He was dreaming. Strange, since he couldn't remember if he'd dreamed when he woke up. Maybe he'd forget this one too. Maybe this happened to all his other dreams. He wasn't really sure.

You are an odd one.

The voice was somewhere, everywhere—around? Echoing. It was dark in the dream and he couldn't really see, feel anything. Just a peculiar awareness that said he was here, existing in this plane. "How do you mean?" He could speak, at least.

The voice appeared—reappeared? It was like he'd always been there, anyway. The voice—he—was small, covered in green light with little starbursts in a myriad of colors, pulsing and spinning like a thousand suns. Just what I said. Odd. You are an odd one.

He didn't say anything. He stared at the voice. The little thing was familiar, like he'd seen him before. A drawing, a picture. Stories or legends or something else. Big eyes studied him, the little thing's body bobbing lazily in the dark. The silence was heavy. "You're not supposed to be here." And that, felt like a truth. He was positive of this.

I know. He said unapologetically. But I was curious. You are something different. Odd, like I said.

"But what does that mean?"

Your first impulse is violence—to hurt before bad things happen. But… you do not do it on a whim, or a need to alleviate boredom. He said, moving close, big eyes intent on him. I have seen much and been through much, and yet there are very few like you. Odd ones. With leashed violence in their blood.

"Is that a bad thing?" He felt that he should care but he didn't feel the need to react to the thing's words. He was strangely empty of any feeling.

The thing disappeared but his voice echoed still. Like a drop of water splashing in a dark, solitary room. Like I said, there are very few like you. But none of you have ever been bad—

And then he woke up.

Rye stared at the clock, four. Like always. He stood up went to the bathroom, did his business, brushed his teeth. He didn't dream, like always.

XLX

Rye was waiting for Ham outside the room his Rattata, Kirk, was put in. V was sitting with him, leaning against Rye's leg, as still as he was. Ros was standing in front of the vending machine down the corridor, his face scrunched up as he looked up at the huge selection of junk food behind the thick glass as he decided what kind of snack he wanted to buy.

Rye had given him some change and extracted the promise of not breaking the machine under any circumstances. Ros had promised, albeit reluctantly, and then went on to his grand quest of choosing the best junk food out of everything on the display. He thought that Trainers didn't really feed their Pokémon junk food but that thought was distant. Ros ate healthy enough and the snack was so he'd sit still for a few. He just thanked whatever's out there that Ros didn't really like sweets. Small graces and all that.

God help them all.

Rye didn't really know what he was doing here waiting. Ham and Kirk didn't need him anymore. He'd helped them already with Kirk's leg and getting that Teleport-capable Pokémon so he should be on his way to Fuschia, challenging the Gym Leader there and training with Artur. It'd take at least two months to get there on foot. He knew he should get going, but here he was, waiting.

"Treecko-treecko."

Rye sighed. "I know. But leaving… feels wrong."

V kept his silence and jumped on the chair next to him and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes never leaving the door to Kirk's room. A bare few seconds later he looked up at Rye and said, "Treecko-tree. Tree."

Rye chuckled weakly, his hand resting on Venero's head. "Maybe. But would that be so bad?"

V gave a short shake of his head and smiled a little. And for Rye, who'd very rarely seen his best friend show much emotion, that was a gift.

Ros came back a little bit later with a bag of spicy potato chips brandished triumphantly between his claws. He looked up at Rye and handed him the sealed bag, wanting him to open it up. Rye smiled softly and obliged.

Ros grabbed the opened bag and slithered up the seat next to him, looking decidedly happy as he crunched on the spicy-salty chips. He offered some to Rye and Venero when he demolished almost half, holding out the bag with his mouth and claws dusted red from the pepper flakes. They declined and Ros hissed happily and finished the chips off, licking salt and pepper powder from his claws with relish, nosing inside the bag for crumbs.

Rye grabbed a bottle of water from his bag and opened it, silently handing it to Ros. That was a mistake. Ros drank some and poured water over his head, drenching the plastic chair, the excess dripping off to the tiled floor. He ended up emptying the bottle. And then he proceeded to play around in his mess, rolling and splashing until the water turned murky.

It happened so fast.

Rye sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "And now I have to clean up this mess and give you a bath. The salt'll get between your scales and then you'll be itchy and uncomfortable."

Rostik grinned up at Rye and splashed some more water. "Snivy. Snivy, snivy. Sni-sni-snivy-sni."

His right eye twitched. "You could've just asked for a bath, you know?"

"Snivy, sni?" A sly smirk, those red eyes dancing with an unholy glee.

Rye narrowed his eyes and poked Ros on the chest. "No more junk food for you."

"Snivy!" He stopped splashing and looked at Rye with wide, terror-filled eyes.

"No." Flat, final.

Ros stomped his foot on the chair, splashing Rye with dirty water. He grimaced and glared at Ros when he raised his foot to do it again. He lowered it slowly but then kicked water at his shirt. He snickered, covering the sound with his claws but Rye heard it anyway.

"No more junk food for a month."

Ros gasped; shocked that he could utter such blasphemy. "Snivy, sni!"

"Not gonna change my mind." He stared in dismay at his shirt.

"Snivy, snivy! Sni-sni-snivy! Snivy-sni!"

"Calling me a gutless peasant won't change it either."

"Snivy-snivy."

"Where do you learn these words?"

Ros hissed and went quiet for a couple of seconds. He bowed his head and snapped it back up, waving his claws frantically in the air, making small, pitiful hisses in his throat. On cue, tears started streaming down his cheeks. "Snivy! Snivy! Snivyyyyyyy!"

"Pokémon cruelty my foot. You're fed, groomed regularly, I spoil you against my better judgment—nobody's abusing you." He pretended he didn't see the way the nurses and doctors and the Chansey eyeing them with concern. He stared Rostik down who saw that no one was paying them any significant attention.

He abruptly stopped and glared at Rye. He crossed his arms over his chest and turned away, snout titled up in the air. "Snivy."

"Apologizing in that tone doesn't convince me anymore than being called a peasant."

"Sniiiiiivy!"

"Whining won't help either."

Venero looked at his Trainer and his teammate, sighing inaudibly and closing his eyes. This was going to take a while.

"Snivy-snivy. Sni. Vee."

That. That—he wasn't going to take that lying down. "I'll show you despot, you little—"

"Snivy!" He ran down the hall, wrapping a passing Chansey in his vines and putting it in Rye's path. Ros laughed and waves his vines in the air, calling him rigid and please take out the stick up his ass so he wasn't unbending all the time. Among other things.

Rye moved around the stunned and bewildered Chansey, apologizing as he ran. "I'm going to hang you by your little claws when I get my hands—get back here!"

Venero sighed and followed them out.

XLX

Kirk was asleep but Ham was very, very awake. He was sitting beside the incubator-like machine Kirk was placed in, soft blue blankets cushioning him, a small pillow keeping his leg elevated, with wires leading from his chest area connecting to beeping medical equipment that monitored his heart. On his lap, Natu was asleep, tired from the battle with a very strong Pokémon and using a subsequent Teleport to take seven living beings to Vermilion.

Rye, the guy that saved Kirk's life was a pretty experienced Trainer from what Ham could remember in that hazy, warbled time when he thought Kirk was dead and he'd felt like the world was ending and everything was falling apart and it was all his fault.

He'd patched up Kirk, fixed that broken leg that had made that awfully sickening final crack, and made it so Kirk was going to be able to walk and run and battle again.

.

But Ham really didn't care about any of that, he was just glad that Kirk was alive.

His eyes burned but he forcefully shove the tears back. He wouldn't cry. There wasn't a reason to. Kirk was fine and he was fine and the jerk was going to prison and have his license revoked.

When Ham and Rye's Pokémon had gone back after just ten minutes of searching for Natu, they'd rushed back and he had been ready to order the Teleport when Rye had him wait a moment and had his other Pokémon, a snake thing that was probably a Grass type drag the jerkface and his stupid Golduck with them. He'd been surprised and angry but Rye just looked at him and said, "Trust me."

And somehow, someway, Ham did. He'd already done so much for them. If he couldn't trust the guy that saved Kirk's life, well, who could he trust?

Ham closed his eyes and breathed deep, holding Natu closer against him, curving his body around the little bird. "Thank you." He said. Natu sleepily nuzzled against him but didn't wake up.

He picked at the bandages on his right hand. He'd almost forgotten that he was hurt too. A doctor treated his hand, plucked out the smaller pieces of metal stuck in his cuts, stitched him up, and bandaged his hand. He'd been given medicine and pain killers though he'd insisted he didn't need them. He couldn't really feel it, not then, not now.

Ham sighed and continued watching Kirk; the beeps of the machine making his eyes feel suddenly heavy. He didn't wake up when Rye went in the room with Nurse Joy, his snake Pokémon dangling in his grip, knocked out and wrapped in duct tape.

XLX

"Ros, keep them from hitting Artur. Artur, ammunition."

Ros grabbed a large chunk of ice with his vines, dragging it where Artur was firing bubbles in the air and freezing it with controlled bursts of Ice Beam. Rye was impressed, and proud, that Artur had managed to get that particular variation of Ice Beam in a few short days. A Thunderbolt glanced off the ice, shocking Ros a little but he quickly untangled his vines before he got damaged more.

They'd already knocked out the Walrein but the Clefable was bulky and had attacks that proved very problematic for both Rye's Pokémon.

"Clefable, Fire Punch!"

"Artur, Twister, loaded. Ros, far side. Stand by."

Artur dived down the pool and created a fairly sizable funnel of water and energy, the frozen bubbles, drifting lazily in the pool, got sucked up by the torrent, some breaking, some remaining whole as Artur directed all that power to the Clefable who'd stopped in her charge but kept flames burning on her paw.

"Thunderbolt, now!"

"Ros, restrict."

Ros's vines snapped out from beneath his collar, wrapping around the other Pokémon's body, aborting both attacks as she was slammed once on the ground—Ros growled and spun, flinging the Clefable toward the Twister. She flailed weakly, dazed from being slammed on the ground. The Twister hit her, ice and shards of broken ice pelting her body.

The Twister went on for a second, two, three, before it died down. Ros slithered on Rye's side of the field, Artur resurfacing and looking proud and pleased with himself. He trumpeted and breached the pool, spinning in the air once before splashing back down.

Rye smiled a little but kept focus on the battle. The last Twister had been powerful and with the initial damage Ros had done, it would have knocked out most Pokémon.

Then again, Clefable and her Trainer weren't like most. "Get up, girl. Use Softboiled!" Clefable stood up, teeth gritted and growled. She formed an egg-shaped ball of pure energy between her paws and swallowed it. Her injuries had all but disappeared, but she was panting. Rye was glad that it didn't cure exhaustion. Small mercies and all that.

"Artur, ammunition again. Ros, Leaf Blade." Ros slithered up to Clefable, his edged leaf tail already glowing a bright, bright green. Artur did as he was told, firing off bubbles and freezing them.

"Clefable, Thunderbolt! On the ground!"

Ros heard the directive and aborted the Leaf Blade, slammed his tail on the ground and jumped up, a vine shooting for Artur down by the pool. Artur squealed in surprise but relented as Ros pulled him out of the water. The Thunderbolt hit a split-second later, travelling to the pool, melting most of the ice and making shards of electricity crackle off the stone and tiles. Someone on the sidelines had thought fast and had put a Light Screen around the field.

Ros arrowed straight down Clefable, her body crackling with residual electricity. Rye whistled, caught Ros and Artur's attention. "Send him first. Artur, Ice Beam."

Ros's vine cocked back, Artur braced, breathing deep—and threw. Artur trumpeted loudly, merely a foot apart from Clefable before releasing an intense stream of frigid energy. The Ice Beam hit, pushing Artur backward even as Clefable attempted to brave the attack.

"Slick slash." Ros grinned—Artur passed him by, still holding onto the Ice Beam but Rye knew not for longer. Ros's edged tail shone a silvery metal; Artur let go of the Ice Beam—Ros tucked into himself and spun, building momentum—

There was a loud smack as he hit Clefable right on the face with the Iron Tail, stopped—his tail turning bright green, using his vines to balance and slamming the Leaf Blade on Clefable's body. She cried out and stumbled, fell backward.

Rostik slithered on Rye's side of the field and plucked Artur out of the air and gently placed him on the pool. Artur looked exhausted but ready to fight, his chest heaving a little, the scales on his chest plate shifting with each breath. Ros smirked at the fallen Clefable and her Trainer.

Rye waited. Ready to call out an attack.

"You can do it, Clefable! Softboiled!"

But she couldn't and she collapsed in a faint. Rye went over the edge of the pool and petted Artur, chuckling softly when Artur jumped from the pool and spun again. "You did fantastic. We're gonna work on your endurance after you get some rest." Artur agreed and his eyes smiled up at him. They'd gone a long way. Rye recalled him with the intention of going good on his promise for that rest as soon as they wrapped up.

Rostik slithered up to him, arms crossed, red eyes narrowed, snout tilted in the air. He looked bored though a little bit scuffed. Rye scratched under his chin and said, "Fantastic." Ros puffed up and smirked. "Though the shift between the last attacks was a little bit off."

Ros glared and hissed at him indignantly. "Snivy! Snivy, snivy, sni!"

Rye chuckled when Ros batted his hands away. "Fine, fine. You were perfect. Don't let that get to your head."

Ros grinned and allowed Rye to pet him.

"That was amazing, you know?" Carey, Rye's opponent, said, Clefable's Pokéball in her hand, presumably. She looked depressed at the loss, and was staring sadly at the ball in her hand. "I'm a League contender, got eight badges and was gonna challenge the Elite Four. But you beat me."

She sighed and held out her hand. Rye stood up, Ros wrapped around his neck. "Clefable gave me a run for my money, though. She was tough." He shook her proffered hand.

Carey sighed again. "I know. But I lost. To two unevolved Pokémon. If I can't beat them, what chance do I have against the Elite Four? I'm even having doubts trying to get through Victory Road."

Rye shrugged. "It's your call."

There was an awkward, humming silence. When he didn't say anything else, Carey looked disappointed though Rye didn't know why. Then, "Any advice? I mean, you're older than me so you have to have some kind of—I dunno, pointers?"

Rye looked away, eyes widening slightly when he saw the amount of people who'd been watching in the sidelines. He frowned and turned back to Carey, who was watching him with wide, expectant eyes.

He grimaced and stared at his steel-toeds. They needed polishing. "Well… try letting your Pokémon fight by themselves, adjust your battle style with theirs. They are the ones on the field, not you." Ros hissed an affirmative on his shoulder. "Don't let them get dependent on you. You won't always be there to call the shots." Rye knew that, knew firsthand what happened to Pokémon who became entirely dependent of their Trainers. They became paralyzed, unsure of themselves in a situation that called for their own judgment.

Handicapped.

Pokémon like that rarely survive.

Carey looked thoughtful and stared at Clefable's Pokéball in her hand. "I guess you're right… Your Pokémon didn't have to be told to dodge—they did it instinctively, like what any sane person would have done, I guess." She sighed again. "I have a lot to learn."

Rye shrugged and thanked her again for the battle before heading for the Center so Rostik and Artur could get healed.

It'd been eight days since that debacle with Ham and Kirk. Rye hadn't had a chance to really talk to Ham since then, having had his time eaten up by the police questioning him and his actions—repeatedly—training Artur, and battling Trainers.

When he did have time though, he found Ham asleep by his Rattata's side, with his Natu asleep on his lap.

Nurse Joy had told him they were getting Ham to eat and rest and bathe so Rye didn't have anything to worry about. Rye didn't say anything. Business was pretty much done in Vermilion so he was wondering why he was staying here anyway. But he did stay. And that was probably the most baffling thing of all.

Rye handed Nurse Joy his Pokémon and waited, scrolling the jobs ads on the bulletin by the counter, available for Trainers and travelers who were low on cash or wanted a break from training. He'd accepted a couple of jobs the past few days, mostly regarding pacifying wild Pokémon. He'd made pretty good money on those.

Nurse Joy came back and gave him Ros and Artur's Pokéballs, smiling briefly before hurrying to another Trainer on the other side of the counter.

Venero appeared out of nowhere and leaned against his leg, eyes on the Center lobby. Rye released Ros who hopped down the counter and started a conversation with V—bragging, boasting. Rye didn't pay them any mind, he'd break them up if it came to blows—not that it was a regular occurrence, he'd just learned to always, always pay attention.

Rye figured that he could go out back again, battle or train with Rostik and Artur. He did promise that they'd work on some things.

Decided, he whistled for V and Ros to stop whatever the hell it was they were arguing and headed out. They were training today. It'd keep Rostik distracted and, if Rye paced it right, Artur caught up with V and Ros's level.

XLX

Ham was slowly making his way to the beaches at the north side of the city. It was isolated there, with sharp rocks and a sheer cliff face bordering the stretch of sand to the mainland. He'd been there before with his sister, when they visited the city. She said that that was a good place to train in Vermilion—only those that didn't want to be bothered came there.

He was looking for Rye, who'd been nothing but help to him and from what Nurse Joy had said, had been there to check up on him from time to time. Ham felt guilty about that. The guy had spent ten days in the city and checked up on him and he hadn't even spared him a thought.

So, Ham was looking for him. Just to say thanks. At least. Ham owed him that much.

Kirk was walking with him, his leg encased in metal braces that supported but not hindered movement, with Hope perched on Ham's shoulder, tweeting at the new and unfamiliar surroundings. She didn't seem uncomfortable though, more curious and fascinated. Nurse Joy said that Kirk was fine now and it would be a good idea to have him walk on his own and keep him outside since the technology in the Pokéball would attempt repair on his leg and that would not be good. He hadn't known that.

It took a few hours and half a dozen breaks but they finally got to the beach. Kirk was very tired and Ham had to carry him when they reached the sands. Kirk dozed in his arms, burrowing against his chest. Hope chirped at Kirk, concerned but Ham told her that he was fine and he was just asleep.

"Artur, keep time with the metronome. Steady—keep that Ice Beam steady. That's it. Keep it up."

Ham hurried to where he heard the sound of attacks being fired and Rye's steady voice cutting across the quiet stillness. He'd heard that voice in his sleep, awake, telling him that Kirk was going to be fine. It kept him from going completely crazy most times.

"No! You'll tire yourself out that way! Steady, Artur. Pace yourself. Keep time with the metronome."

Ham cleared a large section of rocks with a lone driftwood tree stretching spider-like limbs to the sky. He saw Rye on the surf, his Horsea, apparently Artur, bobbing gently with the waves while firing an Ice Beam at a large rock on the shore. His two other Pokémon were a ways away, perched on a large boulder, eyes closed in a patch of sunlight.

Now that Ham was here, though, he felt out of place. Hope chirped on his shoulder and nibbled his ear. He smoothed his hand over her crest, wondering if he should come forward or something. It just felt awkward standing there doing nothing.

So, Ham took a seat on the sand, and watched Rye train his Horsea.

XLX

He must've fallen asleep at some point since he woke up on his side, facing the beach. Kirk and Hope huddled close to him. There was a blanket covering them. Ham yawned and slowly sat up, searching for Rye, half-expecting him to have gone back to the city. The guy didn't owe him anything after all.

"Oh, hey. You're awake."

Ham turned to his right and saw Rye, eating jerky from a Ziploc bag. Rye saw him eyeing the dried pieces of meat and silently offered him some. Ham dusted his hands on his shirt and took one. They were salty and spicy, slightly tough but good.

"What're you doing out here?" He asked.

The bluntness took Ham slightly off-guard but Rye didn't sound annoyed or anything like that. "I just… I want to say thanks. For helping me and Kirk. And for helping me catch Hope." He touched his Pokémon, fur and feathers, their bodies warm and alive against his hand.

Rye offered him a bottle of water, the plastic seal still limning the cap. He drunk a fourth and ate the rest of his jerky. Rye was quiet, not acknowledging his thanks. That was fine though. Ham didn't expect anything. He just wanted some way to show his thanks even if the words didn't span the enormity of his feelings.

And then Rye spoke.

"The guy's name is Leonard Shanks. He's a wanted Trainer, apparently. He's been traipsing across the region challenging younger and newer Trainers and leaves their Pokémon for dead if he doesn't kill them outright. Why? I don't know." Rye said softly. He was rolling a Pokéball in his hand, his eyes trained on a point far in the sea. "He'll go to jail—fifty years according to Officer Jenny. His license has been revoked and the rest of his Pokémon will be rehabilitated."

Rehabilitated? Ham stared at Kirk, sleeping soundly with the braces on his leg. It would come off two days from now but still. "The Golduck…" He trailed off. He didn't want to sound… heartless. But maybe he was. He didn't know anymore. That encounter twisted him up, made him feel confusing things.

He hadn't known he could hate that much. Not when he'd been bullied and pushed around and beat up and teased and made fun of. He hadn't known he could even feel that kind of emotion.

"Dead. He tried to kill me when he woke up at the Center. Officer Jenny intervened."

Ham tried to feel bad about the Golduck dying, he really did, but the braces was still on Kirk's leg and he really couldn't feel guilty about being that. "Is it bad that I don't feel bad?" He asked.

Rye was silent for a moment before turning to look at him. "If it's a choice between you or you're Pokémon and a stranger? Someone or something wanting to do you or yours harm? Feeling bad is stupid and unnecessary. Don't. There's no point."

Rye's words were blunt. Hard and painful and true.

His sister had told him that life outside was different. That there were things and people and lessons that he would come across that would be hard to understand much less accept. Being a Trainer isn't a life of glory paved with tears of fallen foes and the strength of Pokémon partners.

It was dangerous. It was hard. It was painful. It was sad.

But it could and would be the most rewarding experience of his life.

Ham hadn't really understood that, not when he'd been sitting across from her and she was saying these things with a fervent, haunted look in her eyes, her voice soft and edged like a knife. Watching Kirk get hurt and almost die was an eye-opener. He was responsible for his Pokémon, every decision he made would affect everything whether he wanted them to or not.

Training wasn't rainbows and sunshine and candy. He'd told himself that he wasn't like the kids back home, who'd watched the documentaries about Red, about how a ten-year-old had been able to bring down Team Rocket and beat the Elite Four with only his Pokémon by his side.

He was a hero.

But Ham was starting to think that he was a bad example too. Still, he couldn't deny the fact that he'd been charmed by that—the Dream.

"What're you going to do now?" Rye asked.

Ham looked up at him. Rye stared back, dark eyes cold and flat. Ham wanted to look away but didn't. The moment felt important, like the first step to something great, something bigger than himself. He took a deep breath, the sand was cool in his hands, the blanket—Rye's he guessed—wrapped around his shoulders. The sun was starting to set; the sky was this brilliant red and pink lemonade, with gold and yellow like the fur of a Pikachu. "Badges won't earn themselves."

Author's Note: Review dear readers! I wanna know what you think about this story so far, if you liked it or it sucked or whatever. Thanks!