The American Digimon

By NetRaptor

[Copyright Notice: Digimon are owned by Bandai. Zach, Savannah, Rick, Tithonia and their partners are copyrighted 2003 by K. M. Hollar. Use of these characters without permission is strictly prohibited.

A lot of the Digimon names within are very generic for the author wished to keep them easy to pronounce. If you have Digimon or characters with these same names, the resemblance is purely coincidental.]

This story was written in protest of seasons 3 and 4, which departed too much from the originals for the author's taste. It is a stand-alone universe with original characters, and in the author's opinion, is what season 4 SHOULD have been. This fic is also a mild PG for jokes about drugs, some dark elements, and the word 'sucks'.

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Chapter 1

Who's in the house?

--Who's in the House, Carman

"Psych ward again," Zach thought as he took a seat in the school psychiatrist's office. He slumped in the padded chair and let his hands dangle. He wondered what Miss Dingle would tell him about himself today. All he wanted was to get home.

The school psychiatrist entered the room, a tall, brisk lady in a gray dress. She was carrying a thick folder under her arm, which she opened as she sat down at her desk. "Zach, what are you doing here?" she asked, mildly reproving. He stared at her in stony silence. "It's the third time this week," she added. She removed a pencil drawing from her file and slid to toward him. "What is this?"

Zach didn't look at it. "I drew it at lunch," he muttered.

"It depicts extreme violence," said Miss Dingle. "Have you been under stress lately?"

"No."

"Then why--"

"Because I wanted to," said Zach, raising his voice.

Miss Dingle clicked her tongue. "Violence is never necessary, Zach. I'm concerned about you. You're so talented, and yet you insist upon this negative behavior."

Zach focused on her desk, letting her voice roll over him. She talked to him about anger management, and depression, and he was certain self-esteem was next. His self-esteem was low all the time, but on bad days, she told him it was 'very low'.

"Are you listening to me?"

He grunted something. He didn't want to be here, and this would make him miss the bus.

She was saying something about trusting your feelings when he tuned her out completely and fiddled with the silver Celtic knot hanging around his neck. He just wanted to get the whole meeting over with.

Then she was standing up, gathering her papers. He stood up, put on a fake smile and thanked her. "Today's chat has really made a difference," he said with almost too much irony in his voice.

Miss Dingle didn't seem to notice, and smiled back. "I'm glad you're improving. I just want to see you happy."

He was still rolling his eyes when he hoisted his backpack onto one shoulder and walked down the empty hall to the high school parking lot. He stepped into the October sunlight and scanned the end of the lot for buses, but there were none in sight.

"They're all gone," said a voice behind him. Zach turned and saw a girl his own age, like himself dressed all in black with lots of silver jewelry. In addition she wore black lipstick and white face powder. She had been sitting against the wall, but was getting up and positioning her backpack.

"Hi Savannah," said Zach. "You didn't have to wait for me."

"I knew she'd make you late," said Savannah, flipping her long black hair out of her eyes. They walked across the parking lot and down the sidewalk. "Was it the picture?"

"Yeah," said Zach, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "I wanted to keep that one, too. It looked just like him."

"I guess that's a bad thing," said Savannah. "They knew who drew it right away."

"Nobody else would draw Rick Sterling on a pike, that's for sure."

They laughed.

"I ought to draw the psych nurse that way," said Zach. "But then they'd really freak. Did Rick and the rest laugh when I got called?"

"Yeah."

Zach glared at the sidewalk. "I'll kill them all someday."

They walked in silence a moment. The walk home was nice this time of year, because all of the trees were red and gold, and the air smelled of woodsmoke. It was only in midwinter that riding the buses became necessary.

"Are you still taking your medication?" Savannah asked.

"Yeah," said Zach, head down. "And I'm still depressed." He thought of the knife he had hidden in his drawer for when it all became too much.

Savannah seemed to read his thoughts. "Can I come over tonight? I'll bring our DVD player."

"No," he muttered. "Mom's working late or something."

"Oh, okay."

They walked in silence another moment.

"Zach...don't do it tonight."

He glanced at her. She always knew when he was contemplating suicide. When he didn't answer, she became more urgent. "Promise me, Zach. Promise me you'll be at school tomorrow."

After a moment he shrugged and said, "Sure."

They walked in silence until they reached their street, and the two parted ways. Zach made his way to a pale green house with peeling plaster and a lawn that needed mowing. He hoped his mother wasn't home as he opened the front door and dropped his backpack on the floor. "Mom?"

The dusty house was silent. He walked into the kitchen and found a note on the counter. "Zach-- I have to work late tonight. I bought one of the steak dinners you like. Love you, Mom." So he hadn't lied to Savannah after all.

He opened the freezer and looked at the frozen dinner waiting for him. All of a sudden he wished his mother were home. He closed the freezer door and went to his room.

Zach's room was miniscule. Every inch of the of the walls were covered with posters of evil-looking bands in black, and the gaps between them were covered with his own drawings. They featured anime characters holding large guns and swords. The gory ones he kept hidden from his mother, or he would wind up at a professional shrink more often.

He flipped on his computer and pulled off his shoes as it booted. It was an old 486 with a four-gig hardrive, not worth the money it would cost to upgrade. But it got him online, which was all that mattered.

He went to the kitchen and swiped a pack of cookies as he waited for the modem to dial up, and returned as his chat software logged on. An instant message from Savannah popped up. "Hi! Wanna play Jedi?"

"No," he typed with one hand, and shoved a cookie in his mouth with the other. He checked the weather for anything interesting ("Thunderstorm tonight," he told Savannah), then whisked off to his favorite anime sites. He posted a complaint on a messageboard about one of his best drawings being confiscated, and received replies from online friends with loads of sympathy. This cheered him somewhat. Then he read a long message from someone who was bashing his favorite show, which made him depressed again.

It was dark outside by the time he was finished surfing. He left his computer downloading a video of an upcoming show and entered the dark kitchen to warm up his TV dinner. He stood at the microwave and watched the plastic-wrapped dish slowly fill with steam, the microwave casting the only light in the kitchen.

He ate his solitary dinner in his dark room, illuminated by the blue glow of his monitor. It was so quiet he could hear the wind beginning to roar in the trees outside. "Maybe the power will go out," he thought with vague pleasure. The neighbors never trimmed their trees, and sometimes the branches shorted out the power lines. "But I'm not that lucky," he thought, determined to look on the dark side.

He got up, went to the bathroom and removed two pills from a bottle in the medicine cabinet. He had forgotten to take his antidepressant when he got home, and should have taken them before eating. Oh well, he didn't care. He gulped the pills with a can of Pepsi and returned to his room.

The wind was picking up outside, and thunder rattled his window. Somewhere in the neighborhood, someone's windchimes jangled a frantic tune. For a moment lightning lit his room like a floodlight. Unperturbed, he finished his meal and watched the progress bar on his download. 45%.

As he waited, he reached into a desk drawer and pulled out the paring knife he had hidden there. He fondled it, turning it over, feeling the cold blade. He gazed at it, thinking of death, and wondering if he was strong enough to cut the veins in his wrists. "My life sucks, anyway," he told himself, thinking of the school psychiatrist, and Rick's sneer at lunch.

The progress bar hadn't moved for several minutes now, he noticed. He leaned forward and looked at the indicator on the bottom of his browser. Contacting Host. Maybe a line blew down somewhere. As he watched, the indicator changed to the longest DNS entry he had ever seen. It had forty or fifty numbers, separated into groups of three.

A crack split the silence, so loud that the house shook. Zach jumped and nearly fell out of his chair, and his computer screen went blank. As thunder rolled away into the distance, he bolted for the front door. It sounded like lightning had struck right outside...

He stepped onto the porch and saw the power pole across the street. It was blackened from top to bottom, and in places was still burning. One of the crosspieces had been blown to splinters, and power lines sagged toward the street.

They were still giving off blue sparks, so Zach retreated inside. He wondered if Savannah had heard it, but it was too dark to see her house. He went to his room and picked up his cellphone, but it told him that service was unavailable. Stupid phone. He tossed it on his bed and eyed his computer, wondering if it had been cooked by a power surge. If so, maybe he could get a new one.

The monitor was still glowing, black with a blue square in the center. He pressed the button to turn it off, but it didn't respond. Of course, his monitor would have to be the thing that got fried, which was the most expensive part of a computer setup...

Something rustled in the kitchen.

Zach froze. A prowler? Great, and when all the power was out, too. He glanced at his knife, decided it was too small, and groped in the darkness for his bed. Underneath it was his old metal baseball bat. Armed with this weapon, he crept down the hall toward the kitchen, keeping close to the wall. The prowler was making a lot of noise, and it sounded like he was tearing up the kitchen. "How did he get in?" Zach wondered to himself. "Did I walk past him when I went to the front door...?"

He reached the doorway and cautiously edged one eye around the corner. The kitchen was pitch black, for it had no windows, but he thought he could see something moving. "Freeze!" he snarled.

The sounds stopped.

"What are you doing in our house?"

"I'm hungry," replied the intruder. His voice was raspy, like a kid with a sore throat.

"You are, huh?" said Zach, wondering if it were the truth. "I've got a gun. You'd better get out, now."

"No you don't. It's a baseball bat," replied the prowler. "You can't see, can you?"

Zach opened his mouth, but the prowler went on, "There's a flashlight in here somewhere, I just saw it. Hold on." There was more rustling, then a metallic clink, and a powerful beam shot into the darkness. The visitor aimed it at the ceiling to diffuse the beam, and Zach stared.

It looked like a big lizard standing on two legs. Actually, more like a small Jurassic Park T-rex. It was three feet tall, dark green, and holding the flashlight in its front paws. It was looking at him with round, pale eyes. As if this weren't startling enough, its jaws moved and it said, "That's better. Are you going to hit me, Zach?"

Zach slowly lowered the baseball bat. "You're a talking dinosaur?"

"My name is Spikemon," replied the creature. "I'm a dinosaur type, if that's what you mean." Spikemon set the flashlight on the counter, pointing upwards, then returned to the open pantry. He waddled when he walked, as if his feet were too big for him. Zach stepped forward as the creature began to paw through the pantry again. "There's some cookies in my room, if that's what you want."

"Oh good! Cookies!" said the dinosaur. He walked around Zach and down the hall toward his room, as if the creature had lived there all his life. Zach grabbed the flashlight and followed, wondering if his antidepressants caused hallucinations.

Spikemon was waiting for him, his square head twisted over his shoulder. His eyes glowed green as the flashlight glinted in his face. "So where are they?" he asked in his raspy voice.

Zach opened the pack of cookies and set it on the floor. "There, help yourself." He watched as Spikemon selected a cookie with a clawed forepaw, sniffed it, and then ate it in one bite. Zach leaned back in his chair. If this was a hallucination, he might as well enjoy it. "So where you from?"

"The Digital World," replied Spikemon, picking up a cookie in either paw.

"Uh huh," said Zach. "And where's that?"

Spikemon cocked his head and looked at him. "I'm not sure. It's another world. Only a Digidestined can get there, and only a very powerful Digimon can come here."

"Digimon. I get it. That's somebody from the Digital World."

"Yup!" Spikemon gulped two cookies and licked his sharp teeth.

An uncomfortable thought was hovering at the back of Zach's mind, but he refused to think about it. "So are you a very powerful Digimon?"

"Me?" Spikemon bared his chocolate-stained teeth in an unmistakable grin. "No, I'm not powerful. I won't be powerful until my fifth birthday. I'm only two years old now."

The uncomfortable thought in Zach's mind was growing stronger. "So why are you here?"

"Because you're my Digidestined partner. And since you didn't come when you got your digivice, I got to come to you."

Zach forced down his uneasiness. This could only be a dream. "Digivice?" he said, smiling. "I don't have any otherworldly gadgets."

Spikemon's eyes widened. "Oh no. You haven't found your digivice?"

"Should I have?"

Spikemon bounded up on Zach's bed so quickly Zach was startled. The digimon circled, sniffing, then jumped back to the floor. Head down, he explored the room, sniffing and muttering, "It's got to be here, this couldn't happen if it wasn't, maybe it got lost--Don't you ever clean your room?"

"Are you a digi-thingy or my mom?" Zach replied. The uncomfortable thought was trickling into his head: what if he wasn't hallucinating?

But a second later Spikemon was beside him, lifting a small object off the desk beside Zach's elbow. "Here it is! You must not have seen it in the dark." His warm paw placed it in Zach's hand, and Zach examined it. It was shaped like a teardrop, with a screen in the fat end. In the small end were two empty slots. It was red with white trim, and had a little loop in the top for wearing around the neck.

"This is a digivice, and it's very important," said Spikemon. "There's only one in the whole Digital World right now, and it's in the Gigaterra museum. It's what makes you Digidestined."

"Yeah, great," said Zach. He was tired of the weirdness, and ready for it all to go away. "Okay Spiky, go home and leave me alone. I'm getting a headache."

"You are?" Spikemon peered anxiously into his face. "I know what would make you feel better! Why don't you come to the Digital World for a few minutes? Just to look around?"

"No, I don't think--"

But Spikemon was excited at the prospect of showing his new partner a different world, and seized Zach's hand in his claws. "Hold the digivice up to the computer screen--like this--then press the blue button!" His claws dug into Zach's fingers, forcing him to press the button.

"Ow!" Zach yelped. At the same time there was a flash of light from the computer screen, and then--

Being translated into data was a bizarre feeling. Zach felt as if his body had crystallized, and for an instant he couldn't move. Then there was a shattering feeling, and with a shock Zach realized he was flying through space with vague, shadowy objects moving around him. The weirdest part was the sight of millions of tiny squares flying toward him as if he were a magnet. He felt nothing, however, and an instant later the universe resolved itself, and he was standing on a grassy hill in the Digital World.