Ever gotten sick with stress? Like, physically ill? Happens to me occasionally. Looking for something I can whap my brain against to give my poor adrenaline abused body a break. So...Legend of Zelda or corny animes?

18

And so I did. Only so much could be explained to Metagross, who had never had to clean a human's house before, so I ended up picking up everything from rocks and books to empty potato chip bags and dirty socks in my mouth as I organized the living room first. Metagross helped where I needed thumbs, using its telekinesis to pop open cupboards or lift boxes and the like. I was also able to explain dust well enough and it/he (I'm really not use to calling things I can talk to 'it' I'm just calling him 'he') floated back with a thick feather duster that didn't look like it had been used in its life. With remarkable delicacy, though with the jerky back and forth movements of a machine, Metagross dusted shelves and stones that I pushed into place with my nose.

"Make sure you shake off the dust outside, far away from the doors and windows," I said when my dry mouth needed a break.

The most impressive cleaning trick had to be once I had a good size trash pile and Metagross teleported it to the trashcan a good ways up the road. Steven had a freaking driveway the length of an actual road. I could just see the town at the other end of the beach.

"That was awesome! You really are a butler!"

"What is this 'butler'?" Metagross asked as he lifted the duster once more in his golden claws.

"It's like a servant or aid to the master of the house who keeps the house in order and helps out."

I didn't know what Metagross thought of that, but it didn't didn't seem to bother him too much as he just continued on dusting and lifting up whatever I asked.

I also mentioned to Metagross how amazing it was that he could move about the house as smoothly as he did without breaking anything, being the same size as the coffee table, and that got me a pleased little buzz of gratitude.

By the time we had the living room put together, I felt filthy. I had dust all the way down to skin, my fur serving as one giant duster. So I stepped outside in the brilliant noonday sun and shook myself and each of my tails hard before heading back in to tackle the worst job yet: the kitchen.

"We should probably make him something," I said as I tried to appreciate the now clean dark hardwood floor of the living room before facing rotten food haven. "Do you know what he likes?"

"I am loathe to admit that it is difficult for me to tell the difference with human food. I have never had the need for such sustenance."

"Well, if his trash is anything to go by, he doesn't cook much anyways."

I pushed open the kitchen door—kitchens should never have doors, who built this house—and was pleasantly surprised to find, not a radioactive biohazard zone, but a dusty, rather unused kitchen with a sink full of carefully stacked, if still dirty, dishes.

"Huh."

"What is it?" Metagross's heavy, column-like feet clacked down onto the linoleum. He had been levitating all morning. Maybe Steven had a rule about no metal, heavy feet on the wood floors?

"It's not as bad as I thought it would be. Still, we're going to need to clean it before we cook."

"Is cleanliness really so important? I can understand how dust may aggravate his breathing, in part, and organization does lessen tripping hazards, but I see no such dangers here."

"You know how humans and poke'mon can get sick, right?"

"Yes. Even my kind can be so."

"Well, for humans," I nuzzled open the cupboard under the sink and found a few bottles of cleaner. "There are microscopic organisms called 'germs' that are attracted to dirty places, especially where there has been food or…waste, like in the bathroom. To keep these germs down it is important to keep a place clean." Carefully, with my tongue curled to the back of my throat, I turned my head and pulled out a bottle of lemon-scented, multi-purpose cleaner. "You can kill germs with hot water and certain cleaners, like this one here."

Another buzz of pleasure passed through my mind. "That is indeed very useful to know. I can't believe I've never caught on to this before. I'm eager to see how well my trainer shall do now that you are here."

Again, with Metagross as my hands, I wiped down the cupboards, cleaned the dishes, swept and mopped, and overall sanitized the kitchen. Once again my favorite part was watching Metagross teleport the trash away. We even moved the mop back into the living room and hallway and I could almost sense an OCD in the making with how much satisfaction I could feel radiating off Metagross with each swipe of the mop.

"Killing germs," I thought I heard him murmur across my thoughts. "None shall harm my master. Yes, death to the germs."

Metagross wanted to go at the bathroom, so I let him have at it while I padded back to the kitchen to see what could be done about food. I knew from our cleaning that the cupboards were practically empty save for a giant glass jar half-full of rice and a packet of dry soup, but perhaps the fridge—

…Nothing. And no, that didn't count for the almost empty carton of margarine and two eggs.

Well, if I had suspected it before, I knew it now. Fact number four about this Steven bloke was: he didn't cook. All the take out boxes and fast food wrappers I'd tossed out had been truth.

"How is he even alive, forget being as skinny as he is." I kicked the fridge door back closed. "Hey! Metagross! Know what money is?"

"I have the concept of it, yes." Came his flat voice into my head, as though he weren't a room and wall away in the bathroom.

"Know where we can find some? Your guy doesn't have anything we can cook for him." My stomach cramped. "Or any of us, really."

"He keeps his poke'mon food in the backyard shed," came the voice. "Unless you require something other than minerals or dried kelp?"

"Do I look like I eat rocks and kelp?"

"I did have my suspicions."

"So, money?"

"Yes. In his folded leather there should be a silver card of sorts…but I do not suppose you know where that may be…"

"Hold that thought. I have an idea."

And thus, I found myself back in the bedroom, having forgotten just how thick his dirty-man smell was after pushing around lemon-soaked cleaner with my paws for the last few hours. I had Metagross move Steven's monster backpack to his bedroom, and it was that which I once more found myself neck deep in.

Steven just slept on, clicking slightly with each breath.

"Guess getting broken up wears you out," I thought as I gutted each pocket. I'd nearly emptied the entire thing before I found the leather wallet Metagross must have been talking about. I wasn't even going to start to attempt trying to wiggle out a card out of many with my teeth and claws, so I just picked it up in my chops and trotted back to the bathroom.

'Ready when you are,' I thought towards him. 'Dang, telepathy is really useful. You're super awesome, you know that Metagross?'

"I appreciate the compliment," said Metagross, who had a rag in each of his for legs wiping down some part of the bathroom, which positively gleamed.

'I'd say it's more of a fact than a compliment. Seriously, if there's anything left of my weird poke'phobia, you've banished it. I want a Metagross.'

His many legs paused. "Pardon, poke'phobia?"

I sat down on my hauches, my legs aching from all the work. 'I don't like poke'mon. They make me uncomfortable.'

"And yet you are one…?"

'Yep.'

"That's…"

But even the quick-witted Metagross didn't seem to have the words for that, and soon we were both on our way down the weed and grass striped driveway to the village, Steven's wallet still carefully clutched in my teeth. As we walked, I told him more of my story, of my brother giving me a Ninetales to try and cure my aversion and how the Ninetales seemed to think turning me into a poke'mon would cure me quicker.

"But why do poke'mon make you uncomfortable?" Metagross asked.

I sighed around the wallet. I'd gotten this question so many times, and always before the argument others always had for me.

I could come up with many reasons that applied to some species of poke'mon, such as Mightyena or Grimer or even Ponytas. But, the truth was, they were only excuses. I really didn't know what poke'mon in general made me want to hide away in my room. Why pokeballs, especially filled ones, made me anxious. Why seeing poke'mon had made me irritated, though I'd been forced to move past that as a Ninetales. And, thinking over my answer, I looked askance at my alien companion and wondered if I already had been cured.

At the thought, a memory, like the first lengthened shadow towards night or a smell from an old basement, drifted up. I felt my fur prickle.

"What is that?" asked Metagross.

'What?' I thought towards him.

"That darkness underneath your thoughts. It's…difficult to decipher. It's perhaps the most human quality to your thoughts that I'm struggling with, these multiple layers and shades. It's never just words."

'Something I don't like to remember,' I thought, focusing instead to the ache of my paws.

"But it could be the answer as to why you've hidden from poke'mon so long. In this world, it is nigh impossible to avoid poke'mon completely, and from the memories I was able to glean, they have infringed on your life and bonds quite a bit."

'I don't see what my dad has to do with poke'mon.'

"Ah. A broken bond."

'A non-existent bond,' I snapped, nearly voicing the words out loud and dropping the wallet. 'And I said I didn't want to remember, so please stop pushing it.'

Metagross didn't apologize, as I was finding was his way. He simply went silent.

Metagross and I got all the stares walking up town and to the grocery store. It would have bothered me more if it was unavoidable, but there was no way we'd be hauling Steven's gimp ass here so one of us would probably be running this errand, since I couldn't see Aggron managing it. He'd probably break as many stores as he shopped from. Basically, I pointed out what I couldn't get with my teeth and Metagross fetched it as well as held the basket. I couldn't resist also grabbing an apple and steak for myself.

"What's the champion's poke'mon doing here without him?"

"Is that a Ninetales? I thought he only did steel and rock types."

"Can't you see how smart it is? It's leading the Metagross around, who wouldn't want that?"

Welp. Life here wasn't going to last long.

The cashier was so busy staring at us I had to yip to get her attention. She picked out the correct card from the wallet, ran the numbers, and then gave both the wallet and bags of food back to us, or more like hold it awkwardly until I took up the wallet and Metagross floated up to gather all the bags in his golden talons.

"When I'm human," I said as we trudged back home. "I'm going to start up a home-delivery business for groceries."

"With humans?" asked Metagross.

"Course. Poke'mon can't read."

"I imagine a few might."

"And what is the likelyhood that I'll be able to get my hands on them? Wouldn't they be, like, Dragonite or Alakazam? You know, super brains."

"You could teach me. What usually stops me, and perhaps many poke'mon, is the language barrier."

I thought on that the rest of the way home. Then I had to focus entirely on putting away groceries and walking Metagross through all the little steps of the meal I had plan. My voice, jaw, and head were starting to ache from it all, including the metallic flat ring of his voice in my head.

Halfway through getting the veggies into the pot of simmering chicken broth, the kitchen door squeaked open.

"Who's in he—" he froze. "Metagross?"

Metagross gave a trill buzz.

"You couldn't have done this yourself." His wide gray eyes fell on me. "Did you…did you talk him through this?"

I nodded, busy watching the broth on my hind legs with my paws near the burner of the stove. One of the perks to being a fire poke'mon: cooking burns were a thing of the past.

His shock and awe was nearly palpable as he struggled over, using the wall as a brace. His hand found my shoulder again as he peered into the pot.

"You can cook?!"

I had to nip his hand away from reaching in and touching it.

"Are you an idiot? Wake up." I snapped.

"Yeah. Yeah that was stupid," he mumbled, stunned. "How did you get this food? How did you…" he patted around stupidly at his hospital gown, as though it had pockets. "Wait, did you take my wallet?"

Metagross, who had just stiffly brushed the last of the carrots into the pot, floated to the counter to come back with said wallet. I just rolled my eyes and took a sniff of the soup, debating on whether it needed more salt. The aroma of bay leaf and basil caressed my heightened senses like silk scarfs and frankincense.

"This is so unreal. How did your trainer teach you all this?"

I shook my head and dropped down to all fours, forcing Steven to take the counter to readjust. Metagross dropped back to the floor as well, though with a heavy chunk.

"What do you mean 'no'? Who else could have taught you to make human food and to clean houses and shop and…" When I just continued to look at him, he just shook his own head. "I heard Ninetales were smart, but for real. You're definitely making me want to keep you, that's for sure."

I dropped my jaw in a doggy like grin, to which he rolled his eyes.

"Don't look so smug. But thanks. My house hasn't been this clean since…I don't know when. And a home-cooked meal!?" He actually smiled at that, wide enough to crinkle is steel eyes and show his teeth. "Thank you. Really."

Metagross's humming picked up in pitch.

"He's happy," he said in my head. "It worked. You were right."

"Of course I was right. I'm human, aren't I?"

Steven returned his hand to my shoulders. "Would you mind helping me to the bathroom? I could use a shower."

I groaned. "As long as I don't have to wash you myself. My poor virgin eyes."

But since I didn't shrug off his hand and even started slowly leading him to the kitchen door, he took it as a yes and gave me another one of those crinkly eye smiles.

"Thanks, girl. You're a godsend."

Heck yeah I was.