The end of things.  A pokemon fanfic by Rocko

DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 2:  Introductions.

My name is Scott Rivers, and I'm a Pokemon Ranger.
3 years now, but who's counting.
At least, that's what I tell the visitors I guide around the upper valleys.

Storm would laugh at that, telling me to stop looking so smug, and to get my fat Ranger head out of my fat Ranger ass.
As if he can talk, the stumpy legged hypocrite!  All he seems to do, Ranger wise, is to  eat my food, drinks my booze, and flirt with the tourists pokemon.

His response to that is to shrug, and tell me he does all a Ranger gets paid for.
If they started paying him some real money, perhaps he'd start doing some real work.
But while he was being paid bananas, he'd keep acting like a primeape.

Always a comeback, that one.
Always has to have the last word.
Just what the world needs.  A smart arse typhlosion.

Although, apparently, once the world had finished with him, it thought giving him to me to deal with would be kinda hilarious.
Yeah, I almost pissed myself from the hilarity.  Fucking funny, that.

Yet, mine he became, and neither of us seemed all that upset with the arrangement.
After all, we'd been partners ever since.

We met, of all places, in the forest behind my school, when I was still in junior grades.  I'd cut classes, yet again, bored to death on hearing more boring crap about handling yet another obscure pokemon, and having to memorise the obscure, boring crap it did.

I did that a lot, back then.  Cutting class, I mean.

While I liked school well enough, and my grades were always high enough to escape notice, the rooms we were crammed into were hot, stifling and always made me feel a little claustrophobic.
So I spent a lot of time making excuses why not to be in them.

In retrospect, the Ranger gig wasn't such a poor choice of careers, really.

The problem being, of course, is that when you cut and run like that, sometimes someone notices.
Generally, I escape clean.
But that time, I was seen.
By Roy Snatcher, the snivelly little tosser.

Now, to be fair, Roy and I had a history going way back..
Generally involving me punching the little shit in his face for being in MY face.
Not a very good history, I admit, but I never claimed to be a good kid.

So, you can gather I didn't hold a great deal of affection for my mate, Roy.

Hall monitor by age 12, teachers butt licker from birth, he did what such toadies always do, when handed such a golden opportunity.
The little prick shot off like a rocket, straight to the principal's office, to dob on me!

Well, the principal and I had a bit of history, too, and he must have been having a bad day in turn, cause he set the whole hoard on my trail.

Sure, it was only a half dozen seniors, but when you're 12, seniors look fucking HUGE!  Mean, huge and nasty!

While my 12 year old ego could handle a Roy or three, if the opposition was twice my weight, and three times as ugly, I wasn't about to push my limits there.

So, after seeing them heading my way, I did what any intelligent, like minded kid would have done.

I piss-bolted for the bushes like brer rabbit!

After a while, their crashing and cursing progress died away, while I managed to work my way further into the forest depths.  I was threatened with everything imaginable, and a few things that weren't, if I didn't come out right now!

I'm a lot of things, but I'm not stupid.
I'd rather take my chances in the forest, thanks.

Soon enough, my steady progress through the forest had me distancing myself from their noise, and it wasn't long before I'd lost them completely.

Gasping for breath in a small wooded clearing, I slumped against the base of a huge forest giant, and attempted to get my bearings. 

Looking around the dense green canopy overhead, and the thick matt of brush all around me, I knew exactly where I was...

Totally lost.

Most kids would be a bit freaked being in such a situation.  Most adults, too.
Thankfully, the label of "wild child" wasn't totally unjustified.  In my backpack, I always kept a few "essentials" in case of being stuck out somewhere.

They included a water bottle, compass and map, matches, a thermal blanket, and a small first aid kit.  A few granola bars left over from past days lunches topped off the list.  Grabbing a swig from the bottle, and munching on a granola bar, I played around with the compass and map a bit, trying to get a feel for where, exactly, I was "lost", and the best plan to rectify the situation.

Intent on my musings, at first I didn't hear the faint rustling from the bushes across the small clearing I was in.  But the added noise of quiet sobbing alerted me to the fact I wasn't alone.

So, I did what any normal self-respecting 12 year old would have done in the same situation.
I called out in a quavering voice and made a total dick of myself.

"Err, hello?  Who's there?"

The rustling stopped, although the sobs turned into quiet whimpers.

Not a little bit frightened by this time, I turned to the defensive, put on a bit of bravado, and called out again, a little louder this time.

"This is not funny!  I'm not amused anymore!  Come out before I come in and kick your arse!"

The bushes went silent.

Swearing under my breath, and brandishing my drink bottle before me as makeshift protection, I approached the bushes, pausing for a moment before parting them with a flourish.

A faint cry followed my actions.

I nearly jumped back with surprise.  Lying curled up before me, beaten and battered, was a quilava.

"Shit!" I swore to myself, looking down at the matted, filthy creature lying at my feet. 

"What the hell do I do with you?"

The quilava responded with another soft cry, before becoming quite still.

That worried me a bit.

"Err, hey quilava?".

Jesus, that sounded lame...

"Umm, you alright?"

No response.

I reached out to it gingerly, pressing my palm against its chest, ready to pull away if it turned out to be bluffing.
It was warm, almost too warm.  The matted fur was so soft to the touch, but somewhat sticky underneath my fingers.
It didn't move further.  In fact, it looked kinda dead.

I removed my hand from its side, looking at the mess now coating my hand.
Blood.
Lots of blood.
Shit. 

Checking it again, I pressed my hand against its neck, feeling for any signs it was, in fact, still alive.

A pulse was there.  Faint, but present.
Alive at least.

It had been pretty well messed up by whatever had hurt it.  Apart from being generally knocked around, it had a large gash on its shoulder, and one rear leg seemed twisted pretty badly.  It was bleeding from the nose, and one ear had a good sized chunk taken out of it, too.  The rest of it seemed covered in too much blood and dirt to be healthy.

It looked like shit, to be honest.

I thought about the tiny first aid kit I had in my backpack, and knew it wasn't going to be much good here.  The quilava needed proper medical attention, and needed it fast,

Now, I had a general idea where I was.  My escape had seen me cutting a large arc through the forest, ending up within a few miles of the town centre.
In the town centre was a Pokemon Centre.
Could I get it there?  More to the point, would it let me get it there?

One thing I knew well about wild pokemon, even back then.

They were plenty wild.

After nearly losing the tip of a finger to a natu I'd thought was asleep the year before, I was somewhat wary tangling with something as dangerous looking as a quilava.
Not that it was especially dangerous looking at the moment, being more unconscious and helpless looking instead.

Then again, so had that bloody natu!

Sighing in resignation, I pulled out my thermal blanket, and gingerly wrapped the quilava in the silvery sheet, being careful not to burn myself on the faint heat still radiating from its back and head. While its flame had been extinguished, I didn't want any unwelcome surprises.

I carefully picked it up, cradling it to my chest as I took my bearings, and set off in the approximate direction of the centre.

The trek wasn't easy by any means.  The quilava was heavy.  Bloody heavy, in fact.  My earlier bolt through the forest had already tired me out, and another run with the dead weight cradled in my arms wasn't helping my fatigue level.

At one point, the quilava woke, staring at me with its big, round eyes.  It didn't move, or try to escape.  It just stared up at me from within my arms.

I glanced down to it, and did a bit of a double take when I saw it was awake and staring at me.  I was even more surprised it hadn't tried to struggle loose from my grip.

"Hey, quilava." Urk...still lame.  "I'm, umm, taking you down to the pokemon centre to get you fixed up, OK?  We'll be there soon, so keep still for me, huh?"

I didn't expect any real response, but was taken aback when it looked at me again, and nodded, before closing its eyes and falling asleep again.

Did it nod then?
What the hell?  Did it understand me?

It took an eternity to break free of the forest, and reach the road leading into town.  I hurried as best I could, with the weight in my arms dragging at me, and ignored the shocked stares from passerby's, both human and pokemon.
One would think they'd never seen a kid running around with a blood covered quilava in a silver sheet before!

Finally, I reached the Pokemon Centre.

I was told afterwards I pretty much floored the whole lot of them, bursting into the centre looking like death himself, covered in blood and muck, and with a wild pokemon in my arms. 

However, the hesitation only lasted a second, before Nurse Joy and her crew swarmed over us, taking the still bleeding bundle from my arms, and hurrying with it out to the emergency area with her assistants in tow.

I don't remember much after that.  I do recall almost falling asleep in the waiting area, and someone pushing a cup of hot chocolate into my hands.  I also remember someone asking if they could contact my parents for me, so they wouldn't worry.  I gave them the information almost mechanically...my folks were used to my staying out late, and generally didn't worry.  A hurried phone discussion between my folks and the orderly ended in my being allowed to stay at the centre that night, until I was ready to leave.

After that, everything was pretty much a blur.
A long, exhausting and mentally draining blur.

It was after midnight before Nurse Joy finally came out from the emergency room.  Most of the centre staff had already left for the evening, so after talking briefly with the night orderly, she came over and sat down beside me with a tired sigh.

I stared blankly at her for a few seconds, before getting the courage to ask the question that had been burning through me all evening.

"Nurse Joy?  How is it?  The quilava I mean?"

She gave another tired sigh and then turned to me, with an even more tired looking smile.

"You did well, Scott.  More than well, in fact.  Any longer, and we probably would have lost him.  But you managed to pull off a miracle getting him here in time.  He's still a mess, I'm afraid, but with time, he's going to be fine"

I nearly passed out there and then from a combination of relief and exhaustion.  Sensing this, Nurse Joy turned to me, took my hand in hers, and said "You're exhausted, I know, but...do you want to see him?"

I looked at her a bit dazed.  "Is it OK?"

She nodded at me again tiredly, before coaxing me to my feet, and guiding me through the double doors to the rear ward.  In the corner, on a bed looking to big for his frail frame, was the quilava.

I approached quietly, looking down at him sleeping.  His wounds had been stitched, and some attempt had been made to clean him up, but he still looked beat.

Joy saw me looking at his wounds, and said "We couldn't put him in the healing station without a ball, so we did the best we could.  It'll take time, but he should recover completely"

I stared down at him again, reaching out gingerly and placing my hand on his side, caressing his fur gently.  It was so soft.  He seemed so frail, all skin and bones.

I turned back to the nurse, who looked at me solemnly.

"Does he have a name, Nurse Joy"

"I don't know, Scott" She replied.  "He's clearly a wild pokemon, so there's no way of knowing."

"Storm" a quiet, husky voice broke the silence.
"My name is Storm"

Joy and I both turned to the bed incredulously.

The quilava stared up at us, before reaching out gingerly and grabbing my hand with his paw, from where it still rested on his side.

Looking me in the eyes, he gave my hand a squeeze, before releasing it and dropping back in exhaustion.  Within moments he was fast asleep.

Joy and I crept out of the ward, where she guided me into the nurses quarters.  Grabbing a hot chocolate from the vending machine for us both, she sighed, dropped into a plastic chair, and looked at me seriously where I was leaning in bewilderment against the lunchroom table.

"I guess you have a talking pokemon now" she said tiredly.

"I do?"

She gave a half laugh, stretching her arms behind her head before putting her feet up on the table in front of her.

"You sure do.  He's your responsibility now. Hope you're up to it"

She wasn't the only one.

So did I.

Continued in Chapter 3: When the Storm came...