He opens his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling and wonders where he is. It hits him a moment later—he's in his new room.

His new room in the Johto region, he thinks bitterly.

He spent most of the trip from Unova to Johto riding amongst boxes, unconscious. He's entitled to forget about his new nightmare.

He stretches, pulling at the seams of old pajamas, and tries to figure out how to get out from going to school.

It was one thing to keep his head down in a big city full of other kids; it's another to remain anonymous amongst only a handful of classmates. Having a funny accent definitely won't help.

He's in the middle of yawning when he spots something out of place.

I don't remember having a Banette doll.

He blinks down at the life-like doll sitting in the middle of floor.

It giggles at him.

"Roger," he screams, "come get your creepy pokemon before it eats me!"

...

He's fuming as he eats his breakfast—some strange meat and rice combination.

His mother is embracing their new Johto lifestyle a little too well. He refuses the chopsticks for a spoon, and the metal clanks loudly against his teeth.

"Oh come on, Samson's not that bad," his older brother says with a stupid smile on his face.

The Banette giggles at him from his brother's arms. The glower on his face is magnificent, he's sure.

"Your pokemon has been harassing me since you got it. 'Not so bad' are not the words I'd use," he speaks slowly since he's talking to an idiot.

"Samson's just trying to be friendly," Roger denies cheerfully.

It's the same defense Roger always uses, and so like always, he responds with,

"So it can eat me."

Roger just smiles at him, and he finishes breakfast in silence.

The Banette staring at him the whole time trades his uneasiness about school for general uneasiness. It's strangely freeing.

"So, where's Mom?" He asks, placing his bowl in the sink.

A strange expression crosses his brother's face for a split second before he goes back to his default smile.

"She's off to Ecruteak City, said she wanted to do the tourist thing before settling down here," Roger says brightly.

He snorts.

"Of course she does. We're in the freaking middle of nowhere," he waves his arms for emphasis.

They didn't just move from the big city to a smaller one, oh no. They don't even have neighbors.

"I'm going to have to walk hours to get to school," he complains without thinking.

"Oh yes, about school," Roger begins.

He groans.

"We're not talking about it."

"I think we are," his older brother singsongs, Banette bouncing in his arms.

"I'm not going today," he says defensively.

"Of course not, it's far too late for that. How about you come work with me today?"

"I said I'm not—huh?"

He stares dumbfounded at his brother. Roger's a pokemon breeder, a great one. Surely he's not asking a good-for-nothing kid like him for help?

"Come. Work. With. Me. Today." Roger repeats brokenly as if speaking to a small child.

Roger has never allowed him to skip, and he's never been asked to help either.

"Work with you on the farm? I'll have to feed them and, and brush them, right?"

He strains his memory for any hints as to what Roger does on a daily basis, but it all escapes him.

"Are you sure? I'm not…very good when it comes to pokemon."

That's putting it mildly.

Roger's smile only gets wider.

"All it takes is a little practice. You'll do fine," his brother reassures.

He eyes the silent Banette that's still staring at him.

"No ghost pokemon?"

"No ghost pokemon," Roger says firmly.

Well, it was either this or going to school, so—

"Do I need to get changed?"

That it doesn't go well is putting it mildly.

His older brother is at first eager to show him the grooming basics in pokemon care. It doesn't last long.

After accidentally setting off a mini stampede of Ponyta—he never knew they were that easy to startle—Roger puts him on feeding duty only.

Armed with a giant bag of chow, and a "There's no way you can mess that up," he's not exactly brimming with confidence.

Ten seconds later, his brother has to rescue him from an aggressive Munchlax of all things. His face is bright red as he's handed a case of vitamins instead.

"There shouldn't be any problem," Roger reassures him, "since pokemon don't really care for vitamins."

He gives it a shot with only the slightest trepidation.

"Hey don't eat that, Roger said you had to eat the purple one! Put that down! Hey, I said—Ow! You little monster—"

"And we're done here," Roger swoops in, grabbing the tiny Houndour by the scruff of its neck.

He glowers up at his older brother, nursing his slightly swollen hand. Roger only gives the Houndour a light swat and shoos it away.

"I freaking hate pokemon. All of them," he growls.

"Oh, don't be like that," Roger says lightly, scooping up the fallen vitamins.

"I'm serious," he tells him angrily. "I hate them. They're all horrible. Do you know how many times they tried to bite me when I was just trying to give them food?"

"They were just hungry. That's all."

"No, they're all just monsters that should die—"

A smack to the head has him seeing stars. He stares up at his brother with wide eyes.

"Don't ever say that again," Roger's eyes harden. "These pokemon deserve love and respect."

Don't I deserve it too, he doesn't say, eyes blinking rapidly.

"These pokemon are working hard for us to live. What are you doing? All you've done is complain these past few weeks!"

He can feel the tears gathering at the back of his eyes—no doubt because his head still hurts—and he can feel something closing off his throat. It tastes a lot like resentment.

"Your bad attitude's been affecting everyone around you, even these pokemon! I'm at the end of my rope!" Roger says, clutching his apron.

"If you don't want me around, all you had to do was say so," he manages to say scratchily.

His visions a little blurry, but he can see the gate well enough. He stomps off towards it.

"Hey, get back here! Jace!" His brother yells.

He thinks he can see the jeering faces of the pokemon watching him go as the gate swings shut. He goes for a walk.

(He doesn't run away because he's tried that before, and he knows Roger will just drag him back. He'd never survive by himself anyways.)

He stares at his jagged reflection at a little stream he's found. He can't actually see anything as it's too blurry for some reason, but he's seen the mirror enough times to know what's looking back.

His hair's a spiky black mess that Roger refuses to cut. His eyes are bigger than he'd like, but he loves his dark purple eyes. It's only because it reminds him of Dad.

He wonders if it's possible to hate yourself after only twelve years of living. He scowls and decides that it's not only possible, but it's his depressing reality.

He smacks the water, splashing himself.

Great, now I'm wet, he thinks angrily.

His chest starts heaving and water runs down his face. Eyes stinging, he wonders if he got anything in them accidently.

"You're twelve now," he repeats to himself dully. "It's time to be a man. Do not cry, crying is for boys."

His mother has been telling him that since he was ten, changing the year as time goes by. Roger's never said anything differently—and he's definitely never seen his older brother cry—so it must be true.

He'll never be a man at this rate, he thinks as tears roll down his face.

"It's nothing to cry about," he whispers to himself, furiously wiping his eyes.

He's always known that his older brother loved pokemon more than him just as Mom has always loved Roger more than him.

And Dad…

Well, the man had loved pokemon to the point he forgot to send home birthday cards on the right date. He even forgot his sons' names sometimes. He still has the cards with "Jason" written on them. They're in a box under his bed.

Bed, he thinks, sounds good actually.

He's been bitten, pushed, and tripped all day. Sleeping away the rest of this awful day sounds like a plan.

His alarm blares, and it takes willpower to push open his eyes.

3 a.m.

He stares at the clock dully and wonders, why?

It's either go to school or deal with Roger. It's no contest; this time he'll take school. If he gets dressed quick enough, he might even miss his older brother all together.

He forgets to account for something; it's pitch black outside. He stares down at what he thinks is the road to town.

Supposedly if he sticks to the road exclusively, he'll be safe enough from any wild pokemon.

He shifts his backpack uneasily. He really should have grabbed a flashlight or a lantern. A light comes on in the house, and he bolts down the creepy road without a second thought.

He keeps going until night turns to day, and he can finally see.

Red and orange fills the sky and lights up the area with a soft hue. Dew glistens on the leaves, and the colors around him are amazing.

He could care less; he just wants to know how much longer he has to walk. It's been hours. His legs feel like they're about to fall off, and his shoulders ache from the straps of the backpack.

He swears he should have been at the school by now.

It's not a major city or anything; the school is run out of someone's home in something resembling a town. His expected classmates aren't even supposed to be his own age. Cinderberry is pretty far out, but he should have hit it by now, right?

Maybe I should turn around, he thinks for the fiftieth time.

The sun is completely overhead now, and he can feel the back of his neck and ears burning. He knows without a doubt he's missed the school.

He knows he should turn around and at least go back home—

But he can't seem to do it. His legs have gone beyond aching, but he can't get them to stop going forward. It's pretty weird.

He can't even convince himself to walk backwards, and when he thinks about going back to his new home, his chest hurts a little. He must be getting sick.

(He's not running away, he tells himself. He'd never be able to survive on his own. He's just…going for a walk, that's all.)

He sees a field full of Miltank in the distance first. He marvels at it for a moment before almost running into a sign.

"Moomoo Farm," he reads out loud.

"Is this for milk?" He asks the air beside him.

He looks at the building and feels an intense curiosity come over him. Well, he bites his lip, surely they wouldn't mind answering a few questions?

He hesitates at the door, and definitely doesn't keep his back to the Miltanks, but manages to knock confidently enough.

Turns out the couple running the place are more than happy to answer his questions. They're even happy to share some of their Moomoo milk with him!

He downs the milk faster than what's polite, but he didn't realize how hungry he is. They shove some more milk at him, this time with cookies, and he knows he is their biggest fan for life.

"So, what brings a kid like you all the way out here? Pretty boring for sight-seeing," the man pushes some more cookies towards him.

"I just moved here," he says through a mouthful of goodness, "and I was just seeing what was nearby."

Which is sort of true, but the lady looks over towards her husband.

"I don't remember anyone moving near the farm?" She queries.

He thinks about lying for a moment before realizing the guilt would eat him alive.

"I…kinda got a bit lost," he admits.

"I mean, I can get home from here!" He tells them hurriedly. "But I just don't know where 'here' is."

The couple shares a glance and he wonders if he's overstayed his welcome.

Should've just lied, he thinks glumly.

"Do you know where Olivine City is?" The lady asks gently.

He perks up.

"I know where that's at! Why?"

He remembers the geography map he had pored over when Mom had first announced their moving.

The man gives him a pitying look. He thinks about it.

"Oh. Um, how far is it from here?"

"If you're following the road out from here, you'll get there in thirty minutes, fifteen minutes if you're fast," the lady tells him.

Olivine City is very far from home. It'll be dark by the time he gets home, and he's had enough of traveling through dark, creepy woods by himself.

So…

"I'll call my family and tell them I'm spending the night there once I get to the Pokemon Center," he decides.

They tell him he's welcome to use their phone. That he can stay the night there, no trouble at all, but he manages to convince them he'd like to see Olivine City before heading home.

(It's not a lie; he really wants to see what a beach looks like. He really was unconscious through the whole move.)

They see him off with some wrapped up cookies and a sandwich, and he promises to come by and visit again. They tell him to make sure he brings a pokemon for safety, and he manages to not make a face at his new favorite people.

The day he gets a pokemon is the day he turns into a simpering girl.

He takes the path and gets to Olivine City in no time. It is quite simply amazing.

The scent of the ocean is drifting on the breeze along with the smell of food from vendors. The lighthouse is huge. And the beach! How could anyone swim out in that without drowning?

(He's not thinking about his older brother waiting for him in a house in the middle of nowhere. He's not.)

He has fun sight seeing until the sun goes down.

...

He stares at the phone, finger hovering over the call button.

It shouldn't be this hard, he thinks.

It's just Roger. Mom's not home yet, and she doesn't bother picking up the phone anyways. This isn't something out of the ordinary; in fact it's been happening more and more often lately.

He throws a "baby fit" (Mom's words, not his), storms off, cools down, and Roger welcomes him home without mentioning anything.

It's normal, so why is this so hard? Just hit the button, he tells himself.

"Yo, if you're just going to stare at it all day, how 'bout you let others use it? Some of us actually have calls to make," an irritated voice interrupts him.

"S-Sorry!" He slams the receiver down, face bright red.

He scuttles out the way of the scary-looking guy, stomach tied in knots. Someone grabs him by the shoulders, and he goes stiff as a board.

"Hey now, that kid was trying to make a hard phone call, couldn't you tell?" A much younger voice utters above his head.

He looks up.

It's a teenage boy he's never seen, but he knows that jacket anywhere—it's an Ace jacket. Only the best wear them; only the trainers who have eight gym badges can receive the jacket.

He doesn't really pay attention to what's being said around him; he's too busy admiring the cool-looking jacket. He totally wants one.

Now if only there was a way to get one without a pokemon—

His daydreaming gets cut short when he's suddenly pushed under a nearby table. He doesn't have a clue about what's going on, but he does recognize the sound of pokeballs opening. A sliver of fear takes his breath away.

The table obscures his view; all he can make out is the roar of giant-sounding pokemon and the rage-filled screams of Nurse Joy.

(To be honest, Nurse Joy was the scariest thing that day.)

He, the Ace trainer, and the scary-looking guy are banished from the Center in short order. It's unfair, but he's beginning to see that everything in life is unfair.

He's sitting against the wall outside of the Pokemon Center, picking at a scab, and wandering if he needs to go back to Moomoo Farm after all, when a shadow falls across him.

"Hey," the Ace trainer says from above him.

"What do you want?" He asks dully.

"Well, I kind of deserve that one," the trainer scratches the back of his head.

"Alright, kid," the Ace trainer grins, "since that was totally my fault I owe you one. What can I do to make it up to you?"

He glares up at the older boy.

"Get me a hotel room, dinner, and dessert."

The Ace trainer stares down at him.

"You don't even hesitate, do you?"

"I would have had all those things if you hadn't gotten me kicked out," he reminds the teen.

The trainer rubs the back of his head again.

"Fair enough, we'll start with dinner then."

The older boy brightens up as a thought hits him.

"I know a great place. It serves the best pickled pickles!"

He blinks up at the trainer.

"Can pickles be pickled?" He asks, curious.

"Don't know, but that's what they're advertised as," the Ace trainer says cheerfully.

"By the way, name's Kyle," the teen tells him as they wait for their food.

"Jace," he replies shortly.

"Not very talkative, are you?" Kyle questions.

He glowers at the trainer over his glass of water. This is not the beginning of a beautiful relationship; he doesn't have to be friendly or polite.

"That's okay!" Kyle says cheerfully, "I can talk for the both of us! So, did you know I've been everywhere? Like, okay, so I started out in Kanto, but…"

He resists the urge to bang his head into the table, if only barely.

He's not quite sure if what he ate was a pickle, but it was good. He makes a mental note to stop by again.

Next time, he'll come without the chatterbox that couldn't stop talking about how awesome he is through the whole meal.

"Man, oh man, that was good," the Ace trainer pats his stomach with a satisfied sigh.

He can only nod his agreement.

"So, hotel room? Not sure where to go for that one," Kyle tells him as he leans against the restaurant's outside wall. "I usually just sleep on the Pokemon Center couches."

"Well, that was my plan," he reminds the teen.

"I know, I know!" The Ace trainer rubs the back of his head in what he's beginning to believe is a nervous tic.

"Tell you what, I'll go ask at that store across the street. Wait here," Kyle commands before taking off.

Like a moron, he waits for the Ace trainer to come back. He eventually realizes it doesn't take thirty minutes to ask for hotel information.

Kyle's not coming back.

Should have seen that coming, he thinks.

He feels his face burning in embarrassment. Of course the guy left him; they always do.

He gets up off the cement with shaky legs and begins the trudge to Moomoo Farm. He hopes the couple's offer still stands because otherwise he has no idea know what to do.

(He still hasn't talked to Roger. What if his older brother no longer cares?)

The path is dark, unlit without even the moon to brighten the way.

It shouldn't be a surprise that he accidently steps off the path, and in trying to find it again, walks into the grassy area.

When a screeching Raticate jumps at him, fangs bared, he is surprised. He is also very, very terrified.

A scream rips it way out of his throat, and his legs give out on him. He can't see it, but he knows the Raticate is about to jump at him again.

He's dead, he's dead—

He feels a sting on his left arm, can feel the pokemon's huge incisors—

"Air Slash!" A familiar voice rings out.

It feels like a wall of wind grazes him, and the screech of the Raticate is unbearably loud. A light suddenly shines in his eyes, and he's blinded.

"Jace? Jace? Kid, you okay?"

It can't be Kyle, he thinks dimly. He left. His thoughts feel like they're coming from a mile away.

It does indeed turn out to be Kyle. The Ace trainer turns off the flashlight and activates a small lantern hanging off his belt.

"Are you okay? Tell me you're okay!" Kyle demands.

The teen begins shaking him by the shoulders when he still doesn't respond. He doesn't know what to say. It's dark and his arm hurts.

"I-I…" He looks up at the teen with trembling lips.

"I hate pokemon!" He cries.

Kyle doesn't quite know what to do with that, so the teen carries him back to the road before cleaning and bandaging his arm.

They don't say anything for quite a while, and then,

"You idiot, what do you think you were doing out here without a pokemon? Do you know just how serious that was? If someone hadn't seen you go up Route 39, or if my Noctowl wasn't so good at tracking—"

The look on Kyle's face is absolutely furious; he feels lower than dirt.

"You left me. Y-You didn't come back," he whispers, pleading for the teen to understand.

People don't usually come back once they leave.

"I was challenged to a battle, and then challenged again after that. I didn't realize how much time passed," Kyle says through pursed lips.

The Ace trainer lets out a huff before scratching the back of his head rather aggressively. He doesn't say anything more.

"I'm sorry," he says to the ground.

He's sorry for being an idiot; he's sorry for doubting the teen. He can feel the familiar pricks at the back of his eyes even as his lips tremble.

"H-Hey now, you're fine, don't cry," Kyle waves his arms wildly.

"I'm not crying! Men don't cry!" He shouts.

Only boys cry.

The Ace trainer stops his flailing instantly. Hands push his head up, and suddenly he's staring into the dead serious face of his savior.

"That's stupid. Go ahead and cry. Let it all out kid, you'll feel better," Kyle says, solemn expression never changing.

"B-But you just said—"

"I just said that 'cause I panicked," Kyle tells him, letting go and ruffling his hair. "Sometimes you just need to cry. Go on, I won't look."

"P-Promise?" He hiccups.

"Promise."

It's been a long time since he was able to cry without feeling guilty. He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to do it again, so he cries with everything he has.

He kind of loses the ability to stand, but Kyle is right; he does feel better. When his legs still don't work, Kyle piggy backs him all the way to the Pokemon Center.

They're still banned, but Kyle manages to convince the Nurse Joy to let them stay for an hour and to lend a first aid kit. The Ace trainer leaves him sitting against the wall to buy some needed supplies from the store.

This time he knows better. Kyle will come back. He just has to wait.

"Here."

He blinks as a chocolate bar is shoved into his face.

"Is this for me?" He takes the candy hesitantly.

"Yep," Kyle makes sure to pop the end of his word.

The older boy slides down the wall beside him and gets comfortable.

"So, who were you trying to call earlier?" Kyle asks, peeling the wrapper off his own chocolate bar.

"Why?" He asks blankly, still staring at his unwrapped piece of candy.

"Well, Nurse Joy said she'd let you use the phone. I need to know if I should be talking to anybody," Kyle tells him.

"O-Oh. Well," he stumbles, "it's no one or nothing, really. I was just trying to call my brother."

"Your brother?" Kyle raises an eyebrow.

"My older brother, Roger. He's—I kind of got upset at my brother and ran off," he admits.

He shouldn't be saying any of this. Real men don't trouble others with their problems. Roger would say that, but Kyle is different.

"How far away did you run to need to call him? To have to go through Route 39?" The older boy questions shrewdly, eyeing him intently.

"We live a few hours north of Cinderberry," he says, shrinking slightly.

There's no way the other boy could possibly know where that's at. He walked through there and still couldn't find it!

"That far!" Kyle exclaims, choking on a piece of chocolate.

Kyle pounds his chest, and he can only marvel at the fact that the teen truly meant it when he said he's been everywhere.

"You ran all the way here without a pokemon?" Kyle asks incredulously.

"I didn't mean to!" His cheeks glow bright red.

Then he takes in the rest of sentence and feels that usual bit of resentment clawing at his chest.

"And I don't need a pokemon," he says sharply.

Kyle stares at him oddly, and his cheeks remain warm. He knows his face is twisted into an ugly expression; Roger's always pointing it out, but he does not ever want a pokemon.

The scratch on his arm still stings.

"Hoo boy, this is trickier than I thought," Kyle muses out loud.

Kyle lets out a melodramatic sigh.

"Alright, kid. I'm not going to leave you high and dry."

"What do you mean?" He asks, confused.

"Well, clearly your brother isn't very good at being a brother—" Kyle begins.

"HEY! He's a great brother!"

Don't talk about Roger that way, he thinks.

"—clearly not, or you wouldn't hate pokemon," Kyle waves a half-eaten candy bar in his face.

"That's not—"

That's not the problem.

"You also ran away from him and you're too upset to call him or go back."

"You're wrong, I—"

"You won't even call him after getting attacked. Something is seriously wrong here."

He doesn't have anything to say to that.

"Which is why, out of the goodness of my heart, I shall be your new big brother," Kyle says brightly before shoving the rest of the chocolate bar into his mouth in one go.

"…what?"

Kyle swallows loudly before pointing a finger skyward.

"And now, we shall get you started on your very own pokemon journey!"

"What."

"Upsy-daisy!" Kyle grabs him by the good arm.

"W-Wait a moment!" He cries.

The older boy stands suddenly, pulling him up at the same time, and frog marches him out of the Pokemon Center.

"All journeys start with a good night's sleep!" Kyle declares.

The hotel clerk is looking at them with an incredulous look, but that probably has less to do with Kyle's bizarre statement and more with the twelve year old tied up in an Ace Trainer jacket.

He doesn't even know how Kyle managed to tie his arms down while avoiding his injury, but the teen managed it.

"I am not going on a pokemon journey," he hisses.

"It's his first one. He doesn't even have his pokemon yet," Kyle leans towards the clerk, whispering conspiringly.

The clerk hands the teen a key and says uncertainly,

"Good luck with your journey?"

"No!" He howls all the way down the hallway Kyle drags him.

Kyle keeps him tied up all the way through morning, breakfast, and even registration. His official ID picture is interesting to say the least.

"Alright," Kyle says, looking through pamphlets, "what kind of starter are we looking at?"

"I. Don't. Want," he says through gritted teeth.

Kyle barely spares him a glance.

"Something cheerful then."

He attempts to kick the older boy, but the trainer manages to dodge each attempt successfully.

"Hm, this is promising," Kyle mutters, "or how about—oh! This is perfect. Oh, but you have to be—"

Kyle gives him an assessing stare, and he can feel the back of his hairs stand on end.

"What?" He asks, dread filling him.

"Did anyone ever tell you, you'd make a pretty girl?"