Part 3:

The ring was empty. Beat called out to a silent audience. His claws tried to find purchase in the ring's rubber floor, but failed. And so, he fell. The floor consumed him, wrapping around him like jelly. Mmm, jelly. He would've killed for some strawberry jelly. He liked the pots Pierre got from the store. The jelly turned redder and redder, and less viscous. It tastes like metal. Beat tried to breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Beat woke up. Then stayed awake without moving.

Pathetic. Weak. Whiny.

Beat lost again. Loser. Bro would've been so ashamed. He wanted to disappear. He didn't want to sleep or go in a Pokeball or anything like that, he just wanted to poof into a ball of smoke like a Gastly.

Why did anyone in this clinic help him, anyway? He was just a waste of space. To think things were getting better. That Hypno was still a freaking quack. And that Gallade as well, the nerve.

Beat didn't get back to sleep at night. He didn't sleep during the day either, despite feeling tired. Jung came in again at some point.

"Hello," Jung said, though Beat didn't turn around to face him. "You haven't moved much since yesterday. Are you alright?"

Beat didn't feel like talking.

"We could have another picnic today, if you'd like."

"No." Beat sighed. "Leave me alone, please."

"Alright, just let me know if you need anything."

He left Beat to his own devices. Other Pokemon drifted in and out of the room during the day. Some paid no attention to him, others waved to him, though Beat didn't wave back, and some tried to talk, but he wouldn't respond. Eventually, they ignored him and went about their own day.

Someone else, probably a staff member, left him food throughout the day too. Beat didn't always eat, even though his mouth drooled. Even the offers of peanut butter or bamboo didn't change his mind.

Beat had another nightmare. His stomach left his body and he tried to run after it, but he tripped on his own feet and his face flattened on the ground. Then all the Pancham laughed and pointed paws, telling him he had a stupid face.

The next few days dragged on like rusty clockwork. Sometimes, Beat ate, sometimes he didn't. That sketchbook went untouched, probably gathering dust. He thought about that Gallade battle again, replaying the fight in his mind, and reflected on the loss. Not just losing the battle, but losing his face by lashing out, like he always did. And just like that quack said, the worst thing that happened wasn't so bad after all.

That Hypno and Furfrou occasionally checked in on him, but he waved them away. They were paid to check up on him. That's the only reason why they helped him. Who would want to help him after that embarrassment earlier? Especially Jung? Beat snapped at the only other Pokemon who tried to understand him. None of it was real, though. He only pretended to care.

Maybe if Bro got paid to pretend, then he would've been a lot nicer to Beat.

Bro this, Bro that. Beat saw him more often now. He hated it. Hated him. Detested him. Loathed him. If Beat went back to that thicket, he would've rearranged Bro's face. Or eaten his arms and legs so the Pancham had to take care of him for the rest of his life. Whenever he went into battle, he saw Bro's face in the opponent's. It made it so easy to fight, to channel his anger into his body. It carried him through the whole league.

He saw a bit of Bro in George as well.

Beat wanted to tear this building down. Especially the garden. He wanted to pound those trees into dust and leave it in tatters. No, Beat, breathe, just breathe. Jung taught him that. That pain still ate him up from the inside, but he needed another outlet that wasn't destroying everything he touched.

Beat sat up for the first time in hours and furiously scribbled in the sketchbook. He did it in the last red page, knowing right away what he wanted to draw. The end result was a crude sketch with jagged, angular lines, featuring a Pancham stabbing a Pangoro with a knife, like the one Jung used to cut up that cake.

Oh god. Beat thought he was a loony before, but now he was a psycho. Like in those films Pierre sometimes watched. Yet, like that quack suggested, it felt good to draw it. It wasn't the first time he thought that either, it sat in the back of his mind for ages, just with different variations, like dicing Bro to ribbons with his claws or poisoning him with a Zubat bite or hiding a spike in one of his bamboo shoots.

After Beat finished the drawing, he laid on the floor, once again alone with his thoughts. Day turned to night. Beat's stomach grumbled, but he didn't care. His throat was dry, but he didn't care. What made him care was when that Furfrou Lotte padded into the garden. Her coat was unkempt and stringy.

"What?" Beat asked. It was his first word in days.

"I just thought I'd check up on you again." She blew at one of the white bangs that obscured her eyes. "I'll stay out of your fur if you still need some space."

"Yeah, get lost."

Lotte hummed and turned around to face the hallway's dim light. She was about to disappear. About to leave him. Beat didn't want to be alone. Not again.

"Wait," Beat called. Lotte turned back and cocked her head. "Lemme ask you something."

"Okay, go on."

Beat tried to find the right words for this. Dammit, he wasn't good at telling people what went through his head.

"Why are you here? Surely, you don't wanna spend your life babysitting a bunch of messed up Pokemon like me. I bet they pay you, that's why."

She lowered her eyes, pawing at her stray strands. "I don't get paid, I have no use for money."

"You don't?"

"I'm a Pokemon. Jung gets his share, but Jung is more human than Hypno in my opinion. I'm just an old dog who's seen her share of struggling Pokemon in her lifetime. I don't have long left, so while I'm here, I want to help others feel safe and loved like my trainer made me feel."

Beat shifted slightly. "Well, I don't deserve it."

"Beat," she crooned, "why would I come to you if you don't feel like you're worth it?"

"Because I…" He was about to say it was because Lotte got paid, but that was silly. Beat had no way to argue with her. Finally, he curled up in a ball, cradling his paws. "I don't get it. I mooch off of everyone's food here. I make Jung miserable because I'm always miserable. Back in the wild, I wouldn't have gotten handouts like this."

"We're not in the wild." Lotte sauntered over to him and nudged his side with her muzzle. "You don't have to worry about that here. You're in a place where Pokemon give you the care you never got."

"But Bro did care about me!" Beat didn't care it was nighttime, he stood up anyway and stomped around the field, pacing back and forth. "I know he did, he spent all that time on me, so why did he treat me like a steaming heap of droppings in a Bunnelby hole?"

"It's not my place to say." Lotte sat on her hindquarters, tail slowly swishing. "But from what I know, he probably did love you, he just didn't know how to show it in the right way."

"I know. And that's why I don't trust this place." He was too tired. So tired. Beat crumpled like sheets of scrapped drawings and collapsed on the cool grass. "What if you turn around and suddenly hate me? Or kick me out? Taking me in and saying you'll love me, then turning on me, that's just cruel."

"From what Jung told me, what Bro did was cruel." Lotte's ears drooped. "But he isn't here to bug you anymore. You're here. You have a trainer that loves you." She smiled. "And you can be a sweet fella when you sit down to give me headpats."

He stared at his claws. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. You're gentle, you've told me what's on your mind before, you've flattered me about my fur, you ask me how I'm doing and all that. So trust me, I know you have a big heart. And a big heart needs a lot of love to last."

Huh. Beat never thought of it like that. Bro always made him feel worthless. It felt ridiculous, wanting his approval, his love. But that was everything any Pokemon, no, person should've had.

Beat's vision grew misty. He scrunched his eyes, which felt wet. One wipe and it was all gone. No, more came out. Dammit, he became such a crybaby ever since he entered the clinic. It wasn't the first time, or the second time, or the third time Beat made himself look like such a fool. But it felt good, like drawing his memories or talking to Jung.

When Lotte approached him, he pulled her closer, wrapping his big, ursine arms around that strawberry-scented Furfrou.

Jung popped into the garden again, expecting Beat to remain sedentary. Sometimes, patients took a long time to come around, and sometimes, they simply didn't want help. He had to accept that. This time, Beat sat up, occupied with his sketchbook.

"Oh, morning, Beat." Jung waved.

"Hi, doc." Beat rubbed his wax-covered paws. "Sorry about what happened the other day."

"It's alright."

Jung sat down beside him and peeked at the sketchbook. It was on a green page, signifying goals for the future. This drawing showed a Pancham walking away from a Pangoro.

"What does this drawing represent?"

"It means I wanna move on from Bro, duh." He sighed. "I did some thinking, and I realised why I fight. It's all because of Bro. Not just because I wanted him to be proud of me, but also because I really, truly, hate him." Beat dug his claws into his palms. "Every time I battle, I imagine battling Bro. I think that's why I got so mad at that Gallade guy."

"I considered that a possibility, yes, but I'm glad that you also figured that out on your own. So what do you think we should do to move on from Bro?"

Beat flicked through the book and stared at a blank green page. This colour represented future dreams.

"I dunno." Beat blinked. "Bro's been with me for so long, I dunno how I can forget what he did."

"You won't be able to forget, but that doesn't mean you have to forgive him."

"I know. But if I can't even look my opponent in the eye without seeing him again, then I dunno how I can keep battling either."

"That's something you might have to learn as you go along."

Jung outstretched his hand, gesturing to Beat to lend him the sketchbook. Once he relented, Jung flicked back to the red pages, stopping on a new drawing of a Pancham stabbing a Pangoro.

"Uh, ignore that, doc, I'm not some murderer, I swear."

"No, no, it's okay to be angry, or even have these thoughts sometimes. They're fantasies. They allow you to express your emotions without letting them become you. That's what you have to do, Beat."

"What do you mean?"

"You're allowed to feel disappointed when you lose, or sad or lonely sometimes. That doesn't make you weak. I don't have the best advice for how to avoid those negative emotions."

"That's kind of your job."

Jung chuckled. "I know, I know. What I mean is, even as a doctor, I can't help but be angry or sad sometimes." He didn't want to mention how it was mostly down to him being a Hypno. This was about Beat, not Jung. "So what I do is that I try to accept them at that moment, then I give myself time for self care. I had to do that recently."

"Like the cake thing?"

"Perhaps a bit healthier than gorging myself, like going for a walk or talking to friends." What little friends Jung had anyway. "Or imagining myself in a better place." Like planning vacations to Alola he would never go to. "And thinking of all the people that currently support you."

"Like Pierre. And you, and Lotte."

Jung smiled, rubbing Beat's back. "And when you eventually feel ready to go back to Pierre, you'll still be able to contact me. You know, if things get worse or you just need a pep talk."

Beat hugged Jung. They had never been this close before, as doctor and patient. It would've been lying for Jung to say he didn't like this attention. But he was also glad that Beat opened up more. Jung returned the hug, somewhat clumsily since he had to wrap himself around Beat's big bear body, but they eventually got there.

It occurred to Jung that they hadn't had a single dream reading session. It wasn't always necessary, and in a way, Jung was glad to not use his capabilities as a crutch. However, his powers were ultimately a tool to use like a computer or a clipboard. That gave him an idea.

"Beat?" Jung asked. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, go ahead." Beat released Jung.

"I don't want to ask you to do anything you wouldn't want to do. And I still apologise that I read your dreams when you were in such a vulnerable state."

"It's nothing, doc, you only did what felt right."

"Right." Jung clutched his pendulum. "But have you ever heard of lucid dreaming?"

Beat cocked his head.

"It's when you're aware that you're dreaming. So you can control certain parts of what appear there. I'm just thinking, if you want to meet Bro again, or even fight him in order to move on, do you want to try it?"

"Yeah."

"Really?" Jung hummed. "Just like that?"

"Well, yeah, I trust you, doc. We've known each other for, I dunno how long. I'm not good at telling time."

"Nearly three weeks."

"Wow." Beat stared at his feet. "Pierre must be worried sick about me."

"Well, I've given him regular updates about your situation. He's glad you seem to be doing better."

"And if I give Bro that knuckle sandwich I've been cooking up all these years, I'll feel even betterer."

"Alright." Jung undid his necklace, concealing it in his paw. "I must warn you, in order to open you up for a lucid dream, you either need to go to sleep or I'll have to hypnotise you into it. I'd much prefer doing the first option."

Beat forced a yawn, only for it to come out as an 'eh'. "Well, I don't feel sleepy yet. I don't mind you doing your thing."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Oh come on, doc, don't tease me."

"I'm not."

Beat grinned and laid flat on his back, stretching his arms out as if making a mud angel. "Just do it already, long nose guy. Zap me or do whatever you psychics do."

"It doesn't work like that!" Jung tried to come across as serious, though his laughter betrayed that. Right, time to get down to business. He knelt down to Beat and held out his pendulum. "In order for this to work, I need you to participate as well."

"Alright, alright, whaddya want me to do?"

"I just need you to take a few deep breaths and focus on the pendulum as it sways. This works best if you're already relaxed."

"Got it."

The garden was completely still. The Pokemon and the other staff probably would've popped into the middle of their session, but that wasn't a huge worry. The distant calls of bird Pokemon, the swaying trees and the chittering wind chimes provided the perfect environment to doze off in. It was spring as well, a bit cool, but warm enough with the sun bathing them in its rays that it was comfy.

"Ready, Beat?"

Beat inhaled and exhaled as asked, his big chest rising and falling.

"Ready."

The stale air stank of sweat, spilt soda pop, nacho cheese and ale. Flashing lights bombarded him. The audience cheered and roared in equal measure. His claws dug into the padded floor of the ring. His trainer chanted his name from behind. The ring was Beat's home away from home, his proving ground, his perfect square, where he had everything he needed.

The spotlight shone on the other side of the stadium, where the opponent entered. An Obstagoon levitated above the ring, holding a microphone with a never-ending wire.

"And in this corner, weighing a hundred tonnes, you have The Undefeated Champion! The Shadow! The Destroyer of Worlds! The Punisher! The Wanton Flexer of Muscles! The Goddamn Bastard That Ruined Beat's Life! The Devourer of Bamboo! Let's give it up for Broooooooooooooooo!"

Bro appeared holding a bamboo shoot. As soon as the audience cheered, he dropped it to flex his muscles wantonly. Then he did both at the same time, flexing while holding a shoot the size of a tree. He took a big bite out of the stalk, crunching and munching, making sounds like claws on a blackboard.

The Obstagoon glanced at Beat and coughed into the microphone.

"Oh, and Beat, I guess."

The audience booed, throwing tomatoes at him. He took it in his stride. All he needed to focus on was Bro, who cannonballed into the pool-like ring. Oh yeah, it turned into water for whatever reason. And they both walked on it. Beat tested this out by stomping in the square puddle, which sent waves rippling over the surface.

Right, that Hypno fella sent him here. This was a dream.

Beat looked down at the water. What if it wobbled like jelly instead? And hey presto, the water turned thick and red. Not blood red, cherry pop red. His feet slapped against the gelatin, making the whole arena wobble. Bro tried to stabilise himself, only to fall flat on his ass.

The audience laughed. Now Bro was the tomato recipient. He shielded himself.

"T-t-t-t-that's not fair!" Bro wailed. "I want mama!"

Bro grew smaller and smaller until he turned into a Pancham again. He turned his back and continued sobbing, forming puddles on the gummy ring.

Beat didn't want to beat up a helpless Pancham, even in his dreams. He tried to evolve Bro back into a Pangoro, but he lost control. Oh no. And he moved towards Bro too. He knew it was a trap. The one time Beat let his guard down, Bro had to come and haunt him again. And the instant Bro was in claw-swiping distance, Bro doubled in size and charged at Beat with a furious strike.

Beat had a hollow hole in his chest. He still maintained his form, and none of his guts spilled out, but Bro did a number on him. He fell to his knees, sinking into the jelly like quicksand.

Bro grabbed his neck, lifting him off of his feet. He grinned, teeth shining like a bear trap. Beat tried to move, but he had turned into a bamboo stalk again. And he was gonna take a bite out of him. He screamed, but he had no mouth. No. Help. Help. Help!

"Here comes a new challenger!" The Obstagoon pointed to a new part of the stadium that wasn't there before. A shadow emerged from the entrance and glided across the arena like a superhero. Beat couldn't tell what person or Pokemon it was.

It stepped on the ring's rails. The spotlight shone on the shadow to reveal Jung. He donned a new outfit, different from his real self. Instead of a lab coat, it was a rainbow-coloured costume with a cape that swished along with invisible gusts of wind. The starry pattern in the cape didn't move, as if it was a portal to outer space. Jung also had roller skates on, like he was some dancer. All they needed was a disco ball.

The stadium's roof opened up to reveal a shimmering moon, beams of light reflecting off of its myriad of mirrors. The moon was a disco ball.

Jung jumped off of the rail and flipped around endlessly before falling towards the ring, foot aimed to dropkick Bro. Pow, right in the kisser! He sank into the ground, half of his body concealed in gelatin. Served him right. Even on the unstable floor, Jung skated on it like ice, spinning around in place. Beat turned back into a Pangoro.

"Is this what you look like in your head?" Beat asked Jung.

"No, it just happened!" He swayed his hips and pointed his finger at the moon. "Dreams do that sometimes."

"You look kind of, er, gaudy."

Before Jung could reply, Bro rose from the ground as well — he had freed himself by chomping through the jelly. He wiped red stuff from his mouth and swiped at Jung. But Beat stepped in before he struck Jung's nose, rearranging Bro's face, literally. It looked exactly like one of Beat's weird drawings, down to the jagged snout. Bro pawed at his face, trying to swipe it off.

Jung took advantage of this and planted another wheelie into Bro's face. Now it looked like one of those abstract paintings Beat saw in a museum once with his trainer. Another punch. Back to the doodle. Another kick. Back to the painting. Punch. Painting. Kick. Drawing.

Bro fell into the cage, a sweating, panting mess. Jung and Beat smiled at each other. They raised a fist at the same time. Then drove it right through Bro's chest. He exploded into hundreds of crayons, which rattled on the floor which was made of rubber again.

The audience cheered. Jung and Bro held hands. The Obstagoon made devil horns with his paws and raised them in the air.

"I guess teamwork really does make the dream work!"

He got a tomato in the face for that one.

After that dream session, it only took a couple of days for Beat to get back to Pierre. Considering how much Beat backslid, Jung found his progress remarkable. Progress being relative. The key thing about mental health was that therapy never cured any patient of their affliction like a disease. It was a lifelong process. Beat was no exception.

A day or two after Beat was discharged, Pierre had to call Jung again. Beat struggled with feeling down, though it wasn't because of losing a battle, it was just a matter of getting used to Pierre's routine again, plus he felt guilty for all the worries Beat caused his trainer. Although he called out of hours while Jung was in his pajamas, he talked Beat through it and he was able to recuperate from that low period.

Even as Jung worked with other patients who needed immediate help, he always tried to make time for his previous clients. Pierre was kind enough to update him on Beat's situation as well. He started talking to his teammates more. He also drew more regularly, both inside and outside the workbook. As was often the case with cognitive behaviour therapy, it was also a continuous process of practising self help. Beat apparently still had off days where he sat around or seemed deflated after a battle and wanted to be alone. But then there were good days where Beat smiled more, which he never did in the past.

A whole week passed after Beat's discharge. Jung had a day off and he didn't know how to spend it. It would've been nice to find Jet in the middle of the day since that Blastoise always lifted his spirits, but he was apparently busy. George was a bit too intense for Jung's liking but that would've given him something different to do. Amelie was always busy too.

Jung sat at his computer desk with a snack pile and his plushies to accompany him, poised to catch up on the films in his bucket list. The next one was an animated film about a Braixen on a broom who opens a delivery service for a bakery. He'd heard good things about it. He just wished he had someone to watch it with. Then a call came in through the computer: Pierre again.

"Hi, Pierre!" Despite his weariness, Jung still tried to come across as inviting. "How are you doing?"

"Good, thanks. Sorry for calling again, I just wanted to thank you, really."

"Oh, of course, it's no problem. You know I'm always happy to help."

"I know. Beat's doing fine as well, great today, in fact. We're having a picnic by the beach with all of his buddies. I packed that peanut butter cake he likes."

"Ah, always a good choice."

"Yeah." He clicked his tongue. "So, uh, I dunno if I'm allowed to do this, but apparently, you're not working, so… I've saved you a slice."

Jung blinked.

"Oh, you have?"

"Yeah. And I thought you'd like to come along and catch up. We've got sandwiches, finger foods, cupcakes and other stuff too."

This wasn't the first time Jung got invited to dinners or received gifts as thanks for his treatment. Granted, it wasn't always appropriate, and to some extent, Jung had to maintain a level of professional distance, but he wasn't one to look a gift Ponyta in the mouth. They came so rarely that Jung savoured every moment.

He could've said 'I have other plans' or 'oh no, I wouldn't want to burden you'. Truthfully, Jung had nothing else going on that day and for once in a while, he wanted to be selfish.

"Er," Pierre started, filling in the silence, "I dunno what food you like, so I just got what we'd usually eat anyway."

"Ah, no, it's not a problem at all, I'm not picky."

"Okay, cool. So, do you wanna come?"

"Yes." Jung smiled, clutching his chest. He felt warm inside. "I'd love that."