Chapter 1
A Dish Best Served Cold
Jason Myers, Private, First Class, Tienne Peacekeeping Force, honourably discharged after showing signs of Post-Traumatic-Stress-Syndrome from the 'Dappleleaf incident.'
He still saw it, at night, when his eyes were closed, when the memories could sneak up on him and catch him unawares. He was young yet, only twenty-three, having joined the Peace Corps when he was not able to get a Pokémon to begin his clichéd journey with when he came of age. Of course, it had been years after he was unable to get a Pokémon that he joined. There was just nothing else for him to do, and with the promise of Pokémon companions, a common sign in the corps, who used the Pokémon as beasts of burden, and front-line soldiers against the incursions of the nearby province of Kyrell, it had seemed like the easiest way to advance his life towards a useful end.
Almost immediately, he had been noted for his dedication, hard-working attitude, and raw talent.
He had been fast-tracked to the Special Forces, given a Scyther to partner with, and sent to train in Dappleleaf town, a tiny little outpost near the border, in heavy forest, where recruits could train in all forms of warfare without fear of being seen, or upsetting the townsfolk, who loved the fact that people stood by to protect them...but didn't want to see the methods they would employ to retain peace.
Tienne and Kyrell enjoyed a thin, uneasy peace at the time, and it was common knowledge that spies from both sides crossed the borders to gather intelligence, probing the armies of the opposition for weakness. Both nations were hesitant to commit to open warfare, as neither were assured of their military might.
Tienne had the Lancers, the elite special forces 'peacekeepers', who's ninja-like ways were an exact replica of techniques used in feudal nations of long ago. They were trained in night-ops, stealth, subterfuge, and every other staple of the 'ninja', modified to be relevant in modern times.
Each soldier was a unit, expected to carry out surgical strikes to cripple the enemies infrastructure should an open confrontation arise.
With the Lancers, Kyrell would never dare attack, knowing from reputation their vicious, demoralising effect on front-line troops, the sheer fear they could instil in the troops.
But the forces of Tienne had their own special units. Being from a mountainous region, they had armoured Onyx within their frontline units, shock-units of unparalleled power. There was simply very, very few other Pokémon that could stand up to the might of an armoured Onyx.
So, their special units cancelling each other out, they had lived in an uneasy peace, watching, waiting, biding their time, staring at each other across the border impotently, both afraid to attack the other.
But then had come the 'Dappleleaf Incident', as it was so blithely referred to in the peace corps.
Even though the Lancers were officially a peacekeeping unit, they could perform acts of subterfuge during war. An open war with Kyrell would open up their options.
Nearly all of the senior Lancers had been killed in a suspicious landslide near the border, and Tienne was rapidly training the recruits for active service, before anything could eventuate from their lack of a special forces unit.
Someone, somewhere, had talked, because a unit of Kyrell soldiers, much resembling the Lancers, had breached Dappleleaf town and slaughtered nearly all of the soldiers stationed there.
It was the memories of that night that made Jason awake in a cold sweat in his isolated cottage in the hills.
Even now, he slept, uneasily, disjointed images of that night coming back to him in flashes of remembrance, their emotions as clear as when they had happened.
It had been late, and by some quirk of fate, the Lancer Recruits had been training in night-ops just before the attack, having barely turned out the barrack lights before the first of the enemies had breached the perimeter.
Some people said that humans were much like Pokémon, in the way that they could somehow sense danger, before it even registered on any of their senses. There was more than one person that night who tossed and turned in the few minutes before the attack, unable to sleep.
The first warning had been the breaking of the window at the end of the barracks, and then the sequential breaking of the rest as people and Scyther came bursting through them, the humans carrying long swords, and the Scyther merely the weapons nature had given them. Weapons enough.
He could still remember the Scyther that had burst through the window nearest him, fixed its beady, bug like eyes upon his own, and then charged across the intervening space, swinging that heavy scythe like a sword.
There was barely time to react, to release his own Scyther in retaliation. Somehow, he ducked that first blow, rolling clear and opening his Pokéball, his Scyther joining the fray.
He had turned to the front door, and kicked it ruthlessly down, not even noticing the sounds of battle behind him, the horrible screams. Screams which would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.
The Scyther he had released, barely lasted twenty seconds, clashing in a whirling dervish of green scythes with two other Scyther, before becoming disorientated, and cut down from behind.
For his part, Jason had run towards the armoury, where they kept the bows and swords, as the only weapons the recruits carried with them when off-duty were small, multi-purpose knives. Sharp and deadly, for sure, but nothing compared to the speed and size of a sword, or a Scythe.
He was almost halfway when the Scyther caught up with him, ramming its blade straight through his calf, dropping him flat on his stomach with a cry of pain.
It was oddly still in the grounds, the sounds of dwindling battle dulled and muted, and the occasional cry of pain echoing from within the barracks the only sound, apart from Jason's laboured, pained breathing.
The Scyther seemed to want to take its time, its beady eyes narrowed as it slowly pivoted the scythe buried in his leg, making him cry in pain once more, before it slowly drew the blade free. Jason was sure it was smiling at him, and he could still see it in his dreams as it slowly raised that long scythe up for the killing blow, his own blood dripping from the tip.
His training had taken over them, and he had started crawling towards it, and then past it, towards the armoury.
It had seemed to pause, confused, and then gone in for the main strike.
Jason moved faster.
Wrenching himself to his knees and ignoring the pain in his crippled leg, he blocked the scythe-strike with his left arm, lower, backwards of the blade, at the crook of the warm, and while the Pokémon was still surprised by his sudden block, he drew his knife with his right hand and struck hard.
He did as he was taught to do with humans, slamming the blade, back-hand, into the Scyther's calf, dragging it down and out, away from the bone, leaving a long, immensely deep gash in the green flesh, purple blood staining his knife.
Following that first strike, he moved in close to the humanoid Pokémon, hugging it tightly, so its blades couldn't strike at him effectively, his right hand twisted over his chest as his left arm forced the left scythe to the side, exposing the joint of the elbow. Dragging the knife backhand over it, he made sure to cut right down to the tendons, rendering the arm useless as it fell limp.
Flipping the blade to forehand, he lifted the Scyther's arm up and slid under it, so he was standing behind it, with the arm in the 'policeman's hold'.
Then he merely jammed his blade into its ribs, aiming for a lung, and finding it, silencing any cry of pain before it could utter.
Drawing the blade free from that strike, he coiled his left arm about its right shoulder from behind, so that his left arm pit was press against its right armpit, bending the Scyther backwards. It flailed at him ineffectually with its left scythe, just the once, the only strike it had time to do.
It missed.
Jason had then rammed his blade into the soft chitin beneath the Scyther's throat, yanking it free and dropping the body to the ground, wavering a moment, and then falling to his knees, covered in the Scyther's blood, and his own.
The whole process, all four strikes, had taken less than three seconds.
He knew he had to get to cover, someone would come looking for the Scyther he had felled...but the pain was starting to get to him, clouding his judgement. He could hear his comrades, his friends being slaughtered in the barracks...and all he could think of was getting to safety himself.
Somehow, he had crawled to the tree line, hiding himself amongst the foliage, and staying hidden for two entire days as the entire enemy unit hunted for him. He had never been more scared than then, when he was always a hairs breadth from being found, tortured, and killed.
He survived, evaded detection, crippled leg and all, for two entire days. Two days. It had taken two days for the officers stationed at the nearest town to become concerned at the lack of communications and send a unit out to investigate.
When they had found Jason, he was delirious with pain, exhausted from constant action and vigilance, muttering to himself in his delirium, barely aware of his surroundings. The enemy unit had dispersed when they had realised that another unit was incoming. They were gone.
Jason had been put in a hospital to recover, and though his leg mended nicely, his psyche did not. He had a tendency to jump at small noises, to become surly and moody for no reason. Lack of sleep transformed him into a mere shadow of a person. He was afraid to sleep, because he knew the accusing Voices of his friends would be there waiting for him, taunting him with their screams of pain, and whispering dark thoughts to him in the night. That he had betrayed them, left them to die, abandoned them.
Counselling had helped, a little, but he was unfit for service.
By the time he was allowed out of the hospital, no longer on suicide watch, or anti-depressant medication, the war was over. It had started mere hours after he had been found. And Tienne had crushed Tyrell with righteous anger over the slaughter of a peace keeping unit.
Often, Jason would find himself wondering if they had been deliberately set up to start the war, instil the troops with righteous fury, the will to crush the enemy. It had worked.
And Jason, all alone in the world except for the Voices in his head, was given a Medal Of Valour, a nice monthly pension, and a cottage in the woods to call his own.
Also, at his request, he was given a Pokémon.
And it was for her that he reached when the dreams were too strong, as they were now.
* * *
The little Flareon, named Flara, was sleeping soundly next to him, her warm body snuggled up to his happily, undisturbed in her sleep by his tossing's and turnings, or his wild muttering. She had become so used to it in the five years they had been together.
Jason's eyes opened, and he began to hyperventilate, phantom Scyther's attacking him from the shadows all around the room. Instinctively, he reached for Flara's warmth, finding it, and dragging the little Flareon into his arms, almost whimpering, squeezing his eyes tightly closed and hugging the comforting warmth to his chest.
Her eyes blinked open slowly, and she smiled up at him serenely, completely, and utterly content with the world. She gently licked his cheek with her warm tongue, and he felt all of his fears melt away.
If Flara was happy, if that cute, innocent little Flareon was smiling up at him, then nothing in the world could possibly be wrong, could it? Even the Voices, the whispering Voices of his fallen comrades couldn't pierce the shield she so naively protected him with.
He smiled in return and pulled her in close, kissing her nose lovingly and just hugging her, rubbing his cheek against hers.
The little Flareon, purring faintly, nuzzled him back, her tail wiggling back and forth happily.
Jason hugged her close for a few minutes, stroking from her head, down to the tip to her tail, only to repeat the motion, caressing her amazingly soft fur and letting her presence buoy his spirits. It had been years since the Dappleleaf incident, and the Voices never went away, but he could ignore them, with Flara's help. She was everything good in the world. She cancelled out the horrible memories.
"Hungry?" he asked of her with a smile, and she peered up at him with those big, innocent eyes, nodding vigorous, nuzzling him repeatedly in affirmation.
He smiled and picked her up, carrying her in his arms and gently stroking at her neck and stomach with his fingertips as he carried her to the kitchen, playing with her.
Setting her down on the counter, he opened up some cupboards, standing and looking at the selection. "So whatcha want? Some meat? We have Tauros Steaks from last week still in the freezer, you know." He said thoughtfully, while Flara peered up at the packets of food, and then leapt nimbly into the cupboard, emerging a few moments later with a packet of cookies clutched in her teeth.
Jason laughed softly and stroked her ears lovingly. "Now, now, Flara, you know you can't just eat cookies for breakfast." He admonished gently. "I couldn't possibly let you do that!" he reached forwards, and gently opened the packet of biscuits for her. "So I never saw you with this packet of cookies, kay?" he asked brightly.
Flara nodded vigorously, and sauntered in front of the cookies, blocking his view of them and smiling at him naively, completely innocent in that moment.
He grinned and kissed her nose again, hugging her once more. "Oh I do so love you Flara." He murmured, and the little Flareon purred and nuzzled at his cheek gently, licking his nose once with her warm tongue, before turning, digging around in the bag for a cookie, and then holding it out for him in a forepaw, resting on her haunches, impossibly cute.
Unable to help but smile again, he took the cookie and thanked her with a gently ear-ruffle, while Flara grabbed out another cookie for herself, and sat back on her haunches, both front paws up at her mouth, smiling with her eyes almost closed as she nibbled at the edge of the cookie.
"I'll be out back." he said to her, and she looked up from the cookie to give him a nod and a smile, and he stroked along her body once more as he walked out, pausing at the door. "Wanna take a trip to town today?" he asked, raising a brow. "We need some more wood after that storm yesterday. The roof's leaking again, and I know how much you hate dripping water..."
The little Flareon's eyes widened, and she nodded vigorously, bouncing just slightly on her paws, looking critically up at the ceiling and carefully sidestepping to a place that wasn't underneath a seam in the woodwork, where water could drip. She then happily went back to gnawing at her cookie.
Jason felt a happy lump form in his throat as he watched her, and he happily went out back of his little cottage and started gardening.
It was nearly an hour before Flara emerged from the house, bounding about happily, immediately setting to chasing a Butterfree, swiping at it with her paws. It retaliated with a waft of stun spore, which she merely sidestepped, giggling happily and pouncing the Butterfree into the soft earth, licking its face repeatedly, and then bouncing off it, nudging it to get it back into the air.
"It's gonna get you, one day." He said to her, smiling faintly, a gardening trowel in his hand.
The little Flareon sauntered smugly up to him and puffed out her chest, giving a cute little roar and then prancing around him in a circle, as if to show her immense strength.
Smiling, he leant down and flipped her gently onto her back, where she looked up at him with an indignant squeal and flailed at the air with her paws. Laughing softly, he dropped down to the soft dirt with her and pulled her into a hug.
She gave another indignant little sound, and then began to purr, draping herself over his arm and neck, nuzzling against his cheek lovingly.
Jason just smiled and hugged her in close, content. This was the way life was supposed to be.
* * *
The trip to town wasn't too far, but Jason took it as few times as he could. It meant walking past the graveyard where his comrades had been buried. The Voices were always strong there...
He shivered faintly as he and Flara walked past it, and he felt that odd sensation at the back of his neck, his hairs standing on end, as a soft, wind-carried whisper reached him from the wrought-iron gates.
Jason forced himself to focus on Flara, peering down at her and smiling softly. The first time he had passed the graveyard, the Voices had yelled at him. He belonged with them, not out here, walking free, while they were trapped under the earth.
Flara had helped him then, instinctively, nuzzling him and licking his prone form until he had been well enough to move on. She had helped him through so many different hard times over the years that he just was not sure what would have become of him if she wasn't there.
The little Flareon bounced along happily, and he reminded himself, once more, that if she was happy, and so carefree, then nothing could be wrong in the world.
She was his life, his everything, now. He used to think that there was nothing worth living for, except the endless Voices. That he should join the Voices...but Flara had changed that. Flare with her cute, innocent, naïve way of living every day as it came. That was what life was about, enjoying the happy times. And he was happy so long as she was by his side.
Dappleleaf town itself had grown a little in recent times, the extra resources from Kyrell liberated during the decimation of the enemy army having bolstered the trade economy.
Therefore, there was a major increase in peace-time operations, such as Pokémon battling, breeding, and raising. Jason never took part in any of it. He did not want to ruin Flara's naivety with battling. Or other Pokémon. He was not a cruel person...but he needed Flara all for himself.
As they were walking down a side-street, towards the pokemart, a kid stepped out onto the road, smiling cruelly. He drew a Pokéball and called out his Wartortle, which stood, baring his and Flara's progress.
"Out of the way, kid." Jason said wearily. There was occasionally some kids who wanted to battle. Usually bullies. Like this kid obviously was. He was pudgy, and no longer young. A bully outgrown his younger victims.
"You have a Pokémon, you have to battle." The kid said stubbornly, staring at him. "Wartortle, water gun!" he commanded.
Jason stepped in front of Flara and stared at the kid and his Pokémon.
"I told you kid. Flara. Does. Not. Battle." He said through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowing.
The Voices in his head were hissing angry suggestions.
"You have to battle. And I'm not a kid. I turn eighteen tomorrow." The kid drawled. "Water gun him, Wartortle. Show him the way things work." The kid said calmly.
Jason's eyes widened as the Wartortle opened its mouth and a destructive blast of water barrelled from its mouth. He tried to duck it, but wasn't fast enough, the blast catching him right in the chest, dumping him off his feet instantly. He was sent sprawling across the road, rolling a few times and bumping his head against a rock as he went, sitting up dazed, on instinct.
Flara squealed in confusion, and immediately went to his aid, instinctively protecting her master, and her friend.
Jason tried to push her out of the way, trying to think clearly around the new, throbbing pain in his head. "N-no!" he said thickly, blinking rapidly as though that might help clear his mind. "You can't fight Flara!" he said, trying to tell her, but she had already turned away defiantly, facing off against the Wartortle and squaring her stance, ready to protect the man that she loved.
"See?! Your Flareon knows all about battling, loser!" he said, grinning and then pointing. "HYDRO PUMP!" he called.
"You'll kill her!" Jason cried, his eyes going wide, ignoring his pain, stumbling to his feet and lurching towards his Flareon.
The Wartortle mouth opened, and it squared its legs, bending forwards and then loosing an immense blast of water towards the little fire Pokémon. Flara seemed to notice her danger, and she squeaked, shivering in fear in the split-second it took the water to reach her, unable to move.
Jason saw and felt the world slow down around him, and he knew, somewhere deep inside himself, that he wouldn't make it to her in time, but he still tried. The soldier in him resurfaced, and he made that his own goal. Get to Flara.
Her eyes were wide, her mouth opening in a silent 'O' of surprise as the jet of icy-cold water struck her full-force, her flame-red body disappearing within the wash.
Jason hit the same place a moment later, throwing himself into the water to try vainly to protect his Flara, his life. But he wasn't fast enough, and was swept away in the same wash of water she was. This time, when his head hit the stones, it was lights out.
* * *
Consciousness came slowly to Jason, and he opened his eyes slowly, the Voices hissing at him angrily all of a sudden, incensed that they had been denied his death once more.
Instinctively, he reached for Flara, rolling over gently to find her warmth and hug her close to his chest, so that she could chase away the Voices in his head with her unconditional love...but she wasn't there!
Immediately, panic filled him, and he rolled over properly, sprawling off the hospital bed and flat on his ass, shivering as the cold floor met his body. He was still fully dressed, and so could not have been out for very long. He felt nauseous, unbalanced, and knew he had a concussion of some kind. But there was a desire in him so great that it blocked out everything else. Get to Flara!
In a blind panic, he ran to the door and stumbled out of it, knocking down a white-suited man as he passed, which was when he realised he must be in a hospital. Blindly he ran, looking in the windows, despairing of finding her, until he saw her, spread out on a white table, with glow-lights over her still body.
The door was locked, but a misaimed kick, and a solid, on-aim kick later, a heavy splintering of wood, and he was inside the room, rushing to her side and gathering her up into his arms, stroking her fur repeatedly.
"Oh my lovely Flara..." he murmured softly, stroking at her incessantly. "I-I thought I'd lost you..."
He was aware of people in the room suddenly, and he grew angry. Who were they to intrude on a private moment like this?!
But then a gentle, soothing hand was placed on his shoulder, and a soft, apologetic, sincere voice told him, "I'm sorry..."
Sorry? Sorry for what?
He brushed off the hand and gently stroked at his Flareon's neck and back, smiling a little and hugging her warmth to his chest...but that was when the first alarm bell began to ring in his head, and the Voices started to murmur malevolently at the edges of his mind.
She wasn't warm...
"F-Flara?" he asked desperately, around the growing lump in his throat, unable to pull the little Flareon away from him to check what he knew, somewhere deep inside himself, was the truth.
"F-Flara?" he asked again, shaking her very gently. "C'mon baby. L-lick my cheek..." he trailed off slowly, nudging her insistently, his hand starting to shake as he stroked at her mane.
"Flara...wake up." He said, shaking her a little more, and then finally pulling her away from his shoulder to peer at her closely. Her eyes were closed, and her head lolled sideways in a way that even a sleeping Pokémon would not allow.
The lump in his throat grew bigger.
"Fl-Flara!" he said, desperately. "Wake up! W-wake up Flara!" he muttered hurriedly. "Don't leave me Flara. I love you!" he said, hugging her soft body close to his, as if words and affection could reverse the incontrovertible evidence in front of him.
The gently hand on his shoulder returned, and an older doctor shook his head gently. "I'm sorry son, she's gone."
"She's not gone!" he cried, slapping the hand away and hugging the Flareon tightly to him, tears starting to stream from his eyes. "She's not gone!" he repeated desperately. "Sh-she's asleep! You'll see! She's going to wake up and make everything all right! She's going to stop the Voices! You'll all see!" he shouted, gathering up her body and fleeing with her, shouldering his way through the small crowd.
* * *
They found him, a few minutes later, in a storage closet. His pained wailed were audible throughout the entire floor.
"Sh-she won't wake up!" he protested to the doctor when he opened the door, the little Flareon's body in his lap, looking peaceful, almost as if she were indeed asleep.
"I-I need her!" he wailed helplessly, pleadingly up at the doctor. "You're not taking her from me!" he said suddenly, backing away into the shadowed corner and clutching Flara to his chest desperately. "I need her...Oh god I need her. Flara, wake up! Wake up for daddy! please...Don't leave me alone...let me know that everything is going to be okay!" he pleaded with her, before dissolving into broken sobs and clutching the body of his beloved Flareon to his chest. Flara. His love, his life. A flame in the darkness, dissolved.
* * *
"You don't understand!" he protested through a fresh bout of tears. "S-she wasn't just a Pokémon! She was my life! She stopped the Voices!"
The doctors had wisely put him in a straight-jacket. For all that he was coherent, he was talking about Voices, and his psyche was almost certainly damaged by the loss of his one anchor in the world.
"She can't be gone! She can't! Who will stop the Voices?! Who will...who will keep me warm at night...? Who will let me know it'll be okay in the morning when the Voices are whispering to me?..." he asked plaintively, as two burly hospital workers steered him towards an isolation room. "Flara...you can't be gone...please Flara..." he murmured softly, whimpering in pain, and then positively wallowing in it as the cell door was shut, leaving him alone with his pain, and the resurgence of the Voices.
He tried to shut them out, to stop them from whispering horrible things in his ears...but there was a new Voice among them.
"F-Flara?" he asked, his head raising, head tilting, all the better to listen with, his eyes widening as he heard her, in the darkness of his mind, whispering to him.
It wasn't your fault... she seemed to say.
"It was my fault! I wasn't fast enough!" he protested, throwing himself against the padded wall with shame and impotence.
I forgive you... she murmured soothingly, and he shook his head vigorously.
"NO! You can't forgive me! You're gone!"
It's okay...everything will be okay... he Voice murmured to him.
"I-it won't be okay!" he protested, flinging himself into the corner and curling up in a ball, trying to block out her Voice. "Y-you're gone and nothing will ever be okay ever again! I-I won't feel your warmth against me when I wake up! You'll never nuzzle me or lay with me ever again...you'll never eat cookies for breakfast...or chase the Butterfree's in my garden...oh my god...how can anything ever be okay again without you?! Y-you were the only thing that kept voices away..."
I am with you. I am your Voices now. she said calmly.
Jason slowly uncurled from his ball, his eyes widening a little. "R-really?" he asked, his eyes widening, smiling gleefully. "Oh my beautiful Flara...We'll never be alone ever again..."
* * *
Outside his cell door, the doctor just shook his head sadly. Another soldier reduced to nothingness by the touch of war. He turned away, Leaving Jason to mutter to himself, alone with his fractured, broken mind.
* * *
The doctors were stunned by Jason's recovery. After just a few hours of muttering to himself, he went quiet, without any medication, and then sat, staring at the door expectantly, until someone had come to check on him. The psyche evaluations all came back clear. Jason was in perfect mental health, and they had no choice but to let him go. He had even stopped complaining about the Voices.
* * *
"We're free." He said with a vicious smile on his face, walking unhurriedly away from the hospital.
Yes, you're free now. And we're together. Everything in the world is okay. she replied.
Fooling the tests were easy with Flara's support. Having her in his head, and able to talk, was so much better than when she were alive! And the Voices were Gone. He was cured!
Having Flara inside his head had cured him. And now he had just one last thing to do, before he could retire in quiet peace with her.
* * *
The 18th birthday party of Gregory Latern was a subdued affair, only attended by family. There were no friends there, seeing as the bullying kid had none. But he had an unexpected guest, halfway through the party.
Jason walked calmly through his yard and out the back of his house, to where his family and he were sitting. H unconsciously measured them up as he walked.
None of them were any threat.
"Flara says hello." He said, as recognition dawned on the bullies face, a moment before Jason's fist crashed into his head, knocking him sprawling from his chair in a heavy, whirling mass of windmilling arms and pudgy legs.
The father moved to stop him, to hit him back, but Jason blocked it calmly, with his left wrist, in tight against the crook of the larger mans elbow.
He was big, and pudgy too. A bully as well.
Jason grabbed the elbow, and twisted hard, bringing his open palm down hard on the exposed shoulder. The blow snapped the end of the bone off, the ball-joint remaining in place while the actual arm bone itself was forced backwards out of his arm, piercing the skin there, a compound fracture, the limb, and most likely the man himself, out of action completely. The mother screamed.
Jason shut her up with a quick pivoting left-kick to the jaw, sending her sprawling as well, a savage smile on his face.
"Am I doing well, Flara?" he asked quietly.
Yes! she said, her Voice reflecting the savage glee in his heart. HURT them!
Ignoring the parents, he stepped over the upturned chair, and picked the kid up by his lapels, pinning him against a tree, and rifling along his pants.
"Leamme alone you nutter!" he cried piteously, and Jason elbowed him sharply in the temple.
He drew the kids pokeball out, and held it in front of his face, smiling evilly. "I'm going to show you how much you hurt me. And Flara's going to see every moment." He said, his upper lip curling. "Aren't you, my lovely Flara?"
"You're fucking crazy! Get away from m-!" the kids eyes widened as Jason produced a knife from his waist, and held it near his eyes.
"Watch closely, or I'll cut out your eyes and make them watch!" he said viciously, smacking the kid in the temple with the butt of his knife, and then calling forth the Wartortle.
It stared up at him uncomprehendingly, as the kid started to plead.
"Nononono! Don't kill him, please!" he wailed.
Jason turned hard eyes back to him, and then punched him, hard, in the stomach, winding him.
"YOU KILLED FLARA!" he roared, incensed. "AND YOU ASK FORGIVENESS?!" There was a tic throbbing in Jason's temple, and the kid was starting to blubber, tears falling down his cheeks. "GET ON YOUR KNEES AND BEG!" he roared.
Immediately, the kid got down on his knees, staring up at him pleadingly. "Please mister...Leave us alone! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt your pokemon! I'll never do it again! Please...!"
Jason stared down at him coldly, and then peered over his shoulder a moment. "What do you think, Flara?"
He's scared...you should put him through what you got put through! He KILLED me! she reminded him, and he felt a savage glee, raising his knife over the Wartortle. But...you could forgive him... her voice whispered.
"Why would I forgive this piece of trash?!" he demanded.
Because you're better than him? it offered tactfully, and tears sprang up into his eyes.
"B-but you're gone, Flara! It doesn't matter if you're in my head! You're Gone...and you're never coming back...because of HIM!" he said, pointing, his eyes narrowed dangerously.
I want to see him dead as much as you do. But if you get killed in retaliation, we won't be together again. My Voice will go silent when you die... she trailed off slowly.
"You're a nutter!" the kid repeated, and received a swift kick to the jaw for his troubles.
"Can't you see I'm talking to someone?!" he yelled, and then, in a calmer voice. "So what do we do?"
Leave the kid. Flara said disdainfully. Go somewhere quiet, where we can be together for all eternity. she suggested, a purr in her tone.
"Yes...yes that seems a better idea." He said, sheathing his knife slowly, and then bending down to be at the kids level.
"You fucking nutter..." he murmured again, sobbing and holding his jaw.
"Count yourself lucky, kid. Flara convinced me not to kill you." He said dangerously.
"What? Your Pokémon? If she's talking to you, then why are you so pissed off?" the bully asked challengingly.
"Because she talks to me, in my head. She's one of my Voices now." He said calmly, standing up and turning away, stepping past the unconscious mother, and the writhing father, who was pale, his face drained of blood.
"You fucking nutter!" the kid called after his retreating back. "You're a fucking nutter! You should be locked up! And your Pokémon would have been alright if she wasn't such a weak bit-"
The knife made a faint whistling sound as it sliced through the air, slamming into the kids throat, right to the hilt, cutting off his words. Jason was right behind it, slamming the heavier kid into the tree and wrenching the blade free in a rush of hot blood, a grin of savage glee on his face as he forwent all his training and paused before delivering the final blows, leaning in to whisper to the spluttering, mortally-wounded kid. "This one, is for Flara, you cunt..."
They say Revenge is a dish best served...but as he rammed that knife home in the kids stomach, he felt a savage, violent euphoria descend over him. This was justice! This was revenge as it should be! Hot, violent, and bloody! With the memory of his loss fresh in his mind!
"This one, is for depriving me of her warmth!" he cried, and thrust his knife to the hilt again.
"For ruining her innocence!"
"For ending her life in violence!"
"For forcing her to battle!"
"For taking her from me!"
Each sentence was punctuated with another deep, vicious stab. And on the final statement, he thrust the knife into the kids heart, up beneath the bone that would stand in the way of such a direct attack, and then raked the blade downwards, leaving it embedded in the bullies body, and letting him fall forwards.
"I did it, Flara. My lovely Flara. I avenged you."
.................
Only silence greeted him.
"F-Flara?" he asked timidly.
But the voices were gone.
Tears started to fall from Jason's eyes. "Flara? Don't leave me...not again!" he cried "Not now! Flara! F-Flara! Talk to me! please! I need you! You told me we'd be together!"
Jason collapsed forwards into the spreading pool of his victims blood and lamented the loss of the voices that had plagued him for so long, sobbing and begging the fractured remnants of his psyche to manifest once more as Flara's voice.
But the violent act he had perpetrated on his loves killer had silenced the vengeful part of his mind, and with no need to avenge Flara, his mind finally let her go, let go her Voice, and left him alone in the world, with no Voices, and no Flara.
Alone.
* * *
Jason was found not half an hour later inside the residence of the Latern's, blood pouring from slit wrists drying upon the families kitchen floor. A disturbing note was scrawled, in his own blood, the last few words disjointed, broken, from where he had been moments from death, and writing with his last breaths.
Flara was the only thing that stopped the voices. Flara was gone. But then she was here. She wanted vengeance! By god I gave it to her! But then she left me all alone. So quiet. Silence. They stopped whispering. I need them to whisper to me! It's too quiet now. I can hear myself think. I can hear myself thinking about holding Flara's dead body in my arms. It's sending me insane. But I'll be with the Voices soon. And me and Flara will be together, and laugh at all of you who doubted us.
Is revenge a dish best served cold? If it kept with me the voices, then yes! But I go to join the voices! And my Lovely Flara!
Revenge was served hot, and I loved it! And I'm sure Flara did too! And I'm about 2 too to a sk h e r
Jason was buried in a grave with Flara, as his will had asked that they be buried together, with a single headstone.
No one knows who wrote the description that now sits on the headstone, which states forlornly:
Together in death, as they were in life, here lie Jason and Flara. Though he clung to her out of need in life, they now embrace for the sake of love in death. Eternal.
Jason Myers, Private, First Class, Tienne Peacekeeping Force, honourably discharged after showing signs of Post-Traumatic-Stress-Syndrome from the 'Dappleleaf incident.'
He still saw it, at night, when his eyes were closed, when the memories could sneak up on him and catch him unawares. He was young yet, only twenty-three, having joined the Peace Corps when he was not able to get a Pokémon to begin his clichéd journey with when he came of age. Of course, it had been years after he was unable to get a Pokémon that he joined. There was just nothing else for him to do, and with the promise of Pokémon companions, a common sign in the corps, who used the Pokémon as beasts of burden, and front-line soldiers against the incursions of the nearby province of Kyrell, it had seemed like the easiest way to advance his life towards a useful end.
Almost immediately, he had been noted for his dedication, hard-working attitude, and raw talent.
He had been fast-tracked to the Special Forces, given a Scyther to partner with, and sent to train in Dappleleaf town, a tiny little outpost near the border, in heavy forest, where recruits could train in all forms of warfare without fear of being seen, or upsetting the townsfolk, who loved the fact that people stood by to protect them...but didn't want to see the methods they would employ to retain peace.
Tienne and Kyrell enjoyed a thin, uneasy peace at the time, and it was common knowledge that spies from both sides crossed the borders to gather intelligence, probing the armies of the opposition for weakness. Both nations were hesitant to commit to open warfare, as neither were assured of their military might.
Tienne had the Lancers, the elite special forces 'peacekeepers', who's ninja-like ways were an exact replica of techniques used in feudal nations of long ago. They were trained in night-ops, stealth, subterfuge, and every other staple of the 'ninja', modified to be relevant in modern times.
Each soldier was a unit, expected to carry out surgical strikes to cripple the enemies infrastructure should an open confrontation arise.
With the Lancers, Kyrell would never dare attack, knowing from reputation their vicious, demoralising effect on front-line troops, the sheer fear they could instil in the troops.
But the forces of Tienne had their own special units. Being from a mountainous region, they had armoured Onyx within their frontline units, shock-units of unparalleled power. There was simply very, very few other Pokémon that could stand up to the might of an armoured Onyx.
So, their special units cancelling each other out, they had lived in an uneasy peace, watching, waiting, biding their time, staring at each other across the border impotently, both afraid to attack the other.
But then had come the 'Dappleleaf Incident', as it was so blithely referred to in the peace corps.
Even though the Lancers were officially a peacekeeping unit, they could perform acts of subterfuge during war. An open war with Kyrell would open up their options.
Nearly all of the senior Lancers had been killed in a suspicious landslide near the border, and Tienne was rapidly training the recruits for active service, before anything could eventuate from their lack of a special forces unit.
Someone, somewhere, had talked, because a unit of Kyrell soldiers, much resembling the Lancers, had breached Dappleleaf town and slaughtered nearly all of the soldiers stationed there.
It was the memories of that night that made Jason awake in a cold sweat in his isolated cottage in the hills.
Even now, he slept, uneasily, disjointed images of that night coming back to him in flashes of remembrance, their emotions as clear as when they had happened.
It had been late, and by some quirk of fate, the Lancer Recruits had been training in night-ops just before the attack, having barely turned out the barrack lights before the first of the enemies had breached the perimeter.
Some people said that humans were much like Pokémon, in the way that they could somehow sense danger, before it even registered on any of their senses. There was more than one person that night who tossed and turned in the few minutes before the attack, unable to sleep.
The first warning had been the breaking of the window at the end of the barracks, and then the sequential breaking of the rest as people and Scyther came bursting through them, the humans carrying long swords, and the Scyther merely the weapons nature had given them. Weapons enough.
He could still remember the Scyther that had burst through the window nearest him, fixed its beady, bug like eyes upon his own, and then charged across the intervening space, swinging that heavy scythe like a sword.
There was barely time to react, to release his own Scyther in retaliation. Somehow, he ducked that first blow, rolling clear and opening his Pokéball, his Scyther joining the fray.
He had turned to the front door, and kicked it ruthlessly down, not even noticing the sounds of battle behind him, the horrible screams. Screams which would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.
The Scyther he had released, barely lasted twenty seconds, clashing in a whirling dervish of green scythes with two other Scyther, before becoming disorientated, and cut down from behind.
For his part, Jason had run towards the armoury, where they kept the bows and swords, as the only weapons the recruits carried with them when off-duty were small, multi-purpose knives. Sharp and deadly, for sure, but nothing compared to the speed and size of a sword, or a Scythe.
He was almost halfway when the Scyther caught up with him, ramming its blade straight through his calf, dropping him flat on his stomach with a cry of pain.
It was oddly still in the grounds, the sounds of dwindling battle dulled and muted, and the occasional cry of pain echoing from within the barracks the only sound, apart from Jason's laboured, pained breathing.
The Scyther seemed to want to take its time, its beady eyes narrowed as it slowly pivoted the scythe buried in his leg, making him cry in pain once more, before it slowly drew the blade free. Jason was sure it was smiling at him, and he could still see it in his dreams as it slowly raised that long scythe up for the killing blow, his own blood dripping from the tip.
His training had taken over them, and he had started crawling towards it, and then past it, towards the armoury.
It had seemed to pause, confused, and then gone in for the main strike.
Jason moved faster.
Wrenching himself to his knees and ignoring the pain in his crippled leg, he blocked the scythe-strike with his left arm, lower, backwards of the blade, at the crook of the warm, and while the Pokémon was still surprised by his sudden block, he drew his knife with his right hand and struck hard.
He did as he was taught to do with humans, slamming the blade, back-hand, into the Scyther's calf, dragging it down and out, away from the bone, leaving a long, immensely deep gash in the green flesh, purple blood staining his knife.
Following that first strike, he moved in close to the humanoid Pokémon, hugging it tightly, so its blades couldn't strike at him effectively, his right hand twisted over his chest as his left arm forced the left scythe to the side, exposing the joint of the elbow. Dragging the knife backhand over it, he made sure to cut right down to the tendons, rendering the arm useless as it fell limp.
Flipping the blade to forehand, he lifted the Scyther's arm up and slid under it, so he was standing behind it, with the arm in the 'policeman's hold'.
Then he merely jammed his blade into its ribs, aiming for a lung, and finding it, silencing any cry of pain before it could utter.
Drawing the blade free from that strike, he coiled his left arm about its right shoulder from behind, so that his left arm pit was press against its right armpit, bending the Scyther backwards. It flailed at him ineffectually with its left scythe, just the once, the only strike it had time to do.
It missed.
Jason had then rammed his blade into the soft chitin beneath the Scyther's throat, yanking it free and dropping the body to the ground, wavering a moment, and then falling to his knees, covered in the Scyther's blood, and his own.
The whole process, all four strikes, had taken less than three seconds.
He knew he had to get to cover, someone would come looking for the Scyther he had felled...but the pain was starting to get to him, clouding his judgement. He could hear his comrades, his friends being slaughtered in the barracks...and all he could think of was getting to safety himself.
Somehow, he had crawled to the tree line, hiding himself amongst the foliage, and staying hidden for two entire days as the entire enemy unit hunted for him. He had never been more scared than then, when he was always a hairs breadth from being found, tortured, and killed.
He survived, evaded detection, crippled leg and all, for two entire days. Two days. It had taken two days for the officers stationed at the nearest town to become concerned at the lack of communications and send a unit out to investigate.
When they had found Jason, he was delirious with pain, exhausted from constant action and vigilance, muttering to himself in his delirium, barely aware of his surroundings. The enemy unit had dispersed when they had realised that another unit was incoming. They were gone.
Jason had been put in a hospital to recover, and though his leg mended nicely, his psyche did not. He had a tendency to jump at small noises, to become surly and moody for no reason. Lack of sleep transformed him into a mere shadow of a person. He was afraid to sleep, because he knew the accusing Voices of his friends would be there waiting for him, taunting him with their screams of pain, and whispering dark thoughts to him in the night. That he had betrayed them, left them to die, abandoned them.
Counselling had helped, a little, but he was unfit for service.
By the time he was allowed out of the hospital, no longer on suicide watch, or anti-depressant medication, the war was over. It had started mere hours after he had been found. And Tienne had crushed Tyrell with righteous anger over the slaughter of a peace keeping unit.
Often, Jason would find himself wondering if they had been deliberately set up to start the war, instil the troops with righteous fury, the will to crush the enemy. It had worked.
And Jason, all alone in the world except for the Voices in his head, was given a Medal Of Valour, a nice monthly pension, and a cottage in the woods to call his own.
Also, at his request, he was given a Pokémon.
And it was for her that he reached when the dreams were too strong, as they were now.
* * *
The little Flareon, named Flara, was sleeping soundly next to him, her warm body snuggled up to his happily, undisturbed in her sleep by his tossing's and turnings, or his wild muttering. She had become so used to it in the five years they had been together.
Jason's eyes opened, and he began to hyperventilate, phantom Scyther's attacking him from the shadows all around the room. Instinctively, he reached for Flara's warmth, finding it, and dragging the little Flareon into his arms, almost whimpering, squeezing his eyes tightly closed and hugging the comforting warmth to his chest.
Her eyes blinked open slowly, and she smiled up at him serenely, completely, and utterly content with the world. She gently licked his cheek with her warm tongue, and he felt all of his fears melt away.
If Flara was happy, if that cute, innocent little Flareon was smiling up at him, then nothing in the world could possibly be wrong, could it? Even the Voices, the whispering Voices of his fallen comrades couldn't pierce the shield she so naively protected him with.
He smiled in return and pulled her in close, kissing her nose lovingly and just hugging her, rubbing his cheek against hers.
The little Flareon, purring faintly, nuzzled him back, her tail wiggling back and forth happily.
Jason hugged her close for a few minutes, stroking from her head, down to the tip to her tail, only to repeat the motion, caressing her amazingly soft fur and letting her presence buoy his spirits. It had been years since the Dappleleaf incident, and the Voices never went away, but he could ignore them, with Flara's help. She was everything good in the world. She cancelled out the horrible memories.
"Hungry?" he asked of her with a smile, and she peered up at him with those big, innocent eyes, nodding vigorous, nuzzling him repeatedly in affirmation.
He smiled and picked her up, carrying her in his arms and gently stroking at her neck and stomach with his fingertips as he carried her to the kitchen, playing with her.
Setting her down on the counter, he opened up some cupboards, standing and looking at the selection. "So whatcha want? Some meat? We have Tauros Steaks from last week still in the freezer, you know." He said thoughtfully, while Flara peered up at the packets of food, and then leapt nimbly into the cupboard, emerging a few moments later with a packet of cookies clutched in her teeth.
Jason laughed softly and stroked her ears lovingly. "Now, now, Flara, you know you can't just eat cookies for breakfast." He admonished gently. "I couldn't possibly let you do that!" he reached forwards, and gently opened the packet of biscuits for her. "So I never saw you with this packet of cookies, kay?" he asked brightly.
Flara nodded vigorously, and sauntered in front of the cookies, blocking his view of them and smiling at him naively, completely innocent in that moment.
He grinned and kissed her nose again, hugging her once more. "Oh I do so love you Flara." He murmured, and the little Flareon purred and nuzzled at his cheek gently, licking his nose once with her warm tongue, before turning, digging around in the bag for a cookie, and then holding it out for him in a forepaw, resting on her haunches, impossibly cute.
Unable to help but smile again, he took the cookie and thanked her with a gently ear-ruffle, while Flara grabbed out another cookie for herself, and sat back on her haunches, both front paws up at her mouth, smiling with her eyes almost closed as she nibbled at the edge of the cookie.
"I'll be out back." he said to her, and she looked up from the cookie to give him a nod and a smile, and he stroked along her body once more as he walked out, pausing at the door. "Wanna take a trip to town today?" he asked, raising a brow. "We need some more wood after that storm yesterday. The roof's leaking again, and I know how much you hate dripping water..."
The little Flareon's eyes widened, and she nodded vigorously, bouncing just slightly on her paws, looking critically up at the ceiling and carefully sidestepping to a place that wasn't underneath a seam in the woodwork, where water could drip. She then happily went back to gnawing at her cookie.
Jason felt a happy lump form in his throat as he watched her, and he happily went out back of his little cottage and started gardening.
It was nearly an hour before Flara emerged from the house, bounding about happily, immediately setting to chasing a Butterfree, swiping at it with her paws. It retaliated with a waft of stun spore, which she merely sidestepped, giggling happily and pouncing the Butterfree into the soft earth, licking its face repeatedly, and then bouncing off it, nudging it to get it back into the air.
"It's gonna get you, one day." He said to her, smiling faintly, a gardening trowel in his hand.
The little Flareon sauntered smugly up to him and puffed out her chest, giving a cute little roar and then prancing around him in a circle, as if to show her immense strength.
Smiling, he leant down and flipped her gently onto her back, where she looked up at him with an indignant squeal and flailed at the air with her paws. Laughing softly, he dropped down to the soft dirt with her and pulled her into a hug.
She gave another indignant little sound, and then began to purr, draping herself over his arm and neck, nuzzling against his cheek lovingly.
Jason just smiled and hugged her in close, content. This was the way life was supposed to be.
* * *
The trip to town wasn't too far, but Jason took it as few times as he could. It meant walking past the graveyard where his comrades had been buried. The Voices were always strong there...
He shivered faintly as he and Flara walked past it, and he felt that odd sensation at the back of his neck, his hairs standing on end, as a soft, wind-carried whisper reached him from the wrought-iron gates.
Jason forced himself to focus on Flara, peering down at her and smiling softly. The first time he had passed the graveyard, the Voices had yelled at him. He belonged with them, not out here, walking free, while they were trapped under the earth.
Flara had helped him then, instinctively, nuzzling him and licking his prone form until he had been well enough to move on. She had helped him through so many different hard times over the years that he just was not sure what would have become of him if she wasn't there.
The little Flareon bounced along happily, and he reminded himself, once more, that if she was happy, and so carefree, then nothing could be wrong in the world.
She was his life, his everything, now. He used to think that there was nothing worth living for, except the endless Voices. That he should join the Voices...but Flara had changed that. Flare with her cute, innocent, naïve way of living every day as it came. That was what life was about, enjoying the happy times. And he was happy so long as she was by his side.
Dappleleaf town itself had grown a little in recent times, the extra resources from Kyrell liberated during the decimation of the enemy army having bolstered the trade economy.
Therefore, there was a major increase in peace-time operations, such as Pokémon battling, breeding, and raising. Jason never took part in any of it. He did not want to ruin Flara's naivety with battling. Or other Pokémon. He was not a cruel person...but he needed Flara all for himself.
As they were walking down a side-street, towards the pokemart, a kid stepped out onto the road, smiling cruelly. He drew a Pokéball and called out his Wartortle, which stood, baring his and Flara's progress.
"Out of the way, kid." Jason said wearily. There was occasionally some kids who wanted to battle. Usually bullies. Like this kid obviously was. He was pudgy, and no longer young. A bully outgrown his younger victims.
"You have a Pokémon, you have to battle." The kid said stubbornly, staring at him. "Wartortle, water gun!" he commanded.
Jason stepped in front of Flara and stared at the kid and his Pokémon.
"I told you kid. Flara. Does. Not. Battle." He said through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowing.
The Voices in his head were hissing angry suggestions.
"You have to battle. And I'm not a kid. I turn eighteen tomorrow." The kid drawled. "Water gun him, Wartortle. Show him the way things work." The kid said calmly.
Jason's eyes widened as the Wartortle opened its mouth and a destructive blast of water barrelled from its mouth. He tried to duck it, but wasn't fast enough, the blast catching him right in the chest, dumping him off his feet instantly. He was sent sprawling across the road, rolling a few times and bumping his head against a rock as he went, sitting up dazed, on instinct.
Flara squealed in confusion, and immediately went to his aid, instinctively protecting her master, and her friend.
Jason tried to push her out of the way, trying to think clearly around the new, throbbing pain in his head. "N-no!" he said thickly, blinking rapidly as though that might help clear his mind. "You can't fight Flara!" he said, trying to tell her, but she had already turned away defiantly, facing off against the Wartortle and squaring her stance, ready to protect the man that she loved.
"See?! Your Flareon knows all about battling, loser!" he said, grinning and then pointing. "HYDRO PUMP!" he called.
"You'll kill her!" Jason cried, his eyes going wide, ignoring his pain, stumbling to his feet and lurching towards his Flareon.
The Wartortle mouth opened, and it squared its legs, bending forwards and then loosing an immense blast of water towards the little fire Pokémon. Flara seemed to notice her danger, and she squeaked, shivering in fear in the split-second it took the water to reach her, unable to move.
Jason saw and felt the world slow down around him, and he knew, somewhere deep inside himself, that he wouldn't make it to her in time, but he still tried. The soldier in him resurfaced, and he made that his own goal. Get to Flara.
Her eyes were wide, her mouth opening in a silent 'O' of surprise as the jet of icy-cold water struck her full-force, her flame-red body disappearing within the wash.
Jason hit the same place a moment later, throwing himself into the water to try vainly to protect his Flara, his life. But he wasn't fast enough, and was swept away in the same wash of water she was. This time, when his head hit the stones, it was lights out.
* * *
Consciousness came slowly to Jason, and he opened his eyes slowly, the Voices hissing at him angrily all of a sudden, incensed that they had been denied his death once more.
Instinctively, he reached for Flara, rolling over gently to find her warmth and hug her close to his chest, so that she could chase away the Voices in his head with her unconditional love...but she wasn't there!
Immediately, panic filled him, and he rolled over properly, sprawling off the hospital bed and flat on his ass, shivering as the cold floor met his body. He was still fully dressed, and so could not have been out for very long. He felt nauseous, unbalanced, and knew he had a concussion of some kind. But there was a desire in him so great that it blocked out everything else. Get to Flara!
In a blind panic, he ran to the door and stumbled out of it, knocking down a white-suited man as he passed, which was when he realised he must be in a hospital. Blindly he ran, looking in the windows, despairing of finding her, until he saw her, spread out on a white table, with glow-lights over her still body.
The door was locked, but a misaimed kick, and a solid, on-aim kick later, a heavy splintering of wood, and he was inside the room, rushing to her side and gathering her up into his arms, stroking her fur repeatedly.
"Oh my lovely Flara..." he murmured softly, stroking at her incessantly. "I-I thought I'd lost you..."
He was aware of people in the room suddenly, and he grew angry. Who were they to intrude on a private moment like this?!
But then a gentle, soothing hand was placed on his shoulder, and a soft, apologetic, sincere voice told him, "I'm sorry..."
Sorry? Sorry for what?
He brushed off the hand and gently stroked at his Flareon's neck and back, smiling a little and hugging her warmth to his chest...but that was when the first alarm bell began to ring in his head, and the Voices started to murmur malevolently at the edges of his mind.
She wasn't warm...
"F-Flara?" he asked desperately, around the growing lump in his throat, unable to pull the little Flareon away from him to check what he knew, somewhere deep inside himself, was the truth.
"F-Flara?" he asked again, shaking her very gently. "C'mon baby. L-lick my cheek..." he trailed off slowly, nudging her insistently, his hand starting to shake as he stroked at her mane.
"Flara...wake up." He said, shaking her a little more, and then finally pulling her away from his shoulder to peer at her closely. Her eyes were closed, and her head lolled sideways in a way that even a sleeping Pokémon would not allow.
The lump in his throat grew bigger.
"Fl-Flara!" he said, desperately. "Wake up! W-wake up Flara!" he muttered hurriedly. "Don't leave me Flara. I love you!" he said, hugging her soft body close to his, as if words and affection could reverse the incontrovertible evidence in front of him.
The gently hand on his shoulder returned, and an older doctor shook his head gently. "I'm sorry son, she's gone."
"She's not gone!" he cried, slapping the hand away and hugging the Flareon tightly to him, tears starting to stream from his eyes. "She's not gone!" he repeated desperately. "Sh-she's asleep! You'll see! She's going to wake up and make everything all right! She's going to stop the Voices! You'll all see!" he shouted, gathering up her body and fleeing with her, shouldering his way through the small crowd.
* * *
They found him, a few minutes later, in a storage closet. His pained wailed were audible throughout the entire floor.
"Sh-she won't wake up!" he protested to the doctor when he opened the door, the little Flareon's body in his lap, looking peaceful, almost as if she were indeed asleep.
"I-I need her!" he wailed helplessly, pleadingly up at the doctor. "You're not taking her from me!" he said suddenly, backing away into the shadowed corner and clutching Flara to his chest desperately. "I need her...Oh god I need her. Flara, wake up! Wake up for daddy! please...Don't leave me alone...let me know that everything is going to be okay!" he pleaded with her, before dissolving into broken sobs and clutching the body of his beloved Flareon to his chest. Flara. His love, his life. A flame in the darkness, dissolved.
* * *
"You don't understand!" he protested through a fresh bout of tears. "S-she wasn't just a Pokémon! She was my life! She stopped the Voices!"
The doctors had wisely put him in a straight-jacket. For all that he was coherent, he was talking about Voices, and his psyche was almost certainly damaged by the loss of his one anchor in the world.
"She can't be gone! She can't! Who will stop the Voices?! Who will...who will keep me warm at night...? Who will let me know it'll be okay in the morning when the Voices are whispering to me?..." he asked plaintively, as two burly hospital workers steered him towards an isolation room. "Flara...you can't be gone...please Flara..." he murmured softly, whimpering in pain, and then positively wallowing in it as the cell door was shut, leaving him alone with his pain, and the resurgence of the Voices.
He tried to shut them out, to stop them from whispering horrible things in his ears...but there was a new Voice among them.
"F-Flara?" he asked, his head raising, head tilting, all the better to listen with, his eyes widening as he heard her, in the darkness of his mind, whispering to him.
It wasn't your fault... she seemed to say.
"It was my fault! I wasn't fast enough!" he protested, throwing himself against the padded wall with shame and impotence.
I forgive you... she murmured soothingly, and he shook his head vigorously.
"NO! You can't forgive me! You're gone!"
It's okay...everything will be okay... he Voice murmured to him.
"I-it won't be okay!" he protested, flinging himself into the corner and curling up in a ball, trying to block out her Voice. "Y-you're gone and nothing will ever be okay ever again! I-I won't feel your warmth against me when I wake up! You'll never nuzzle me or lay with me ever again...you'll never eat cookies for breakfast...or chase the Butterfree's in my garden...oh my god...how can anything ever be okay again without you?! Y-you were the only thing that kept voices away..."
I am with you. I am your Voices now. she said calmly.
Jason slowly uncurled from his ball, his eyes widening a little. "R-really?" he asked, his eyes widening, smiling gleefully. "Oh my beautiful Flara...We'll never be alone ever again..."
* * *
Outside his cell door, the doctor just shook his head sadly. Another soldier reduced to nothingness by the touch of war. He turned away, Leaving Jason to mutter to himself, alone with his fractured, broken mind.
* * *
The doctors were stunned by Jason's recovery. After just a few hours of muttering to himself, he went quiet, without any medication, and then sat, staring at the door expectantly, until someone had come to check on him. The psyche evaluations all came back clear. Jason was in perfect mental health, and they had no choice but to let him go. He had even stopped complaining about the Voices.
* * *
"We're free." He said with a vicious smile on his face, walking unhurriedly away from the hospital.
Yes, you're free now. And we're together. Everything in the world is okay. she replied.
Fooling the tests were easy with Flara's support. Having her in his head, and able to talk, was so much better than when she were alive! And the Voices were Gone. He was cured!
Having Flara inside his head had cured him. And now he had just one last thing to do, before he could retire in quiet peace with her.
* * *
The 18th birthday party of Gregory Latern was a subdued affair, only attended by family. There were no friends there, seeing as the bullying kid had none. But he had an unexpected guest, halfway through the party.
Jason walked calmly through his yard and out the back of his house, to where his family and he were sitting. H unconsciously measured them up as he walked.
None of them were any threat.
"Flara says hello." He said, as recognition dawned on the bullies face, a moment before Jason's fist crashed into his head, knocking him sprawling from his chair in a heavy, whirling mass of windmilling arms and pudgy legs.
The father moved to stop him, to hit him back, but Jason blocked it calmly, with his left wrist, in tight against the crook of the larger mans elbow.
He was big, and pudgy too. A bully as well.
Jason grabbed the elbow, and twisted hard, bringing his open palm down hard on the exposed shoulder. The blow snapped the end of the bone off, the ball-joint remaining in place while the actual arm bone itself was forced backwards out of his arm, piercing the skin there, a compound fracture, the limb, and most likely the man himself, out of action completely. The mother screamed.
Jason shut her up with a quick pivoting left-kick to the jaw, sending her sprawling as well, a savage smile on his face.
"Am I doing well, Flara?" he asked quietly.
Yes! she said, her Voice reflecting the savage glee in his heart. HURT them!
Ignoring the parents, he stepped over the upturned chair, and picked the kid up by his lapels, pinning him against a tree, and rifling along his pants.
"Leamme alone you nutter!" he cried piteously, and Jason elbowed him sharply in the temple.
He drew the kids pokeball out, and held it in front of his face, smiling evilly. "I'm going to show you how much you hurt me. And Flara's going to see every moment." He said, his upper lip curling. "Aren't you, my lovely Flara?"
"You're fucking crazy! Get away from m-!" the kids eyes widened as Jason produced a knife from his waist, and held it near his eyes.
"Watch closely, or I'll cut out your eyes and make them watch!" he said viciously, smacking the kid in the temple with the butt of his knife, and then calling forth the Wartortle.
It stared up at him uncomprehendingly, as the kid started to plead.
"Nononono! Don't kill him, please!" he wailed.
Jason turned hard eyes back to him, and then punched him, hard, in the stomach, winding him.
"YOU KILLED FLARA!" he roared, incensed. "AND YOU ASK FORGIVENESS?!" There was a tic throbbing in Jason's temple, and the kid was starting to blubber, tears falling down his cheeks. "GET ON YOUR KNEES AND BEG!" he roared.
Immediately, the kid got down on his knees, staring up at him pleadingly. "Please mister...Leave us alone! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt your pokemon! I'll never do it again! Please...!"
Jason stared down at him coldly, and then peered over his shoulder a moment. "What do you think, Flara?"
He's scared...you should put him through what you got put through! He KILLED me! she reminded him, and he felt a savage glee, raising his knife over the Wartortle. But...you could forgive him... her voice whispered.
"Why would I forgive this piece of trash?!" he demanded.
Because you're better than him? it offered tactfully, and tears sprang up into his eyes.
"B-but you're gone, Flara! It doesn't matter if you're in my head! You're Gone...and you're never coming back...because of HIM!" he said, pointing, his eyes narrowed dangerously.
I want to see him dead as much as you do. But if you get killed in retaliation, we won't be together again. My Voice will go silent when you die... she trailed off slowly.
"You're a nutter!" the kid repeated, and received a swift kick to the jaw for his troubles.
"Can't you see I'm talking to someone?!" he yelled, and then, in a calmer voice. "So what do we do?"
Leave the kid. Flara said disdainfully. Go somewhere quiet, where we can be together for all eternity. she suggested, a purr in her tone.
"Yes...yes that seems a better idea." He said, sheathing his knife slowly, and then bending down to be at the kids level.
"You fucking nutter..." he murmured again, sobbing and holding his jaw.
"Count yourself lucky, kid. Flara convinced me not to kill you." He said dangerously.
"What? Your Pokémon? If she's talking to you, then why are you so pissed off?" the bully asked challengingly.
"Because she talks to me, in my head. She's one of my Voices now." He said calmly, standing up and turning away, stepping past the unconscious mother, and the writhing father, who was pale, his face drained of blood.
"You fucking nutter!" the kid called after his retreating back. "You're a fucking nutter! You should be locked up! And your Pokémon would have been alright if she wasn't such a weak bit-"
The knife made a faint whistling sound as it sliced through the air, slamming into the kids throat, right to the hilt, cutting off his words. Jason was right behind it, slamming the heavier kid into the tree and wrenching the blade free in a rush of hot blood, a grin of savage glee on his face as he forwent all his training and paused before delivering the final blows, leaning in to whisper to the spluttering, mortally-wounded kid. "This one, is for Flara, you cunt..."
They say Revenge is a dish best served...but as he rammed that knife home in the kids stomach, he felt a savage, violent euphoria descend over him. This was justice! This was revenge as it should be! Hot, violent, and bloody! With the memory of his loss fresh in his mind!
"This one, is for depriving me of her warmth!" he cried, and thrust his knife to the hilt again.
"For ruining her innocence!"
"For ending her life in violence!"
"For forcing her to battle!"
"For taking her from me!"
Each sentence was punctuated with another deep, vicious stab. And on the final statement, he thrust the knife into the kids heart, up beneath the bone that would stand in the way of such a direct attack, and then raked the blade downwards, leaving it embedded in the bullies body, and letting him fall forwards.
"I did it, Flara. My lovely Flara. I avenged you."
.................
Only silence greeted him.
"F-Flara?" he asked timidly.
But the voices were gone.
Tears started to fall from Jason's eyes. "Flara? Don't leave me...not again!" he cried "Not now! Flara! F-Flara! Talk to me! please! I need you! You told me we'd be together!"
Jason collapsed forwards into the spreading pool of his victims blood and lamented the loss of the voices that had plagued him for so long, sobbing and begging the fractured remnants of his psyche to manifest once more as Flara's voice.
But the violent act he had perpetrated on his loves killer had silenced the vengeful part of his mind, and with no need to avenge Flara, his mind finally let her go, let go her Voice, and left him alone in the world, with no Voices, and no Flara.
Alone.
* * *
Jason was found not half an hour later inside the residence of the Latern's, blood pouring from slit wrists drying upon the families kitchen floor. A disturbing note was scrawled, in his own blood, the last few words disjointed, broken, from where he had been moments from death, and writing with his last breaths.
Flara was the only thing that stopped the voices. Flara was gone. But then she was here. She wanted vengeance! By god I gave it to her! But then she left me all alone. So quiet. Silence. They stopped whispering. I need them to whisper to me! It's too quiet now. I can hear myself think. I can hear myself thinking about holding Flara's dead body in my arms. It's sending me insane. But I'll be with the Voices soon. And me and Flara will be together, and laugh at all of you who doubted us.
Is revenge a dish best served cold? If it kept with me the voices, then yes! But I go to join the voices! And my Lovely Flara!
Revenge was served hot, and I loved it! And I'm sure Flara did too! And I'm about 2 too to a sk h e r
Jason was buried in a grave with Flara, as his will had asked that they be buried together, with a single headstone.
No one knows who wrote the description that now sits on the headstone, which states forlornly:
Together in death, as they were in life, here lie Jason and Flara. Though he clung to her out of need in life, they now embrace for the sake of love in death. Eternal.