Author's Note: The case study of Gary Oak and his background. Obviously, this is false, as it's a fanfiction. I just always thought he was a good character with a sad, measly past. So, I've analyzed him and his actions a bit. This is going to be a different sort of ride, folks. Buckle up.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gary Oak, his family, Ash Ketchum, or Pokemon in any way, shape, or form.

Warnings: Mature warning; contains abuse of the physical, mental, and emotional kind, as well as many dashings of profanity, mentions of great age difference in relationships, abuse of substances, and minor amounts of gore. May change in later chapters.

It's a chain of reactions that cause your heart to beat.

It's a process of life that makes blood flow.

All you have to do is feel your

PULSE

To know how good living is.

Introduction: Birth

"Why can't I go?"

"Because this is a grown up party, honey."

"But...you never go to any all-people parties...I wanna go, too!"

"Now now, you stay here and don't give the baby sister any trouble, all right?"

"Listen to your mother: we'll be back later."

"But-"

"Good bye, honey!"

When I was growing up...

"Can't I play, too, sis?"

"Ew, this is a GIRL'S game. What would YOU know about it?"

"Well..."

"Go play with your own stuff! This is mine!"

"But mama said-!"

"DON'T TOUCH IT! DA-DDY!"

I didn't get a lot of attention from my family...

"Grandpa, what is this?"

"That's something breakable, so don't you touch it."

"But what is it?"

"Honestly, why they leave their children with me...It's something important. Now please leave grandpa alone, Gary."

"I won't touch anything, I promise!"

"You're a child: children are clumsy. Why don't you go play outside?"

I've heard a lot of different things, but from what I know as facts, there were several different reasons...

"PLEASE let me go, papa! I'll be good! I won't do anything but sit in the chair, I really, REALLY mean it!"

"Gary..."

"No, Karen, I've had enough. Gary, either you stop this whining or I will MAKE you stop! I didn't raise you to whine!"

"But papa..."

"Isaac, don't be that way!"

"Don't be that way?! I am TIRED of having to put up with this night after night, Karen!"

"But you ALWAYS go out! Why don't I ever get to go?!"

"Gary, honey, please-"

"Mama, I want to-"

"ENOUGH! I am going to whup this behavior out of you right NOW, god DAMN it!"

"ISAAC!"

"Ow! Papa, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Waaaaahhhhh..."

My parents had my sister when they were young. Teens young. They married in order to keep from exposing the scandel to the world. Because of my grandfather, we were very well known, and it would have been all over for the reputation he'd built if something like that were to get out. I was the son that they needed to pass down their last name. If they were disappointed in my sister, they didn't show it: They accepted her, she couldn't help that she'd come into the world. I was the child that was forced on them, the baby they didn't want, but needed. The baby something was wrong with. Because their lives ended so young with us, they went out nearly every night, sometimes even into the day, trying to forget they had two children and weren't teenagers anymore.

"Get out of my room!"

"Don't throw things at me!"

"I'll tell! I'll tell, and daddy will spank you!"

"I only wanted-"

"GET OUT!"

My sister constantly felt higher then me. People never got that impression when they met us. She put up an act in front of others. To a point, I thought she could have been jealous of me for being the 'planned' of us. On the other, she felt she was better then me, because our parents treated her somewhat fairer. I used to want to play with her all the time, and she would always tell me that it was wrong of me to want to do so. I now know she was somewhat afraid of me. When I lived with my parents, I didn't have anyone to play with: I was homeschooled, just like she was, and she was the only person my age that I could do anything with. I was a lonely kid in that house, that mansion that felt for all the world like it was empty inside.

"Grandpa, what's in this?"

"Don't touch that! It's a pokeball."

"But what's inside it? Is it a...um..."

"It doesn't matter WHAT it is! I told you not to touch it!"

"I just..."

"Out, Gary! Go play somewhere else."

I lived most of my life with my grandfather. After the car crash that killed my mother and father, my sister and I only had the great Professor Oak to turn to for shelter. He was constantly busy, and it was obvious that he didn't have time for two kids at his age, in his line of work. And a kid like me would cause an uproar with certain people, after all. My sister humbled a little, then, but only a little; someone had to take care of me. I was only five when my parents died, and she was at least eight years my senior.

She only stayed long enough to show me how to cook, how to clean my clothes, before leaving.

I was alone, growing up in the world...

"Hey, did you want to play?"

"Huh?"

Well, no...

"I said, 'did you want to play?'. Do you?"

"Um...what game?"

"Tag! Come on, I'm 'it'! I'll even give you a head start!"

"...Okay..."

Maybe not entirely...But I lost that precious bond with HIM around my own tenth birthday. I had girls, after that. Girls I kept around to draw attention to myself. I got a flashy car from my grandfather, too. By that point, he was realizing his mistake with me. It was far too late, of course, because I was leaving home. I bullied the only friend I had to keep his focus on me. No matter how many friends he would gain, I would always be someone he'd remember. I'd always be there. I craved his attention. I craved attention PERIOD. I wanted to be looked at, talked about, made friends with.

As I grew, I began to realize that this was the wrong thing to do. I grew depressed due to how I'd severed the ties between my only friend and I. I started to patch the bridge, but even then...even then, I would know, deep down, that I would never again hold the place in his heart that I used to.

When I got over my obsession to be better at my grandfather's work then he was, I went back out to try my hand at training again...I was still good, but something still lacked.

I took up smoking. I started drinking at night. When I was sloppy-drunk, I went home with men who were old enough to get in trouble for being with me and slept with them, in their beds. I went to bed with dead-beats, with high-class business men, with men down on their luck, with intellectuals and idiots alike. I slept with fathers, husbands, even grandfathers.

I had an addiction. Not as far as the physical aspects of what I was doing, no. To the attention. To the need to feel loved. I was headed towards self destruction.

A few times, I wrote suicide notes and almost jumped off a couple bridges. I usually broke down in a sad, drunken way and weaved back to whatever bed I was lying in at the time...like a mutt.

I WAS a mutt. I might as well have been a tick on a mutt, for all the good my actions did me.

"Gary? Who...who was...that man?"

"Him?...No one."

"I...I, um...have the room right next to yours..."

I ran from the question. I should have stayed, maybe told him everything. Maybe even cried a little. But instead, I brushed it off, just being the jerk I'd grown acustomed to being.

I needed his help. And I refused it. It's my own fault that I am what I am.

Just a lonely little boy...

End Introduction: Birth

Author's Note: Each little conversation doesn't nessesarily pop up in each chapter, but they do play significant roles in what the topics of chapters will be on. Read on to the First Chapter to see just what's in store.