Disclaimer: I do not own nor am I affiliated with Pokémon or any of its parent companies. I am merely a humble storyteller. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this journey with me.

Note: I am English, so some of the wording, spellings, and expressions will be those commonly used in England.

Chapter Seven: An Addition to the Team?

Red awoke. At least, he thought he did. He was conscious, but all there was before him was blackness.

His left arm was numb and heavy, but apart from that he felt fine, minus the fatigue that plagued his body.

Maybe drifting off again was a good option. Just sleep and disappear into the ether, unbothered by anything and everything. Nothing mattered now. Nothing at all. Everything else could just wait.

But as Red lay in this unknown world, his brain suddenly went online, and he recalled a few vivid images that made his heart beat just that tiny bit faster. Viridian Forest, the Beedrill swarm, Pikachu, Charmander, that agony…

Red eye's flashed open, and a blinding white light struck them with the pain of a thousand Nuzzles. He shut his eyes again and blocked them with his right arm too for good measure.

No, mere light would not stop him. Where was he? Where was Charmander? Where was that Pikachu? He needed answers, even more than the answers he needed for his homework he was given from school before he left on his journey (Leaf would not oblige there).

He reopened his eyes, enduring the glare, adjusting them until everything around him refocused into shapes he recognised. And the more the shadows that cloaked his vision vanished, the more that came to him, until it occurred to him where he was: he was in some sort of hospital ward.

An almighty, invisible weight lifted off Red as he almost passed out from relief, but a lighter version attached itself to him when he recalled Charmander and Pikachu. They were both his responsibility; he had captured Pikachu right before losing consciousness. He needed to ensure they were both okay, no matter how he was feeling.

He sat himself in the bed someone had placed him in, swiftly, and almost puked. He swallowed the bile which tried to make a break for freedom through his mouth and gagged as the acidic taste burned his tongue and throat. His left arm was uncomfortable, and he glanced down at it, finding it heavily dressed in cotton bandages.

Another memory. Weedle's stinger. The pain. His breath came in short as he recalled dozens of stingers surrounding him, the buzz of those wings came through loud clear, as though they were right outside the room.

Red's fingers were stiff, and he flexed them. With how stiff they were, he almost expected to hear creaking. But it was fine for now. He just needed to find his Pokémon.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the chill of the cold floor rushing through his soles. But the floor was not the only thing he touched; his ankle brushed up against something by the foot of the bed: his rucksack.

Relief filled him up like a balloon and he immediately delved into it, searching for those two Poké Balls that contained his friends.

The good news was that he found some Poké Balls. The bad news was that they were empty ones. No, no, that was not possible. Why would whomever brought him here have left the rest of his items – including his Pokédex – and take only the two rookie Pokémon? No, he had to be mistaken.

He clicked the buttons on the Poké Balls repeatedly, pressing them so hard his fingers started to throb, opening and closing them so quickly it was amazing the top did not fly off their hinges.

They were not there. But where on earth were they…?

"About time you woke up. How are you feeling?"

Red jumped. Standing in the doorway was a young man, a good four or so years older than him. His spiky, dark brown hair reminded him on Blue, only not as long and untidy (which Blue claimed was his 'style' when he and Leaf called him out on it). He wore a pair of green trousers and an orange and grey jacket, its short sleeves revealing his strong arms.

"Who are you?" Red asked.

"Me? The name's Brock," the young man said, giving him a good-natured smile. He held out his hand and Red felt obliged to take it; Brock's grip was strong, but friendly. "It's very nice to meet you, um…"

"I'm Red, and I'm from Pallet Town." Red looked around the room again and relinquished his grip from Brock's grasp. "I'm sorry, but I don't know where I am. I don't even know where my Pokémon are. The Beedrill didn't…"

Red could not finish his sentence.

"Yeah, you got into a bit of trouble in Viridian Forest, didn't you?" Brock's smile faded and his features hardened. "It was foolish to head deeper into it. You're lucky I was walking by."

"But are they okay?" Red asked earnestly. "My Pokémon?

"They're fine," Brock said, reassuring him. "But you have to take more responsibility as a Trainer. Pokémon are still living creatures who rely on you and who trust you, so you shouldn't be leading them into danger they can't handle. If they can't defend themselves, then how can they protect you?" Brock shook his head. "You are incredibly lucky you're going to be able to use that hand again."

Red nodded solemnly. There was nothing to disagree with here. He should have been smarter, wiser. Well, he and his Pokémon were still alive, so they could learn from his mistakes. He, Charmander, and Pikachu were going to go places.

"So, where are they?" Red asked. "I want to see them."

Brock's smile returned. "They're in the next room. There's even a third Pokémon out there. It's not yours, though, since it didn't return to any of your Poké Balls."

Red furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to think of what Pokémon it could be, and it was when Brock returned a few minutes later did he get his answer.

At first, all he saw was an orange shape rush into him; he returned Charmander's hug with interest, gritting his teeth as a sudden pang of pain wracked his wrist. By the door stood Pikachu, who appeared content to simply watch the reunion unfold from afar. But Brock had mentioned a third Pokémon. And who was that Pokémon?

It was none other than the Weedle.

Red's breath caught in his throat, the hair of the back of his neck stood up, the throbbing in his wrist ached ever so much more as he beheld that tiny Bug Pokémon that had inflicted such agony upon him.

He could not make a sound, let alone speak, otherwise he would have demanded for Brock to throw it out. And no one would blame him for that. How could they? If they had experienced what he had, then they would actually cheer his actions.

But… the more he stared at it, the more his rage quelled. It was shivering, its eyes wide and fearful, in a new place that was not its home of long grass and huge trees. It was young. All it had wanted to do was make friends with Pikachu, that much was obvious, and it attacked as a means of retaliation after getting smacked, and perhaps to defend its Beedrill family.

Red fear and anger dissipated a tad and he held out his hand. He tried to stop it from shaking. "Hey, there. Come over here. I'm not going to hurt you."

Charmander tactfully moved out the way and beckoned Pikachu over. Pikachu refused.

The Weedle crawled across the linoleum floor, uncertainty and hope now simultaneously in its eyes.

Red fought to keep his hand steady, to stop him from drawing it back completely. He bit his bottom lip to stop him from whimpering as the Weedle's stinger glistened in the light. Brock simply looked on in silence.

I can do this, he thought. It doesn't mean me any harm. It was my fault anyway, all my fault. I won't be scared of any Pokémon, I won't be scared of any Pokémon, I won't be scared of any Pokémon…

The Weedle was within touching distance, and it was even smaller than Red first thought. He ran two fingers along the length of it, his fingers rising and falling with each part of its segmented body. It was fuzzy. It was warm.

He was careful to avoid the stinger, his injured arm squealing, begging him not to allow it any closer.

The Weedle crawled nearer and leaned its head on his lap, staring at him. Red saw himself mirrored in its eyes, saw the wariness in his face. This was not good enough. Not by a long shot.

Taking a deep breath, Red picked up the Weedle with one hand and grinned at it, the smile feeling foreign on his face. "You're so cute," he said. "I bet you're going to be an awesome B-Beedrill someday."

Charmander tottered forward and used its head to nuzzle the Weedle, who reciprocated the action. Pikachu simply looked on, now standing by Brock's legs.

"Your Charmander seems to be getting along with Weedle," Brock said.

"It does, doesn't it." Red placed the Weedle on the floor, and it and Charmander babbled away, communicating in their own Pokémon language. Well, if Charmander could get along with the Weedle, if it could forget what happened in Viridian Forest, then why couldn't he? Granted, it would be hard, but he could do it. He could even start off by…

"I'm going to add Weedle to my team," Red said out loud.

"Sorry?" Brock said, appearing politely befuddled.

"I said I'm going to add Weedle to my team," Red repeated. "If it wants. Those B-Beedrill were scary, but they were strong too. This Weedle can be even stronger than that."

"Well," Brock said, with an uneasy chuckle. "It's good that you're not holding your incident in the forest against the Weedle – it shows maturity – but the thing is, er… you don't need to add Weedle to your team."

Red frowned. "How come? Did you capture it? Is it yours?"

"No, not mine. It's already yours."

Red looked from Brock to the Weedle, back to the Brock, back again to Weedle, and then at Charmander. "Really?"

Charmander nodded.

"But… but…" Red said, half mumbling. "I threw the Poké Ball at Pikachu to save it. There was a flash of light and… and…"

"Do you actually remember seeing which Pokémon entered the Poké Ball?" Brock asked.

Red thought back to the incident, at how the agony almost completely robbed him of comprehensive thinking, at how much it drained his energy. He remembered tossing the Poké Ball, he remembered Pikachu lying there, weak, hurt. And the Weedle was there too, so close, within range of a feebly thrown Poké Ball…

Oh.

And to prove it beyond any reasonable doubt, Brock said, "There were two Poké Balls that contained Pokémon, and a little Pikachu that didn't return to any of your other Balls." He placed a hand on Red's shoulder. "I know this comes a bit late but congratulations on your newly caught Weedle. I'm sure it will work well with the other Pokémon you've got back in Pallet."

Red held up the Weedle in front of his face; it stared back at him. "Welcome to the team, Weedle," he said, forcing another smile. He WOULD get over it. "We're going to travel everywhere and take part in the Pokémon League. How does that sound?"

Weedle squealed in delight and tried to nestle against Red's cheek, who opted to cradle it in the crook of his good arm and pet it awkwardly with his injured one.

But Red then remembered the Pikachu, who was now perched on his bed. It caught Red's eye and looked away.

So, Red missed out on capturing it. It was a shame, but that was life. Maybe he would capture another Electric-type down the line.

Or was it? It was still here. It was not fleeing.

Red turned to the Pikachu. "Hey," he said.

The Pikachu analysed him shrewdly.

"You've got a few options, Pikachu," Red said. He walked over to his bed and set Weedle down on it; the Pikachu eyed it warily. He held up one finger. "One: you can go off and continue eating electricity from well-meaning businesses and get caught and punished." He held up a second finger. "Two: you can join up with us, no battling or anything, and we can all go on this journey together." A third finger. "Or three: we can have a fiery battle and whatever happens, happens."

Red picked up an empty Poké Ball and held it out to the Pikachu. "It's up to you, but if you join us then I know that you, me, Charmander, and Weedle will be the best team ever."

If Pikachu as a species had eyebrows, then this one would have raised its own in a quizzical way. It sniffed the Poké Ball Red held out to it and shut its eyes, and it stayed like that for a good couple of minutes.

No one spoke. No one made a sound. Time seemed to have stopped, almost as if the Legendary Pokémon Dialga was manipulating it.

The Pikachu's eyes flashed open.

It grinned.