Archive of Our Own ^beta

“-And that’s why I wanna say how proud I am of you all! All those loser, big-city Pokemon trainers think they’re so slick with their fancy Starters, but it’s all you who’re the real deal! The bond you forge with your Starter Pokemon is stronger than iron, stronger than an army! Hell, mine was stronger than my marriage! Ha! Ahem. Anyway, that’s why it’s important to start off on the right foot. Losers are just given their Starter, but you all did things the hard way and caught your own!” 

Taylor didn’t acknowledge the side-eye that Coach Crockett was aiming at him. He probably should have felt at least a little sheepish since he was the only kid in class who hadn’t caught his Starter yet, but he just couldn’t help it. Coach Crockett had been praising the virtues of the Kingstone Pokemon Academy for the last twenty minutes, and a rant like that in the last class period on a Friday would tax the attention of even an exceptionally patient ten-year-old like Taylor. Instead of listening for the subtle encouragement from his teacher to work a little harder to find his perfect Pokemon partner, Taylor was doodling little figures of Psy-kid, a TV show hero, and his family’s old, fat Torracat in the margins of his notebook.

“Now, some people say that being a Pokemon trainer is a pointless, violent, dead end job for psychos, and that there’s no money in it. But that’s just a dirty lie! A damn, dirty lie that people tell you just to hurt you instead of trying to work things out!” Coach Crockett’s voice cracked for a moment, but Taylor didn’t notice that either.

“So! To help you all prove those dirty liars wrong when they start attacking you for following your dreams, a very nice Pokemon Ranger will be coming in this Monday. She’s going to talk to you all about all the important work she uses her Pokemon trainer skills for to keep everyone safe from wild Pokemon attacks! And if you’re good, she might even agree to supervise some Pokemon battles!” A ripple of laughter washed through the room of students. Pokemon were hot-blooded creatures—Even the cold-blooded, or no-blooded ones—And while Pokemon attacks were no laughing matter, some of the children in the room had captured and started training with their Pokemon partners nearly a month ago. Back-street Pokemon battles between the students were as common as the Skwovets that roamed the hills just outside Kingstone.

A bell rang and all the children flooded out the classroom and into the halls. All the other kids had packed their bags as soon as Coach Crockett started talking about how weak-minded Pokemon trainers from the city were. Taylor hadn’t been quite as prepared though and jumped in surprise at the chaos that suddenly surrounded him. He tried his best to quickly pack his own bag, but his classmates pushed and shoved past his desk, knocking his elbows askew in their rush to start the weekend. He’d hoped to sneak out with the last few students trickling through the door, but was just a moment too slow. “Hey champ! Hang back a sec!” Called a voice from the front of the classroom

Taylor winced and considered pretending he hadn’t heard, but his conscience rebelled against the thought immediately. Made up rhymes about ‘teacher’s pets’ and ‘goody two-shoes’ danced in his head as he imagined what his friends would say if they’d stayed long enough to see him hang his head and shuffle over to the desk where Coach Crocket had perched himself. He was a big man, and the desk was making a concerning groaning sound when Taylor finally looked up at the man. With his square face, square jaw, and square mustache, Coach Crockett always gave the impression that if he ever did discover any Pokemon battles he didn’t approve of, he’d jump in and put a stop to them personally.

“Any luck?” He asked without preamble. Taylor shook his head ‘no’ and Coach Crockett’s shoulders rose like miniature mountains as he heaved the first half of a sigh before catching himself. His handlebar mustache flapped gently as he tried to ease the giant breath subtly out his nose. Taylor would have had to hold back a snicker, but now that he was standing in front of his teacher instead of ignoring his ramblings, Taylor was mortified. Coach Crockett gently placed an oversized hand on Taylor’s shoulder in an awkward attempt to reassure him. “I really want you to have a chance to battle with this here Ranger who’s coming up on Monday. She’s been from Viridian Forest in Kanto to the Glittering Cave in Kalos, and everywhere between. She really knows her stuff. Now, I know you’re probably holding back looking for an edge over all your friends’ Grass and Bug type Pokemon-”

“Oh, no sir. I don’t really care about that.” Taylor piped up, though that was only half true. Since oversized insects and overactive shrubbery were the Pokemon that tended to hang around catching-distance of Kingstone, those were the types his friends had befriended. He thought they were a little creepy, but cool. It was true though that he didn’t have any interest in ambushing and catching any of the few Flying type Pokemon that naturally preyed upon Grass and Bug types. They were vicious at the best of times, and Taylor thought it was pretty much suicide to try catching one without a Pokemon of his own.

“My father is called ‘sir.’” Coach Crockett corrected him, brows furrowed under his receding hairline. “Just call me ‘coach,’ champ.” 

Taylor chose not to say anything at all, so Coach Crockett continued after a moment’s pause. 

“I get it. There’s no point lying between men! We’re all after that sweet, sweet rush of a Super Effective move knocking your opponent’s Pokemon to kingdom come!” Coach Crockett spoke with such passion, even Taylor could see it in his mind’s eye. A Wurmple trying with all its futile might to use a [String Shot] to entangle a swooping Fletchling. The tiny robin Pokemon gracefully dodging every shot until the Wurmple misses by a margin just wide enough to invite retribution in the form of a devastating [Peck] that-

In Taylor’s mind’s eye, the red worm-like Wurmple loses the fight, and badly. He grimaced as he imagined it. 

“Well,” Coach Crockett continued, finding his train of thought again. “What I’m saying is that it’s not such a bad thing to have to work your way up to that moment. And hey, Pokemon battling is about more than just type advantage! If you and your partner Pokemon have enough heart, even a Normal type could make it to the top!” Taylor doubted that a Pokemon whose defining characteristic was that it had no defining characteristics had much of a shot against the monsters that battled for supremacy in the national Pokemon League tournaments, but decided not to mention his thought.

“Um, yes s- Coach. It’s just that none of the Pokemon I find really, um. Speak to me. I guess. I tried asking my mom about it, but she just talks about when dad ‘swept the amateur tournaments,’ and he didn’t catch Torracat when he did that, he’d raised her from a Litten he won in a lottery on a vacation to Alola.”

“Ha! I remember that! Boy howdy, but was Jimmy a real trainer! Why, he and I were rivals back in the old days. Me, your mom, and him would pal around and knock over Pokemon gyms together- Ahem. Well. Think about what I said, is all. You still have your Pokeball? You didn’t let any of your friends convince you to let them have it?” 

Taylor nodded, rooting around in his bag and showing off the red and white ball that was still as shiny as the day the class had first been given their assignment and the Pokeball to complete it. It was only the size of a baseball, but it looked huge in Taylor’s small hand. The Pokeball was a cross between a bug-net and a cat carrier straight out of science fiction, and more expensive than some TV sets. Even if Taylor had known what Pokemon he wanted to catch, he would have been hesitant to use the Pokeball for fear of wasting it. He certainly wouldn’t have traded it to one of his friends for an extra pudding cup at lunch like Coach Crockett seemed to worry about.

“Good, good,” Coach Crocket said, absently stroking his mustache. “Well! Nothing for it but to get out there and start catching!”

“Oh, then I guess I could just catch the next Pokemon I-”

“No, no, no! Your Starter is important! You can’t just pick one randomly!”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said. Listen to what I’m saying now. Yes, it’s important for you to find a partner soon, but you should still make sure you’re a good fit. You wouldn’t wanna bring home just any old Pokemon who wasn’t a good match for you and disappoint your mom, would you?” 

From the way his mom sounded when she told him stories about his dad and Torracat, he didn’t think he could catch any Pokemon that wouldn’t disappoint her in some small way. He certainly wouldn’t be catching a Fire type, like Torracat. All Pokemon were mysterious in their own way, but some could shoot fireballs, or were made of lightning, or could command shadows and darkness itself. Those kinds of Pokemon were on a different level. He could never catch one, let alone train it. They terrified him.

Well, not Torracat, but she didn’t count. She was an old, fat, lazy cat, and the closest she came to shooting fireballs was when she spat a fiery hairball into the fireplace where she slept to keep the house warm during winters. Taylor’s mom always grumbled about the smell of burning hair, but never suggested investing in an electrical heater.

“Alright champ! Go enjoy your weekend! I’m sure you’ll find your perfect Starter in no time!” Taylor wasn’t as confident, but took the dismissal for what it was and rushed out.

@@@

By the time Taylor had scampered out the front doors of Kingstone Pokemon Academy, none of his friends were in sight. Only a few knots of older students had hung around past the bell, each group either admiring a Pokemon or comparing different sets of Moves. Taylor sighed, hiked his backpack a little higher, and wandered out the school’s front gate and toward home. It wasn’t exactly an exciting walk. The ‘academy’ itself was really just a refurbished old-folk home that had gone out of business when the town ran out of old folks. The ‘gate’ was made of the same shoddy chain link fence that wrapped around the whole property and was meant more to keep the kids from wandering off too easily, rather than to keep out any Pokemon that wandered from the neighboring forest.

When Kingstone had first been established, the town school had been the central hub of traffic for the local transit system. But that school had closed down when the town ran out of children. It took years of revitalization projects and tourism campaigns to drum up enough of a population to scrape together a halfway decent student body, and by then the old school building had been the home of Booker’s Bed and Breakfast for a decade. And while it was great for local tourism, it was awful for getting home from school at a decent hour. If Taylor had wanted to take the bus instead of the long journey by foot, he would have to walk a half hour to the nearest stop, wait forty five minutes for the bus, then ride it for another hour as it traced a meandering path through the commercial, industrial, and finally residential districts. It was about a fifty minute walk straight home if Taylor cut through the commercial district though, so that’s what he did.

As he wandered down alleyways and boardwalks, Taylor heard the sounds of kids chattering and challenging each other to illicit Pokemon battles. He didn’t move at all to join in, though. With no Pokemon of his own, and no good reason why he hadn’t caught one yet, he was sure he’d be peppered with nothing but bad jokes and questions that stung with their simplicity. ‘Why not just choose a Pokemon?’

Taylor wasn’t sure. He knew that he’d feel bad for asking a weak Pokemon to be his partner just for it to lose over and over, but a pit sat in his stomach just from the thought of trying to tame any truly strong Pokemon. Was that all there was to it? Was he a coward? Taylor didn’t think he was; all those wild Pokemon were really dangerous, and he was always being told not to go out into the forest alone. Even a Wurmple could do some damage if it got angry enough. Though, when he considered it, he didn’t think he was afraid of being hurt by a Pokemon.

Taylor found himself going around in circles in his head until a loud “Trubbish!” snapped him out of it. It was a good thing he’d heard it when he did too, because as he picked his head up to look at the sound, he saw that he was only a few long strides away from a Pokemon battle. He’d wandered into an alleyway without thinking and hadn’t noticed at all that a group of Fletchling were harassing a small Trubbish until a wild [Ember] had connected with the trash-bag Pokemon and made him cry out in pain. Taylor jumped behind a dumpster without thinking and peeked out to watch the battle in progress. 

There were no trainers in sight, so Taylor quickly realized it was a feral Pokemon battle, with no rules and no mercy for any Pokemon who fainted. The Trubbish was doing his best to squeeze back and into a pile of trash bags filled to the bursting, though Taylor couldn’t tell if he was looking for camouflage or just putting a protective layer of garbage between him and the attacking Fletchlings. But it was three-on-one, and it didn’t look like the Trubbish knew any Moves that could turn the tide of battle. A purple haze was pouring out the Trubbish’s mouth ([Poison Gas], Taylor absently identified) but the Flying type Pokemon kept well away from both the toxic fumes and the little Pokemon’s floundering tentacles as they wheeled through the air and darted down just long enough to strike with a lightning fast [Quick Attack] that caused the garbage pile to explode from the impact. 

The Pokemon were making a royal mess of the alleyway, and the smell that had finally wafted to where Taylor hid was repugnant. Poison types like Trubbish hadn’t been covered in class yet since there were supposed to be so few in the area, but Taylor was suddenly, vividly sure that the noxious smell from the Pokemon was caused by a spike in anxiety.

In an instant, all of Taylor’s doubts seemed so small and far away. It wasn’t that he suddenly became brave, or full of righteous fury on the behalf of the Trubbish. He had simply stopped thinking of himself. How could he have the time to worry about his own problems when there was a Pokemon right in front of him that was helpless, afraid, and all alone? But what could Taylor do? He was certainly much weaker than even the Trubbish. How would Psy-kid save the Trubbish? As Taylor ran through all his options and a million ways each could go wrong, he stuck his hand in his pocket where the Pokeball sat heavily.

As soon as he felt it, he knew it was his only option. The Trubbish wouldn’t survive long enough for Taylor to go get help, he couldn’t fight the Fletchlings off himself, and he definitely couldn’t outrun them if he caught their attention. But if he could catch the Trubbish without the Fletchlings seeing him, then the Trubbish would be safe in the Pokeball. All it took was the Pokeball making the slightest contact with a Pokemon and they would be digitized and sealed away within the ball. It would take a rampaging Tyranitar to break it open. Those Fletchlings wouldn’t manage it in a thousand years.

Sweat started to bead on Taylor’s brow as he gripped his one and only Pokeball. It was all over if he missed, or if the Fletchlings realized where the ball had come from, or if the Trubbish panicked and somehow still had the strength to struggle and resist being caught. If, if, if… The Trubbish cried out in pain again, not quite drowning out the way the Fletchlings had started chirping triumphantly. Taylor shook his head. Psy-kid wouldn’t hesitate like this. 

He tried to think of all the little tips and tricks he’d learned at school for throwing Pokeballs, but as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other it was hours of playing baseball with his friends in the park that guided him as he set his shoulders and launched the ball.

Taylor watched as it soared through the air, and he was sure it would have flown true, but the Fletchlings had started to whip up gusts of wind with their powerful wings. His stomach dropped as the Pokeball defied gravity, coasting along the top of an especially strong rush of air. It was going to sail right over the top of the Trubbish’s lump of a head. Taylor’s eyes pricked with tears as he forgot he was supposed to be hiding and glared at the ball like he could make it drop through sheer willpower.

The Trubbish’s eyes snapped to the Pokeball as it flew through the air and, just like the way Taylor’s heart jumped into his throat as he watched, the Trubbish gathered what had to have been the last of his strength and jumped up towards the ball. His little, lumpy trash-bag body couldn’t have risen more than six inches from the ground, but that was all he needed. In a burst of technological power that took several doctorates to understand (or a trifold pamphlet from your local Pokecenter if you were short on time) the Trubbish’s body turned into a glowing light so bright that Taylor thought he would go blind, though he didn’t stop watching for a moment. The Trubbish was then sucked into the Pokeball, which had split down the middle and opened just wide enough for the Trubbish-turned-light to slip inside. It snapped shut and dropped to the ground with an underwhelming ‘clunk’ that was underscored by the Fletchlings’ shrieks of outrage. The Pokeball shook once, almost imperceptibly, before sealing with a loud ‘click.’

Once Taylor remembered to breathe, and the oxygen returned to his brain, he jerked back towards the dumpster and tried to make himself very small and very quiet. He suddenly remembered that a Fletchling could make short work of him all on its own, and there were three flapping around furiously just a few yards away. He was right to hide, too. Usually, the local Pokemon that lived near the edges of the forest knew that attacking a human child was just begging for trouble, but these three Fletchlings were young and especially cruel. After being deprived of their toy, they may just have felt indignant enough to torment Taylor without considering either mercy or the inevitable consequences.

But they were so frustrated that they didn’t see him at all. It didn’t take long for them to become bored and fly away, plotting some kind of evil for the next Pokemon that crossed their path. Taylor waited for the silence in the alley to stretch out one, then five, then finally ten minutes before feeling confident enough to peek around the corner of the dumpster. Seeing that the alley was empty, he quickly crossed the distance to the trash heap and rummaged through it until he felt the cool, reassuring metal of the Pokeball. 

He gave it a wipe on his shirt, which stained immediately, and inspected the glowing ring around the button on the Pokeball. It was designed to indicate the health of the Pokemon within, and it now glowed a dim, dark orange so deep it was nearly red. By all rights, Trubbish should have been knocked unconscious, but he’d held out just long enough. The little Pokemon was hurt so bad that Taylor didn’t feel comfortable releasing him from the Pokeball until he had a potion ready to give him.

Taylor pocketed the newly filled Pokeball. His only Pokeball. That he had needed to catch his Pokemon. For a moment he considered just keeping the Trubbish, but remembered what he could about the trash-bag Pokemon.

A sentient bag of garbage brought to life through some unholy union between consumerist trash and toxic industrial waste. They attracted all kinds of Pokemon that thrived on that toxic waste and they breathed poisonous fumes that were said to put kids like him in the hospital. And, it almost went without saying, they were Poison type.

Taylor got the feeling that his mom was not going to be happy about this.

@@@

Taylor was so lost in thought that the ten minute trip felt like ten seconds. He stared  up at his house’s door, then delayed some more by inspecting the rest of the house. It was old, but lovingly maintained. Not always up to professional standards of course, since neither of Taylor’s parents were really very handy, and there usually just wasn’t enough extra money to call a contractor for every little thing. But what those repairs lacked in zoning code requirements, they made up for in enthusiasm and charming naivete.

Taylor wasn’t ready to face the music yet. His stomach had filled with the squirming sense of trepidation he got whenever he’d done something that wasn’t quite breaking a rule, but only because no one had thought that rule needed to be made in the first place. Taylor was a serious kid, so he got this feeling a lot. 

It was almost funny. The clever courage he’d used to face the Fletchlings seemed to have evaporated when he realized that he really was going to have to tell his mom what he’d done with his only Pokeball. He took a deep breath and walked quickly through the front door, his free hand jammed into his pocket and resting reassuringly on the Pokeball.

“Welcome home, honey!” came the voice of his mom from somewhere around a corner in the hall, likely arms deep in a new cooking project. His nose twitched as the smell of burnt food and the tang of what he’d had come to recognize as an imminent chemical reaction wafted towards him. Taylor’s mom was a good cook, but didn’t have an ounce of talent for it. Mastery of each recipe was hard-fought and hard-won; Just one of the many ways Taylor learned that not all important battles happened between Pokemon and their trainers. “How was school?”

Taylor shuffled toward where he heard the voice of his mom coming from. “Uh, school was good. I-”

“Ah! No, you can stay over there sweetie!” His mother interrupted, waving him away from where he’d been passing by. “The meringue for this pie keeps coagulating and I’m not sure why. That’s what’s making that awful smell.” Taylor didn’t know what ‘coagulating’ was, but he knew he’d never heard it said in the same sentence as ‘pie’ and took it as a bad sign. He didn’t mind keeping his distance, though the Pokeball in his pocket rattled as a soft ‘foom’ sound came from the kitchen and the stench became even stronger.

“Ok, Mom. Do you know if Dad has any extra potions?” Taylor asked, not quite ready to spill his guts about what he’d done that afternoon. Luckily, his mother was busy containing a minor biohazard in the sink.

“Of course honey! He keeps a few in the basement in case any feral Pokemon get fresh with Torra.” It didn’t occur to Taylor’s mother to ask what he needed the potion for until the garbage disposal had stopped sizzling mutinously, and by then he was long gone.

Like most basements the world over, Taylor’s was the most convenient place to put the things you didn’t think about anymore. Boxes filled with things like baby clothes, untouched free-weights, old Pokemon training equipment and, yes, medicines and potions had all found their home there. Taylor sifted through boxes of his dad’s memories. Every box he checked and discarded was filled with an old belief that even a no-name, small-town trainer could make it to the big leagues if he put in the work. It was a nice enough dream if you wanted it enough to hurt Pokemon for it, but all Taylor wanted was something to patch Trubbish up.

When he finally found the box of medicines, Taylor felt a little silly that it had taken him so long. It was a small, red-and-white plastic case mounted on the wall beside the staircase, and he hadn’t spotted it until he’d rummaged through his dad’s old things for a good twenty minutes and was getting ready to make a second pass. He went through the box, ignoring Burn-Heals and Awakeners in his singular search for a low-level potion. The Trubbish was small—and Taylor suspected young—enough that it wouldn’t need anything stronger. When he finally found the boxy, purple bottle, he took a moment to shove the cardboard boxes away from the bottom stair step to make a space for when he released his new Pokemon. 

‘His’ new Pokemon. Taylor sighed, knowing that he shouldn’t start thinking that way. He knew his mom would never let him keep Trubbish. With a shake of his head to clear away pointless thoughts, Taylor held out the Pokeball, pressed the button in the middle, and watched as a halo of light rushed out and solidified into Trubbish. He looked just as beat up as when he had made his desperate lunge into the Pokeball, though not nearly as frightened. Taylor felt a vague sense of satisfaction. He’d been right about Trubbish smelling so bad because of the stress. Now that there were no Fletchlings and no battle, Trubbish only smelled mildly offensive. That, or his mom’s ongoing experiments in the kitchen had somehow blocked his nose. Either way, he was entirely comfortable calling out, “Trubbish, come here boy. Let’s get you healed up.”

Trubbish, who had been looking around at all the boxes with interest, perked up at Taylor’s voice. He happily plodded over and smiled up at Taylor expectantly. 

Taylor knew Trubbish's typing and what anyone with eyes could see, but beyond that the Pokemon were a mystery to him. Some Pokemon were fairly straightforward and easy to understand, like Fletchlings; they were just oversized birds with bad attitudes. But many Pokemon were strange, confusing creatures, and that’s the category that Trubbish fell into. As Taylor inspected the little Pokemon, he saw that Trubbish was really wearing the trash bag. Holes had been torn for his eyes, mouth, and limbs, and even though those limbs looked vaguely like tentacles, Taylor could see that they were composed of smaller pieces of garbage all packed tightly together. Food packaging, compost, shards of glass and plastic—Taylor thought vaguely of tetanus, but not with enough certainty to make him hesitate long.

He steeled his nerve, silently thankful that all potions were equipped with spray nozzles so he wouldn’t have to help Trubbish drink it, and reached out toward the Pokemon. Trubbish smiled at the reach, entirely confident in the human who had saved his life. With one last “Trubbish!” of encouragement from the Pokemon, Taylor sprayed the potion and watched it work its magic. 

If Pokemon were mysterious, then the tools and medicines used to treat them were equally so. Trubbish didn’t drink the potion, and it didn’t seem to soak deeply into his body, but before Taylor’s eyes Trubbish grew stronger. Small tears that had littered his trash bag body sealed up, and the small pieces of garbage that intermittently flaked off his tentacle-like arms stopped falling. Trubbish, his bag a deeper shade of green and more energetic than ever, started babbling excitedly as he rushed around the room and ate any of the small pieces of trash he had left on the ground. The foul odor was even entirely gone, Taylor noted with some relief. 

Taylor laughed at Trubbish’s cheerful “Trub! Trub! Trub!” sounds as the Pokemon ran from box to box, inspecting them for more trashy treats after he’d finished snacking on all the garbage on the ground. Trubbish ignored the photo albums, baby clothes, and holiday ornaments he found, but opened his maw in a wide, toothy smile when he found the box of old Pokemon toys that Torra was ten years and about thirty pounds too old and too heavy to play with. Trubbish jumped up to catch the edge of the box and tried to climb in, but took a tumble as his weight tipped the box over and spilled out rubber balls and the shredded remains of felt mice. Taylor laughed again as he joined Trubbish by the toys and tossed a ball that the Pokemon immediately chased across the room.

It wasn’t exactly an impressive display of athleticism, like Torra had managed back when she was young and willing to play with little four-year-old Taylor, but the same swelling sense of connection filled his heart. He couldn’t explain it, but playing and bonding with the Pokemon felt like where he belonged. Trubbish toddled back to Taylor, proudly displaying the rubber ball in his grasp. But instead of handing it back, Trubbish tossed it with a mischievous “Trub!” Taylor was startled, but managed to catch it. He tossed it back again, starting a game of catch with the playful Pokemon. The two had so much fun with their game that they didn’t stop playing until Trubbish’s stomach growled, followed shortly by Taylor’s own stomach grumbling in sympathy. The boy laughed as he said, “Let’s get something to eat! Once I put Dad’s stuff away, we can go. I wonder if Trubbishes like more than just trash?”

It didn’t take long for Trubbish to get bored as he watched Taylor organize boxes back into stacks, and he just couldn’t resist following his nose (or what passed for one) when a smell wafted down the stairs. Taylor was so busy trying to figure out how to pack all the Pokemon toys in the right order to fit them back in their boxes that he didn’t even notice as Trubbish laboriously climbed the stairs into the hallway above.

The hall that ran the length of the house was new and strange to the Pokemon. Every inch of the plum colored walls was covered in framed photos, and the sound of a radio playing in the other room faintly drifted through the air. But those were all just background details to Trubbish as he followed the pungent aroma. The smell grew stronger and stronger as it led him right into the kitchen. Trubbish paid no mind to the woman laboring over the counter as he zeroed in on the trash bin, filled to the brim with an entire afternoon’s worth of failed pies. Only the bravest flies buzzed around the faintly sizzling cream that rose like a tower. Trubbish’s eyes grew wide and began to sparkle.

A smorgasbord. 

Taylor didn’t realize anything was wrong until he jumped at the simultaneous sounds of a scream, a crash, and an unholy hiss. He flew up the stairs into the kitchen and groaned, his heart sinking at the sight. His mother was throwing ladles, Trubbish was covered in caustic pie crusts, cowering behind the tipped over trash bin, and Torra, looking bigger and more vicious than he had ever seen her outside of old photos, was snarling and spitting between the two. The flaming bell around her neck rang dangerously, signaling that an intense flame was building within her throat and belly. Taylor’s mom heard the ringing bell and called out, “Torra no! Not in the house!”

Taylor’s mom shouldn’t have worried. Torra wasn’t some fresh-faced Litten who couldn’t control her fire. Trubbish would have felt some small measure of reassurance from the command if Torra hadn’t already been leaping over the trash bin, her maw open wide to deliver a lethal [Crunch.] The smaller Pokemon froze and watched helplessly as wicked sharp fangs with nothing but a dark void behind them fell on him from above. Barely pausing to think, Taylor whipped out Trubbish’s Pokeball and jammed his thumb on the button, recalling the Pokemon into the ball in a flash of light. If Taylor had been a moment slower, that would have been the end of Trubbish. Instead, Torra yowled in disgust as she chomped down on nothing but half-baked pie crusts and curdled meringue. 

She whipped her head around, looking for where the Trubbish could have gone, but relaxed when she caught sight of Taylor, Pokeball in hand and panting in the doorway. She gave him an indignant look. It was bad form to recall a Pokemon in the middle of battle to keep it from being hit. Torra conveniently pretended that she hadn’t been fully intent on killing Trubbish and sauntered off in search of a tasty treat to get the wretched taste out of her mouth.

Taylor gulped, trying to get his breathing under control. He hadn’t realized he could climb the stairs that fast until a moment ago, though his heart and lungs were adamantly declaring he shouldn’t. He ignored the coppery tang in the back of his throat, focused only on seeing how his mom would react. She’d gone very still, only slowly swiveling her head back and forth to survey the destruction around her. When she finally spoke, her voice was level and deadly calm.

“Taylor, was that your Pokemon poking around in the trash?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his throat dry. The silence was so heavy, he could hear the faint hissing of a new stain being burned into the kitchen tiles.

“What Pokemon was that, Taylor?”

“A Trubbish, Mom.”

“Okay. Okay. Okay, sweetie. We need to talk about this.”

Taylor nodded mutely. He had been afraid she was going to say that.

@@@

There was no wiggling out of this one, but the kitchen was a mess and needed to be cleaned first. Garbage from the scuffle was everywhere, and worse than that were the slimy remnants of the failed pies that had splattered all over the floor and walls when the trash bin had been knocked over. Taylor’s mom quickly scanned the mayhem again, looking for what needed cleaning first, and huffed. The sound sent a shiver down Taylor’s neck. He knew that if he wanted even a chance to somehow turn this around, he’d better say something before she did.

“I’ll help clean up!” He said, rushing off to the closet where the family kept their cleaning supplies. His mom gave him a side eye as he ran off, but he returned quickly with a mop, bucket, and even some garbage bags in hand. She looked a little more approving when he got back, and the two got to work. 

Taylor never would have thought that just one trash bin could have so much garbage that needed cleaning up, but it had been full when his mom had started baking that afternoon. They worked in silence for about five minutes before Taylor got an idea. “Um, maybe I could release Trubbish to help out? He likes eating trash.”

This would have been a sore subject at any other time, but Taylor’s mom had been making slow progress chipping away at a pile of brownish meringue that had somehow crusted over. The idea of a Pokemon that ate trash didn’t seem quite as awful as it had a few minutes ago. She looked over at her son, considered for a moment, then said, “Sure Honey, let’s see him.”

Taylor released him in a flash of light. The little Pokemon glanced nervously at his mom for a moment before noticing the feast all around him. He smiled toothily as he got to work.

“Trubbish, huh?” Taylor’s mom asked thoughtfully.

“Yeah! The ‘Trash Bag’ Pokemon is what the Pokedex calls him. I saved him from some Fletchlings on the way home. You wouldn’t believe it Mom! Trubbish was fighting them off, three on one! But there were just too many! So I threw my Pokeball to catch him, and he jumped right at it! He wanted to be caught, Mom.” Taylor, who had still been vaguely sullen just a moment before, lit up as he told the story. His mom was surprised. Taylor had always been a mild, quiet kind of boy. Now, his eyes shined as he told her about their trip to the basement and how he had played with Trubbish. It reminded her of how her husband had been when they were both kids and he had come home from a family vacation with a small, striped kitten in his arms.

“And, um, he’s really nice, and he’s really friendly, and he didn’t mean to make a mess. He was just scared of Torra. So, please let me keep him!” Taylor finished breathlessly, folding his hands as he begged. Behind Taylor and his puppy-dog eyes, Trubbish was busy licking out the last of the meringue that had found its way between the floor tiles. Taylor’s mom furrowed her brow a little as she watched.

“Taylor, sweetie, what you did was very brave and kind, but Trubbish can’t be your Starter. He’s messy, he smells; he’s just not the right fit for you. We can get you another Pokeball and-”

“But- But Pokeballs are too expensive! I can train Trubbish, I promise! I’ll feed him, and clean up after him, and he can sleep in my room!”

“That thing is not sleeping in your room!”

“Mom!” Taylor cried, indignant. 

“He’s dangerous, Taylor!” Taylor’s mom said, raising her voice. The Pokemon in question had noticed them arguing and was becoming more anxious as they raised their voices.

“So is every Pokemon!”

“But what is he good for?” Taylor’s mom shouted. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Trubbish had hidden behind Taylor’s legs as the argument got louder, though the boy wasn’t in much of a state to protect him. Taylor was glaring at his mom and biting his lip to keep from crying. Her heart stung at the sight, but she didn’t back down. “He’s a poison type, Taylor. All they do is kill. You can’t keep him.”

“T-Trubbish is my Pokemon.” Taylor said, struggling to keep his wet voice from cracking. “I saved h-him. He needs me.”

Taylor stood clutching Trubbish’s Pokeball, flushed red and on the verge of tears, and his mom’s heart twisted. She hated hurting him like this, but he just didn’t understand how dangerous poison types were. She took a step towards him, reaching an arm out to comfort him, but as soon as she moved he shot past her. Trubbish, suddenly exposed and alone, stared up at her with wide eyes full of fear for just an instant before transforming into a bright, red light. The light flew down the hallway after Taylor as his footsteps thundered down the hall.

Taylor’s mom sighed as she watched it go, then turned to inspect the kitchen. All put back, good as new, with only a few shiny tiles on the floor hinting at how they had been cleaned. She glanced at the clock, noting that her husband would be home in only a few hours. Hopefully he could talk to Taylor and make him understand.

Torra, who had watched the entire argument from the top of the fridge (and could more or less guess what Taylor’s mom was thinking) had her doubts.

@@@

You don’t need fire running through your veins to understand what was going through Torra’s head, but it would probably have helped. She was old, she was tired, and, more than anything else, she was done battling. Could she have kept it up? Sure. Could she have taken Jamie right to the top of the singles bracket? Obviously. Was that what he wanted? Obviously not. So she watched as he settled down with his sweetheart, got a regular job at a regular Pokemon Ranch, and had a kid of his own. She watched and, because she had fire running through her veins, she burned. Ten years of watching had burned her down into cinders. So, when he came back to a dark home that night, thinking he could sneak in through the back, she greeted him like she usually did; She bit him right on the rump.

He managed to jam his hand into his mouth before the yalp that followed could wake the dark household. He pried one set of teeth off him then got to work on the second, hissing, “You hellacious creature! Where does an overgrown matchbox like you get off attacking your own master, huh?”

“‘Orra, mrr ‘orra ‘at!” Was Torra’s muffled reply, her teeth still savagely clamped down.

“Whatta ya mean I’m getting predictable? What man should have to sneak into his own home, anyway? I’ve had the worst day making sure everything at the Ranch is in place for that Ranger’s visit, and now I’ve gotta put up with this!”

“Mrrow’, ‘or orra. Hh, hh, hh.”

“A great day taking out the trash? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“James, is that you?” A soft voice called. A switch flipped, and the short hall was bathed in the warm, orange light of a bulb that had been in its socket longer than its owners had lived in the house. James was half sprawled on the ground where he’d fallen in the silent scuffle. The way his long, gangly limbs folded against either wall made Lizzie giggle at the sight, despite herself. In a whirl of red and black, Torra unclamped her jaws, hopped up, wrapped herself around James’s neck, and gave Lizzie the most sickeningly smug look she could muster. Lizzie chuckled again, and the cat scowled. The possessive creature had done her level best to remind Lizzie just who was the most important woman in James’s life, but her overtures always left Lizzie unphased. James looked up at her, the long miles of his face lifting into a smile.

“You would not believe the day I’ve had.” He said, taking the hand Lizzie offered him and hauling himself to his feet. Her eyes tightened a little, but she said nothing as her husband drew himself to his full height and wrapped her in long arms. She’d never admit to the jealous cat, but this was right where she felt safest in the world; deep in James’s embrace with a rolling, smokey purr rumbling six inches above her head.

“You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.” She said into his chest.

“Did the pies not work out?”

“Well, no, but that’s not it.” Lizzie led James into the kitchen where she reheated that night’s dinner and told him about that day’s adventure. He listened thoughtfully, grunting every so often either in surprise at some detail or in appreciation from a particularly well seasoned bite of potatoes. “And now he refuses to come out of his room! He hasn’t had a bite to eat since he came home-”

“Which is a loss for him, I have to say.”

“Jimmy! You have to talk to your son. I’m sure he’ll listen to you.”

James wasn’t quite as sure himself. He worked over what he had heard silently, rolling his tongue along his teeth. Torra’s familiar weight hadn’t moved from his shoulders all throughout the story and meal, her rumbling purrs interrupted by chortles whenever she was mentioned in the retelling. James absently scratched the underside of her chin. “Taylor really caught a Trubbish in one try? Even with that flock of Fletchlings flying around?”

“Jimmy.” Liz said, her tone warning.

“I’m just saying it’s a pretty impressive throw! A Trubbish couldn’t be able to jump more than a few inches, his throw must have been right on him!”

“Jimmy, Taylor cannot keep it!”

“Him, Liz. And why not? It sounds like they’ve already bonded. How could I tear that apart?”

“It’s- He’s- A Trubbish cannot be Taylor’s starter! It’s a bag of trash!” As Lizzie became more agitated, she started to pace the length of the kitchen, rubbing her arms as if cold.

“I know I’ve shown you stranger pokemon at the Ranch. Remember that herd of Klefki?”

“It’s poison! It could hurt him!”

“Liz,” James said, rising to catch her on her fifth circuit. “You should have more faith in Pokemon. They don’t hurt the people they trust.”

“But what if he does get hurt? Three Fletchlings, James! What if he had missed? What if they had seen him? You know how Fletchlings are like. if Taylor keeps that Trubbish and they see them together-” Lizzie almost choked on a wet breath. James held her silently. He did know how Fletchlings were like when they felt something had been stolen away from them. Up on his shoulders, Torra’s eye narrowed to slits and her tail began to twitch back and forth.

James felt the motion and smiled. “Then we’ll have to make sure that Trubbish is strong enough to beat anything that comes his way. Won’t we, Torra?” 

She answered by way of a rising crescendo in her chest that made the flaming bell at her neck chime dangerously. 

“It’ll be okay, okay? I’ll go talk with Taylor.”

She finally nodded, but held James for another long moment.

When James knocked on his son’s door, light still spilling from the crack below it, he had a freshly reheated plate of food in hand. “Hey bud, I’m coming in. I’ve got dinner, okay?” Taylor mumbled something unintelligible in reply, which James took as an invitation.

Taylor had been busy all that evening. A blanket stretched from the edge of his bed to a nearby chair, anchored by several heavy Pokemon encyclopedias. Twin pairs of wide eyes look up at James from the makeshift fort, Trubbish sinking deeper into himself from where he sat in Taylor’s lap, surrounded by books and comics that they had been reading together. James glanced at the volume Taylor held limply, one of Psy-kid’s more outlandish adventures, and smiled at him. “Hey. I heard you were very brave today.”

Taylor ducked his head at the praise. “Mom got mad,” he mumbled.

“She’s worried, not mad. I hadn’t realized how aggressive the local Fletchlings have become. Did you really save Trubbish from two all by yourself?”

“There were three of them!” Taylor exclaimed, lighting up. “You should have seen ‘em! They were so mad, and I know you always say to stay away from wild Pokemon, but what was I supposed to do? They were bullying Trubbish!”

“Trub!” The small Pokemon agreed.

“That’s what makes you so brave, Taylor. And what makes your mom so worried.”

Taylor ducked his head again. He knew how dangerous getting in the middle of a wild Pokemon battle could be. His dad had shown him all kinds of Pokemon that needed to be treated at the Pokemon Ranch because of how badly they had been hurt. All Pokemon liked battling, and without any trainers to rein them in, it was easy for a battle to go too far. 

“But what’s done is done. So, there’s nothing for it but to train Trubbish.”

“What?! But Trubbish isn’t a battler! He’s just-”

“Trub! Trubbish!” The Pokemon interrupted, outraged. He crawled out of Taylor’s lap and stood before him defiantly, flexing his tiny tentacle arms in a less-than-intimidating display. James smiled and crouched down to pat him on the head. Trubbish leaned into the unexpected touch then jumped away and back into Taylor’s lap as he noticed Torra’s glittering eyes only inches away. Torra, who’d been deathly silent until that moment, smiled beatifically and began to loudly purr.

“See? Even Trubbish wants to get stronger. Taylor, I’m worried too. What if those Fletchlings try to hurt some other Pokemon? Would you really do nothing? Taylor, I’m proud of you for saving Trubbish, but you won’t have an empty Pokeball next time. It’s not always enough to be brave. It’s important that you’re strong enough to protect others, too.”

Taylor looked up at his dad with wide eyes. What would he do? He imagined seeing a flock of Fletchlings surrounding some other, poor Pokemon. He looked down at the little Pokemon in his arms. Trubbish looked back up at him, questioning. James saw something pass over his son’s face. He grinned crookedly and offered the plate of still-warm food.

“Eat up, bud. Starting tomorrow, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

@@@

Rage. Deep in her tiny chest, she was filled with a rage that never left her. A passion that threatened to consume her, that very nearly promised to consume her. What was she supposed to do? She was such a small creature that the rage was very nearly everything she was. It was almost time, she could feel it. Soon that rage would ignite, and once it did there would be no extinguishing it. It was so close, she could taste it: a coppery tang that grew stronger every day. All it would take now is one tiny, little push, and then there would be a flame that never went out.

@@@

Taylor could feel his stomach all the way down in his toes. If the training his dad had put him through had been grueling, what Torra subjected Trubbish to had been downright torture. There was only so much you could learn in a weekend, but what they had learned had sunk right into their bones, or whatever Trubbish had instead. 

“This is just the basics, Taylor. Just remember your basics,” his father had told him before rushing out the door himself. Taylor wasn’t sure how much good ‘the basics’ would do him, but the once alien weight of Trubbish’s Pokeball had become familiar on his belt. If nothing else, he finally looked the part of a plucky Pokemon trainer.

And now here he was, tagging along with his friends for a quick round of pre-school battles. The idea still made him uneasy as he pushed through a loose corner of the chain link fence that wrapped around the school property, but he was curious how his short amount of training compared to what his friends had learned since they had caught their Pokemon.

The leader of their little expedition was Billy Schmidt. He wasn’t exactly the most popular kid in their grade, but his dad ran a Technical Machine shop. The small discs sold there could teach a pokemon any number of Moves that didn’t come naturally to them, and so naturally Billy was familiar with almost any Move all the other kids could think of. His father had been so excited for little Billy’s first partner Pokemon that he had been gifted a [Crunch] Technical Machine for his Skwovet, an upgrade to the squirrel Pokemon’s already respectable [Bite].

Billy won most of the battles he took part in, which of course made him eager for more. It was hard for all the other kids to argue with [Crunch], but that didn’t stop them from trying. Taylor gulped as Billy released his Skwovet in a red flash. The little creature didn’t even reach the knees of most of the kids there, but the confident gleam in his eye, not to mention the gleam of oversized incisors, spoke of well earned confidence. The kids drifted into a loose circle and looked toward Taylor, who’d never joined them before. 

“Oh! I’m not battling,” he said with a start. “I just wanted to watch today.”

“Just watch?” Billy Schmidt asked uncertainly, his Skwovet pawing at his shoes in search of treats.

“Just watch, yeah.” All the other kids eyed the Pokeball sitting on his belt and traded glances. Every so often it would shake softly, expectantly.

“You sure? Pokemon love battling.”

“I know,” Taylor sighed. “I’m sure.”

Billy Schmidt shrugged. “Suit yourself. Katie! Skwovet needs revenge for last week!”

“As if!” The girl scoffed, a competitive glint in her eye. With a flick of her wrist and a burst of red light, an elegant Glameow landed on the grass and stretched out languidly. 

After watching Trubbish battle with Torra all weekend, Taylor couldn’t say that he was exactly impressed by the battle between the two young Pokemon. Sure, [Crunch] was as strong as ever, but only if Skwovet could actually hit Glameow, which was seldom. Between the trees, bushes, and the catty Pokemon’s own grace, Skwovet [Crunched] more flora than fauna.

It was almost reassuring to Taylor. He’d avoided watching these battles and had built them up in his mind to be these violent, chaotic fights, but the only thing chaotic about this battle was how loud they were being. So loud in fact, that they didn’t notice outraged twittering until a savage [Growl] washed over the battlefield. The two Pokemon stiffened, feeling their strength leave them, as five heads whipped around to see where the debilitating Move had come from. 

Wheeling high above their heads were three angry Fletchlings, brilliant orange plumes flashing between branches. This time Taylor’s stomach really did drop to the floor. Without losing a moment, he grabbed Billy Schmidt by the arm and dragged him behind a nearby tree as [Embers] rained down from above, flaring out quickly as they torched the forest’s grassy ground. “Skwovet! Use [Crunch]!” Billy commanded before quickly ducking back behind the tree. The squirrel Pokemon angrily scolded the Fletchlings as he scurried up a tree to execute the Move, but dark eyes tracked his path. He dodged around the trunk to avoid another flurry of [Embers], launching himself off a branch and right into the swooping path of the lead Fletchling. It would have been a magnificent interception if not for all three robin Pokemon [Growling] together, sapping Skwovet’s strength. Instead of a devastating [Crunch] that could have driven the wild Pokemon off, Skwovet’s attack barely seemed to phase her. And then he was falling.

“Skwovet!” Billy Schmidt cried in horror as his Pokemon rebounded off the ground.

“Katie! Are you okay?” Taylor yelled across the small clearing. He risked a peek around the trunk and quickly spotted where Katie and the other two girls had dived under a bush.

“Yeah, but we’ve only got Glameow over here. Missy just has Oddish and Tara’s Rattata is at home with her mom cause she got grounded last week!” Katie called back. 

“Okay, okay! Okay. Okay,” Taylor said, his mind racing. “What would Psy-Kid do?”

Trubbish’s pokeball shook violently as Billy Schmidt cried “Skwovet, dodge! Don’t-” But it was too late. The squirrel Pokemon had ignored his trainer and, intent on taking his opponent down, stood right in the way of the Fletchling’s diving [Quick Attack]. If he had been a moment quicker, his [Crunch] might have been enough to knock the wheeling robin Pokemon out of the sky, but instead the Fletchling crashed into Skwovet with a meaty thud. The pokeball in Billy’s hand chimed and flashed red as Skwovet fell unconscious, laying on the ground for a fraction of moment before being whisked off in a red light into the safety of his pokeball.

Taylor and Billy looked at each other, gulping. They didn’t have the safety of a pokeball to retreat into, and not a moment after the two came to that same conclusion another bright, white flash lit up the forest. The two boys stared in horror as some internal, hidden, biological requirement was met, and the Fletchling that had knocked out Skwovet ignited in a corona of flames. When the stars cleared from their eyes, they saw that the once tiny bird had doubled in size, gaining the sleek lines and angled body of a predator. She trilled a shriek of glory, her flaming breast swelling in pride and all signs of any exhaustion the battle may have caused her thus far gone. Her companions quickly fled. Pokemon had a sixth sense for disaster, after all, and had no interest in having any part of it. 

Gaping, Taylor didn’t have the presence of mind to object when the Pokeball at his side finally rattled loose and popped open, expelling Trubbish onto the grass. He’d sensed that something had gone terribly wrong, and as soon as he found his feet he stood between his trainer and the threat, then blanched when he finally saw the Pokemon in front of him. But the Fletchinder still wasn’t quite as scary as Torra was when all you saw were her eyes glittering in the shadows, so Trubbish quickly rallied, in a very impressed display for a creature with no lungs, blew a [Poison Gas] right up into the Fletchinder’s face. 

She gasped, choked, and shrieked in outrage. She spun, spotted Trubbish with narrowed eyes, and dove right toward him, her body wreathed in the burning fires of a [Flame Charge]. “Dodge, Trubbish! Dodge it!” Taylor screamed, taking Billy and diving out of the line of fire himself. 

“Trubbish!” The little Pokemon gasped as it somersaulted forward, narrowly missing the vicious attack. 

“Use [Pound]!” Trubbish spun around to obey and clipped the ember Pokemon. She squawked at the contact, climbing high into the air. She was really starting to feel the effects of that poison as pain shot through her body. From the safety of the air she could plan, but not for long. She glared down at Trubbish and began peppering him with [Ember] after [Ember]. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Trubbish, but stand your ground! Tough it out!”

“Truuuuuuuub!” The small Pokemon called out, hunkering down as flames fell down on his head. A foul smell filled the air as plastic began to burn, Trubbish’s bag catching fire from the onslaught. The Fletchinder crowed in exultation as Trubbish began to whimper from the pain. She covered her body in flames once more for one final [Flame Charge]. She fell on him, eyes glinting evilly.

“Now, Trubbish! Do it now!” Taylor cried, hoping and praying that this would work. Trubbish only replied with a cry of pain. The Fletchinder sneered as she raised her talons to take down Trubbish once and for all-

But that was all part of Trubbish’s [Facade]. Long hours of practice with Torra had taught Trubbish the sneaky move. At just the last moment as the Fletchinder was about to crush Trubbish, his trashy tentacle flashed out. The Fletchinder didn’t even know what hit her. With the burn giving him an adrenaline rush that doubled his power, Trubbish’s [Facade] crashed into the ember Pokemon’s neck, sending her flying into the underbrush.

For a breathless, eternal moment, Taylor waited for the Fletchinder to return covered in fire and angrier than ever. But she never came. A silence settled over the forest. Billy blinked at Taylor owlishly as the young boy rushed to his still burned Pokemon. Trubbish let out a sooty cough, but was beaming. “Oh, Trubbish! I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you to get burned! We should have-”

“Trub! Trubbish!” Trubbish interrupted, a satisfied grin on his face.

“Guys!” Came Katie’s hissing voice from the bush some yards away. “There are more!”

“Whatta ya mean there’s more? Did those other Fletchlings come back?” Taylor replied, his voice strangled. He jerked his head up and froze, looking the same direction as Billy Schmidt, who was just as deathly still. High up in the branches of the trees was a whole flock of dozens of bird Pokemon. More Fletchlings and Fletchinders than Taylor could easily count, and high, high above them all, a single proud Talonflame looked down on them. Flinty eyes glinted from the tall shadows of the trees as slowly, slowly the Talonflame unfolded its wings, spreading them wide until-

A crash shook the world. If Taylor hadn’t already been on the ground he would have been knocked clear off his feet as a shadow covered him, Billy, and Trubbish. He looked up and into the thunderous face of a Zebstrika, daring any one of the Pokemon that now teamed the air to defy him. “I think that’s enough excitement for today,” a soft voice stated. Taylor slowly crawled out from behind the Zebstrika’s protective fetlocks, only vaguely noticing a Rapidash and a stout Mudsdale similarly standing guard over the girls’ hiding place. He looked up at the small woman dressed in khaki sitting comfortably on a saddle atop the Zebstrika. Her face was calm, confident, and in command as she stared up at the Talonflame. Its eyes narrowed to slits, and for a moment Taylor was afraid it would command the entire flock to descend on them. But the Zebstrika rumbled warningly, and the Talonflame leapt into the air with a sneer and disappeared into the forest. It was only a few frantic moments more before the air totally cleared and the forest returned to a true stillness.

Taylor let out a breath he’d been holding for a long time. He clutched Trubbish tight to his chest, much to the little Pokemon’s annoyance. He chirped at Taylor disapprovingly, and the boy quickly eased his grasp. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. Let’s go to the Pokecenter and get you patched up, Trubbish.”

“No need to make an extra trip,” the woman said kindly, slipping off the Zebstrika and rummaging through her saddlebags. When she turned back around, she offered Taylor both a green tinted Burn-Heal and a Super Potion that glowed a soft orange. Taylor’s face glowed with relief as he took the two bottles and got to work restoring Trubbish to health. He didn’t even notice as the woman distributed more medicines to Billy and Katie, who had been herded over by the impressive Mudsdale. By the time she returned to Taylor’s side, the boy was holding Trubbish close again, praising him for his bravery. “You’re James’s boy, aren’t you?”

“You know my dad?” Taylor asked, looking up at the woman.

“Of course I do. He’s the liaison for the local Pokemon Ranch I’m here to check. He’d told me all about you, especially since I’m supposed to be teaching you and your class about my job as a Pokemon Ranger today.” Taylor suddenly found that he couldn’t quite meet the gaze of the Ranger, though her eyes were laughing as she spoke. The rest of the children were conspicuously more interested in the Ranger’s Pokemon than what she and Taylor were discussing, and were in fact looking for an opportunity to make a quiet escape.

“Sheila! Sheila, did you- Oh, there you are!” Exclaimed a sweaty and clearly flustered Coach Crockett. He gave each of the kids a stern look. “Alright you lot, back to class! I don’t know what mischief you’ve been up to, but Miss Sheila only has so much time for lessons today! Come on, let’s see some hustle!”

The kids quickly ran off, ducking out of Coach Crockett’s stern gaze. He turned and seemed to only just notice Taylor, who was about ready to slink off himself. “Taylor? What are you- Oh, hello! Who’s this little fella?” Coach Crockett asked, leaning down to get a better look at Trubbish. The little Pokemon hid behind Taylor’s legs, but very bravely looked back at Coach Crockett from between the boy’s knees.

“This is, er, Trubbish. He’s my partner Pokemon!” 

“Good job! I knew you  could do it, champ! And he’s a poison type too, unless I’m getting rusty. Now there’s a sneaky Pokemon! Always some trick up his, er, well. Not sleeve. But somewhere! Come on Taylor, we’re burning daylight!” And just like that, Coach Crockett had come and gone like a whirlwind, jogging off towards the school.

“You will have to tell your teacher and father what happened here. I can help though. You did a good job protecting your friends.” Ranger Sheila said, recalling her Pokemon except for her Zebstrika, whom she lifted Taylor onto to lead back to school. Trubbish clung to his back until the Pokemon could settle in behind him on the saddle.

“Good job? But I was awful! I didn’t even release Trubbish, he got out of his Pokeball all by himself! And I even let him get hurt!”

“The most important thing between a Pokemon and their trainer is trust, Taylor. You trusted Trubbish when he escaped on his own, and Trubbish trusted you when you had a strategy for the battle. A Pokemon Ranger’s job is to help build and protect that trust between entire communities of people and Pokemon, you know.”

“It is?”

“That’s what I did between you and that Talonflame, isn’t it? Though, it only works if people and Pokemon are willing to trust and learn about each other, which means no more going out into the forest without an adult and a good reason, ok?”

“Sure! Of course! Um, so you help people live together with Pokemon? Even dangerous ones?” Ranger Sheila glanced at Taylor, wondering if he was talking about the Talonflame.

“Sometimes the best way for a Pokemon to get along with people is to stay far away from them.”

“Oh.” Taylor slumped.

“But not most Pokemon. After all, Pokemon don’t hurt the people they trust.” Taylor lit up and Trubbish cheered and hugged him from behind. Ranger Sheila smiled at the sight. “I think you’ll really like what I have to teach your class today. Look forward to it, Taylor, cause once we get back to campus, I’ll show what a Ranger really can do.”

Zebstrika brayed in agreement, more than ready to show off. 

Taylor beamed.