Dean couldn’t be more pleased. He had long been an advocate of less…extreme measures when it came to dealing with released veterans of The War. People had forgotten just how intelligent these creatures were after years of using them as nothing more than machines of destruction. Used to be that Pokemon lived alongside their human neighbors. Their burrows and packs just beyond the villages were filled with a culture of their own.

It was in such a pack that Dean had met his partner.

Similis musculis typically congregated in extended family units. Their hierarchy was predominantly based on feats of strength and was constantly in a state of flux as the younger generations challenged the old for dominance. This usually went poorly, as experience often trumped brute strength. What good did it do that you could pulverize ribs if you were unable to even land the blow to begin with? Then there was the fact that Machokes’ muscle density would continue to grow seemingly indefinitely. In order to accommodate the excess, more striations appeared in their largest muscle groups to allow for rapid expansion if necessary.

Similar to rings found in trees, the more striations, the older the Machoke.

When Dean was about the same age as Sammy (how old was the boy, anyway?), he had stumbled across a rather large group of the Pokemon living on the outskirts of his hometown. At first he stayed hidden out of caution, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He strayed closer and closer to their encampment and watched in awe as they utilized enormous boulders as weights. His gasps of awe alerted the matriarch who beckoned Dean to join their circle.

Eyeing him up and down, the matriarch simply shook her head and pointed at his reedy arms. Her grunts conveyed her disapproval as she gently dragged him over to where several Machops were performing body-weight exercises. Dean joined them in their routine.

Over the next few months, Dean would exercise with the Machops in the afternoons and occasionally join them for dinner. He had been surprised to see them actually cooking with fire and wondered how these creatures managed to do something so human-like. The answer came in the form of a local Charmeleon who would ignite the pit in the evenings in exchange for a portion of the feast. Dean never questioned where the meats and fish came from, nor did he dare complain about the lack of salt in the food. Leafy greens were used to wrap around the protein, and berries were the only seasoning. In some ways, the Pokemon ate better than he usually did at home.

However, the good times came to a swift end. Leadership changed within the troop, and a younger, more hot headed Machoke took over, banishing the matriarch in her defeat. This particular specimen did not care so much for Dean. Despite his still-growing body, his greatest feats of strength paled in comparison to even the youngest Machop. Weakness would not be tolerated under the new leader. So Dean was put to the test. Wrestle one of the weaker Machops. If he won, he would be allowed to stay. Lose and be banished just like the matriarch.

It was a foregone conclusion. Even despite nearly pinning his opponent in a clever application of an arm-bar that he recalled seeing one of the Machokes perform, Dean lost.

What was most shocking was that his opponent was thrown out of the troop along with him. It seemed that the near-pin was enough for the Machoke to decide that this Machop was too weak to remain as well. Angry tears had welled in the Pokemon’s eyes as he stared daggers at Dean. Not knowing what else to do and the matriarch long gone, Dean brought him home. Dean’s family welcomed the new addition and were happy to accommodate, if for nothing else than having another set of hands about the place.

They enlisted together as a pair. Having an already trained fighting type earned Dean a sizable bonus which was quickly used to purchase additional supplements for the Pokemon. The supplements ended up being a wise investment that proved its dividends when Machop saved Dean’s life during one particularly nasty firefight. Carrying his and another fellow soldier’s bodies through two miles of razor wire and foxholes, Machop dodged bullets and type energy while simultaneously fighting off the opposition that slipped past the frontline. Upon reaching the medic’s tent, it collapsed on its knees and evolved right then and there.

Dean received a Bronze Staryu for Machoke’s actions. He refused to wear it. Didn’t seem right seeing that he hadn’t done any of the work.

Dean rolled Machoke’s ball in his hands, staring at the burnished star that he had welded to its top. His partner through thick and thin lay inside. Most places wouldn’t allow him to release the Pokemon, but perhaps Mr. Oak would be more accommodating. He’d rather brief the Pokemon before they headed out rather than when they were already in the woods.

Setting the ball aside, Dean rifled through his bags and selected the gear he would be taking with him on his foray. Boots, repellant, knee guards in case he took a tumble, a couple more odds and ends were set into a semi-organized pile. Digging deep within the overnight bag, Dean hauled out a similar jacket to the one that he wore at the mine. However, the collar to this particular version wasn’t ripped. Black and silver were embossed with red, designating his former rank as a Lieutenant. If he was going to be parlaying with veterans, it’d be best to look the part.

Dean looked at his partner’s ball again. If he was going to be parlaying… perhaps having a Pokemon who was better at translating would be a good idea as well.

A phone was ringing somewhere in the house. Its shrill chimes echoed and bounced off the decorated walls. A young boy raced and nearly tripped over his own legs in his zeal to answer.

“H-hello there, Rogers’ residence.”

“Hey champ, your mother available?”

“Dad!”

“Sorry champ, I don’t have time to chat at the moment. Working a request right now. Could you go grab your mother please?”

The boy screamed down the hallway. “Mooooom! Dad’s on the phone!”

“Good lordy, where did you get them pipes from?”

“Mom says they came from you.”

“Well, if Mom said it, it must be right.”

A soft hand rested itself on the boy’s shoulders. “Thank you sweetie, go finish getting ready.”

The boy dashed off again as Sandy caught the falling headset.

“So, let me guess. They want the Raticate dead and you’re calling to let me know that you’ll be needing me to patch you up when you get back.”

“Hello to you too, Sandy dear.” Dean’s voice was scratchy on the line. “Need to keep this relatively short as I’m borrowing the Oaks’ phone, but no, I’m calling to see if I can’t borrow Gram.”

“Gram? Does this mean…”

“That’s right. I’m going to need a translator for the negotiations.”

“Oh Dean, that’s wonderful! But Gram can’t teleport to somewhere he hasn’t been before.”

“We’ll do this the way we used to back when we first dated. Just give me an hour to set things up here.”

Sandy’s cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. “You can’t seriously be-”

“Oh I am, Sandy love.”

“But-”

“It’s the quickest way! I’ve got to go, the Oaks need this line open for emergencies. One hour!”

The line went dead. Sandy stomped a foot in mock anger as she reseated the phone in its cradle. “That man…”

Sandy’s forehead creased as she focused. Gram, would you kindly join me in the kitchen?

“Thanks for letting me borrow the phone, Mr. Oak.”

“Don’t mention it, although I have several questions about what just transpired.”

“Well, if you don’t mind me borrowing your barn, a hay bale, and the sheets from the bed, I’m sure I could clue you in.”

Roger’s eyebrow raised, but he waved his hand in an open gesture. “Feel free. I’m not the one you’ll be needing to apologize to if you ruin the sheets though.”

One good belly laugh and a stripped bed later, the two men found themselves in the barn bearing witness to quite the scene. A young boy napping against the large rear wheel of a tractor with his arms wrapped about a Nidoran. Roger Oak’s eyes fell as they took in the sight.

“I knew the boy would get attached.” his voice was strained.

Dean watched the old man’s face carefully, studying its reactions as he spoke, “Is there an issue with it?”

Shoulders slumped even as the tightness in Oak’s face grew. “Ever since the boy and his mother came to live here, he hasn’t bothered to make any real connections with anyone his age. Losing his father was devastating to him. While I’d much rather see him be around others his age…” His voice trailed off for a moment before he cleared his throat. “No, I suppose there is no issue beyond the damned thing being a right shit to everyone that isn’t Sammy.”

Dean noted the boy stirring fitfully, his grip upon the Pokemon never ceasing. One beady eye stared from the boy’s arms directly at him. Dean smiled softly at the pair.

“Mr. Oak, I think that having the Nidoran will help Sammy heal.” His arms shifted at the weight he carried. “Now, do you mind showing me which bale I can use?”