Anyone can agree that walking home from taekwondo and having your hometown set on fire isn’t the best way to start an evening.
Now, Brendan isn’t one to whine that much, but as he steps off of the sidewalk and onto one of the many roads in Littleroot, he can’t help but drop his duffel bag, mouth gaping open as the flames consume the home in front of him. Holy crap,
holy crap! Good God, what happened? Is May okay? Thank God his own parents are in Petalburg right now.
Eyes whipping to and fro, Brendan forgets about his stupid bag and bolts, his feet a blur as he reaches the flaming Birch family’s home. He doesn’t need to pound on the front door, it’s already busted open; that alone sends a million kajillion red alarms blaring in his head, his senses dialed to eleven as he storms to the ablazed kitchen.
“May?
May!” he yells out, his voice hoarse as he dashes away from the kitchen and towards the living room. “May, please…”
The smoke penetrates his lungs viciously, clawing away and burning at his insides. Eyes stingy and breathing ragged, Brendan leans over, spilling out a spew of coughs and gags. He remains like this for a few moments, his entire body trembling in a fight to even stay alive at this point. But finally, he lifts himself back up and pushes onward, feet slamming against the blackened wood as he hurdles back out of the house. Eyes bloodshot and head banging like a drum, he sprints to the next possible location where his friend can be: Professor Birch’s lab.
This time, the door isn’t open. Slamming himself into it full force, Brendan at first cringes, his shoulder stinging from the weight of the impact. Then, he adjusts himself, and pounds his fist against the metal door as loud as he can manage, knuckles turning red.
“May!” he cries out, his voice shrill and drowned out by the blare of numerous fire trucks.
Stiffening at the sound of footsteps from behind, Brendan inhales sharply, turning around to reveal a pink-haired woman cloaked in a strange red and black uniform. Next to her stands a combusken and a torchic, with malice gleaming in the combusken’s eyes so brightly, it almost outshines the beady innocence of the torchic’s own. It dawns on Brendan almost immediately about what exactly he’s facing: pokémon. Even if he’s seventeen, he doesn’t have one of his own, per his father’s parenting style. So...how in God’s name is he supposed to fight if they attack? Gulping, Brendan presses his back against the door, fists raised as his eyes fall onto the knife-sharp set of talons. He can throw a punch, his black belt isn’t for nothing, but against an animal? It’s like a magikarp going against a persian, there’s no way he’s going to make it out of this a-okay.
“Combusken, slash this kid out of our way!” the woman orders, and the pokémon does so in a flash, claws ripping into the flesh on Brendan’s leg.
Letting out a cry of pain, the teen adamantly refuses to fight back, wincing as the burning sensation of a fresh wound crawls up his skin. The combusken darts backwards, fire forming in its beak as it readies an ember, however a quick spray of water sends it barreling away. Shoulders heaving up and down, Brendan throws his stare onto the newcomer, his entire frame trembling like a mini-earthquake.
“Hey, Brendan,” May merrily chirps, stepping in beside her friend, almost as if the world is perfectly okay. “Need some help?”
With that, her little mudkip—Damien—hops in front of the two, his feet kneading against the soft summer grass beneath him. The pink-haired criminal ahead of them scoffs, her head snapping towards the torchic.
“Torchic, ember them!” she demands, pointing at both Brendan and May.
On instinct, Brendan steps in front of May, trying his best to ignore the screaming wound on his leg. But the torchic doesn’t do anything, just stand there politely, her beak gaping open as she gawks up at her trainer. The combusken caws impatiently, the talons on his feet tearing at the grass as his own trainer grows more impatient.
“Torchic,
now!” But the torchic doesn’t move, and so, the criminal kicks the little chick out of the way. Brendan’s stomach churns as she briskly turns to her combusken, rolling her shoulders. “Fine, then; you’re not important, anyways. Combusken, flamethrower.”
At first, Brendan sorta accepted this as the end. What can one do against a flamethrower from some angry, evil fire chicken, anyways? But then, as the fire-and-fighting type charges up the column of flames, May throws her arms around Brendan and flings the two out of the way by just a few centimeters. The door to the Birch lab melts under the intense heat and, without her torchic, the criminal dashes inside. Grunting, Brendan tries to rush to his feet to pursue her, but May roughly tugs onto his arm, keeping him near.
“Brendan, you’re great, but are you an
idiot?” she hisses, helping her friend to his feet. “We need to leave, not fight some woman and her chicken.”
Leaning into his friend’s arms, Brendan deeply exhales, his eyes growing stingy again as the flames dancing around the town grow closer and closer to the lab. The screeching sound of police, ambulance and fire fighting sirens infiltrate his ears, his head all dizzy and sore from the smoke and noise. Beneath him, he feels the gentle touch of Damien brushing against him, cooing some indescribable, toned out noise. Clinging tightly onto her arm, he allows his friend to escort him away to the nearest ambulance.
What happens next is a blur for him, honestly. A mishmash of shapes and colors checking in on him, making sure is lungs are okay, that the wound isn’t infected, things like that. In his time in that ambulance, being escorted to the Rustboro Hospital, he only hears tidbits of information of what happened to the rest of Littleroot. Apparently there were multiple criminals, under one organization: Team Magma; the criminals have managed to escape without a single cop catching even one. That alone makes his stomach burn, a fiery pit boiling inside. When Brendan becomes a police officer, he knows for a fact he’s going to make all of them pay.
But for now, he isn’t a cop, he’s just some seventeen-year-old sitting in a stiff hospital bed. Blinking, his fingers twitch absentmindedly against the firm mattress beneath him. The tests have all went by in a blur and, after a crap ton of naps, stitching, and what feels like centuries of staring at a blank wall, he’s finally allowed to go home; he just has to wait on the doctor to tell him his ride’s here. Folding his hands into his lap, he stares down at the pearly white hospital blanket, his mind going elsewhere. It’s been...at least a day or two, he thinks, since the...incident. Two days without being in Littleroot, two days of not knowing whether or not May is around, two days of his parents not contacting him. He knows they’re busy, anyways—his dad is a gym leader and his mom is a trainer for the gym—but it still stings, somehow more so than the stitches on his leg. They’re just busy, right? Right—they have to be. Maybe they’re saving all of their questions for when they pick him up, which should be any minute now.
The door swings open and, for a minute, Brendan forgets what he’s been waiting for. Eyes landing on the nurse, he straightens his posture, only to relax when May follows the nurse into the room.
“May? What are you doing here?” he asks, eyebrows knitting together as the nurse helps him out of the bed.
“Me and my parents are picking you up, duh!” she states matter-of-factly, waving what Brendan presumes to be Damien’s pokéball around in her hand. In her other, she holds a plastic bag full of a change of clothes. “We got a lot to tell you, so hurry up.”
After about five minutes of a final checkup from the nurse, Brendan is sent on his way, nervously tugging on the way too small t-shirt May had picked up for him in an attempt to cover his exposed tummy. Reaching Mr. Birch’s car, Brendan exhales sharply, before squeezing in after May, closing the door behind him. As the car speeds off towards Littleroot, May props herself so she’s facing Brendan, excitement glowing on her features like a disco ball.
“Guess what I have,” she prompts, proudly holding up the pokéball in her hands.
Brendan blinks, then leans back against the seat. “Damien’s pokéball?” he guesses, shrugging his shoulders.
“Wrong! It’s the
torchic’s pokéball,” May squeals, practically shoving it into Brendan’s face. “Remember her?”
To be quite frank, Brendan doesn’t remember her. Well, not at first; after a few seconds of searching through his fuzzy memories, his brain finally lands on a distinctive, orange shape. Oh.
Oh.
“Why do you have it?” Brendan sternly questions, using his hand to push the pokéball out of his face. “It belongs to a criminal. Team Lava or whatever.”
“Team
Magma, and not anymore!” Brendan casts a sideways stare in her direction, his eyes wide but completely blank. May takes this as a chance to continue, “She was abandoned, left behind. I guess the Magma person didn’t want her? But my dad got her registered with a new pokéball, soooo she no longer belongs to that freak!”
Nodding absentmindedly, Brendan merely shifts around in his seat, frown tightening as his eyes land on the glossy pokéball. Okay, and? Why should this matter to him? As far as he’s concerned, that pokémon belongs to a criminal, and nothing is ever going to change that. Not only that, but with that combusken...shivering at the thought, he looks away from May, toning out any extra blabber she decides to spit out. Yeah, no—this torchic is going to end up exactly like the bloodthirsty combusken. As much as he trusts May and her father, he really can’t see how they can put their own faith into that torchic.
But a sudden, hard push on his shoulder yanks him away from his thoughts and, staring at May all flustered, Brendan bunches his shoulders together.
“What?” he asks, tilting his body further away from May’s reach.
“You aren’t even listening!” May protests with a huff, falling back against the window. “I said, you’re going to take care of this torchic!” Brendan opens his mouth, but May cuts him off. “Look, you don’t even have your own pokémon yet, and you’re seventeen! That’s sad. My dad also thinks that you’d be perfect for her!” Exasperated beyond repair, Brendan shifts his blue-gray eyes on over towards the driver, Professor Birch. “You’re nice, calm, and your karate stuff would come in handy when she evolves. Plus…” May leans in closer, this time reducing her loud tone to a careful whisper, “...someone needs to keep your lame butt company when I’m gone, yeah?”
Gulping, Brendan turns his face back towards May, flinching at how suddenly close she is. In all honesty, he’s almost completely forgotten about May’s whole “go out to see the world!” scheme she’s been plotting out for weeks now. It was actually supposed to happen the night of the fire, but obviously, the schedule had to be reworked. Even then, it wouldn’t surprise him one bit of her parents are okay with letting her run off now; they have a little too much faith in her. Bobbing his head up and down nervously, Brendan runs a hand through his brown hair, ruffling it out of habit. He opens his mouth once more in an attempt to protest, ask May to please consider otherwise, however the car comes to a halt and, without a single word, Brendan scurries out of the car as soon as he could.
He hasn’t been expecting Littleroot to be this badly damaged.
The trees bordering the town are as scorched as the night sky, with a few leaves in the farther back ones clinging for dear life. The houses, unfortunately, share a similar fate, their colorful colors now gray and muted. The stank smell of dead wood and burnt items raid his nostrils, causing him to pinch his nose as he looks around. Normally, he’d see kids playing in their front lawns, enjoying the amazing weather June provides. Instead, the town is practically a ghost town now, with no one running around; no one at all. Heart sinking, Brendan tiptoes forward, wincing at the sound of dead grass crunching under his foot. Bending, he rubs his hand across the dry blades, fingers curling as they sharply rake against his palm, contrary to the softness he’d been expecting. Lifting himself back up, he shivers a bit, tensing as May steps in line next to him.
He chooses not to stand still, however. Eventually, he finds his feet moving on autopilot towards the very first building he can think of. Maneuvering around the broken or burnt signs of the road, hopping over a few fallen branches or leaves, Brendan shudders, goosebumps dancing across his arms. Pausing in front of his home, he stares up at it with longing eyes, his vision making out where the roof is supposed to be, but it’s empty. Releasing his hand from his nose and rubbing his arm, the seventeen-year-old twitches, feeling a wet substance forming on his eyelids. Wiping it away with a hardened fist, he looks on over towards May, the frown on his lips sputtering out useful motions as he tries to comprehend the damage.
“Your parents are in Petalburg,” May answers for him, coming to yet another halt beside him. She reaches for his hand, but Brendan pulls away. “My parents and I, we’re actually staying in a hotel in Oldale. We just...y’know, wanted you to see this.”
Brendan shakes his head slowly, sniffling a bit as he takes one last gander at his home. Five years he has lived there and, thanks to one stupid team, those five years are nothing but a heap of rubbish. His home is a bunch of black rubble, something he doesn’t really recognize as his own. Turning heel, he moves away from the home, eyes scanning across the rest of the town. He can’t even tell where the lab is anymore; all he sees is rubble and destruction. Team Magma truly left nothing behind.
The trip to the hotel in Oldale is filled with silence, and while Brendan’s thoughts are racing the entire way, continuously flashing back to the destroyed Littleroot, time still goes by slowly. Out of the corner of his eye he can see May messing around with the torchic’s pokéball in her hand, but she chooses not to bring it up at all throughout the entire car ride. With a hidden “Thank you, God,” whispered under his breath, Brendan focuses his attention solely on the blurry whirs of colors and other cars outside the window. After what has felt like a millenia to him, they reach the inn, and all hustle out of their seats.
Despite the solemn silence of the car ride, as soon as Brendan steps into the small, cramped hotel, he is immediately tasked with so many chores he can’t even count them all on his hand. Help May unpack, to help save time; put some dishes away, maybe even clean ones with spots on them; pick his favorite sleeping bag and fold it—wait, no, make his bed, but in May’s room since there isn’t enough space. Things like that get thrown at him so much, it’s literally eleven at night by the time he can get some form of rest.
It’s not like May lets him relax easily, though, at least not without some babbling of her grand scheme to force a criminal’s torchic onto him.
“Seriously, Brendan—consider it,” she urges, gently patting Damien’s forehead. Her voice is a whisper, carefully selected as she listens to her parents’ footsteps in the hallway. “I can’t train that torchic, Lord knows how much she’d hate my personality. You?” She motions towards Brendan, and he simply offers her a small shrug from where he lays. “Brendan, come on. You’d totally love a blaziken, you can break boards with it…”
“May,” sighs Brendan, one hand rubbing his temples, “I don’t want a Team Magma torchic.”
“That’s your only excuse!” May exclaims, her voice booming, however she immediately flinches as she flings her stare to the door. With no response from her parents, she presses on, albeit more gently. “And you saw that pokémon not do anything to us when ordered to! I just think you’re too afraid of your dad’s reaction.”
Even though it’s dark, with only a small nightlight providing some context, Brendan can still note the hint of a tomato red flushing onto May’s face. At this, Brendan gulps, his mouth gaping open but emitting no response. He shifts around in his sleeping bag, sinking beneath both the fabric and his own skin as May’s glare creeps up on him. But then, his friend just throws her hands into the hair before letting her fingers fall back. Promptly lifting Damien from her lap and plopping him down onto the bed, she almost throws herself to her feet as she briskly makes her way towards the other end of the room.
“Well, whatever,” she snorts, her voice huffy and downright condescending. “You know I’m still leaving, right?” Brendan turns his head to face her. “Yeah. I’m going tonight.”
Tonight? Shooting up into a sitting position, Brendan stares at her, his skin tingling.
“Why tonight?” he pipes up, shoulders bunching together. He hesitates, then softly adds: “We just got here.”
May rolls her eyes, ripping a small backpack away from the floor. “I’ve been planning this trip for ages,” she growls, slinging the item over her shoulder. “I’m not gonna let some...dumb fire by some dumb gang stop me.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No buts!” Turning to him with a stern look, May presses her hands on her hips. “I’m done playing traumatized, it does nothing. I talked with my parents while we were unpacking; they’re okay with me leaving, so I’m out.”
Brendan stares at her, shoulders sagging as a feeling as heavy as a boulder weighs his stomach down. Rubbing his cheek idly, he allows his gaze to float around the room, his vision flying from one object to the next. Tonight. Tonight. It hasn’t even been that long since Team Magma has targeted her family, and now she thinks it’s safe to waltz around to go get...whatever she wants, badges or whatever? Are badges more important to her than her own safety? She and her family have always been the reckless type from the day Brendan moved in, but this is something that contains more risk than ever before. With a lump in his throat, hands growing clammy, he drags his sunken eyes on over towards May. He can’t afford to lose her.
“May,” he begins, voice slow but clear, “if I...ask my parents about the torchic, in the morning, will you stay, for at least a little longer?”
May’s scrutinous stare softens at his soft tone, her hands falling to her sides. “Good question.”
“Please, May. Going out is really dangerous right now.”
“I know.”
“...Please?”
May’s eyes flitter on over towards the nightstand where the torchic’s pokéball rests, its red hue glistening in the small light the nightlight provides. Her frown tightens, her lips puff out, but then she relaxes, going almost limp as she shakes her head. Chuckling a bit to herself, she tiptoes her way towards Brendan’s sleeping bag, crouching down to him so they are eye-to-eye.
“You care about me too much, you know?” she muses, a smirk growing on her features. She reaches to ruffle his brown hair, giggling to herself at his resistance. “But yeah, sure.”
With a ghost of a smile on his lips, Brendan shuffles his weight from side to side, completely avoiding eye contact as he tries to usher May’s hand away. Taking the hint, she bounces to her feet and yanks hold of the torchic’s pokéball; dropping it into Brendan’s lap, she flops back onto her bed, bobbing her hips up and down in victory.
“Good luck with that!”
Blinking, Brendan keeps his focus onto May, before allowing it to land on the pokéball in his hand. Rocking it to and fro in his hand, he grimaces, remembering his dad’s normal type team. Yeah, Brendan’s going to need all the luck he can get in the morning.
—◈—
As the morning sun reaches closer and closer to its highest point, Brendan can’t help but fiddle with the brim of his T-shirt anxiously, biting lip as he holds his phone up to his ear. May stands behind him, arms crossed while the ringing sound resonates through the air.
Finally: “Hi, this is Norman Collins.”
His dad. Gulping, Brendan nods to himself, pacing in place as he braces for the conversation that lies ahead.
“Hey, Dad,” he answers back, trying to keep the stammer to a minimum. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Silence. Shifting his feet around, Brendan bunches his shoulders, eyes darting towards the floor. At this point, he can’t help but wonder why his mom hasn’t answered the call; she’s much better at conversations and, not surprisingly, less busy than his dad. Looking back at May, Brendan can’t help but flinch a little as she waves towards him, mouthing for him to just ask.
Taking a deep breath, Brendan braces himself. “So, Dad, I have a...question.”
“Hmm?” He sounds disinterested, possibly occupied with something else. Brendan takes this as a chance to continue.
“See, May found a torchic, and...she’s a rescue, the torchic, she’s from—” he pauses, right before he mentions Team Magma—“well, they don’t know exactly.”
“Brendan, I see where you’re going with this,” his dad groans, and Brendan can almost perfectly picture his dad rubbing his fingers against his temples. “You know Danielle and I have always wanted you to have a normal-type.”
Brendan hesitates, remembering that exact conversation five years ago with his dad and mom. “Yeah, but...the torchic needs someone,” he lightly protests, grabbing the hem of his green shirt. “May—and even Mr. Birch—think I’m the best for the job.”
“Brendan,
no.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so!” Silence, again. This time it draws on longer, taking its time as Brendan shrinks under his own skin. He can hear his dad snort, growling something under his breath. “Look, a challenger is coming. I don’t have time for this, so just...give the torchic away, I don’t care.”
Click.
He hangs up, leaving Brendan alone. For a moment, the teenager stands there, his ear still tuned in to the silent phone, before shutting it off and shoving it into his pocket. Biting his lip, he slides his hands into his pockets, turning heel to face May. She looks at him expectantly, leaning forward, and to that he shakes his head. With a huff, May rolls her eyes, rapidly tapping her foot impatiently against the floor.
“Well—” she growls, her shoulders bunching together—“that settles it, yeah? I’m leaving tonight.” Brendan opens his mouth, but immediately gets cut off before he can even speak: “No, Brendan, you aren’t going to persuade me out of this!”
Heart plummeting, he stands there, eyes darting towards the floor beneath him once more. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the pokéball of the torchic, cradling it in his hand before pressing onto the white center. Out hops the little fire type, her feathers ruffled as she flops onto the floor. May’s vision falls to the torchic, before she bunches her shoulders, gritting her teeth as she turns away.
“I can’t
believe you are this easily swayed by your dumb parents,” she growls, storming off.
Brendan flinches at the stinging words, lifting one hand to rub his arm awkwardly. Glancing down at the torchic, then May, then the torchic, then finally deciding on May, he exhales sharply.
“May?” he starts slowly, relaxing a little as she pauses. “I’m...I’m gonna come with you.” She turns around, putting a hand on her hip. “It’s dangerous out there, May. You can’t go alone, especially with Team Magma around.” He catches himself bringing his eyes down to the torchic when he says that, but with a tiny blush, he throws them back to May. “You’re...too important to lose.”
May hesitates, her expression faltering a bit. Then, she gives in, lifting her chestnut hair to wrap it in a bun.
“You’re going to need a backpack and clothes,” she says matter-of-factly, a smile breaking through her soft features. “And you gotta tell your parents.”
“I have leftover money from babysitting,” Brendan reasons, shrugging as he purposefully ignores the part about his parents. “I haven’t had a reason to use any of it.”
May shakes her head slowly, dropping her hands to her sides. “I don’t get why you care about other people this much, Brendan. It’s almost concerning.”
Brendan shrugs, his cheeks growing hot. “You’re my only friend.”
“Yeah, well…” Looking over her shoulder, May sways her arms around a little, raw excitement radiating off of her. “We should say goodbye, then book it out of here, yeah?”
The goodbyes to Mr. and Mrs. Birch pass by slowly but still effectively, with May’s mother expressing over and over again to her daughter about how much she means to her, all that jazz. Standing by the corner near the front door of the hotel, the torchic by his side, Brendan watches the scene with a stony stare, rubbing his sweaty hands together. As much as he urges his mind to stop, he keeps thinking back to his parents, and just how big of a butt whooping he’s going to get by leaving. But, even then, as he awkwardly catches eye of May embracing her parents, he stiffens, expression hardening. Surely his parents wouldn’t blame him for wanting to keep a friend safe, right? There’s always that one saying: safety in numbers.
Blinking, Brendan steps back a little as Professor Birch breaks away from his daughter and approaches him, his gentle demeanor turning into something more serious. Gulping, Brendan tries to not shrink under his own skin as the slightly smaller—but still more intimidating—adult slaps a hand on his shoulder. For a second, Brendan can’t help but wonder if he’s going to get a mean dad talk.
“Mr. Collins,” he whispers, voice deadpan. Then, he breaks, a sad smile stretching across his features. “Keep a good eye on my girl and the torchic, okay? I don’t want anything happening to them. If you see anything fishy, call the cops.”
Nodding, Brendan forces his own smile, nervously laughing a bit. “O-of course.”
With a curt bob of his head, Mr. Birch steps back, turning to face his daughter. “Well! You two are off to see the world for once. Be safe, don’t be dumb, and have fun!”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, Dad!” May giggles, scooting around her father’s protruding gut. Looking up at Brendan, she smiles, the anticipation gnawing all over so obvious that it’s almost contagious. “You ready, Brendan?”
Butterflies in his stomach, he places one hand on the doorknob, opening the door and allowing May through. “Yeah.”
Getting one final look back at the Birch family, a heavy stone falling in his stomach, completely crushing whatever butterflies were there. Gulping, he glances down at the torchic, his palms sweating even more so now. Exhaling slowly, he tiptoes his way out the door, and into the bright sunlight, sudden dread clawing at him like a knife as the fire type scurries ahead of him. Even though he knows that he shouldn’t be thinking of it, he can’t help but imagine that exact torchic with Team Magma, burning down towns and endangering innocent lives. Gulping, he lifts his eyes towards the blue summer sky, feeling the heat of June beat down on him; great, he’s going to need to wear something other than his favorite hoodie.
Despite the fact that the journey has barely even started yet, Brendan can already tell that this isn’t his best idea.
