Chapter 7

The stars are disappearing into the warm gray of a lightening sky, and the birds are trying to sing the sun up. For a few groggy seconds you think they’re the ones that woke you. You’re about to shut them up with a little song of your own when Duskull drops down in front of your face, eye pulsing slowly on and off. “Oh,” you say, the smile sliding off your face.

You scramble to your feet and hurry towards the Rocket, Duskull drifting behind like a tiny storm cloud, then stop. You need to do this right. You need to be careful. You tickle your voice box low enough for human speech, tongue and teeth rearranging. The spitting flare of your tail flame sinks back to a faint glow as you school yourself to calm, and you hold it close behind you as you start walking again. From the Rocket’s perspective, you should be nothing more than a silhouette. You expect this conversation will be difficult enough without him getting a good look at you.

You can hear him moving, tentatively, making faint noises of pain, but he stops as you get close. “I know you are awake,” you say. “There is no point pretending.”

He stays still and silent. You let out a smoky huff of irritation and swat him lightly on the side of the head. His eyes fly open as a gash reopens and spills sluggish blood into his ear.

“Gah! What the fuck was–” he starts, jerking away from you. The motion turns to a wince of pain, and he hisses a long string of curses between his teeth as, with delicate slowness, he settles back into a relaxed position.

“I do not have time to play games. I have a proposal for you, and I require your attention. Do you understand?”

“You’re fucking insane,” he croaks. You take a reflexive step back as you see his eye, no more than a slit in a receding shiner, glinting in the light of your tail flame. “What in the fuck is going on here? Who the hell are you?”

“What is going on is I am giving you the opportunity to save your worthless life. Pay attention.”

“Fuck you and your ‘opportunity.’ I ain’t doing nothing until somebody explains what the hell this is.” He has to take a second to get his breath back before plunging on. “And you didn’t answer the fucking question: who the fuck are you?”

You consider possible responses while he lifts himself ever so slightly and peers around the clearing, squinting in the half-light. “Hey! Where the fuck are you? Just gonna set your pokémon on me while you hide out somewhere, asshole?”

“No. I am standing right in front of you. Now, if we can go back to what I was trying to say–”

“You can go back all you like, but I ain’t going with you until you tell me just who in the fuck you are.” He stares hard at everything but you and Duskull, still searching for a lurking human.

“You will be quiet and listen to what I say or–”

“Or what? Bring it on, you cowardly little bitch, I ain’t scared of–”

“I said be quiet or I will–”

“What, you’ll get your pokémon to do your dirty work ’cause you’re too much of a fucking pussy to–”

Irritation burns in your chest, flammable gases evolving, temperature rising. “Shut up!” you roar, and flames gush out with the words, setting the leaves at your feet alight. You realize your mistake as the great Nathaniel Morgan’s eyes widen. You stand there silent and mortified, cringing at the dry-leaf rustle of Duskull’s laughter.

“Christ,” the great Nathaniel Morgan breathes, staring into the returning darkness. “That’s no fucking charmeleon. Fuck who are you–what the fuck are you?”

“I am me. Not that it is important. What is important is that I want your help.”

Through a long string of ginger movements the Rocket manages to get one hand up to clutch at his head, and he’s muttering to himself, a breathless stream of words you have to turn up your hearing to make out. “…so fucked. Like thanks for the fucking head injuries asshole, I wasn’t up shit creek already without fucking seeing things…”

“Pay attention!”

He closes his eyes and sighs.

“I said pay attention!” You’re on him in a second, knocking his hand out of the way and ignoring his cry of pain as you jostle unknown wounds, putting your face so close to his that the heat of your breath blisters his skin. “Look at me!”

He cracks open desperately watering eyes, and you straighten up again, staring down into his face. “Now. I am not a hallucination. I am very real, and I do not like to be ignored. If you want to continue living, I suggest that you listen to what I am saying.”

The Rocket twitches, like he’s going to try and strike you, but can only subside with a choked noise of discomfort. You glare at him for a second, but he doesn’t try anything else. “Now. Like I said, I want your help. I want to be you in order to take the gym challenge, and I need you to come with me while I do. If you agree to that, I will spare your life and let you go after I finish the Indigo League Tournament. What is your answer?”

He’s quiet for so long you’re about to press him again, but at last he takes a wheezing breath and says, even softer than before, “Look, I still don’t even know what in the fuck is going on here. I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, I’m fucking cold, and I feel like a bunch of snorlax have been doing the fucking conga all over my body, okay? I’m having a little trouble concentrating on your fucking offer, get me?”

You let your breath hiss out between your teeth, hoping it will take some of your aggravation with it. “I have food. I have water. I will give them to you if you agree to my terms.”

“How about no, food first, and then we fucking talk?”

“You are in no position to make demands. Will you come with me or not?”

He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the trunk. After a second he says, “Look, could I just get some fucking water? Fucking ‘please,’ all right? Then I’ll listen to your bullshit offer or whatever, swear to God.”

You bare your teeth at him and spit out another near-flaming breath, but when he doesn’t react, you give up and stomp over to your pack. You can tell he’s watching as you rummage out your water and storm back over, the tiniest slit of eyes showing under his lids, but he’s not prepared when you upend the canteen over his face.

“Hey! What–” he splutters, then coughs and sits glaring at you for a second, licking moisture off split and swollen lips.

“There is your water. If you want more, you will listen to what I have to say.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” the great Nathaniel Morgan growls. “Bastard. Fine. Let’s just get this shit over with already.”

“Yes. As I said. I need you to come with me on my journey. I am going to be you and use your pokédex to earn the last two badges. Then I will enter the Indigo League Tournament. Once it is over, I will give your pokédex back, and you will be free to go. All I ask for is your cooperation over the next three weeks.”

“Whoah, whoah, whoah,” he says. “Hold up. Badges? The fucking League finals?” His face twists into a hideous smirk, shattered teeth glinting bloody in the growing light. “What the fuck is this? Splice-boy wants to be a motherfucking pokémon master?”

“Splice-boy?”

“Oh, come the fuck on,” he says, smirk growing wider. “You’re obviously some kind of ugly mutant thing. I mean, whatever lab you escaped from”–his smile falters for a second, and his eyes widen. You wait in confusion as he groans, “Oh, fuck, that’s it, ain’t it? You’re some escaped freak they were cooking up down in the labs, huh? And now you’re free, you’re going to get your revenge on Team Rocket or some shit, like liberate your mutie brothers and sisters and start a revolution, am I right? Well, forget about it, I got nothing to do with that shit…”

“I am not an experiment.”

“…don’t even like scientists, those nerds give me the fucking creeps. I mean, yeah, sure, I know some guys who were in on the whole Mewtwo thing, but who the fuck doesn’t? Like–”

“Be quiet. I am not a mutant. I am not a Rocket experiment. I am me, and I am doing this for my own reasons.”

“What, fucking with me? Because you want to be me? What, you think you can just walk into a gym or something, show my fucking pokédex, and they’ll let you in?”

“They will if I look like you.”

He stares at you for a moment, then bursts into actual laughter. It only lasts a second before it turns into coughing, wrenching noises that shake his whole body. He’s gasping for air but trying hard not to breathe, curling in over smashed ribs and choking back the wracking noise. “Come the fuck on, Freak,” he says as the fit subsides, barely above a whisper. “I might be ugly, but I ain’t that fucking ugly. What are you, some kind of master of fucking disguise?”

“Yes.”

He blinks up at you, then lets his head fall back against the tree trunk with a careful sigh. “Fine,” he says. “You know what? That can be your fucking problem. I still don’t know how the fuck you expect me to be going anywhere in time for the goddamned finals, hell, anywhere for like fucking weeks.”

“Why not? If you have some other plans, you will have to cancel them. This is more important.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, retard? Plans? Hell yeah I got plans, like, you know, lying around in a fucking hospital, high out of my mind on painkillers, until I can fucking walk again, shit like that.”

“You mean you need more time to heal.”

“Yes! Yes, that’s what I’m fucking talking about. I can hardly fucking move over here, and everything hurts like a motherfucker. I ain’t going nowhere, with you or nobody else.”

You barely suppress a growl of frustration. Pathetic. “Fine. I will heal you, and then you will join me.”

“Oh, right, heal me, you’ll just fucking heal me, with your magic mutant fairy dust, is that it?”

“No. Soft-boiled.”

“What, they drop you on your head when they were pulling you out of the fucking test tube, or what? That don’t work on humans, dipshit.”

“Mine does. That is what I used to heal you earlier.”

“Heal me ‘earlier?’ Yeah, some fucking fantastic job you did of that, didn’t you? I mean, fuck, I can’t even move my fucking arm, here.”

“I saved your life. You owe me your cooperation.”

“I don’t owe you shit, even if you are telling the truth.” He takes a fortifying breath and starts again, a little stronger. “Look. You fuck off and leave me here, and I swear to God I’ll forget I ever met you. Hell, I’m already trying to forget I ever met you. You can go on pretending to be me if you really think you can pull it off, fine, fucking peachy. Not like I can go around being myself anymore, anyway. Which is another thing. The whole reason we’re having this fucking delightful conversation in the first place is Team Rocket decided they didn’t like my fucking face and wanted to put me six fucking feet under. Guess they kinda fucked it up, but all that means is they’re going to be on your ass if you’re all looking like–”

“I know.”

He breaks off in confusion. Then, “What the fuck are you talking about? You ‘know?’”

“Yes. I was following the Rockets when they came to get you. How did you think I found you in the first place?”

“What? Hold the fuck up, you were just hanging out watching while those morons beat the shit out of me? And you didn’t do jack about it?”

“Of course not. If I had interfered they would have started attacking me instead. Besides, you are a Rocket yourself. I am sure you deserved it.”

His face twists into an awful smile that seems to sneer even though the shape is right, and his shoulders twitch with suppressed laughter. “My fucking hero. Well, whatever. What I was trying to say in the first place is we should go our separate fucking ways. I swear I won’t ever tell nobody about you and your crazy fucking plan, and you can just go off and do whatever the fuck you want. Sound good?”

“No. You need to come with me. I do not trust you to keep quiet.”

He starts what sounds like a growl, but it nearly turns into a cough, and he chokes it down, bottles it up inside. When he goes on, it’s in a carefully neutral tone. “Why the hell do you care so much about that? What the fuck do you even think I’m going to do to you? I already fucking told you, I’m gonna be fucking hospitalized for longer than your stupid-ass little adventure is going to take.” He doesn’t quite manage to hold in another cough, and afterwards it takes him a while to pick up his train of thought. “God, you haven’t got any meds on you, do ya?”

“No. And I cannot afford to leave any loose ends. You will come with me so I can watch you and be sure you do not betray me.”

“Look, seriously, what the fuck are you even planning to do? Carry me?”

“If necessary.”

“Are you–are you fucking–?” He shivers a little, like he wants to move but hurts too much. “For fuck’s sake, who am I even going to ‘betray’ you to, anyway? You think I’m going to go to the fucking police or some shit? Who the hell would even believe me? They’d just lock me up in the goddamn psych ward, come on.”

As well they might. Most people probably wouldn’t believe his story. But there is one who would, one person whose ears it can never be allowed to reach.

“It could be anyone. Your Rocket friends, perhaps. I cannot risk it.”

“Rocket friends? You mean the fuckers who just tried to kill me?” He glares at you. You stare back and wait. “Look, the answer is ‘no,’ got it? Drag me along with you or whatever, I guess, if you can fucking manage it. But first chance I get I’m screaming as loud as I can and at least when they come to take me away they’ll get you too, you piece of shit.”

“You will not.”

“And why the fuck not?”

“Because if you try, I will kill you.”

He grimaces and shifts his weight against the trunk. “Might as well save us both some time and bump me off right now, Freak.”

You flex your claws and lash your tail, letting its flame leap higher, spitting and popping with your anger. But though Absol isn’t here, you can imagine her displeasure well enough. “Stop being stupid,” you snarl at the Rocket. “What does being stubborn get you? If you cooperate, we both benefit.”

“Yeah? Funny, I still haven’t heard how the fuck I benefit from letting some psycho freak bastard push me around.”

“If you cooperate, I will make sure you live.”

“Oh, right, after you’ve threatened to kill me like every two goddamn seconds. I believe the shit out of that one.”

You stare him down for a few more seconds. Finally, gritting your teeth, you hiss out, “Fine. What do you want from me?”

“I want you to fuck off and find some other poor bastard to push around. I’ve got more important things to do than run around on your fucking stupid badge quest.”

Your tail flame surges higher, its heat beating on the back of your neck. The smoke from your nostrils stings your eyes, and you tremble with the effort of not unleashing a flamethrower straight into the Rocket’s ugly face. A few stray licks of flame spit from your mouth as you snarl, “Good. I will leave you here, and maybe if you are lucky you will manage to crawl back to Fuchsia before you starve or something eats you. Otherwise, good luck doing your ‘more important things’ when you are dead. At least Team Rocket will be happy that they got what they wanted in the end.”

You whirl around and stomp away, feeling darkly pleased. The human’s sure to die if you leave him on his own, and then you’ll be able to use his face and his pokédex without fear of repercussion, at least from the law. As far as you’re concerned, Team Rocket coming after you is a bonus. Then you won’t have to waste time looking for them later.

And it’s fair as fair can be. You gave him a chance to save himself–not even Absol could argue with that–and he threw it back in your face. Let her grumble about shadows and mirrors all she likes; if anybody is trying to thwart Fate here, it’s obviously the stupid human himself.

You’re brought up short by a stab of pain as your tail pulls taut. Without even thinking you spin around and lash out at whatever’s caught you. The human yelps and lets go, staring at the gashes down the inside of his arm.

“Agh! What the fuck–”

“Don’t touch me,” you snarl, then pause to lick the blood off your claws. “We are done here. You did not accept my offer, so I have nothing more to say to you.”

The Rocket tears his gaze away from the bright blood welling out of his new wounds. “Oh, we’re done, are we? I don’t fucking think so. Guess the fuck what, Freak? I changed my mind. You want to go on some fucking stupid master journey? What the fuck, I guess I’ll come with you. Should be one hell of a laugh if nothing else.”

You’re snorting hot embers now and only just manage to grate out, “And why did you change your mind all of a sudden?”

He tries for a smirk, but some twinge of pain stops him, and he only manages a faint grimace. “Oh, I dunno, Freak. Call it a little fucking revenge. You want me to come along on your goddamn journey? Fine, you get your fucking wish, and I get to make your life hell the entire way.”

You stand there for a few moments, concentrating on breathing while your anger sears the back of your throat. In the end you say only, “Good. You had better be ready to move in three hours.”

“Are you fucking insane? Look at me, moron. How the hell do you expect me to go anywhere in three days? Three hours? You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Looking him over, you have to admit he has a point. What you can see of him is variously bruised, lacerated, smashed, or bleeding, sometimes multiple at once. His movements are slow and careful, and he has to stop periodically, whether from fatigue or pain you can’t be sure. You’re surprised he was able to move quick enough to grab you.

“Very well,” you say tightly. You clench a fist and exert all your will to force healing energy through it, rather than the fire that so desperately wants to leap from your scales.

The great Nathaniel Morgan watches quietly, for once, as the soft-boiled takes shape in your palm, forcing your claws open as it grows. “What the fuck,” he mutters. “How the hell does a charmeleon–wait, what are you doing? Oh, n-no, that’s okay, I can do that myse–agghwhulp!”

There’s no way you’d trust the Rocket to handle the soft-boiled, weak and clumsy as he is. What if he’d dropped it? That would be all your energy lost for nothing. So you hold his mouth shut to keep him from spitting the egg out and wait until his thrashing becomes noticeably stronger. He grabs your arm and tries to wrench it away.

You let go of him and easily twist out of his grasp while he sputters and gasps, “If you ever touch me again, Freak, I’ll rip your balls off and shove them down your fucking throat, got it?”

You incline your head. “The same to you.” But he isn’t listening. Instead he’s flexing his fingers in front of his face, wincing.

“Ugh, that stings like a motherfucker. Hey!” He shudders faintly and looks down at the sleeping bag covering his other arm, then shoves it aside. “Some shitty job of healing me. I still can’t move my… Oh, shit.”

You’re barely paying attention, rolling your shoulders and flexing your claws to work the ache out of your muscles, but the Rocket’s tone gives you pause. He goes on, a bit breathless. “Oh, shit. You didn’t… You didn’t splint my arm or nothing before you fixed it, did you?”

“Splint it? What are you talking about?”

“Shit,” he says, so quiet you can hardly hear. “Oh, shit. I think it healed wrong.”

“Healed wrong?” All your anger returns in a flash, setting tail and teeth blazing. “Heal wrong? What do you mean, ‘heal wrong?’ How could that possibly happen?”

He flinches away from you, naked fear in his eyes. You dig your claws into the earth and force yourself calm again, evaporating your fire into smoke while the Rocket babbles in the background like the fool he is. “I don’t know! Do I look like a fucking doctor to you? All I know is my fucking arm should not be… like that, okay? No need to get all pissy about it.”

You climb over him to get a better look, ignoring his groan as your weight settles on his chest. And it’s true. His arm hasn’t healed properly: it’s still all crooked and jutting in the middle.

The worthless human can’t do anything right. You curse Absol again for putting you in this situation. “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

“Fix it, duh. You really are fucking stupid, ain’t you?”

“What if I choose not to? You do not need this arm to travel. The other works.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? God, you’re such an asshole. Look, my arm isn’t the only thing that’s broken, okay? I’m pretty sure, at least. Let’s just say I’m not going to be doing much fucking walking in the near future, you get me?”

Of course. You glare down at his ill-healed arm. To make matters worse, you think you do remember, vaguely, things humans wear on injured limbs, bulky casts or slings. Things to keep them from moving around too much, to hold bones in their proper place. Plot points. You hadn’t expected to deal with that sort of nonsense yourself–but then, you hadn’t expected to deal with many humans, either.

“Fine. I did it wrong the first time. But I will get it right now.”

You brace your foot on his arm just above the knot of bone that holds it at its strange angle, and the Rocket starts to sputter. “Hey, what’re you–no, no, don’t–”

You jerk up on the free end of his arm, and the mishealed joint snaps again after only a moment of resistance. The Rocket’s scream makes you jump, but it’s cut mercifully short. You poke him with a claw and discover he’s fainted.

That’s a relief. Now you won’t have to put up with his sniveling while you work. You search the human for more breaks, made thorough by your irritation. Once you’ve undone all the false reattachments and gotten the bones in line as best you can, you stuff another soft-boiled into the Rocket’s face.

Shaky and nauseous, you’re short with Duskull when he complains about being asked to watch the man again–it isn’t really fair, and you could have someone else do the job, but you’re too tired to explain the situation to your other pokémon. You drag yourself to the far side of the clearing and collapse, seething with resentment as you consider the work ahead of you. Honestly, this human is so useless he can’t even die properly.

At least he’s given you an excuse to go shopping. You’ll need clothes for the both of you, more food, extra supplies. You packed for seven, not eight, and that means heading into the city for a while. And then perhaps the Rocket can provide you with a bit of entertainment.

After all, you only told Duskull to be sure nothing bothered the great Nathaniel Morgan, not to make sure he didn’t run off. If you’re lucky, maybe tomorrow you’ll return to find the ghost waiting alone.