Chapter 5: Return to your Roots

Disclaimer: This fanfiction does not taste like chicken. Do not ask how I discovered this.

~o~

While the world went mad, it seemed wrong to sit against the wall and watch. Except that's exactly what Amber Bailey did, munching on a granola bar. Her own mission was complete, and there was nothing else worth standing up for.

Blake sat by her side, though she didn't know if he shared her non-motivational stance. Maybe she was just someone familiar, in a crisis all the adults were panicking over. His eyes flickered behind closed lids, his jaw working as he turned Grookey's poké ball over and over in his hands, the polished metal gleaming in the sparse sunlight filtering through the windows.

Joy—the little Joy—was long gone, whisked away by her clone-moms to the back of the Pokémon Center. They were waiting, to see what would happen to the Joy who'd lost her hairclip. Maybe she'd go feral for a little while, just like the Pokémon. Or maybe…for more than a while. The Porygon's master had said the clips were stronger than poké balls.

Her stomach grumbled and growled. Amber munched on her chocolate-chip-honey-bomb granola bar, focusing on the mechanical motions of each bite. Up, and down. "Want one?" she offered Blake around a mouthful of chocolatey goodness. The world might be going insane, but there was no reason not to eat.

He didn't respond right away, but his fidgeting hands stilled. Blake opened his warm, brown eyes, staring at the floor, as if it held some sort of answers. "Where are you staying?" he asked. Amber blinked, swallowing her granola bar with effort.

"Pallet Town, I guess. I live there. Today is the start of my journey, but with all of this, I should probably go back for a little while. Make sure my parental units are okay, and all." They were going to be busy, after this. Amber wondered how Professor Oak and her parents would handle the sudden, insane need for apricorn balls. Crafting them was a dying art, one that had been hoarded in family lines for generations, and few outside Johto still knew how to make them.

At least Kanto had her family. The professor made the right call, bringing them in at all.

But the timing…bothered her. Her parents and Sellie had been right on track to start fixing things with Professor Oak's help, and then someone had come along and blown up the status quo in a single day, as if that wouldn't cause chaos and pain. Was it really just coincidence?

Maybe the hacker, the Never-Man, was someone who knew her family. Who for whatever reason, hadn't wanted their more peaceful plan to succeed.

"Can I…" Blake trailed off, locked in some internal battle, and said, "Look, could I come over? Not right now, but later today, or tomorrow?" Uh, what? "What you were saying, about apricorn balls…"

Right. Amber arched an eyebrow. "Changed your mind, huh? Think they aren't that bad, all things considered?"

Weirdly, his face didn't react to her provocation with so much as a twitch, though he stuffed Grookey's poké ball back into his deep pocket at once. His whole hand could fit in that pocket. Amber buried a surge of jealousy. "Look. I can't deal with this right now," he said, deadpan and tense. "Just…later, okay?"

She blinked. "Sure," she said automatically, though she didn't really get it. "Let me give you my address."

Her phone kept switching fonts and flickering strangely, even when she whacked it against her leg, so she ripped the dedication page off her secondhand book, 'Dracovish Space Pirates,' and wrote out the information for the Galarian trainer.

He was an interesting person, she decided, as he tucked the note into his vest. Different, contrary, and at odds with everything she said—in short, someone worth talking to. She got bored repeating the same conversations with people who shared her views. "Thanks," he said mutely, rising to his feet, and then left without saying goodbye, locked in his own thoughts.

It was tough to blame him, though, Amber thought, looking around the hospital.

The place was practically a zombie town. Vacant eyes, grim expressions, slow, shuffled steps. But the weirdest part was the lack of electronic sounds she'd come to associate with Pokémon Centers—gone were the beeps, and the ringing phones, the cheerful chiming tune of a successful healing cycle, and the singsong voice of the nurses over the intercoms, calling trainers to fetch their partners. The world was quiet, muffled and empty, and she just couldn't relax, constantly on edge, waiting for the sounds that should be there.

Sounds that perhaps wouldn't be there again for a long, long time.

A yawn surprised her, popping her jaw. She didn't feel tired. If anything she was the only clear-headed one in the zombie sea, the only one who was taking things relatively well.

Though she was worried about Joy. Later, she'd come check on her.

Amber sat, polishing off another granola bar, until eventually the doors slammed open, and a wave of life washed over the gaunt faces like a spring wind over dead winter leaves. Heat hit her first, radiating from the Arcanine's majestic ruff as he shook out his fur, his shadow stretching long and dark across the clean tile. Professor Blue Oak's sharp grey-green eyes scanned over the pockets of trainers, stopping once they saw her, and he let out a harsh exhale, gripping his Arcanine's thick creamy fur.

But people had seen him, and soon they were on their feet, faces turned expectantly towards the famous former-Champion for answers, direction, and whatever hope he could offer. "The Viridian Gym Leader will be giving an address to the city soon," the Professor directed, his tenor voice carrying easily over the throng. "Gather whoever you can, and meet outside the gym by noon—or when the sun is at the center of the sky—for further instructions, and information. Communications are down, so spread the word, people. Let's move!"

Like a livewire had been connected, the zombies reawakened, given fresh purpose and life. Hurriedly gathering their things, they exited the lobby in pairs, talking urgently amongst themselves. Professor Oak pushed his way towards Amber, answering questions to those who stopped him in a low murmur along the way.

Finally, he glared down at her, exasperation giving way to relief, confliction, and tension, his voice anxious as he asked, "Well?"

Amber grinned. She jostled the poké ball bag. "No problems here, boss."

Ten years rolled off his shoulders as he sagged, pressing a hand to the bridge of his nose, letting out a shaky laugh. "Well, that makes one thing to go right today," he said, shaking his head. He reached forward and mussed her already messy hair, to her scowling complaint. "You did good, kid. Almost as good as I could've done myself! Ab-so-lutely fantastic job!"

~o~

Amber didn't go to the Gym Leader's speech, but she got the gist of what she was planning on saying from the Professor before they headed back towards Pallet. We're working to solve this, we're investigating the claims made, don't panic, etcetera, etcetera.

She was surprised to learn that Champion Red had already taken action, and constructed a plan for handling the crisis, which had been conveyed to each Gym Leader via the psychic powers of Sabrina of the Elite Four. Order was to be maintained, emergency food and supplies would be made available, and Gym Leaders were now responsible for chunks of the region, overseeing even the authorities. They'd report to Indigo, and the League would send aid as needed.

Everything was supposed to stay as normal as possible, even though she knew it couldn't, really.

Arcanine carried them both with ease, bounding across the blanket of wet, green leaves and the flattened layers of long grass still sparkling with dew in the faint white sunbeams piercing through the smoky-grey clouds, the cold, rain-scented wind whipping across their skin like stinging needles. Amber hugged the Professor's waist, leaning away from every sharp turn, her grey eyes alight with exhilaration. Arcanine hit the ground hard, jolting her bones, bunched his muscles, and leapt. Her stomach dropped out, and she had to fight back a whoop as they soared a solid thirty feet over a freshly fallen tree blocking the path, and met the earth for only a second before they were off again, streaking and curving between trees like a leaf on a rushing river. Charmander was missing out—he'd love this!

"This is amazing," she cried out above the wind, her cheeks hurting around her grin. The wind-chill might have been unbearable, if it weren't for Arcanine's oven-toasted fur. "I've gotta get one of these!"

"No better way to travel," the Professor bragged in a shout. "You should see him on the grasslands—Arcanine can move faster than flight!"

She believed it. Amber let loose a whoop after all, laughing out loud in sheer delight, her worries a distant dream. In no time flat, they broke from the trees to the crest overlooking the rolling, green hills of Pallet Town, dotted with simple white houses and meandering drives, and arrowed towards the distant grove on the edge of the farmlands. The city was a perfect picture, complete with waving clouds and a stream of smoke from a stone chimney—it certainly didn't look like a disaster had just struck the world.

But Pallet was always like that. Unchanging, timeless, and still—like it was frozen in a simpler time, left behind by the chaotic progress of the world.

Which she could live with, as long as she had wifi and access to rock music. If the Never-man had somehow destroyed the internet, she'd hunt him down herself!

"I'll bring you home first, but I've gotta talk to your folks later today," Professor Oak shouted, breaking into her worried reverie. "Do you wanna keep the red-line balls for now? You look like you've bonded!"

"Sure!" Amber agreed without hesitation, her heart leaping. They all needed names. "But don't they need to get to a surgery center?"

"Yes, but it's not a priority anymore," he explained. "We'll get them squared away later. Crazy thing is, those things didn't come from my lab at all. Poké balls in storage were shuffled around all over Kanto!"

Wow. "This is gonna be an adventure to fix, huh, Professor?"

He snorted. "That's the nice way to put it. And call me Blue! You've earned it! Professor makes me sound old, anyways."

A dizzying array of red, orange, yellow, green and blue flashed by in the heavy trees, and in moments they had skidded to a stop outside her tidy little pink house, the green hedges cut low like a fence all around the yard. Amber slid off Arcanine's back and dropped the last few feet, the shock arcing up her aching legs.

Arcanine tossed his head, blowing a spitting array of embers from his nose . The Professor looked down at her, silhouetted against the brightening sky. "Things to do, cities to save, you know the drill. Smell ya later, kid!"

"Yeah, yeah," Amber groused, scowling in his general direction. What a lame farewell phrase. "Rock on, bro!"

She waved as they vanished into the distance in the space of a few breaths, fighting back a yawn. It had been a day. And the world had kind of exploded, which hadn't really sunk in yet, and even though it'd probably be fixed quickly, what if it…wasn't? What then?

But then the front door creaked open, Amber turned to see her mom, and there wasn't anything else worth worrying about for a while.

The water still worked, but the heaters didn't; a cold shower later, she was human again, and very, very chilly. All she wanted was to cuddle up in a giant blanket cocoon and sleep for forever, but her parents wouldn't hear of it. "Come tell us about your day," they insisted. "It will only be for a few minutes," they reasoned. "We'll make food," they said, finally luring her in.

And so she found herself sitting around the mahogany table with her parents and little brother, telling her stories in between inhaling as much meat as she could get her hands on. "So then this Rattata bursts out of the bushes, and BAM!" She clapped her hands, leaning forward. "The Pidgey gets knocked clean out. But this was no ordinary Rattata—this was the strongest Rattata, the doom of all who behold him. This was…the Hero Slayer."

Her little brother's fork hadn't made it all the way to his mouth, gripped too tight as he stared with wide, brown eyes. He was twelve, and "too cool" for her stories, but even he was paying attention. "It couldn't have been that strong," he scoffed, regaining some healthy preteen scorn, chomping down on his bite of garlic mashed potatoes.

"If only that were true. He moved like an insane freak of nature, a machine created solely for battle. And even in the most epic storm of all time, me and Charmander had no choice but to fight! You should've seen it, Mom! There's never been a Charmander this brave and awesome before, count on it! He started the fight with my umbrella, but in no time he was out battling in running water like it was nothing."

"And were you attacked by any ninjas, or caught in a sudden hurricane?" her father asked dryly, flipping the page of his book. His weathered face already had some red stubble, which he scratched at idly.

Amber scowled at him. "It happened," she insisted.

"I'm sure it was all just as you said," her mother agreed, her expression so calm it was impossible to tell if she meant it or was poking fun. "Now, when do we get to meet this Charmander? I'm sure the cute little guy would love a healthy snack."

"He's sleeping. Like I should be. And he deserves a lot more than a snack." Amber frowned, making some plans. "Do we still have that giant ribeye steak from Pallet Ranches?"

Her parents exchanged a look, an entire conversation flitting between them in a second, in the way all married people seemed to master. In unison, they turned to her. "No."

"But Mom! He saved my life! And besides, it's only going to go bad anyways without the power on…"

"We have plenty of high-quality Pokémon food just for him," her mother pointed out, cleaning some plates off the table. "Ribeye steaks are for people."

"He isn't just a pet, he's a new member of the family! You wouldn't make me, Sellie, or Grayson eat poké-pellets, would you?"

She begged, bargained, and pleaded, helping with the dishes while she did to soften up her mom. Eventually the 'absolutely not' turned into, 'convince your father and it's fine,' and Amber grinned with triumph. Her dad would be easy.

"No," her dad said to the same arguments, and her smile faded, before he continued on. "I can't let you do that. Without this."

He handed her a heavy book, then, bound in soft, brown leather, emblazoned with a winged silhouette. 'The Book of Charizard' was burned onto the cover. "Everything you need to know about Charmander and up," her dad explained, gruffly. "Open the food section to check which spices are okay for him—" His words cut off as she tackle-hugged him, her throat tight.

He hugged her right back. "I love you, kid," he said into her hair.

And so, after a lesson in lighting the propane grill outside, the delicious scents of grilling steak wafted through their yard. Amber fussed over it, checking and rechecking that everything was perfect, finishing the story of her day as she went. Even Grayson was outside, with the power still out, though he still had a textbook perched in front of his glasses.

Finally, her tale was through, and the spiced steak was steaming on a beautiful gold plate. "I'll go see if he's awake," Amber said, rushing back inside even though she could feel the sunglass ball quivering on her belt.

Once she was out of sight, she released the little orange Charmander, still yawning to expose needle-sharp fangs. Amber crouched down, and he jerked, skittering back a little with a growl. "It's okay," she soothed. "See? It's just me. I've got a present for you." His tail flame swished back and forth as he appraised her suspiciously. But didn't flee under the couch and set it on fire, so that was a bonus. "I've been telling everyone what a hero you are," she explained, and he perked up a little, cocking his head. "They wanna meet you, so let's get you cleaned up, okay?"

But it turned out, Charmander weren't as easy to clean as she'd hoped. He flinched at the sound of the running tap, snarled at the wet rag, and arched his back with a hiss even when she wrung out the rag until it was practically dry. Even though he'd battled in the rain, it seemed his good graces didn't extend to non-battle scenarios, especially with a growling belly and in a sleepy haze. With no other options, Amber finally turned to the Book of Charizard.

Wild Charmander often clean themselves with dry sand baths, the book read. While they are weak to rock and ground, Charmander often carry a fear of water that surpasses the minerals, and will refuse any form of bathing. This can be overcome with training, but it is recommended new Charmander be cleaned with a dry cloth, or a metal-bristled brush for difficult messes. Make sure to follow the grain of the scales from head to tail, avoiding any side-to-side or scrubbing motions.

"Huh," Amber said. She didn't quite dare to try the metal brush yet, but the cloth was easy enough. The mud was mostly dried, anyways. In moments, flakes of dirt littered the kitchen counters.

Newly buffed and polished, Charmander looked better than ever, his wounds already fading into crisscrossing scars. Pokémon healed fast. Amber pursed her lips, gave him a once over, and decided he'd have to do. She cleaned his spiked sunglasses, while he watched with an anxious growl from a safe distance away from the sink, dried them thoroughly, and then she was out of ways to stall. Why was she so nervous? It was like bringing home a new boyfriend, but somehow even more anxiety inducing. She hoped they'd like him…

"We've gotta make an entrance," she explained, returning him to his sunglass ball, and went back outside, taking a deep breath. She cleared her throat until all eyes were on her. "Ladies and gentlemen…and Grayson. This is Charmander," Amber said grandly, hoping it'd all be okay, and released her beautiful little starter to her side, complete with battle scars and a glinting pair of glossy black sunglasses with triple-spiked edges that shot out too far for practicality. He struck a pose on all fours, flaring his tail flame high with a nervous little growl.

Her parents stared with open shock. Her mom set down her novel, while Grayson sputtered, pointing at the edgy little fire lizard. "It's wearing your glasses!" he blurted out.

"He certainly seems lively," her mother said, warm and approving. "Healthy, too. Just look at the sheen on those scales. He looks just like that shade you painted your room! Oh, I just love him!"

"You two were made for each other," her father decided, letting out an exasperated sigh past his smile. "Those glasses need a strap instead. They're only staying on because they're too tight for him. I'll help rig something up so he'll be more comfortable."

Her family kind of rocked.

But the highlight of the afternoon was the look on Charmander's face when he saw his very own enormous steak, cut into glistening bite-sized pieces on a golden platter. Turns out Charmander could drool liquid fire. In no time flat he was napping again, his stomach literally distended with the amounts of meat he'd stuffed in his gullet, and Amber found herself yawning, too. She finally said her goodbyes, collected Charmander in her arms, and brought him upstairs to her room, where a little stone Charmander bed had already been placed by the side of her own. Carefully, she settled him into bed, so he looked comfortable. She counted his little breaths, and was asleep before she reached five.

She slept deeply, and without dreams, and awoke in a heavy, warm haze. It was a while before she opened her eyes, unwilling to give up on the bliss of being asleep. Orange firelight flickered across her walls in a faint glow, illuminating the posters of rockstars and sticker-clad mirrors across her pale walls like a living nightlight. Stars winked mysteriously from beyond her jail-barred window, which she'd decorated herself because it looked cool, and the faint smell of cinder-smoke perfumed the air like incense.

She smiled without getting up.

Her life was perfect.

Ever so quietly, she pushed back her covers and sat right by Charmander's sleeping form, his tail-flame lowering and rising with each slow breath. By the light of his fires, she read from the Book of Charizard, the pages flipping well into the night, until finally, she slept again.

~o~