Now that the fight was over, Sammy felt all of the built up stress and pain course through his system. He was tired. No, that was too much of an understatement. He felt as if he had spent a week baling hay without sleep. Sammy's hands were shaking and his legs wouldn’t move quite right, so he scooted along the dirt until he was closer to Crescent. The Pokemon relaxed a bit, the needles upon his back lowering so that Sammy didn’t have to worry about accidentally stabbing himself upon one. The boy avoided the worst of the gashes and bruises as he draped his arms over the creature. Tears mixed with drying blood as he just held him. They stayed like that for a moment before a hand brushed Sammy’s shoulder, and he looked up to see Dean holding out a bottle and a clean rag.

“Potion. Use the rag to wipe away the dirt and what blood you can, then pour some of it on the wounds.”

Sammy shook his head. “Her first.”

“What?” The man’s voice was tired.

“The Raticate. She’s poisoned. Her first.”

Dean appeared to waver for a moment before he set the offered bottle next to Sammy and returned to his now opened bag. Some of its contents were splayed out upon the ground, glass containers and bandages beside leaves and fruit upon a small canvas sheet. The man rummaged deeper into the bag, shifting things aside before pulling out a zippered pouch. It was padded to prevent crushing, and within lay two metal syringes stamped with the letter “P”.

With some hesitancy, Dean approached the Raticate. Blackened veins snaked up the arm that Crescent had damaged and disappeared underneath its matted and dirtied coat of fur. Its breathing came as gasps as its body shivered. Dean knelt and pulled out a syringe.

“This is an antidote. I will need to inject it into you. Will you allow me to treat you?” His words came out clipped and unsure as he watched the Raticate grimace and look away in response. “I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’.” Dean set the injection back into its pouch and the pouch on the ground.

He reached out and lightly touched the Raticate’s chest. It stirred, but made no indication that it would resist. Dean moved his fingers along the Pokemon’s anatomy until he found the deltoid muscle, then parted the fur until he could see the pale skin beneath. The exposed area was wiped down with iodine, then the needle was uncapped.

“This will sting,” Dean warned, “don’t go snapping at me when it does.” The muscle beneath his fingers tensed. “You need to relax. It’ll only hurt more if you tense up.”

As the Raticate relaxed, he let out the breath that he didn't realize he was holding back. With practiced grace Dean pinched the deltoid and injected the antidote. A small hiss escaped from the wounded Pokemon to which Dean beat a hasty retreat. The payload of the syringe spent, he pushed the pointy end into an awaiting metal tube, signifying it was empty. Even as the Trainer turned to return to Sammy, he could see the poison begin to recede and fade away. It was almost funny how quickly medicine had advanced during The War. Much faster than eating a Pecha berry. Even mashed it could take up to 20 minutes to digest and start passing into the bloodstream; too many had died waiting on its effects. Once the antidotal properties of Pecha could be isolated in a lab environment, the Scientists had rushed to manufacture the drugs in bulk. The result? A potent cocktail of things like atropine, enzymes, and other things that Dean couldn’t pronounce. The effects, however, were obvious and near-instantaneous. A miracle drug that was only overshadowed by the creation of the ubiquitous “potions” that harnessed the insane healing factors of Oran and Sitrus berries.

Paul was helping Sammy clean the Nidoran’s wounds. It was obvious that the man was holding back a second barrage of questions even as he tried coaxing Sammy to apply some of the Potion to his scraped knees. The boy kept refusing and insisting that all of it be used on Crescent.

“Come on, Sammy! You’ve just been through the wringer! I thought Crescent was supposed to have been the one to do all of the fighting!” Paul was not a quiet man.

Sammy’s voice was cracking and shrill. “He did! That’s why he needs all of it!”

Dean snagged another potion from his bag. “I have plenty. I’m guessing Crescent will need at least two to stabilize him enough for the walk home. That being said, this stuff doesn’t come cheap. I know it sounds cold, but Sammy doesn’t need them. A cup of Oran Juice and a good night’s sleep would be good enough for scuffed knees.”

As the group continued to ministrate healing upon the Nidoran, Sammy spotted a small train of Rattata returning to the arena bearing fruits and other food. A small pile formed in front of the Raticate who began to eat slowly. Its oversized incisors easily cracked open nutshells and scooped out the savory flesh within. As it chewed, Sammy could almost see the gloss begin to return to the Pokemon’s fur as matted and smeared with blood as it was. It glanced over, one beady eye staring straight into Sammy’s own. Then it gently picked up a single Oran berry and crept towards them.

Everyone froze as the Raticate placed the blue fruit before Crescent and chittered something.

Sammy blinked as the comprehension sunk in.

“Small one and pointy one have sharp fangs. This tail will follow. May we share berries together.”

Their return to the house was a triumphant one. It took a half an hour before Sally finally peeled herself away from the boy and another two hours before he was able to get in more than a mouthful before being asked to repeat his account of what had just transpired in the forest. Sammy wanted nothing more than to bundle Crescent up and go take a nap, but Sally wouldn’t hear of it. Not until he had a bath, anyway.

“Samuel, you’re filthy! Who knows how much rat dung you and your purple pet have just been rolling in! No way, mister! You get those filthy clothes off of you right now and go wash!”

Sammy knew better than to argue when Sally got like that. So he dutiful shucked his garments off and headed for the bathroom. Sally tried to come in and check him over, but thankfully Roger Oak intervened, telling the smothering housekeeper to go burn the outfit Sammy had been wearing instead. Sammy wasn’t sure why they would do that until he got a whiff of a soggy Crescent after his initial rinse. It was as if he had just spent the afternoon playing in the Johnson’s manure pile. Sammy ended up using an entire shampoo bottle on the Pokemon, noting with increasing irony that perhaps for the first time he was actually following the directions printed on the label.

Lather. Rinse. Sniff check. Recoil. Repeat.

It was a wonder to Sammy that Crescent’s wounds had already closed up. They were still fiery red and raw looking, but the gashes had all been covered in new skin. The wounds were also still tender. A fact that he realized too late when Crescent finally had enough of his poking and prodding and slapped him in the face with an ear. Crescent then huffed and started jabbing Sammy with the horn upon its head. “See how YOU like getting poked over and over again!” They began to tussle until there was a sharp rap on the door.

“Samuel. Himada. That best be the sounds of washing up I’m hearing! Or do you need me to come in there and scrub you myself?”

Sammy’s face paled and he hurriedly turned to climb into the tub. “No ma’am, I got it!”

The sound of retreating footsteps allowed him to relax for all of a moment. Crescent had his forelegs perched upon the edge of the tub and was hovering an ear over the water. It must have been acceptable, as the Pokemon clambered up the rest of the way and plunged in head first. The consequential wave splashed everywhere, soaking the edge of the fluffy white towel that Sammy had set out for post-bath drying.

It was a ridiculous sight. Waterlogged ears plastered to a panicked face as the Nidoran splashed about trying to find purchase in the deep tub. Sammy couldn’t help but laugh. And laugh and laugh. It felt like forever ago that he had last laughed.

It felt good.

They spent a long time just soaking in the warmth, long enough for Sally to come stomping back and ask if Sammy had fallen asleep and drowned. He called out a drawn out negative and was informed that Sally had made fresh pierogies for dinner that were now getting cold.

They dried off quickly.

Potato and cheese were his favorite.

Dean decided that he would be teleporting home rather than drive. Gram was conveniently already present and Roger offered to settle his bill with the gentleman who drove him to Pallet Town. In the extra day or so he now had, Dean could get the actual negotiations going. At first he was disappointed to hear that Roger had held off talking to the townsfolk, but understood the hesitancy. There had always been the chance that he would have needed to do things the hard way.

However, if Dean was being honest with himself, the real reason for his decision was Sammy. The kid had talked to a Pokemon. Sure he didn’t suddenly start grinding his jaws and squeaking at the Raticate, but he had understood what it was saying without a translation. Gram confirmed it.

“No, Master Dean, I did not convey any words between the two. I postulate that the child utilized postural queues and vocal intonation to formulate a hypothesis on the Raticate’s intent. The fact that the child was correct in his hypothesis could still be a coincidence born of the moment. If I may, I suggest further research to confirm a correlation.”

It was a good thing that Dean was an old hand at morse code, the speed that Gram’s spoon rapped on the bedpost left no room for error. Gram sure loved to keep him on his toes.

“How do you propose we test this?” Dean had asked. The Psychic Pokemon just gave him a blank stare. The kind that a teacher would give a student who was struggling with something that should be simple.

“There are far too many possibilities for a singular test. Can the child understand all Pokemon? Can the child only understand simple phrases? Is the child’s comprehension limited to having both verbal and postural queues? Can the child…” Gram continued to rattle off hypotheses to test until Dean could no longer stand the sound of ringing metal upon wood.

“Okay, okay, I get it. Enough with the spoon already!”

As his new headache subsided with the help of the local rotgut, Dean narrowed it down the litany of questions to a single one: “Can Sammy understand what a Nidoran was saying?” Dean had two days to observe while he acted as intermediary between the two starkly different communities. One of Pokemon and one of humans.