A Dex of My Own
The room was dark. Not pitch black, but a dusky sort of half-assed darkness, light leaking in around the closed — and locked — door. A cot stood in one corner, a form curled up on it, covered by a blanket, though the light from the door did reflect on what might have been a tail covered in orange scales sticking out from under the cover and spilling over the edge of the simple bed.
Under the blanket, Darren Yamada lay curled up in the dim glow of the Pokédex cradled in one clumsy, clawed hand, an Eevee lying with its back against his chest. Again and again, he kept pushing one button on the device with his other, more human-like hand.
“This Pokédex was assigned to Pokémon Trainer Darren Yamada of Celadon City. Its function is to provide Darren with information and advice regarding Pokémon training. If lost or stolen, this Pokédex cannot be replaced.”
The synthetic voice, saying that the Pokédex was something that belonged to him and only him, was oddly comforting. It was his, and it wasn’t someone else’s discards, nor had he obtained it through any form of deception, beyond the woman who’d taken him to have the Pokédex assigned giving him a surname he’d never before worn, right there on the spot. Even the clothes he wore, though nominally his, felt more like a full-body ownership notice than something that belonged to him.
He’d lain there with the Pokédex countless nights, letting it repeat its message until he could no longer keep his eyes open. Tonight, while it was still some comfort, it didn’t seem to be enough to chase his tension away.
The Eevee, Fox, twisted around to nuzzle his chest. It helped, a little. However lonely he got, so far at least he had Fox and Starlit, the Blissey that was always close at hand in her Pokéball at his belt, even if she was shy enough to rarely venture outside it. But he didn’t know how long they’d be there to comfort him.
He’d been told Starlit was his to keep — he didn’t know if she’d originally been captured wild or stolen from somewhere, but he did know her prior trainer within Team Rocket had treated her harshly. As a result it had taken him weeks to coax her out of her Pokéball at all the first time, and months to build up her trust to the point that she wasn’t constantly fearing him turning on her. But it wouldn’t be the first time they lied to him.
They didn’t think any higher of him than they did of their Pokémon, and he’d overheard them discussing to whom he might be assigned. That they’d done so in the same breath as they’d lamented his uselessness just made it hurt that much more. The thought of being given away, like an object, and losing his two best friends, his two only friends, was terrifying. He had a Pokédex of his very own. He was just as much a person as they were.
Tears ran down his cheeks, and Fox scooted up along his body, far enough to lick them up. The Eevee didn’t speak, didn’t need to, just quietly reminded him that he wasn’t alone, as he cried in the darkness under the blanket in the off-dark room.
“This Pokédex was assigned to Pokémon Trainer Darren Yamada…”
Eventually, he cried himself to sleep.
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