IN CASE OF SELF-DOUBT
The Poochyena opened his eyes in response to the roaring crackle of thunder and bright white light, anxiously glancing around the room. The illumination was gone as fast as it came. Inhale, exhale. He was safe here.
The Dark-type couldn't quite remember where exactly they were, blaming his amnesia on the fact that he was beyond exhausted when he had originally arrived. Arceus knows where he might have been taken while he was out cold. A headful of thoughts and worries held the small canine away from getting some shut-eye – not to mention the dull ache on his side. That Nosepass really did a number on him.
He had curled up on the foot end of a human-sized bed, nestled comfortably in between his trainer's feet, trying to sleep but failing to do so. With a resigned sigh, the Pooch resorted to examining his surroundings. The lack of stimuli calmed him to some degree. A small room, off-white brick walls, wooden floor boards. Two glass windows – prominently displaying a cold, dark night outside – stood across a closed wooden door and the bed. A desk with the human's backpack on it sat underneath the windows, a simple oaken chair just in front of it.
The continuous pitter-patter sound of rain hitting the glass window filled the room. In a way, it was rather soothing. Ordinarily he wouldn't quite enjoy rain as it equalled getting wet, but in this particular instance, he had shelter. Despite the noise of the weather, the canine couldn't help but notice the barely audible snoring behind him. On one hand it was annoying and contributed to his lack of sleep, but simultaneously it was reassuring. The snoring was always there – it was something he could fall back on, it was known and trusted. And he needed something to fall back on because his mind was haunted by one of the nastiest among negative emotions: self-doubt.
He'd prove himself to his trainer – he had to. But could he? What if, what if?
That kid, sporting black hair and a perpetually confident grin, had such wild aspirations, even though he was only fourteen years old. Something silly about becoming the very best trainer Hoenn had ever seen. The Poochyena didn't quite know what to make of it, yet he looked up to him, in more ways than one. Although the Pooch was not all that good at showing it, deep down, he felt that his trainer meant the world to him. In part because he had no place or home to return to, but mostly because the human did his utmost best to raise the Dark-type, even though he had not always been the most co-operative of Pokémon. And for that powerful spirit, the dedication and love, he could only be grateful.
Poochyena's thoughts wandered off towards past times. Their meeting had been somewhat cliché, if anything. On his part, it looked much like a search for berries gone wrong. Although with respect to the experiences with his trainer, he was still divided on whether the concept of 'wrong' was misplaced there. What would have happened if the human wasn't there? Where would the Pooch be right now? Would he have led a happier life? For some inexplicable reason he considered that last thing unlikely, but still, the thought lingered in his mind.
He remembered a conversation from just earlier tonight, between his trainer and another female human that looked much older (and more mature). The Poochyena had curled up in his trainer's arms, broken and battered yet kept safely in the kid's embrace. He could understand human speech for the most part, though he was unable to produce it himself. The woman had asked about why the small canine never spent any time inside his Pokéball, to which the kid replied that "the pup doesn't like it in there". This made the Dark-type proud; he had managed to convey his preference for walking around freely in some way. Even now, at night-time, he much preferred half-sleeping on a real bed. It felt more 'real'. The stormy night and his self-doubts gave him enough to mull over.
His line of thought was broken by the loud groan of thunder. The outside of the windows flashed for a split second, bathing the small room in blinding light. The delay between the flash and the roar of nature had increased slightly, so the storm seemed to be farther away. Maybe it was going to stop?
The Pokémon cast a glance at the kid and couldn't help but droop his ears. Still as knock-out as he had been five minutes ago. A Charizard wreaking havoc in the same room wouldn't have been enough to wake him up, it seemed. The Poochyena was somewhat jealous of his trainer's carefree snoring. His eyelids felt heavy but there was so much to contemplate.
So, back to the friendly lady. The minutes that led up to the Poochyena's bruised and exhausted state were stressful, to say the least. The kid and the woman – Roxanne? – exchanged words for a few moments, and a blink of an eye later the pup was pouncing on a Nosepass. Much to his dismay, the weird Rock Pokémon managed to dodge the incoming attack and responded by unceremoniously slamming a stone the size of the Pooch himself into the canine's side, throwing him to the ground a bit further away. And it hurt. He kept going for a little while longer. Sadly, he didn't last.
The duo had went in with hopes held high, but the Dark-type's stamina was quickly crushed under several layers of stone – quite literally. And now the Poochyena felt sore all over.
But he would get over it. He would train harder, and harder, until he was strong enough to take on that pesky girl and her Rock-type Pokémon. He would show his trainer that he could do it, that the kid had not misplaced his trust. He closed his eyes, his mind finally clear as he slowly dozed off. Inhale, exhale.
He'd prove himself to his trainer. He had to. He could do it.