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Hi there! Thirteen years after being introduced to Pokemon, I wrote my first Pokemon fanfiction. I'm slightly nervous about this, so helpful reviews are much appreciated :).
Title: Intercede
Rating: T
Genre: General, Hurt/Comfort
Pairings or Characters: Kris/Silver
Warnings: Character death
Word Count: 1650
She’s eighteen when she concedes to him; broken, exhausted.
She hikes in Mt. Silver now; obliged to train the two Pokémon that Blaine has left her. Kris knows she doesn’t need to travel so far; that she could Fly to the Trainer House or Cerulean Cave, but the steady, jarring drip-drip-drip in the Seafoam Islands, the chill, heavy, still air and the knowledge that the previous Gym Leader’s body is buried under a rockslide deep underneath the cavernous depths have finally become incentive enough for her to half-return to Johto; for a month’s reprieve.
A month of intensive training with a Rapidash and Camerupt that obey her commands in the mildest sense possible is enough for despair, Kris feels. They dislike Mt. Silver, with the endless Pokémon that their new master insists on battling, they dislike the other Pokémon of the girl they’re forced to cooperate with (and that Typhlosion, most of all), and worst of all, they don’t consider this red-headed trainer to be anything more than a trainer, and when they see a high-levelled Feraligatr bearing down on them with Rage, they sink into grateful darkness, to mourn for the loss of Blaine and their old companions.
Kris is far too drained to realise that Silver’s usual irascibility has deepened to something acrid, toxic; she sends out her beloved Typhlosion and trusts it to win, not be recalled to its Poké Ball, half-dead, half-drowned.
He snarls at her; she’s three Pokémon down and she’s not even trying. She’s going to lose and she can’t bring herself to care. She sends out the orphaned Magby entrusted to her by Blaine’s dead Magmortar.
Silver shakes her. It’s funny, she can’t hear what he’s saying, can’t hear what he’s screaming in her face, his stoic, pale face growing red. Kris can barely feel the vice-like grip on her arms; she barely feels it when her body grows slack and he lets go out of surprise.
She’s not unconscious when she hits the ground, when icy water seeps into her clothes, her hair. She’s unconscious when she realises that she’s so very, very tired, and sleeps, unmindful of the slaps to her face.
*
Silver’s never taken care of another human before. He’s never carried someone out of a cave and into a cramped tent, never worried that they’ll be too warm, or cold, covered in his threadbare coat and blanket. He sits at the opposite end of the tent, not looking at her, not looking at the weak (it’s just a baby, of course it’s weak) Magby that sleeps fitfully besides her. He briefly considers ordering it to use Ember, to heat up the frigid tent, but the stupid thing would probably end up burning down the one commodity that’s preventing its master from dying.
Impulsively, he releases her Typhlosion outside. Its injuries prevent it from attacking him, but there’s a rumbling growl that does not cease, even after Silver treats it with a Super Potion. He addresses the volcano Pokémon tersely.
“She’s inside. She’s cold. Warm her up.” Her Typhlosion snorts a little smoke at him, and snakes inside the tent, curling up to her side. From outside, Silver can just hear her sigh and turn to face the source of heat, her dear Pokémon. Frowning slightly, Silver stalks away on the hard ground, desperate for a distraction. He clambers up a small, rocky hill, and stares blankly at the frozen morning sky.
*
Kris awakes with a mouth drier than Hoenn’s desert and a splitting headache. Her eyes protest at the weak morning light filtering through a crack in the tent opening, and ungracefully, she stumbles over her sleeping Typhlosion and out into the chill of the open. The tent is pitched near a small relief, providing cover from the worst of the weather. She remembers battling Silver, hitting the ground and succumbing to fatigue. Although he probably doesn’t know this, she muses. It’s only a lack of sleep, she tells herself.
She knows him; knows that he’s watching her from somewhere. Kris suddenly can’t bear the silence, loneliness of the stark, bleak landscape.
“Silver!” she calls hoarsely. Within minutes she hears footsteps treading down behind her, and Silver steps in front of her. Uncharacteristically, he says nothing. The silence breaks Kris.
“Thank you. For taking me to your tent and making sure I didn’t freeze to death.” She attempts a smile, but his face remains blank.
“You didn’t have to heal Typhlosion. I was getting ready to leave the mountain soon and -”
“Who are you?”
She blinks at his abrupt question, his hard stare. “What do you mean? You know exactly who I am -”
He moves closer to her, almost threateningly. “Not quite. I know who sends out a baby Pokémon to battle against a fully-grown Feraligatr, and it’s not you.”
Kris’s eyes are glassy and her hands shake imperceptibly. Silver mover closer still. “I know who sends out Pokémon that are still grieving for their dead master, and it’s not fucking you.”
She doesn’t admonish him for his expletives like she would have done a year ago. Kris only watches as Silver gets right up to her, gets right in her personal space and grabs her shoulders.
“I’m talking about Team Rocket.” He stares into her shining eyes, and says, “Team Rocket are the type of scum who leave baby Pokémon out for slaughter. Not the Champion.”
Kris knows that. She knows and yet she did it anyway. She hates him a little for changing; six, seven, eight years ago he would have crushed that wretched Magby and she hates him for not doing it. She hates herself, too.
He’s frustrated by her silence and squeezes her. “Do you know what people are saying about their glorious Champion? That she’s stopped caring. That she only wins because her Pokémon know what to do by now, how to battle without her.”
He keeps speaking, satisfied when tears begin to well up in her eyes. “You sent that Magby out because you thought I could kill it for you.”
She pushes him roughly away, dashing the tears from her eyes. When she speaks, her voice is almost perfectly even.
“That Pokémon has cried every single night for its dead parents. All of Blaine’s -” and here, her voice cracks “- Pokémon have been asking to die for months. They’re not getting any better.” And here, her voice is shrill, hysteric. “Silver, they just want to die and I can’t give them that!”
She’s sobbing into his chest now, heaving breaths that don’t seem to be slowing. He’s out of his depth; even he can admit that to himself now. Silver hasn’t a clue what to do with a broken person, but he does what he desperately wished someone would have done for him as a child.
Through the haze of misery Kris feels a stiff arm around her shoulders. It’s definitely not a hug, but from Silver …
His touch calms her, and gradually, her crying stops. His arm remains, however.
“You need help,” he states. She nods, face still burrowed in his front. Cautiously, Silver brings his other arm around her. When she doesn’t protest, he continues to speak quietly.
“You’ve been on your own with depressed Pokémon for months. You were with them when Blaine … passed. You know that Pokémon affect your mood, and vice versa. Why didn’t you … ?” He trails off, not sure how to phrase his question. He doesn’t remember ever picking through his words so carefully as now.
Kris hiccups. “Why didn’t I see anyone, talk to anyone?” She pulls back slightly, and smiles bitterly. “Because I’m the Champion. After Blaine’s … everyone knew he was training me. And everyone expected his Pokémon to take to me, and for everything to get better.”
“But they didn’t. I speak to them every night, for hours. Trying to console them. I told them that Blaine was my friend too. They didn’t like that. Rapidash and Camerupt have been with him three times I’ve been alive.”
Silver considers this. “Then release them. They’re not happy with you, so let them be happy without you.”
“I couldn’t. Blaine asked me to take care of them.” As he lay dying, she didn’t say, but knew Silver could read it in her face.
“The best way to take care of them is to let them go. Blaine’s the only one who could ever be their master.”
Kris’s heart breaks for the Pokémon of her dead friend, but she knows, deep down, that this is right. She gently moves away from him, and to the tent where her Poké Balls lay. Silver watches as she releases Rapidash and Camerupt, heals them, whispers gently to them her apologies, and cries at their retreat. He doesn’t know what she has said to them, but the glimpse of peace he sees on her face as she cradles the Magby (it’s just a baby, it wouldn’t survive without its parents) gives him hope.
She approaches him once more. “I never once thought you would hurt it.”
He raises an eyebrow at this, but concedes. “I have changed, somewhat.” Her face is wan and drawn, dark circles ringing her eyes, weariness apparent in her sluggish movement, but through this all, she smiles, and it is not forced.
*
Silver is eighteen when he concedes, and after two long years of avoidance, allows himself to travel with Kris to Sinnoh.
Title: Intercede
Rating: T
Genre: General, Hurt/Comfort
Pairings or Characters: Kris/Silver
Warnings: Character death
Word Count: 1650
She’s eighteen when she concedes to him; broken, exhausted.
She hikes in Mt. Silver now; obliged to train the two Pokémon that Blaine has left her. Kris knows she doesn’t need to travel so far; that she could Fly to the Trainer House or Cerulean Cave, but the steady, jarring drip-drip-drip in the Seafoam Islands, the chill, heavy, still air and the knowledge that the previous Gym Leader’s body is buried under a rockslide deep underneath the cavernous depths have finally become incentive enough for her to half-return to Johto; for a month’s reprieve.
A month of intensive training with a Rapidash and Camerupt that obey her commands in the mildest sense possible is enough for despair, Kris feels. They dislike Mt. Silver, with the endless Pokémon that their new master insists on battling, they dislike the other Pokémon of the girl they’re forced to cooperate with (and that Typhlosion, most of all), and worst of all, they don’t consider this red-headed trainer to be anything more than a trainer, and when they see a high-levelled Feraligatr bearing down on them with Rage, they sink into grateful darkness, to mourn for the loss of Blaine and their old companions.
Kris is far too drained to realise that Silver’s usual irascibility has deepened to something acrid, toxic; she sends out her beloved Typhlosion and trusts it to win, not be recalled to its Poké Ball, half-dead, half-drowned.
He snarls at her; she’s three Pokémon down and she’s not even trying. She’s going to lose and she can’t bring herself to care. She sends out the orphaned Magby entrusted to her by Blaine’s dead Magmortar.
Silver shakes her. It’s funny, she can’t hear what he’s saying, can’t hear what he’s screaming in her face, his stoic, pale face growing red. Kris can barely feel the vice-like grip on her arms; she barely feels it when her body grows slack and he lets go out of surprise.
She’s not unconscious when she hits the ground, when icy water seeps into her clothes, her hair. She’s unconscious when she realises that she’s so very, very tired, and sleeps, unmindful of the slaps to her face.
*
Silver’s never taken care of another human before. He’s never carried someone out of a cave and into a cramped tent, never worried that they’ll be too warm, or cold, covered in his threadbare coat and blanket. He sits at the opposite end of the tent, not looking at her, not looking at the weak (it’s just a baby, of course it’s weak) Magby that sleeps fitfully besides her. He briefly considers ordering it to use Ember, to heat up the frigid tent, but the stupid thing would probably end up burning down the one commodity that’s preventing its master from dying.
Impulsively, he releases her Typhlosion outside. Its injuries prevent it from attacking him, but there’s a rumbling growl that does not cease, even after Silver treats it with a Super Potion. He addresses the volcano Pokémon tersely.
“She’s inside. She’s cold. Warm her up.” Her Typhlosion snorts a little smoke at him, and snakes inside the tent, curling up to her side. From outside, Silver can just hear her sigh and turn to face the source of heat, her dear Pokémon. Frowning slightly, Silver stalks away on the hard ground, desperate for a distraction. He clambers up a small, rocky hill, and stares blankly at the frozen morning sky.
*
Kris awakes with a mouth drier than Hoenn’s desert and a splitting headache. Her eyes protest at the weak morning light filtering through a crack in the tent opening, and ungracefully, she stumbles over her sleeping Typhlosion and out into the chill of the open. The tent is pitched near a small relief, providing cover from the worst of the weather. She remembers battling Silver, hitting the ground and succumbing to fatigue. Although he probably doesn’t know this, she muses. It’s only a lack of sleep, she tells herself.
She knows him; knows that he’s watching her from somewhere. Kris suddenly can’t bear the silence, loneliness of the stark, bleak landscape.
“Silver!” she calls hoarsely. Within minutes she hears footsteps treading down behind her, and Silver steps in front of her. Uncharacteristically, he says nothing. The silence breaks Kris.
“Thank you. For taking me to your tent and making sure I didn’t freeze to death.” She attempts a smile, but his face remains blank.
“You didn’t have to heal Typhlosion. I was getting ready to leave the mountain soon and -”
“Who are you?”
She blinks at his abrupt question, his hard stare. “What do you mean? You know exactly who I am -”
He moves closer to her, almost threateningly. “Not quite. I know who sends out a baby Pokémon to battle against a fully-grown Feraligatr, and it’s not you.”
Kris’s eyes are glassy and her hands shake imperceptibly. Silver mover closer still. “I know who sends out Pokémon that are still grieving for their dead master, and it’s not fucking you.”
She doesn’t admonish him for his expletives like she would have done a year ago. Kris only watches as Silver gets right up to her, gets right in her personal space and grabs her shoulders.
“I’m talking about Team Rocket.” He stares into her shining eyes, and says, “Team Rocket are the type of scum who leave baby Pokémon out for slaughter. Not the Champion.”
Kris knows that. She knows and yet she did it anyway. She hates him a little for changing; six, seven, eight years ago he would have crushed that wretched Magby and she hates him for not doing it. She hates herself, too.
He’s frustrated by her silence and squeezes her. “Do you know what people are saying about their glorious Champion? That she’s stopped caring. That she only wins because her Pokémon know what to do by now, how to battle without her.”
He keeps speaking, satisfied when tears begin to well up in her eyes. “You sent that Magby out because you thought I could kill it for you.”
She pushes him roughly away, dashing the tears from her eyes. When she speaks, her voice is almost perfectly even.
“That Pokémon has cried every single night for its dead parents. All of Blaine’s -” and here, her voice cracks “- Pokémon have been asking to die for months. They’re not getting any better.” And here, her voice is shrill, hysteric. “Silver, they just want to die and I can’t give them that!”
She’s sobbing into his chest now, heaving breaths that don’t seem to be slowing. He’s out of his depth; even he can admit that to himself now. Silver hasn’t a clue what to do with a broken person, but he does what he desperately wished someone would have done for him as a child.
Through the haze of misery Kris feels a stiff arm around her shoulders. It’s definitely not a hug, but from Silver …
His touch calms her, and gradually, her crying stops. His arm remains, however.
“You need help,” he states. She nods, face still burrowed in his front. Cautiously, Silver brings his other arm around her. When she doesn’t protest, he continues to speak quietly.
“You’ve been on your own with depressed Pokémon for months. You were with them when Blaine … passed. You know that Pokémon affect your mood, and vice versa. Why didn’t you … ?” He trails off, not sure how to phrase his question. He doesn’t remember ever picking through his words so carefully as now.
Kris hiccups. “Why didn’t I see anyone, talk to anyone?” She pulls back slightly, and smiles bitterly. “Because I’m the Champion. After Blaine’s … everyone knew he was training me. And everyone expected his Pokémon to take to me, and for everything to get better.”
“But they didn’t. I speak to them every night, for hours. Trying to console them. I told them that Blaine was my friend too. They didn’t like that. Rapidash and Camerupt have been with him three times I’ve been alive.”
Silver considers this. “Then release them. They’re not happy with you, so let them be happy without you.”
“I couldn’t. Blaine asked me to take care of them.” As he lay dying, she didn’t say, but knew Silver could read it in her face.
“The best way to take care of them is to let them go. Blaine’s the only one who could ever be their master.”
Kris’s heart breaks for the Pokémon of her dead friend, but she knows, deep down, that this is right. She gently moves away from him, and to the tent where her Poké Balls lay. Silver watches as she releases Rapidash and Camerupt, heals them, whispers gently to them her apologies, and cries at their retreat. He doesn’t know what she has said to them, but the glimpse of peace he sees on her face as she cradles the Magby (it’s just a baby, it wouldn’t survive without its parents) gives him hope.
She approaches him once more. “I never once thought you would hurt it.”
He raises an eyebrow at this, but concedes. “I have changed, somewhat.” Her face is wan and drawn, dark circles ringing her eyes, weariness apparent in her sluggish movement, but through this all, she smiles, and it is not forced.
*
Silver is eighteen when he concedes, and after two long years of avoidance, allows himself to travel with Kris to Sinnoh.