Burning Bright

"I'm not a hot mess. I'm a spicy disaster." - Unknown

Charizard

Any fire-type will tell you that rain sucks. Any fire- and flying-type will tell you that flying in the rain sucks. I will tell you that being out in the rain leaves me with a deep sense of dread and a bizarre urge to find a leaf to cover with. I doubt I could find one big enough these days.

"You wanna land?" Butterfree asks, flying backwards to talk to me. He's having no trouble flying backwards in this weather, and I'm half-hoping he flies into something.

The wind is blowing toward us, pelting me with icy droplets. I'm getting tired, and my tail is aching, the flame on its tip only appearing unaffected. "I've flown in worse conditions," I say. A true statement, though none of those conditions gave me the kind of flashbacks that the pouring rain does. At least it's not a thunderstorm. Now, that would be a nightmare.

Butterfree narrows his eyes, hearing what I'm not saying. "Nah, I know fire-types. We're landing and waiting this out."

He descends before I can argue. I groan but follow him into the trees below. If I knew where Raichu Hoard was, I'd ditch him. But, as I fly through the treetops and land on the soggy grass, I can't deny that, despite the rain leaking between the branches, this is immensely more comfortable.

Butterfree surveys the area. "If memory serves, there's a cave nearby that we can wait in. I don't know about you, but I could use a rest anyway."

"You can ride on my back," I suggest. "We'll continue on foot. Just point me in the right direction."

Butterfree gives me a side-eye. "What's more of a delay? Waiting out the rain for maybe the rest of the day or risking being too sick to fly for several days?"

I can't think of a good argument; my typing means I'm likely to be pretty bad off if I don't seek shelter. "So, you mentioned a cave?"

"This-a-way."

I follow Butterfree through the soaked foliage and try to push certain unsavory memories out of my mind. I've been spoiled by the safety of the ranch; I forgot just how badly the rain affects me. It's stupid. Damian abandoned me years ago. Why does being in the rain still bother me?

I tell myself that it's because I'm a fire-type, that it's merely a physical discomfort and nothing more. That's the only reason my pulse picks up. That's why I have nightmares about drowning or about Ash leaving or some combination. That's why, during our travels, I would sleep next to him at night when the weather was bad and we would both pretend we didn't know why I did it. It's my body, not my mind.

Sure wish I believed that.

"How much farther?" I ask impatiently.

"Cool your cucumbers," Butterfree says. "We're getting there."

I huff but am grateful when he picks up the pace. Then that gratitude leaves when we run - fly, in his case - under a break in the treetops. Frigid raindrops cut into my skin. I instinctively turn my head away from them-

-and see something that stops me dead.

Where is Damian? I wondered, clutching the stem tighter. This leaf was the worst umbrella ever. The storm was relentless. Maybe that's why Damian wasn't back yet. Yeah, he must have found shelter. He'd be here when the storm cleared.

So cold. So cold.

"Charizard," Butterfree's indignant tone snaps me back to reality. "Oh, so you can get distracted, but when I see something shiny, you- Hey, where you going?"

I ignore him and run up to what I found. There is a pokemon sprawled out on the grass. He is a small, quadrupedal pokemon with orange fur, a few black stripes on his legs and back, and longer cream-color fur on his chest and tail with a large tuft sticking up off his head. That fur has been matted down by the rain, making the Growlithe look as if he is melting into the grass.

A fellow fire-type caught in the cold rain. I rest the back of my hand on his flank, utterly relieved when his flank rises and falls. His breathing is strong enough that he must have only just collapsed. I carefully scoop him up in my arms and drape both of my wings over him. (Much more efficient than a leaf.)

"Oh." Butterfree lands on my shoulder, his wings fluttering against me worriedly. "Well, that don't look too good. He's a fire-type like you, ain't he?"

I nod. "That cave?"

"Over here," he replies, hopping off of me. "Let's hustle."

As we race to the cave, I hope with every footstep that Growlithe wakes up and screams at me to put him down. He doesn't; he remains limp in my arms, though he feels warm enough that I don't think he's in serious danger.

What's he doing out in this weather, anyway? I don't see any other pokemon around, so everyone else must have already found shelter. Why didn't he?

Arceus, I'm one to talk.

"Bingo!" Butterfree chirps suddenly. "I knew it was around here."

The cave isn't huge, but it's deep enough to keep us all dry. Once inside, I lay Growlithe on the cool but dry stone flooring. Fatigue has long set in, and though Growlithe doesn't weigh that much, it's a physical relief to longer have to carry him. Butterfree lands next to him and tries to nuzzle him awake. I bring my tail around to rest its flame against Growlithe, trying to warm him up.

"Y-you think that's enough?" Butterfree asks.

I realize that he's shivering and bring my flame a little closer to him, positioning it between him and Growlithe. "Hopefully. I could use Flamethrower, but there's no guarantee he has the Flash Fire ability." If he does, then Flamethrower would make him stronger instead of causing damage. If not, well, fire-type attacks may do less damage to fire-type pokemon, but I don't want to risk hurting the guy. "Maybe we could get a regular fire going."

"Good luck with that." Butterfree says uncertainly. "Any kindling is gonna be soaked through by now."

I can't help a flash of arrogance. "Don't insult me," I say with a wink.

He laughs and rises into the air. "Alright, Mr. Ego. I'll see what I can find. You keep the fellow warm." As he flies out, he adds, "I'll be right back."

"I need to go take care of something, Charmander. You wait here for me. I'll be right back."

The chill that runs over me has nothing to do with the cold. I shake the thought away, because I know - I know - that Butterfree will come back. Afterall, it's not just me in here. This Growlithe needs help, and I know that Butterfree wouldn't abandon a pokemon in need.

At least, that's how I remember him from back in the day. It's been years. Folks change. Look at how different I am now versus my days as a Charmander.

But, Butterfree will be back. Because-because he said he'd be back.

So did Damian.

No. I can't go down that route.

Suddenly, I hear a small noise. It sounds like a whimper. I look down at Growlithe. His eyes are mostly closed, but the lids are fluttering. He's starting to come too. Then, glazed dark gray eyes slowly blink up at me.

"How are you feeling?" I ask cautiously.

Growlithe groans and slowly, shakily climbs to his feet. "A bit dizzy, but well enough otherwise." He blinks at the dimly lit cave walls, recovering quicker than I expected. No complaints there. "Dear me, where in the world am I?"

"Some cave in the woods," I respond. "You were out cold, so we brought you in here."

"We?" Growlithe shakes out his pelt and winces, almost collapsing again. "Oof," he mutters, "shouldn't have done that."

I bring my tail-flame closer. He thanks me and sticks his face in the fire then proceeds to warm and dry the rest of his pelt. "There's a Butterfree I've been traveling with. He should be back soon."

"You wait here for me. I'll be right back."

Stop it.

"And, you might be?" Growlithe asks.

"I'm Charizard," I say. "May I assume your name is Growlithe?"

"Oh, do call me Growlie, if you would."

"Growlie, then. Mind telling me what happened?"

At this point, Growlie's fur is completely dry and in the state of fluffiness his kind's fur should be in. He sits down and gives his shoulder an embarrassed lick. "I daresay I overestimated my own capabilities. Mayhap, I pushed myself a trifle too hard, eh chap?"

The way he speaks is so…posh. "What the hell does that mean?"

He licks his other shoulder. "Oh, I'm simply used to having the help with me when I'm out gallivanting." The help? Gallivanting? Seeing my bewilderment, Growlie shuffles his paws and laughs humorlessly. "In other words, I'm unaccustomed to being on my own. Didn't realize how…uncomfortable the rain is." He grunts and shakes his head. "Honestly, how do water-types stand it?"

I process what he said. "Uh, Growlie, please tell me I'm misunderstanding this, but did you just imply that you've never been out in the rain before?"

Growlie shrinks back with a hard grimace, confirming my suspicions. "Well, I-I have. Sometimes, I'd be out for a little jaunt, and it would start to rain. But," his voice gets so quiet I can barely hear him add, "the servants always have my raincoat handy when the weather is overcast…"

Servants? Raincoat? What in the world-

Realization slaps me in the face. This isn't a wild pokemon who bit off more than he could chew. I'm dealing with someone's pet. On top of that, considering that he seems older than I am, yet he only just now learned how the weather affects his own typing, he must have been born in captivity. What in Arceus's name is he doing out here? Surely, someone must be looking for him. Pikachu may be lost and alone, but at least I know he can take care of himself. Somehow, I don't think I can say the same for Growlie.

What's taking Butterfree so long? He is coming back…right? There's that stupid fear again. What's wrong with me? I haven't been this anxious since I was a Charmander!

Forget him. Stay focused, and ignore that feeling in the pit of your stomach. "Growlie, do your owners know you're out here?"

He stammers a bit then scoffs, feigning disgust. "And, just what makes you think I have owners?" He puffs out his chest. "I am a proud wild pokemon like yourself."

I'll correct him later. "Well, for one thing, most wild pokemon don't even know what a raincoat is. Second, wild pokemon do know what rain is."

"I know what rain is," Growlie says defensively.

I'm about to chew him out more, but a weak yet familiar voice calls my name. I look over my shoulder, and an intense relief settles over me when I spot Butterfree at the mouth of the cave.

He came back.

Just as quickly, that relief turns to worry. Butterfree isn't flying like his kind normally do to get around. No, he is on the ground, slowly pushing a large pile of branches toward us.

"Stay here," I command Growlie. Without checking or even caring if he listens, I rush to Butterfree's side. He is grunting and panting as his tiny arms, if you can even call them that, push the branches without making any real progress. "What happened?" I demand. He doesn't appear injured, but who's to say?

Butterfree slumps on the pile with a loud exhale. "Hoo boy. These things are - huff - heavier than-than an Alpha Snorlax. You ever - huff - you ever seen one of-of them things? They's huge!"

He's fine. Exhausted, but fine. Annoyed now, I bend over to pick up the branches and let him crawl on to my arm. He thanks me and roosts on my shoulder. "Did you seriously try to carry all this on your own?" I chastise.

"Well, first I tried wrapping them up in String Shot and dragging them," he explains, "but they kept getting caught on things. So, I tried flying, but I could only carry one at a time, and that's just the small ones."

So, he decided to push them through the cold rain by himself. Sounds like the kind of stupid stunt Ash would pull. Of course they say that pokemon will sometimes emulate their trainer's behavior without meaning to. Butterfree's been away for several years, but clearly some things have stuck. Unless the 'mon is just like that.

"You could have come and got me," I scold, walking us back to where Growlie is waiting. "I would have helped you."

Butterfree shakes his head. "I know fire-types and rain, Charizard." Even the bug-flying-type understands this. Why didn't Growlie until now? How sheltered is he? "Speaking of, looks like the fellow's awake, yup yup."

Growlie nods at Butterfree when we approach. "Ah, you must be Butterfree, yes?"

"Darn straight," Butterfree says. "Glad to see you up and about. Growlithe, I reckon?"

"Growlie," he corrects. I set the branches down, and he adds, "May I assume your spat has been settled?"

I swallow the flames I was about to blow on the branches. "Spat?" This guy is full of weird words.

Butterfree jumps off my shoulder and hovers next to me. "I didn't spit on nothing. Wait, does String Shot count? It comes out of my mouth, but I don't-"

Growlie chuckles. "No, no. Spat as in argument." He sees our confusion and frowns. "Oh, dear me. Was I mistaken? Forgive me. It's just that I heard you say, 'He came back,' Charizard," I can't believe I said that out loud, "and you sounded ever so happy."

"D'aww," Butterfree coos, latching on to my arm and batting his eyes. "Were you worried about little old me?"

I growl and shake him off, trying to preserve whatever dignity I have left. "Growlie misheard." There's a familiar burn in my throat and mouth as I breathe Flamethrower over the branches. The ego-boost from Butterfree's impressed hum when they catch fire makes me feel a little better.

"Lovely," Growlie praises. "Do you chaps mind if I sit in it?"

"By all means," I reply.

"Beg your pardon?" Butterfree says.

Growlie plops his butt down on the branches and purrs in contentment as the flames blaze harmlessly through his fur.

Now, Butterfree is eyeballing the fire curiously. "Fire-types only," I say before he can get any ideas. "Let me summarize; this guy," I point to Growlie, "is some human's pet."

"I never said that," Growlie says indignantly.

"You have servants and a raincoat," I remind him.

"What's a raincoat?" Butterfree asks. I point to him for emphasis and fix Growlie with a hard look.

Having been cornered, Growlie growls softly in defeat. "So, I'm a pet. Or, I should say I was a pet. No longer."

No longer? "Why not?" I ask.

Butterfree lowers himself to the ground and asks gently, "Did something happen to your owners?" His tone tells me he's thinking of his mate.

Just like how I can't stop thinking of Damian. Ugh.

"Well," Growlie shuffles his paws, "it's a long story, but suppose you all did help me out of a tight spot. The short version is that things weren't the same when James left."

James? …It's probably a coincidence.

"Who's James?" Butterfree asks.

Growlie shifts in his seat, making the burning branches crackle beneath him. "He's my dearest companion, really the only one in the house I truly cared for. Not that I don't like the servants, but-" He sees the fire start to die down and breathes out his own Flamethrower, bringing it back to life. "My apologies. I fear I'm hogging the fire. Would you like a turn, Charizard?"

"Thanks," I say, "but you need it more than I do."

"No, no, you lot went to the trouble." Growlie steps out of the flames and gestures with a paw. "At least have a go."

My tail is still aching a little, and he seems to have recovered anyway. I look outside, see it still pouring rain, and decide that we're going to be here a while. I sit down and rest the tip of my tail in the small fire, sighing as my whole body warms at the contact. The flame from my tail should keep the fire going strong until the branches turn to ash.

"Capital," Growlie says. Another weird word, though it sounds like approval. "Anywho, James is a human I grew up alongside." A nostalgic smile pulls at his mouth. "First face I saw when I hatched, matter of fact." So, he was born in captivity. "Sadly," he goes on more somberly, "he left the house quite some time ago and had to go without me."

I snap to attention. "He abandoned you?" I ask, trying to keep the anger out of my voice.

Growlie shakes his head. "Oh, no, no! It's not like that at all. As I've said, it's a very long story, but James simply had to leave."

"Then, why didn't he take you with him?" Now, I'm not even bothering with my tone.

Growlie flinches but goes on defiantly. "Because, he trusted me to look after his parents."

I relax at that, but I'm still not sure what to make of this.

Fortunately, Butterfree has quickly proved himself to be the more open-minded, or maybe just naive, one between us. "What's wrong with his parents?" he asks. "They sick or something?"

Growlie frowns deeply. "Well, no. But-"

I can't listen to this. As if the rain didn't bring back enough old stuff. "If there's nothing wrong with his parents, then there's no reason for him to leave you behind."

Butterfree glares at me. "Let the fellow finish his story."

I ignore him and meet Growlie's own glare. "From what I'm hearing, Damian left you there because he doesn't want you with him."

"Now, wait just a-" Growlie blinks in confusion. "Um, who's Damian?"

My stomach drops. "I-I said James."

"Damian…" Butterfree muses. "Would I know him?"

"I said James!" I snap. They exchange stunned looks, and I run a hand over my face, cursing myself for my slip-up. I'm sure there will be some questions later. "Just finish your story, Growlie." I turn away from his and Butterfree's curious looks. They may not know what's going on in my head, but I've just handed over more than enough for their imaginations.

"Erm…right then." Growlie clears his throat. "Now, I realize what it all sounds like, but I have seen James a few times since he first left."

"Then why didn't he take you with him?" I grumble, not willing to let this go despite Butterfree's wing swatting my foot in warning.

This is starting to sound like Infernape's story; his old trainer was Ash's rival for Mew's sake, so naturally, Infernape had met up with the guy more than once. I can only imagine how awkward that must have been. Although, if you ask him, Infernape will tell you that he felt a sense of closure the last time they battled, and he made peace with Paul's abandonment of him a long time ago. I wonder if that's why Growlie's out here; maybe he's looking for closure too.

Growlie tilts his head. "Well, this is where things become a tad arduous. Seems that James got saddled with this gaggle of ruffians."

"Are those words?" Butterfree asks. I'm glad I'm not the only one who's confused.

Growlie's mouth twitches in amusement. "James is with a bad group, I mean. Can't recall the name of it, but I seem to remember that he was partnered with a human woman and Meowth who spoke in the human tongue, if you can believe such a thing."

You have got to be kidding me. I turn to Butterfree, who stares up at me with a questioning dread. I nod at him, and his large eyes somehow get bigger.

"Forgive me," Growlie says, switching his gaze between us, "but did I miss something?"

Butterfree speaks before I can say something I'll regret. "It's the human-talking Meowth part that got us." Well, he's not lying, and it's probably better to leave it at that for now.

Growlie relaxes at that and chuckles. "Yes, I can see why you lot would be flummoxed by such a thing." This is getting old. If he has to have a connection to Team Rocket, the least he could do is use words we know! "Why, I scarcely believed it myself. Anyway, James explained it to me the last time we met. He said that Team, uh, Team… Oh, whatever it was."

"Team…Rocket?" It comes out like a question, but I already know the answer.

Growlie's face lights up. "Yes! That was it! So, you know of them."

It's Team Rocket's fault that one of my best friends is missing, and some part of me had been holding out hope that I was wrong about James. A wave of fury shoots through me, but I force it back down. Assuming Growlie's telling the truth, and I believe he is, he had nothing to do with what happened to Pikachu. The 'mon isn't even affiliated with Team Rocket; he just happens to love someone who is. That doesn't make the Growlithe himself bad.

"Yeah, we've, uh, heard of them," Butterfree says cautiously. I just nod along; not only is Butterfree more open-minded (or naive) than I am, but he also seems to have more tact. "Now, what did James say about Team Rocket?"

"That they do terrible things," Growlie continues, incredibly sad all of a sudden. "Steal things, particularly pokemon. Mostly, they sound like poachers, taking pokemon from their homes unwillingly, by force more often than not. He also mentioned that there are times when he and his teammates go without food or a comfortable place to sleep during their travels. I don't like the idea of James in such a situation, but it's the life he's trapped in, and he said he doesn't want me to be trapped as well."

Trapped? Is that really the word James used, or is Growlie paraphrasing? If it's the former, and James wasn't just making an excuse, then why does he feel trapped? Yeah, it all sounds pretty awful, but James joined Team Rocket of his own volition. At least…that's what I assumed. Before now, I've never had a reason to believe otherwise.

What am I thinking? Even without the Pikachu situation, Team Rocket is a rotten group full of rotten people. How could I even consider pitying one of them? This rain is scrambling my brain. When the hell is it going to stop?

I check the mouth of the cave. Still raining. Ugh.

"It does sound like a pretty crummy life," Butterfree says, "but what's that got to do with you bebopping around?"

Growlie's ear twitches. "Be…bopping…?"

Ha! He's not the only one who talks funny. At least when Butterfree does it, you can figure out what he's saying. "Now you know how we feel when you use words like 'flummoxed,'" I say with a smirk.

Growlie stares at me then bursts out laughing. "Oh, guilty as charged, good sir! I do have quite the vocabulary, don't I? Blame it on my upbringing."

Butterfree giggles. "I was just asking what brought you to these parts."

Growlie's good mood turns sour. "Oh, I just cannot stand being in that house any longer. I'm going to find James and join him on his adventures, and I don't care how unpleasant they are."

His vehemence shocks me. If he wants to join up with a bad guy like James, how bad are James's parents? "Did his parents do something to you?"

Growlie grumbles under his breath, and he kneads the ground uncomfortably. His eyes dart toward the cave's mouth, as if he's hoping the rain's stopped so he can bolt. But, that must not be an option, because he's still sitting there. "It's…not that they did something. They-they don't hurt me or anything, if that's what you mean. Er, well, perhaps. But-but, it wasn't intentional."

"Still counts," I mutter. Butterfree smacks my foot again. "I'm just saying."

Growlies ignores the exchange. "You see, Adam and Megan - James's father and mother - they expect me to stay at the house all day. Each day, one of the servants takes me for a jaunt around the property, but that's the only time I'm allowed outside." Growlie grimaces. "Unless I have to attend some show."

"I'm almost afraid to ask," I say, "but what do you mean by 'show?'"

Growlie rolls his eyes. "Oh, it's some competition to see which pokemon is the prettiest and can do the best tricks. It was interesting the first time, but after a while, you start to realize how pretentious the whole thing is. I'm a pokemon! If I want to roll around in the dirt, I'm going to roll around in the dirt, Megan! And, I don't need an extra bath when I'm done!" Butterfree and I stare at him until he realizes that Megan's not here and ducks his head. "Um, yes, shows. Not fun."

"They don't bathe you with water, do they?" I ask, feeling worse and worse for this guy.

"Alas," Growlie sighs.

Butterfree cringes. "Yeesh. That ain't right."

Too stunned to say anything, I just grunt in agreement. It's common knowledge, or so I thought, that fire-types don't bathe the same way as other pokemon. Instead of taking a dip in the river or bathtub, we coat ourselves in our own flames and burn off dirt and debris. Trainers don't even need to help us clean up - how would they? - but some, like Ash, like to rub us down with a dry towel. Does it work? Not really, but it feels nice, so I don't know anyone who objects to it. Granted, those with fur still lick themselves, but our tongues are bone dry unless we're eating. And, even then, our bodily fluids are scalding-hot.

The point is, the last thing anyone should be doing is cleaning a Growlithe with water. Walking in the rain is bad enough. Scrubbing down a wet fire-type? Why don't they just have Growlie sleep on thorns while they're at it?

"Though, I'll admit," Growlie says smugly, "that I had a bit of freedom. I may have snuck out at night a time or two. Mostly to explore the forest, though I had more than a few battles. Acquired a taste for adventure, I did."

"Well, you'll have plenty of those with Team Rocket," Butterfree says, "but I'm not sure they're the kind of adventures you're looking for. Charizard and I are pretty familiar with them folks, and we've seen the kinds of messes they make."

"That's putting it mildly," I add.

Growlie narrows his eyes. "I don't care. I'll be happy as long as I'm with James and far from his parents. Do you know they won't let me evolve? That was the last straw for me. They acquired a huge collection of evolution stones in some sort of decorative," his spits out the word, "piece in the living room. I climbed up there and actually had my paw on that fire stone. I could feel the evolution process beginning, and what does Adam do? He pulls me away and has the fire stone replaced with a thunder stone."

Butterfree makes a disgusted sound, and I shake my head and say, "Honestly. What's wrong with you evolving? I've seen my fair share of Arcanine, and I always thought they were pretty impressive."

"Me too!" Butterfree chirps.

"Exactly!" Growlie snarls, getting more riled up the more he speaks. "Oh, but that's not the end of it. Adam was scolding me for trying to evolve, and I could have lived with that. But, then Megan steps in and says," at this, he makes his voice high and squeaky, "'Oh dear, he's just a pokemon. He doesn't understand.'"

What? "As if you have no brain!" I snarl, swallowing the smoke rising in my throat.

"If that's their opinion," Butterfree says, his anger better-controlled but still present in his voice, "then I can see why you left, yup yup."

"'Yup yup,' indeed, good sir," Growlie says. "Those two fail to realize that my head isn't filled with fluff. But, James always understood that, and he always wanted me to be happy above all else." Call me crazy, but it sounds like James and Ash have something in common. "So, last night, I snuck out one final time, and here we are."

I'm still on the fence about Growlie joining Team Rocket, but it sounds like that might be the lesser of two evils. There are too many humans who fail to realize that they aren't the only creatures with functioning brains. And, I can't get the idea of taking a wet bath out of my mind. I once sat in a lake all night to prove a point - long, humiliating story - and I regretted it for days. I can't fathom being wet on a regular basis.

"Well, my friend," Butterfree says to Growlie, "that is quite a tale you've told. Quite a tale, yup yup."

I nod. "I get your perspective, Growlie, but I still say this is a bad idea. Dam- James left you behind. What makes you think he wants you around now?"

Instead of answering, Growlie tilts his head and regards me quizzically. "You seem to keep referring to this - what was it? - Damian? Mayhap the fellow doth project too much?"

I can't believe I keep doing that. I don't think I can blame the weather anymore. "You lost me at 'mayhap,' but this isn't about me anyway."

"Whatever it's about," Butterfree says with a curious glance my way, "the fact is that Team Rocket might not be what you want." He raises a hand when Growlie starts to argue. "Now, I'll say that I once left my family to be with someone, and I don't regret a moment of it. I'm the last 'mon who should be telling you not to follow someone you love. But, here's the difference, Growlie. My mate was just a humble Butterfree of an unusual color. She didn't have nothing to do with no evil. She didn't even battle because she didn't like seeing folks get hurt. She was real sweet like that." There's a catch in his voice at the end. Growlie's gaze softens, and I run my knuckles over Butterfree's wing in support. Butterfree clears his throat. "James, on the other hand, is with that gang of ruffles or whatever you called them. Personally, I'd call them bad guys. Bunch of jerks. A roaming of pack ne'er-do-wells-"

I cut Butterfree off before he gets too side-tracked. "We've both seen what Team Rocket is capable of. The group you're looking for is only a small part of it - the mostly harmless part, lucky for you. But, Team Rocket as a whole has caused serious damage. Pokemon get taken, and they don't come back." Except for Pikachu, and I pray that's still the case. "Arceus only knows what happens to them, but I've seen lives ruined because of Team Rocket. I don't know what their goal is, and frankly I don't care." Growlie doesn't respond, but I see his ears twitch uncomfortably as he stares at his feet. Maybe I'm getting through to him. "And, no offense, but night excursions or not, you're still a house pet with no real experience in the wild. I don't like your chances in a group like Team Rocket."

Silence falls as Growlie collects his thoughts. Then, he looks from me to Butterfree, a new fire in his eyes. "I know the risks. This could very well be a suicide mission. But, I want to be with the only one who's ever seen me as an equal."

Loyal to a fault. I can relate. "I can respect that," I say instead. "Though, I still think you're in for a rude awakening."

"Or, he could have a happier life than you think," Butterfree counters. "Sometimes all you need is that one creature who makes everything worth it." He turns away from me. "Guess that's why I'm out here." I stroke his wing again.

"What do you mean?" Growlie asks.

Butterfree gives his wings a hard flap and picks his head up. "I lost my mate recently, you see. After wallowing for a while, I decided that she wouldn't want me to be doing that. So, I'm seeking out my old trainer. He wasn't perfect - temperamental, kind of a brat, if I'm being honest - but he sure made me happy, yup yup."

I stifle a laugh. I forgot that Butterfree only remembers Ash as a child. "Oh, I think you'll find that the Ash you come back to is a little different."

"So, you know the lad, Charizard?" Growlie asks.

I nod. "Just so happens that Ash is my own trainer."

Growlie's mouth falls open. "I-I thought you said you were a wild pokemon."

"No, you assumed that, and I didn't have a reason to correct you."

Growlie hums then turns back to Butterfree. "But, you make it sound as if you're still searching for this Ash."

Butterfree gives me another side-eye. I hope that doesn't become a regular thing, because it's kind of annoying. "Charizard flew the coop."

"I did not!" I snap. He's making it sound like I just took off! Which…I did, so that's fair. "What actually happened is one of my best friends went missing, so I decided to do something about it."

"By flying the coop," Butterfree adds. I blow smoke at him, and he coughs and flutters his wings, blowing it away. "Well, you did!"

Yes, I did, but he doesn't have to say it that way! Still, I have to concede. "Fine. I flew the coop. But, I only did it so I could find my friend."

"And, this friend," Growlie says. "Is that who Damian is?"

Don't snarl, Charizard. He doesn't know, and you brought this on yourself. "Let's just say that Damian is kind of like Adam and Megan." It's sad how proud I am that my voice stayed steady. "No, my friend is a Pikachu." I debate telling Growlie that it's Team Rocket's fault that Pikachu's missing, but I doubt it would do anything to sway him.

"I know Pikachu, too," Butterfree adds. "We're kind of helping each other out."

"I see," Growlie says. "Well, perhaps you could help me as well. I heard talk of a hoard that helps those in need. Some group they call the PokeSquad. I thought they could teach me how to be out on my own. Have you heard of them?"

PokeSquad? Stupid team name aside, I'm glad that Growlie at least acknowledges that he's basically a dead 'mon walking if he doesn't learn how to survive without his servants. I shrug. "Can't say that I have. Butterfree?"

"Yeah, reckon so," he confirms. "They led by an Absol?"

Growlie perks up. "Why, yes, so I'm told!"

"Don't get too excited. I don't know where to find them folks." Growlie's ears droop, but he brightens again when Butterfree says, "But, I know a different hoard who'd be willing to help out. You ever hear of a hoard led by a shiny alpha?"

"A shiny alpha?" Growlie repeats in surprise.

I'm right there with him. "You didn't tell me Alpha Raichu was a shiny," I say to Butterfree. An alpha's one thing. A shiny's another. But, both?

"Didn't I?" Butterfree grooms his antenna thoughtfully. "I guess it didn't seem important at the time." It springs back upright on his head, and he goes on. "But, yeppers. Raichu's got this whole group of different folks from different places, and they take in anyone who's looking for a place to be taken in, yup yup. And, unlike your PokeSquad, they don't roam around. And, I happen to know the way."

"Really?" Growlie's tail lashes eagerly. "Then, perhaps you could point me in the right direction?"

"I'll do you one better. We was just heading that-a-way ourselves when the rain started up. Soon as it clears, you may as well just come with us." Butterfree looks up at me. "You don't mind none, do you?"

Having an inexperienced housepet around could be more of a hazard than a help. We've wasted too much time - and more to come, it seems - because of the weather. For all I know, Pikachu could be dead in a ditch by now. (…Okay, probably not. He's Pikachu. But, even so.) Besides, I don't like the idea of just handing Team Rocket an innocent pokemon.

But, it doesn't feel right to just leave him behind if we're heading to the same place anyway. And, if James really does love Growlie, maybe it would be okay. It can't be any worse than what Growlie's dealt with as a housepet.

Regular water baths. I hope he bit Adam and Megan at least once. Each. With Fire Fang if he can use it.

I shrug. "May as well."

"Oh, huzzah!" Growlie leaps gleefully to his feet. He's got spirit if nothing else. "Oh, I can't wait to get there!"

I check the mouth of the cave again. "Well, unless you wanna chance it," like I do, "you're gonna have to wait. I don't think the rain is letting up anytime soon. But, are you sure about this?" I ask Growlie. "Last chance to back out."

Growlie stomps his foot indignantly. "I want to be with James, and nothing short of death itself is going to stop me."

I'm tempted to remind him that that almost happened, but I hold my tongue. Instead, I say as kindly as I can, "That doesn't necessarily mean he wants to be with you." I raise my hand when he growls at me. "Take it from me, Growlie. Trainers don't always care as much as you want them to. I just think you should have a back-up plan if James doesn't work out."

Growlie grits his teeth, considering. If nothing else, Raichu Hoard would probably take him in, if what Butterfree said about them is true.

"Hey, Charizard," Butterfree says thoughtfully. "Didn't you have a trainer before Ash?" I stiffen, though I knew this was coming. "That's who Damian is, isn't it?"

"Maybe," I grudgingly admit. It's my own fault. First, the rain. Then, Growlie's situation. I need the rain to stop so that I can fly and clear my head.

Butterfree nods, oblivious to my annoyance with myself. "Yeah, I remember now. Rotten bastard left you out in the- Oh…"

"This isn't about me!" I snarl, turning away from dual looks of pity. "We head out as soon as it clears up."

We fall silent until Butterfree offers to grab more kindling, denying my offered help and claiming, "Anyone who leaves gets an Air Slash to the face." Predictably, he comes back trying to shove another pile of branches along. This time, I'm ready for him.