Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Hands of Creation

Chapter 93 - Protect

Everything—his muscles, his bones, his scales—it all hurt. Stung, ached, cried in pain, but that was nothing compared to the shame that twisted his stomach in knots. A gentle breeze scattered flower petals into Owen's face, a few covering the little cuts and scrapes over his body. There was a particularly bad welt on his right side where Onix had struck him into the sandy ground. The final hit that had done him in...

The battle flashed through his mind. Duos falling to the first attack, the rocks pinning him on the ground. That was an instant withdrawal. Then Owen came, and he struggled past the Geodude with difficulty, but it was enough. Then that great, rocky serpent emerged. It was over before it started; Owen had never felt his flame shrink so much from fear alone.

Another breeze rustled the grass. The view was at least something to appreciate. They had found a high point of the town, hiding under a few trees. Ahead, the orange rooftop of the healing center taunted him. Owen didn't want to go there. And even when Tim insisted he did, Owen refused, though Duos got healed.

It was twisted, but Owen enjoyed the feeling of the pain of battle. To have it healed away would wipe away the experience. The catharsis of this aching, the ability to heal it all on his own, and not with the magic the humans knew... He wanted that, at least for this fight.

Tim was a good trainer because he listened.

Or maybe he was a bad trainer because he let him stay hurt.

But now Tim was writing in a book. He always did that, usually in the afternoon, maybe the evening. Blank boxes under strange words that he didn't know how to read. The human language didn't make any sense. Apparently, it was some sort of work he had to do with his adventure so he could do adult human things later in life, like a job. Whatever that was.

"Owen?"

He immediately curled up. He didn't hear that. Just like he didn't hear Tim's command in time to dodge. Or jump, or duck. He didn't deserve his name.

"Owen, I'm done with my homework."

And he wasn't done being a bad Pokémon. Owen curled up tighter, but realized too late that a whimper had escaped him.

Soft fingers brushed his back and he yelped. Tim quickly pulled away.

"Sorry," he said. "Is that a sore spot?"

Yes, saying his name was a sore spot. And that part of his back hurt a little, too. "I failed you," Owen mumbled.

"Hey, don't be so upset," Tim said, and the fingers returned, this time gently around his side. That part wasn't bruised.

He didn't resist, but he was dead weight, making certain that Tim would know he wasn't interested in being coddled. He failed, and it was that simple. Even with his human help, he was useless; there was no way he could have won that fight. Because he wasn't good enough.

"I'm sorry I lost that fight," Tim said.

Owen's brow furrowed, little scales rubbing against one another. Was Tim fighting Onix, too, and he didn't even notice that? How did humans fight?

"I froze up and didn't direct you in time. I got scared and didn't know how to react, and you got hurt because of it."

Tim ran his fingers gingerly down Owen's back. Shadows and light danced around the grass, tree leaves waving above them.

"You don't want me to take you to the Center?" Tim offered.

"No."

"You don't want to rest in your ball?"