, now gritting his teeth, got onto his knees, then began smacking the dirt off his chest. ‘Ugh… this is so painful, it’s unbelievable…’ “Who are you, even?” ‘Don’t tell me Ga-’

Just as he glanced up from wiping his fur down, a Flygon’s head popped up above the Garchomp’s. Two wings spread right out, and a tail dangled around his leg. “Helloo!” said Flygon said, his voice noticeably higher pitched. “Man! Of all the finds, the Othersider! It’s our lucky day, ain’t it?”

Flygon had barely finished speaking, before he planted a kiss atop the Garchomp’s head, getting a chuckle out of the shark in the process. “Sorry ‘bout that! My fiancé’s a hopeless romantic, and he likes to celebrate when we’re doing somethin’ right,” he said. “Name’s Hyran! Nice meetin’ you… You’re George, right? Othersider George?”

From laying on his chest, to sitting on his knees, to now flopping onto his back. George felt hotter than a desert from the embarrassment. “Doesn’t need saying, does it? You know it already…” ‘Whole island probably does…’ He pointed towards the Flygon. “And who’s that?”

The green dragon blushed. “Demidan! Hyran’s fiancé and proud! And I’m proud to meet you!” he said, hopping off the Garchomp’s back. Before George knew it, the green dragon stood right over him, grabbed one of his hands, then shook it with both of claws. The Dewott stuck his tongue into his cheek.

‘Great. Not lunch, but two… I don’t even know how to describe them, what can I even say…?’

Hyran got onto a knee beside his fiance, the spikes on said knee digging into the dirt. “How’s about we get you out the ditch, eh? Don’t want any of that muddy rain water gettin’ all over you… more than it already has, that is!”

Say one thing for Hyran, say that he got that much right; as he was being pulled back onto two feet, George realised his back had gotten soggy. Couldn’t say the same about his chest, that had stayed dry. Alas, the awkwardness didn’t end after standing back up. For one, he was still sore from the run. And falling into a ditch did wonders when it came to getting roughed up. Scratches all over his skin, and dirt stains on the Azure Flute.

Hyran asked Demidan to help him inspect George’s fur. Once again, whether he liked it or not, two dragons were now getting their claws and talons all over him, carefully inspecting his chest, back and head for anything suspicious. One talon got far too close to the neck. He backhanded it in the blink of an eye.

“Eep! Stay still, just a moment,” Demidan hummed.

‘Go to hell,’ George thought. ‘Should’ve kept the scalchops, George…’

After half a minute of silent screaming, George breathed a sigh of relief; the two dragons were finished.

“Hm! Would ya look at that - a few scrapes, that’s it! Lucky lil’ dude!” said Hyran, winking at the Dewott, adding a full glimpse at his teeth in the accompanying smile. “So how’s about we sit down somewhere, ‘aight? Somewhere nicer than this?”

“Back home?” Demidan asked, pressing his face into the Garchomp’s chest. Hyran snorted at him, then ran a talon over the back of the Flygon’s neck, leaning his own face in as well.

“If it was just the two of us, sure! Ain’t no place like home. But why don’t we ask our buddy here? Can’t just boss a guest around. And he ain’t even a guest, he’s a friend! That’s basic decency we’d be skipping out on!”

George just about deflated in the two dragons’ presence. All this energy was rapidly tiring him out. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel a little comfort around them. Was he gaining energy by proxy? Absorbing some of that optimism by pure osmosis? He’d gone from fearing for dear life, to being fine. That doesn’t come out of nowhere. Everything had an origin, even the unexplained.

“Can we sit down somewhere quiet? Someplace not… here,” the Dewott croaked out.

“Sure? What do you have im mind?” Hyran asked.

George clicked his tongue, then hissed in a breath. ‘Gee, you tell me!’ “Side of the hill, maybel? Anywhere I don’t feel surrounded.”

“Aww! We won’t surround you!” Demidan cooed. “And if we do… well, think of it like a really warm blanket! All snug between us~”

The Flygon twitched the tip of his tail around behind him, leaning those big goggled eyes right in George’s face until Hyran gave him a good pat. “Dem, c’mon! You’ll scare him at this rate!” the Garchomp said in a jovial tone.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Sooorrryy…” Demidan hummed, slightly disappointed.

George looked away. ‘Just great,’ he thought to himself. How nice of the two dragons, demonstrating why he liked his privacy. They could hardly keep their talons off each other, it seemed. At least the edge of a hill sounded like an escape from them. On an imaginary piece of paper.

In reality, holes aplenty could be poked in the idea: Some escape opportunity that was. Potentially break your legs on the way down, then you get to outrun two dragons. One glance over his shoulder revealed no one joining them anytime soon. Hein and Terez had forgotten him, it seemed. So he was alone. A zero against heroes. If Hyran and Demidan counted as heroes.

Nevertheless, he had one idea, and no better options. A minute later, George found himself sitting on top of a steep hill. Right in between the two dragons. Just one had to get a grip on his fur, and the curtains would fall.

Maybe the villagers down below would see.

“Ah… you were right, Othersider. This is a nice spot!” Demidan said, pointing at the community below with one of his claws. “You see all the rocks?”

George blinked towards the town down below. “It’s all rocks.”

Demidan giggled. “Yep! Sure is! This is a mining town ! Got all sorts of groundlings and rocklings working with the earth here. Singin’ shanties, tunnelin’ below ground, that sorta thing. What do you think?”

The Dewott bit his lip as his eyes glazed over the whole community, small as it was. What an open ended question. What was he supposed to think about it? People worked jobs. You have to work a job to survive. School drilled that much into him. Some worked in offices, some got their hands dirty. Was there anything special about it here?

“It’s a town, I guess?”

“Not just any town,” Hyran said, nearly pressing his snout into George’s ear. “Our town. We live here!”

George shivered the second he heard the voice right in his ear. Say one thing for dragons, say they’re too damn loud. Too growly. Maybe not that last part. There was something oddly appealing about a growly voice, especially in a casual context.

“Uh, cool, I guess?”

“Dem works as a cook,” the Garchomp continued, pointing towards a big chimney smoking on a timber framed building with his talon. “Me though? I’m a digger,” he growled, guiding George towards an opening in the hillside. “Not all of us live above ground, you know. And someone’s got to build nice homes!”

“...So, construction?” George asked. ‘Sounds like construction with some bells and whistles…’

“Nope! This is different. I dig out rooms and homes, I don’t arrange ‘em like they do above ground.”

“But you’re still building homes.”

“Digging ‘em out!”

“Is there a difference?”

“Sure is!” Hyran elbowed George in the side. “I mean, this is like saying you’re a heresider, George. But you ain’t from around here, are you?”

The Dewott rolled his eyes. “Of course not.” ‘Am I being punked right now?’

Hyran winked at him. “Exactly! So I’m a digger! I work below the surface. Maybe I mine a bit on the side, but not that often. Digging, maintenance, it’s a hard job. But an honest one.” He sighed, tail whipping around George’s back. “But that’s us for ya. Why don’t you tell us about yourself?”

George near deflated while staring out ahead of himself, looking out over the town below. “Take your time,” Demidan said; George swore he felt the Flygon’s tail behind him as well now. He lacked the energy to say much about himself. What was he, really? A professional runner? Some conversation that was. He’d be as interesting as the clay tiles on the roofs down below.

“First off… what do you know about me?”

“You’re the Othersider,” Demidan began. “Our human in shining fur! Right?”

“The one and only~” Hyran added, tilting his head down while talking in a disgustingly sweet voice. “You’re the only one in Eravate named George. You’re about… thirteen years old, give or take? Still young! Got a whole world ahead of you… literally!” He chuckled after that last remark. “And all the potential in the world. Did I get that right?”

George kicked his feet around. “Sort of… look, you’ve probably been told that by… I guess those three,” he mumbled to himself. “Whatever you think, I can guarantee you’re not going to like learning more about me. I’m no one. Just some dumb kid who got roped into… all this. You shouldn’t look up to me, or think highly of me.”

The Dewott smacked himself on the forehead, then tugged on the unfinished Azure Flute. It felt like snow to the touch. “For god’s sake, I just about caused the end of the world! With this.” He shook his head. “If I hadn’t played this, maybe the Alliance wouldn’t be in power right now. Maybe none of this would’ve-”

A jab to the side shut him up. For a split second, it resembled a dagger digging through his skin, striking the heart. Instead, it was but a blow from an elbow, one that dug into his heart regardless.

“Nope. We’re not doing that.”

George whipped his head around. “What?” he said, as found himself looking Hyran in the eyes.

The Garchomp gently shook his head, eyes half closed. “Lemme tell you somethin’, George. No one does any self deprecation around me. And that’s what you’re doing right now. Causing the apocalypse on your own? Are you crazy?”

George defensively frowned at him. “N-No.”

“Then don’t say that! Like it’s your fault a bunch of psychos are out to ruin Eravate. Gods almighty, you remind me of Demidan when I first met him. He was similarly unconfident!” Hyran growled.

Demidan followed up that statement with a sigh, craning his neck down until his head dangled in front of George’s face. “That’s… a sore spot you’re hitting me with, George. Hy’s talking about a time when I was scared of my own shadow. My dad always blamed me when things went wrong. And… I carried that with me to adulthood..”

George defensively clutched his arm. ‘They don’t understand.’

“And you know what the worst part about that is?” Hyran asked.

“No,” George answered.

Hyran sighed. “Honey, do you mind?”

Demidan looked away. “G-go ahead. Please.”

The Garchomp breathed in deep as fast as he’d sighed his last out, then put a talon on George’s shoulder. “Demidan’s father had an issue with him being unable to feel an attraction towards women. That’s a core part of someone’s identity. So when I see you doing the same, I get worried. Really worried.”

George turned his head toward the ground. ‘They don’t understand’, he repeated in his head. ‘They don’t understand. I’m just a loser. I’m just. A loser. I’’ve caused nothing but trouble. Wherever I go.’

“So,” Hyran said, blunt as a head on collision as he kept tugging on George’s arm. “I don’t want to see you kick yourself in the face. I mean, just look at those legs of yours. You’re not supposed to be able to kick yourself in the face! It’s physically impossible. And the mental equivalent of kicking yourself in the face shouldn’t happen, either.”

George groaned. If he had an answer to that, he was content keeping it to himself. To his mind, it all made perfect sense - misery loves company, and all that kept following him around was misery. In hindsight, why had he even been afraid of Hyran to begin with? If it was Gareda, she was destined to lose just following him. And if it was a feral Garchomp, he’d have choked to death on his bones. So much for afternoon snacking.

“Honey?”

“Yeah?”

Demidan and Hyran looked each other in the eyes. “Do you think we should give him some space?” the Flygon asked. His Garchomp companion grimaced back at him.

“What are the odds the Swords ‘ll let us close to him again? I sure as hell wasn’t expecting to see him at all. ‘Tis supposed to be his introduction here, right?”

“Mhm,” the Flygon hummed. “I don’t see his uh… his mentors around, either? Are they mentors…?”

“Guardians. But yeah.”

The two dragons loomed over George, who had been silent the whole time they rambled. What a shame they didn’t rack their brains over him longer; that would’ve kept the spotlight off his head. Apparently, they’d ran out of things to talk about, resulting in an awkward ten second silence. George bit his lip.

‘I knew I was boring, but… man.’

“Actually,” Demidan said after a while, “George, may I ask you something?”

Three more silent seconds. “Hm,” the Dewott hummed; he didn’t sound particularly interested.

“What are you looking forward to in life? And I don’t mean anything to do with the crisis, or anything related to it. I mean entirely for yourself. What do you want when this is all over?”

“...Do you mean when we’ve ‘won’, or?” George asked. He wanted to add ‘I am dead’ at the end, but restrained himself.

“Yup.”

George sighed. If only he’d thought about it beforehand; what did he want out of a normal life, if such a thing even existed for him? If anything, the answer was as straightforward as…

“Honestly, any normal life at all would work. Not having to watch my back twenty four seven. Actually growing up like someone normal, not a… not a freak everyone counts upon!” he shouted towards the end. He’d have lurched forward if not for Hyran restraining in. “If you’re expecting anything specific, too bad! I can barely figure that out myself! Scratch that, I can’t! Like I’d know what I want my life to look like. What I’d do. Who I even am!”

He stared at his knees dangling over the edge, his head held low, his soul firm under his arms. For a moment, he thought back to the fosters’ home. What would the other kids think? How hard would they be laughing now? How much louder would Wesley be than the rest? How hard would the headmistress be egging them on?

Actually, they’d forgotten about him, in all likelihood. Only the Renegade had a memory pristine enough to remember. If only George hadn’t forgotten that detail. He hissed to himself.

“If it helps,” Hyran said with a firm pat, “I’d suggest starting small, then working up from there. Say… having your favorite food once a week. Or something you’d like to do right away. You want an example?”

“...Sure.”

“Well, I’ve got my fiancé right here.” he grinned. “I’d prefer calling him my husband. But we’re not getting married before the world’s in a non crap state. Right?”

The Flygon blushed. “Y-yup! That’s the plan!” he swooned.

Hyran winked at his partner, before looking back at George. “That’s the spirit! Heck, that’s too big, actually. But do you have any ideas?”

George leaned back, then stared at the sky. “Favorite food. Finishing school, maybe. I’d like to finish what I started… maybe go back home. See my best friend again.” ‘If he’s still alive.’ “See if… he thinks the same of me…?”

He gulped after finishing that last sentence. All this talk of love and marriage made him think of Blitzer again. In that way. He hadn’t admitted it out loud before, but now?

Apparently, the two dragons had their curiosity peaked, given that both now leaned up against his ears. “Thinks the same of you, how?” Hyran asked.

A second gulp. “I… have… a crush on him…?”

He suddenly felt very red in the face. What was he saying? A crush? Was that really how he saw Blitzer? If not, then why did it sound right?

The two dragons slowly looked each other right in their eyes. It didn’t take long for a long, drawn out “oooooh” to fill the air.

“Another one?” Hyran quipped.

“Not everyday you meet a fellow gay!” Demidan added. They both laughed. George got redder and redder.

“I-’I’m not… I’m not gay!… I… I like girls too! I swear…”

The two dragons laughed again, much to George’s discomfort. What a miracle no one else was around to hear. Nearby, at least. It was fingers crossed and a prayer or two whether or not the Pokemon in the mining community below didn’t hear them. Given by the sound of a horn echoing in the distance, maybe their attention was elsewhere.

“A bi!” Demidan poked George in the shoulder. “You don’t meet those everyday, either!”

“Hahaha.” Hyran wiped the laughs from his face. “Don’t be ashamed, George, you’ve got nothin’ to be ashamed about. You like what you like! Don’t let anyone take that away from you… we should talk about this sometime, when we’ve got the time. ‘Cause me and Dem? We know a thing or two about strugglin’ with those feelings you’ve got. Butterfrees in your stomach. That sorta deal!”

George sighed. “Okay…” he said, meek as a mouse.

The Garchomp craned his head around. “That horn’s not relevant for us, by the way. Most communities have one. The Swords have an overpowering one, drowns out all other noise on the island. Only used for the important stuff… but we should probably get goin’.”

“To where?”

“The summit, of course. That’s where you came from, no?”

George’s face glew white hot. “N-no. Don’t take me there. Please.” He looked away in embarrassment. Hyran walked right around and got onto a knee.

“Swords are sharp, they say. All the more reason to bring a big shield along. You get me?”

“No,” George shouted, as blunt as a sword on a shield.

“What I mean is… look.” Hyran laid a talon on George’s shoulder, whose eyes jolted up in response. “It might not have ended well, the first time you talked with them. But that’s what we’re there for. We might work together, but I’m a free man. A proud dragon. And we don’t like getting bossed around. ‘S why most of us aren’t in the army.” The Garchomp rolled his eyes, then sighed. “They understand that. And lemme tell you something. If they start messing with you, they’re messing with us. Ain’t that right, Dem?”

The Flygon grinned. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. Go get ‘em, George!”

“That’s my boy! What do you say, George?”

The Dewott in question gulped. With how they stared him down, it once again felt like an older. Sure, they didn’t mean it that way, but dragons had fierce stares. The kind of stares belonging to folks who didn’t like being disappointed. Then again, he’d felt just a tad more comfortable around them. And given how they worded it, he’d still be in charge, mostly.

Which gave George an idea.

One he should’ve acted on earlier.

“I’ve got a word or two to share…”