Tepig

Tepig looked down at Ponyta's body, feeling almost numb to what had happened. Her face, which in hindsight had been so pretty and innocent, was no more, and neither was the mind that was held behind that face. Tepig sighed, resigning to the left corner of her grave. So many were there that it was almost a shock. But Ponyta had been Lady Rapidash's daughter, and Lady Rapidash was a well-resepcted figure within the Fire Nation. Of course there was going to be a large, grieving crowd because of Ponyta's demise. Why wouldn't there be?

Tepig raised his head and looked around the crowd. He didn't want to look at Ponyta's body anymore, not because it disturbed him, though. It was because it didn't, and the little feeling that he had when he saw his friends' destroyed corpse sitting in a ditch two feet deep in front of him scared him. Why didn't he at least feel guilty? Why wasn't the horror of the situation engulfing him as it had when it had happened, when he'd seen her head splatter and fly in every direction? What had he become?

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a voice calling his name. He turned, looking behind him to see Fennekin standing there. Her face was grave, and Tepig could see dark circles under her eyes. Of course she hadn't slept the night before. No one had slept, not after the attack. It was a miracle that they were able to push back the Ground Nation forces as they had, though it hadn't been easy. And it had cost a lot. No more trainees besides Ponyta had died, thank Arceus, but that was just as they knew of.

When Tepig had come to that morning, Flareon had informed him of everything, even though he had insisted that Tepig wouldn't want to hear it. But Tepig did want to hear it, he wanted to hear it all. After he had passed out, Monferno had been rushed to the hospital, which Fire Nation soldiers had managed to clear of any Ground Nation troops. Meanwhile, a battle had ensued outside of Furnace. When all was said and done, the Ground Nation had been pushed back two miles from the city before Senator Garchomp ordered them all the retreat. It had been a victory for the Fire Nation, but with significant losses. They'd lost roughly nine hundred troops in battle, nearly double what the Ground Nation's estimated losses had been. Coupling that with the three hundred civilians killed in the attack, fifty of them children younger than Tepig himself, and the crippling weight of their pyrrhic victory came crashing down on Tepig like a ton of bricks.

And now here he was, staring into Fennekin's eyes, knowing that she was the only one left. They'd both gotten word of Charmander and Torchic's disappearances during the battle just a few short hours ago, and the two of them hugged and kissed each other as they cried. Tepig knew in his heart that they had to be dead. There was just no possible way that they were alive, not after everything that had happened in that battle. Not after the stories that Fennekin came back with of the horrendous betrayal of the Ground Nation on their Water Nation allies, nor after the fight Fennekin had nearly lost a battle with (who else but?) Senator Empoleon's son.

And the feeling came back to him again, the old familiar one of guilt and deception as he looked into her loving eyes, twisting his face in a fashion to mimic it, because he knew in his heart that he didn't love her. And a part of him deep within told him that he had never loved her, that he'd only been with her because he needed someone to help him achieve the status of a life he didn't think was worth living. The dark thoughts that had clouded his mind since his parent's deaths were back, and they were growing stronger and stronger by the minute.

And then she hugged him, and they seemed to engulf him, and he wanted to scream. She said something to him, and he didn't know what it was, but he felt like he knew what the correct response was. "I'll always be here for you," he said, and he knew while he said it that it was a lie, and that he'd only said it so she would believe him. "I love you," he added, and he hoped that it sounded genuine. Fennekin pulled back and smiled. She kissed him, and he obliged, kissing her back. All the while he felt nothing, just a cold empty cavern in his heart.

Tepig averted his gaze from her and looked back down at Ponyta's body. The body was set neatly in a wooden casket, a casket whose cover was being lowered onto it. Why did they do it like that? Why didn't they just keep the casket closed the whole Arceus-damned time and leave the memories of the dead with the living, leave them in everyone's head as they had been alive? No, no, can't do that, nope! Why not? Tepig didn't know. Tepig didn't care. But he did, somehow.

I just don't want to be here, he said to himself. I just don't want to see her get buried.

But the truth was he didn't care. And his heart raced because he didn't.

The service was led by Senator Typhlosion. It lasted an hour, and in that hour, Tepig barely heard anything. Typhlosion talked about life and death, of how Ponyta was certainly with her father and with Arceus right now, there in the sky, and Tepig wanted to believe him, but a part of him thought that maybe he wasn't right. That was what scared him the most. What if Arceus wasn't real? What if he was just a comfort, like Fennekin was a comfort for him, not something to be loved, just something to be accepted because it made them feel better? Tepig didn't want to think like that, but his worn-out, stressed, depressed mind caused those thoughts to flourish in his brain.

When the service was over, everyone began to break apart. Everyone had work to do now, and everyone needed to do what they could to repair their broken city. Fennekin looked at Tepig, the raw emotion of sadness in her eyes. "We should go see Monferno," she suggested, "see how he's doing."

Tepig nodded. "Yeah," he managed to utter, powering through the urge to keep his mouth shut. Fennekin stared at him for a moment more, then began to walk towards the hospital. She knew he just wanted to be alone to collect his thoughts for a minute. She was a good person. It would be a shame, he realized, when he would be forced to break her heart.

Suddenly, Tepig heard someone behind him call out his name. He turned, and was almost blinded by the fire that was blazing in front of him. Except it wasn't a fire, but Lady Rapidash. She stood up straight on all four legs, as though she were preparing to face a battle that would last for a long time. Her mane glowed; even in the sunny afternoon it was easily discernible from the sun. She looked at Tepig for a long time without saying anything, and he could see on her face that she was trying to get the words out. He waited, impatient, for her to say something.

At last, she did speak, and looked him directly in the eyes as she did so. "Thank you," she said, "for trying to save my daughter's life. Monferno said he heard you say you were going to protect her and me… I just wanted you to know that I know. And I want you to know that there's nothing that you did that was wrong. You tried to save her and even though… even though this happened… I won't forget that."

Tepig nodded. "Thank you," he said. "And I'm sorry for your loss."

"As am I," Rapidash said, and she bowed her head to him. "Have better days, Tepig."

Tepig nodded back, and said hollowly, "I hope you do too."

Rapidash stared at him for a moment more. Then she turned towards her daughter's grave and stared into it, seemingly contemplating what she was going to do now that the only thing in this world that she had loved was gone. And Tepig almost felt guilty, not because she had died practically in his arms, not because of the mangled corpse that she had become, but because he didn't really care how Rapidash felt. Everything felt almost fake. Perhaps that was grief acting on him. But he didn't think so. For some reason, he just didn't think so.

"Tepig!" he heard Fennekin holler from behind him. "You coming?"

Tepig turned from Ponyta's grave, and heard the first shovelful of dirt fall upon her casket. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah." And he walked away, leaving Rapidash to her grief.

When he finally caught up to Fennekin, her eyes were filled with concern and fear. "You alright?" she asked him softly.

"No," he admitted. "But I don't think anyone's going to be alright for a while."

She nodded, and Tepig could see tears standing out in her eyes. "We all know what you did, you know," she said. "That you tried to save her. You're such a good person, Tepig. You really are."

No, I'm not, he thought. I tried to save her, sure, but she died and I feel nothing. I'm not okay, but it's not because of Ponyta that I'm not okay. It's because of me. It's because when I looked down into her casket and I saw her splattered head in there I couldn't feel a damn thing.

But he resigned to tell her that, settling for, "I'm not a hero, Fennekin. I did what anyone else would do in that situation. And I failed."

"You failed but you tried," she said. "No one can fault you for that. Tepig, you're only fourteen. No one is going to blame you for a death you didn't cause. If anything, the Ground Nation is the one to blame. And they need to be stopped."

"How about we stop?" Tepig said. A look of hurt came onto Fennekin's face, and though he didn't love her, it didn't mean he didn't care about her. "What I meant was, we should just go visit Monferno. I really don't want to talk about this stuff anymore."

Fennekin nodded. "Alright," she said. "Yeah. Let's go."

The two of them walked across the wrecked and wretched streets of Furnace. The brick pathways that snaked through the city were no longer as smooth and walkable as they had been less than twenty-four hours ago. Now there were holes everywhere, broken brick tossed in every direction. Windows to shops and homes were broken, and some were even completely gone. There was dried blood everywhere, streaks and stains seemingly on every surface of this once stable city. People were crying, others were cleaning with emotionless looks on their faces, as though they were robots doing as they were programmed to do. Some were sitting in the middle of the pathway, looking about at the destruction all around them, looking like they just weren't able to comprehend what had happened. And the reality of it was that nothing like this had ever happened to the Fire Nation before, so really, no one could understand it.

The hospital was a grave sight to behold. The whole building had a hollowed-out look to it, given that all of the windows stretching up were broken. The sign above the former glass doors (they were really just metal outlines now) that read "HOSPITAL" now read "HOS IT L", the other letters in scattered pieces around the doorway. But still, through all of the damage, the sigil of the Fire Nation just below it was clean and sturdy. Tepig knew it meant nothing, though. Just because the sigil was still standing didn't mean that they themselves were.

As they entered the hospital, Flareon was sitting at the front desk. He nodded to them. "Ah, you're here to see Monferno, aren't you?" he asked.

"Is he awake?" Fennekin asked shyly.

"He woke up an hour ago," Flareon said. "Quilava's up there with him right now. He told me that if you two came we could let you into the room. He's extremely concerned. He's a very good friend of Mofnerno's, I see."

Fennekin nodded. "Right." She looked over at Tepig. "Come on," she said, "let's go."

Tepig nodded. They were just about to go to the staircase when Flareon quickly called them back. Tepig turned and saw that Flareon was looking right at him. "After everything that happened today," the Fire Nation medic explained, "I think you should stay in the hospital for a little while longer. Even if you say you're fine, Tepig, I just think its best."

Tepig nodded. "Me too," he said. He turned back to Fennekin, who was now looking at him with concerned eyes. Tepig shook his head. "Come on," he said gruffly. "Let's go see them."

They went up the stairs to the fourth floor. They walked down the hallway, the sounds of people in pain echoing throughout. As they were walking Fennekin stopped. "Wait," she said. "Before we go there."

She turned right and Tepig followed. The two of them peaked into the room, the room which housed two injured warriors from the battle. Flareon had told Tepig about what had happened to them. At first, they had been thought dead, and for a little while Blaziken was. But they had been brought in, stitched up, and were now permitted to two weeks of bedrest. The wounds hadn't been as bad as they had seemed at first, Flareon had told him. Charizard's neck had been sliced open, but it hadn't punctured a major artery, and the wound was fairly small. Blaziken had taken some work, but his large wound hadn't been that deep and would heal, save for the stitches that he had that made him look like a doll that had been fixed after being ripped in two.

And there they were, Charizard and Blaziken, both of them asleep in their beds. Tepig felt a bit of hope rise in his heart. If they could make it back from that, surely their children would be able to make it back from something just as bad. But when he thought that, his heart sank again, realizing that what they had been through was nothing compared to the lost limbs of some soldiers that had survived. Perhaps Charmander and Torchic would be better off dead if that ever happened to them.

"Let's leave them to rest," Fennekin whispered, backing out of the room. Tepig stared at the two of them for a moment more, then followed suit. Fennekin began to trot down the hallway, going towards Monferno's room. At last, they reached it, and Tepig wasn't surprised at all to find that the door was locked shut.

Fennekin banged on the door. There was a muffled scuffling sound, then Quilava's voice: "Okay, okay! Give me a second!"

Quilava opened the door. He was on his hind legs, and quickly dropped to the floor once the door was open. "Hey," he said. "Come on in."

Fennekin went in first, Tepig following slowly behind her. There was Monferno, in the hospital bed. He was smiling, but it was a pained smile, and Tepig knew that, soon enough it was going to break. "Hey, guys," Monferno said. "How's it hanging?"

"As good as it can be, I guess," Fennekin said. "How… how are you doing?"

Monferno's smile faltered. He looked down at himself, then sighed. "Not… great," he said. "Not great at all, actually. I'm not… I'm not going to be able to battle again."

"What… what do you mean?" Fennekin asked.

Monferno sighed and leaned back. Quilava went to him, putting his hand over his. "If you don't want to say it, it's okay," Quilava said.

Monferno sighed. "No," he said. "No it's okay." He looked at the two of them, and Tepig saw with a start the same emptiness that he felt reflected in Monferno's own eyes. And he feared it. Monferno broke Tepig's thoughts when he spoke. "I'm… from the waist down, I can't move my legs anymore. I'm never going to walk again. Or really do anything, I guess."

Monferno lay his head back against his pillow and closed his eyes. Quilava came over to him and embraced him. Monferno welcomed it, the feeling that Tepig had within that was in Monferno's eyes suddenly shattering. They embraced for a moment, and Tepig knew that they had forgotten all about him and Fennekin for the time being. That they were together in their embrace, together as they were and as they would be forever. Or at least, for however long their forever was.

"Well," Fennekin said, "I think we should leave you two to your alone time."

Quilava looked up. "If you don't mind?" he asked.

Fennekin nodded. "Oh, don't worry, we understand." She looked over at Tepig and smiled playfully. He smirked back, then turned back towards Quilava and Monferno, thinking he should say something.

"We'll come back tomorrow," he said.

Quilava nodded. "Sure," he said. "Oh, and before I forget. We trust you guys. But if you could just not mention this to our fathers… that would help."

Monferno nodded, then chuckled a little. "Man, if my dad ever found out, wouldn't there be hell to pay."

Quilava nodded. "Oh yeah, we'd be pretty dead, that's for damn sure."

Fennekin chuckled. "Oh please, they wouldn't care. But don't worry. Your secrets safe with us."

Tepig nodded. "Yeah."

"Thanks, guys," Quilava said. "See you later!"

"Bye!" Fennekin shouted behind her back as she trotted towards the door. Tepig followed her more slowly, not looking back, save to close the door. When he did, he saw Quilava on top of Monferno, kissing him passionately.

Tepig felt something stir within him. That was what he wanted, he realized. He wanted someone that he could connect to, someone that could shatter the darkness that held him prisoner in his heart. Someone that he could smile with and be genuine with, someone he could love not just as a friend, but as something more. Fennekin wasn't that person. He cared about her, but not in the way a lover cares for their love. He cared about her as a friend cared for another friend. And he felt nothing else but that. She was his crutch. And she had no idea.

"Tepig?" Fennekin asked. "You coming?"

Tepig realized with a start that he had been standing in front of Monferno's door just long enough for Fennekin to get almost a dozen rooms away from him in the hall. Tepig nodded, reluctance in his mind, and he hoped it didn't show in how he acted. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm coming."

The two of them walked out of the hospital, and in that moment, Tepig realized that sometime soon, Fennekin would have to learn how he really felt. He just hoped against all hope that she would forgive him.