Part 2:

Homework was dumb. Why did Jung even call it homework if Beat didn't do it at home? This wasn't a house, and he'd hate to live here with all of these Pokemon. If only he was ready to return to Pierre. But Beat knew that if he got better, then he would go back, and if homework helped, then he would do as much of it as it took.

All he had to do for now was fill out a diary with drawings. Apparently, humans were usually asked to write in an exercise book for some cog behaviour crap. Since Beat couldn't read or write, he had to draw whatever came to mind, and different coloured pages had different themes. The first theme was red for all of his worries. Jung asked him to think about different types of worries, including the way he acted when stressed, what bad thoughts went through his head, and how he felt on the outside when this affected him.

Beat sat down with a black crayon and stared at the blank page. This was silly. He was wasting time. Beat should've been out there battling or making himself useful, not waving his paw around a piece of paper.

'Stop sitting on your butt all day,' Bro said in his mind, 'you're a born fighter, so act like it.'

That was an example of a bad thought that went through his head. Whenever Beat sat down doing nothing, Bro's words came back to him. Whenever he wasn't battling for Pierre, he felt at sea, like he wasn't doing enough while he was out of the fray. But Jung mentioned a Komala that did nothing but sleep all day, and they needed that downtime to keep their strength up. Wasn't it okay for Beat to feel like this as well?

The first thing Beat drew was a scene of Bro standing tall and bossing him around while a frowning younger Beat lifted a tree ten times his size.

Huh, this was actually kind of fun. Beat turned the next page and drew, then the next one, then the next one. One drawing featured Beat roaring like a mighty Ursaring with the mouth of a Loudred, since he often yelled or lashed out when upset. Another featured Beat clutching his stomach, since his tummy sometimes twisted whenever he thought too hard about his battle performance. Now he knew why Bro said he had such a weak stomach.

Some of what Jung said went over Beat's head, sure. Wrapping his head around his own head still took some getting used to. But for the first time in a while, Beat forgot about his present and past worries as he got lost in the book.

Most of his days spent in the clinic were slow, spent either lazing in the garden and the recreational room, or eating there or both. Sometimes he talked to Lotte or some of the other patients, but he was still alone with his own thoughts. As he scribbled, though, the clock ticked forward, and it halted the turning gears in his mind even as he recalled his memories on the page.

Beat came to Jung's next session fully prepared. Sort of. Before Jung arrived, Beat took a peek at his drawings, only to find unrecognisable messes that didn't even pass as scribbles. Granted, using crayons and charcoal with his big paws was a feat in itself, but he thought it looked much better than it actually did while he had fun drawing.

"Ah, hello," Jung said, entering the garden. Beat snapped the sketch pad shut.

"H-hey, knock first!" Even though the garden lacked a door.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine, none of your business, you quack!"

Beat considered lobbing the book into the bushes when Jung looked down.

"Is that your homework?"

"No, I'm not a dweeb! Does it look like I care about doin' your stupid dirty work?"

Jung tented his paws. "Well, if I was a mind reader, I'd say you do care."

"You Hypno probably are mind readers anyway," Beat grumbled.

"I'm not, but I've seen you drawing in there as well."

"Oh."

Was it too late to eat the paper? How did it taste anyway? Nah, probably not very good. He didn't want to think about how he'd eject it out once it went in.

"Sorry," Beat said, clutching the book. "Everything in this book just sucks, that's all."

"Well, I'll be the judge of that." Jung sat down beside Beat. "And the point of this exercise isn't to come up with a masterpiece, it's only here for you to express yourself and what you're going through."

"I know." Beat sighed. Right, time to tear the scab off. He gave the book to Jung, who turned to the first page. Beat grimaced as soon as he saw those childish scribbles again. Jung probably thought it sucked and would laugh at it.

"Is that you as a Pancham?" he asked.

Beat blinked. "How'd you figure that out?"

"The likeness is there. You know, the leaf and those little round ears. And that's Bro to the right?"

"Yeah. Bossing me around as always."

"And was it fun to draw out this memory, or at least cathartic?"

"What's that mean?"

"It's an abstract concept, but it means a strong release of emotions, like feeling relieved after winning a difficult battle."

"Oh, then I guess it was, yeah. And kind of fun to draw as well."

"Well then, that's all that matters." Jung flicked to the next page and smiled. "The key is to find the fun in whatever you do, whether that's drawing or fighting. You aren't always going to be in fight or flight mode, so why not make the most of your time doing what you like?"

"That's what I thought battling was, what I liked. And I wanna like it again."

"You will, Beat." Jung focused on the next few drawings, all unpleasant memories from his past. Looking at them gave Beat a record of his life, all the way up until leaving Pierre. "And when you look back at these drawings, how do you feel?"

As Jung leafed through the pages, Beat tried his best to parse his emotions. "Nervous. Angry. Afraid. Lonely. Tired."

Jung stopped at one page in particular, of a Pancham looking up at a flexing Pangoro. Beat liked drawing that since muscles were kinda satisfying to put down even if it didn't look exactly how he envisioned it. His only reference was of a beefy Machoke he remembered admiring once.

Jung chuckled. That damn Hypno.

"You're laughing at my work," Beat grumbled.

"No, no, I'm not laughing at your drawing, I'm laughing with it." He covered his mouth. "I just think you have a good way of conveying humour in your artwork, like the one where you lifted the tree."

"That wasn't meant to be funny."

"Oh. I apologise. Anyway, is that you looking up to Bro?"

"Yeah." Beat brought his paws together. "I always thought he was strong and cool and stuff. I wanted to be like him. I wanted to make him proud with all my battles." He sighed. "And now I realise how badly he treated me. I feel like such an idiot."

"You're not, Beat." Jung gazed at him. "If you depend on any sort of role model, then you're going to see them through rose tinted glasses, and they might even take advantage of that. You were an impressionable Pancham as well, and Pancham have adapted to imitate their elders as a method of survival."

"You make me sound like I belong in some kinda zoo."

"Ah, I apologise for that as well."

"Never mind. Anyway, each time I fight, all I can see is him drilling me." Beat traced a claw over Bro, poking the crayon drawing of his face until it tore the paper. "I can't get him out of my head."

"Well, that's what the next part of the exercise is for." Jung turned to an orange page. "In this section, think about what you might do to change those thoughts. Let's take this memory for example, where you put Bro on such a pedestal."

"And?"

"When you fight, it's because you're living under the shadow of his expectations, right?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, so right before you're about to battle, for any reason, ask yourself 'what's the worst thing that can happen?'"

"Pfft," Beat snorted. "What a dumb question. I'd embarrass myself in front of the whole crowd, Pierre would be mad at me and leave me behind, I'd be in the wild again, I'd either lose against a bigger Pokemon or get poisoned and die and turn into a ghost and scare people forever and ever until some other loser picks me up and-"

His stomach churned. Goddamn it, not now. And all that talking made him breathless. Or was he freaking out again? Why did that quack make him think about that? He wanted to run. He—

"Beat, Beat, stay with me here." Jung stood up, holding his arms out. "You're not in the wild. You're here, in a place where you can relax. What can you see?"

"What does that have to do with anything, you quack?!"

"Just tell me. What do you see in front of you? Focus on that first."

He hated his stomach, his body, his brain. Everything about it was stupid. He wanted to get out of here. But Jung stayed by his side. He had to answer his question, at least so he could shut up.

"I see you. The grass. The trees. The building. Okay, you happy now?"

"Never mind that, how are you feeling?"

Beat would've said he felt terrible, but he didn't. He wasn't thinking about that other stuff as much, even though his tummy still bubbled and his claws shook.

"Still not good, but less bad."

"Alright, now focus on me." Jung lowered his hand. "Now, breathe in."

Jung breathed, his chest rising along with his motioning hand. This time, Beat did as he was told and sucked in some air.

"Hold it for a bit." Jung held out his hand. Beat kept it in. He grunted as if the breath tried to escape.

"Then let go." As Jung exhaled, Beat did too. His body felt funny. The air felt less stuffy. His heart slowed a bit. "Good, now repeat after me a few times."

Beat did. With each breath he took and released, his body relaxed until Beat sat on the floor again. He was still here. He was safe in the garden. Bro couldn't touch him here. He looked to Jung. His necklace swayed with the light breeze.

"You didn't do your thing on me again, did you?" Beat prepared to throw another clump of mud.

"No, absolutely not." Jung clutched his pendulum. "What you just did was a grounding exercise, usually practised by humans who have no powers at all. It's meant to remind you of what's happening in the present. You focus on what's going on around you, then you become mindful of your own breathing. This is meant to stop you from getting caught in a loop with your thoughts."

"Huh." Beat felt a lot better. He didn't even remember why he felt so scared in the first place. His mind truly was his worst enemy. "What were we doing earlier?"

"I asked you the worst thing that could happen if you lose a battle." Jung sat down. "Now, let's think about this in another way. You said that Pierre would leave you behind if you lost. When you lost against that Obstagoon, though, how did he react?"

Beat blinked. It felt so long ago that he didn't remember why he got so mad at first, but it came back to him.

"He told me that it was a tough battle and that I tried my best." He looked at his claws. "I didn't believe him. And he also got me a PB&J sandwich though I didn't want it." Beat pawed his face. "Idiot, idiot, idiot."

"No, you're not, Beat. You were still thinking in terms of survival. That's understandable. But Pierre didn't leave you behind. He supported you when Bro probably wouldn't have."

"But I lost in front of all those people. Everyone watches you fail when you're in a big arena like that. They record stuff as well from what I heard. And now they see how much of a loser I am."

"Tons of Pokemon lose battles every day in the league. There's always a victor on one side, that's how a competition works. But they know that it's not a reflection on your own abilities, necessarily, and as Pierre said, you tried your best. Sometimes, you can do your best and still be outmatched because of lots of different factors. Does that make sense?"

Bro's voice echoed in his head. 'If you lose in a real wild battle, that's it. You're dead meat.' He said it while he patted Beat on the back, like he was all buddy buddy with him. But Bro wasn't a friend at all. What friend would make him feel so worthless?

"Yeah, it does, doc."

Beat picked the book back up, staring at the blank page. Then he snatched Jung's pen and furiously scribbled in the sketchbook. He drew the worst thing that could happen: that he'd have to train more and improve for the next fight. But he also drew his teammates and his trainer smiling in the background, staying by his side.

Jung wasn't a battler by any means. He was a writer, not a fighter. Fortunately, Jung wouldn't be fighting against Beat today since Elise took the reins and had her own Pokemon to spar with. Elise's Pokemon had lives of their own, and therefore took time before the session could start. Although Jung was out of his element analysing a live fight, he would do his best to include it in his ongoing research.

All three of them waited in the garden while Elise's Pokemon arrived. Elise passed the time by doing stretches and occasionally stopped to observe Beat. Beat, in turn, petted Lotte, running his paws through her coat.

Jung sat within arm's reach and smiled as he scribbled in his notepad. Beat made so much progress in these past two weeks. Hopefully, this fight would give him the ego boost needed to pull Beat out of his funk, given his healthier attitude on life.

Even though he was meant to be an impartial observer, Jung couldn't resist getting in on that Furfrou action, and sat closer to pet Lotte.

"How are you so well groomed?" Beat asked.

"That's a secret," Lotte said with a wink.

"Aw. My trainer uses this shampoo stuff that smells like lemons. Whenever he coats me in it, I hafta be careful not to bite myself, I smell so delicious."

Both Jung and Lotte chuckled.

"I wonder if there's a shampoo that smells like cake," Jung said.

"Oh yeah, do you get your hair cut or groomed, doc?" Beat laid a paw on his shoulder. "You look more like a human though you're still covered with fur, so I guess someone grooms you."

Jung's face felt hot. It was embarrassing to talk about his care routine, and he didn't know whether it was more humiliating for him or the groomer to have his fur trimmed alongside Eevee and Litleo. He might as well have said he ate from a dog bowl.

Elise's Gallade, George, popped up, saving Jung by the bell. He came in with wooden sheaths attached to the sword-like protrusions on his elbows.

"Hey!" George said as he waved. "Long time no see, June!"

Jung snorted as he stood up. "How many times have I told you that it's Jung?"

"Enough times for me to keep calling you June on purpose."

"Fair enough." Jung shoved his hands in his coat's pockets. "How is your dojo doing?"

"Alright, yeah, busy as ever. Never too busy for me not to come in today, though." George went away to hi-five Elise. "This Beat?"

"Uh huh," she said. They congregated in the corner of the garden behind a bush and talked, which Jung couldn't make out. Eventually, they reappeared. "Jung? Is he ready yet?"

Jung patted Beat's back. "How do you feel about fighting right now?"

The Pangoro released Lotte and stood up. "Good right now. I'll let you know if it's too much."

"Alright, I'll be watching. And remember what I told you." Jung stayed where he was with his notepad at the ready. George turned to Beat and extended his leafy arm, but Beat didn't return the shake and stiffly moved into a battle stance, stomping his paws into the grass. Lotte bowed and left the garden, possibly attending to other inpatients that needed their daily dose of serotonin.

"Start?" George asked Elise. Once she nodded, George entered a stance of his own, arms raised like a shield. It looked natural and relaxed, fitting his personality. Beat's stance seemed more rehearsed in comparison.

Both of them waited for each other to make the first move. Beat stood still as stone. George tapped his foot on the ground, occasionally switching arms. They were at an impasse before the battle even started.

"Beat," Jung called, "are you okay?"

He didn't respond. George dropped his arms, exiting his battle stance, and opened his mouth as if to talk.

Beat swung his fist at George's face. The Gallade stepped back in time to avoid the punch, then countered by hitting Beat's flank with his wooden attachments. This didn't stop Beat from diving into the fray again, swiping at George with his claws.

Jung took notes. Beat just took advantage of George's moment of hesitation. He wasn't kidding when he said there was no room for weakness in the ring.

The battle went back and forth for a while. Beat swung, swiped and body slammed George, but George dodged most of his attack with grace, moving across the garden like a ballet dancer. This only seemed to encourage Beat's aggression as he roared and shouted more with each of his subsequent attacks. At this rate, Jung expected Beat to tire himself out before he planted another hit on George.

To Jung's surprise, Beat got on all fours and swiped at George's legs instead. Of course, Beat must've sensed that George only guarded his torso, exposing his lower half. This successfully knocked George to the ground.

Beat wasted no time. He punched George while he was down, swinging at his face and his chest. George tried to shield himself with his wooden sheaths, which provided some resistance against Beat's fists. He couldn't hold the Pangoro back for much longer, however, as the wood splintered through Beat's sheer force.

Well, Beat certainly got his groove back. From what Jung saw of George's sessions with Elise and his occupation, he was born to fight, and yet Beat gave him trouble here. Elise only looked on as if the fight was a televised match, and to her, it probably was as mundane as that.

The punches abruptly stopped. An invisible force suspended Beat's fists. Probably George's psychic capabilities. Although it only gave George a one-second window, that was all he needed to turn the tides. He struck Beat's paws with his extensions. Beat backed away, but not swiftly enough to re-enter his stance before George put him on the defensive again. Although Beat's fists countered George's swipes, his breathing grew heavier with each strike.

Jung sat up and waited with bated breath. Whether Beat won or lost was irrelevant: all that mattered was how he responded to it.

Beat's shoulders slumped. He panted like a Growlithe. That gave George room to deal the finishing blow, shoving the tip of his extension into Beat's belly. He doubled over in pain, falling to his knees.

George took a few paces back and bowed.

"You gave me quite the workout, there." He grinned. "That was a good match. Are you still up for one more?"

Beat went silent. Everyone else did too. This silence lasted for a moment in the garden, enough time for one of the other inpatients to duck into the garden and walk out again. Jung laid the notepad on the grass and went to his knees, about to check on Beat. George beat him to it as he extended his hand to the Pangoro.

"Hey, you alright?"

"Shut up."

Jung pawed at his face. George narrowed his eyes.

"Excuse me?"

Beat spat on the grass. "Don't act all nice, I know what you're thinking, I know I'm a loser. Just say it."

"Um, I don't, actually. You're better than some of my prized students."

"I don't believe you." Beat tried to stand back up, only to falter. "Those wooden things are still on your arms."

"And?"

"You're doing that because I'm too weak, you're just putting on kiddy gloves for me."

George scoffed. "I put them on for everyone I fight, not just you. It's not worth killing someone over a match, league or otherwise."

"Just take them off."

George looked at his elbows, knocking the sheaths together like clackers. "You have no idea what you're asking for, panda guy. Do you think I wear these for fun? Imagine living knowing that any second, you could stab someone because you accidentally bumped into them in the street. I'm sorry you're offended, but this isn't a game to me."

Jung stood at last. He expected this to happen, somewhat. It was common for some patients to regress during therapy since what worked in theory didn't necessarily work in practise.

"Beat." Jung put on his calm, yet authoritative voice. "Step back and take a few deep breaths."

"Are you tellin' me to calm down?" Beat stomped over, glaring down at Jung. "What, so you think I'm crazy? Like all the other wackos in this loony bin?"

Jung chose not to reply. Beat probably needed to let it all out, and questioning him would've been pointless in his state. After a moment of silence, Beat eventually took his advice and sucked in a few deep breaths. However, his angered expression didn't change.

"I'm goin' back to the rec room."

He stomped back into the clinic, leaving Jung, Elise and George on their own. All of them looked at each other, taken aback, particularly Elise since she was the only human in the bunch.

"Jung," she said, scratching her head, "can you fill me on what happened?"

Jung sighed and adjusted his glasses. "Beat didn't take the defeat well."

"Sore loser," George mumbled, which earned a glare from Elise and Jung. "Sorry Elise, sorry Jung. I know there's more to it than that. But wow, what a reaction." He took his sheaths off and brandished his swords as if he was about to dice a massive onion.

"What I mean to say is that Beat may not have taken my lesson to heart." Jung joined the two. "He still seems to have a heightened fear of failure and he takes that out on himself. Of course, I'll share my notes with you when I finish the next report."

"Yeah, thanks. I can't say I have much input right now, I just wanted to be here to see it unfold myself, or step in if things got too hairy."

"Of course, but I still appreciate you being here."

"Thanks." Elise glanced at George, then back to Jung. "If you want my two cents, I'd say he also wanted to release a lot of pent up aggression. If you saw his face right before he fought, it looked like he wanted to murder someone. What did he ask you, George?"

"Take my sheaths off."

"Because Beat didn't want to feel like he was being patronised."

"Given what you told me, that checks out. My other theory is that he saw something in George that really set him off. It had nothing to do with him personally. And from what you told me, that Bro guy's still on his mind a lot. So I think it's more to do with him."

"Huh." Jung cupped his chin. "I think I know what you mean there."

"Cool, I'm glad I could be of some help." Elise picked up George's sheaths. "I'll see you at the dojo later, okay? Or we could go for a walk if you're not too busy."

"Sounds good."

Elise escorted George out of the garden, leaving Jung on his own. He needed to get back and attend to the other patients, but he also needed some peace and quiet for now. Even as a spectator, battles always made his fur stand on end.

Objectively, Jung knew this was a part of the healing process. Sometimes, it was necessary for patients to step back and make mistakes so they could learn from them. Did that mean Jung didn't feel a tiny stab in his heart? Absolutely not. He sighed and headed for the break room. Hopefully, the catering staff delivered more of those cronuts.