Whoever said romance was easy to write didn’t have writer’s block!

Disclaimer: Pokemon belongs to Nintendo and Shogakukan Comics. This non-profit, non-copyright infringing fanfiction belongs to me under international copyright laws and taking it is plagiarism. Thank you. *Phantomness bows*

Notes: <> for telepathy, ** for thoughts, italics if a pokemon talks

Chapter 7

I’m scared…

Ash shivered. Misty had just… died in her gym. No one knew how that had happened, but it was scary!

Maybe there was some crazy murderer running around…

He hoped not! He wasn’t sure he could deal with it, with his Butterfree gone….

He had cried when they had buried Butterfree behind the Center that afternoon. It wasn’t fair! Why did his pokémon have to die?

It wasn’t fair…

But Misty was dead now, and it was her orders that had killed his pokémon, so was that fair? Killing her wouldn’t bring Butterfree back though…

Maybe… maybe he wasn’t cut out for training. Maybe he should go back home…

This dream wasn’t worth it.

What if Pidgey or Rattata died next? He didn’t think he could take it.

“Ash?”

He threw himself into Lance’s arms as the older boy stroked his hair and he tried hard to forget everything, but he couldn’t!
“Lance, I want to go home…”

“I understand. Don’t worry, I’ll take you home.”

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t really fair of him to just quit, after all that money his mom had paid, but… he didn’t want to – he didn’t want anyone else to die!

Lance felt guilty.

If he hadn’t gotten rid of his healing magic, he might have been able to save Butterfree, but as far as he knew, there was no way to get it ack…

I’m sorry, Ash…

I don’t want you to cry, but there’s nothing I can do…

I killed her though. Does that count for anything?

I wish it did…

His mother wasn’t pleased at all. She’d scrimped and saved for him to go on his journey, but it seemed pokemon just wasn’t for Ash. If only there were some other way…

“You’ll have to go get a job or something now, Ash…”

“Okay…”

Isn’t it strange how life works out sometimes?

< Lance… >

The voices were calling him. He’d heard them before, in dreams, memories from long past, perhaps, and he wasn’t sure. The years had blurred together and most of the time he had slept and healed form the wounds, after he had met Clair. Perhaps he was dreaming again.

But if he were dreaming, why did they sound so right?

He thinks he recognizes them – Father, mother, where are you? Why did you leave me? But he can’t ask, because his voice is silent. He can’t speak… and they wouldn’t understand human language anyways.

Even if he spoke in pokespeech, he wasn’t sure if they would understand. He’s not human, not really, not any more, so are they?

If they are, can he kill them?

Maybe.

He’s been an orphan as long as he can remember. He doesn’t mind being alone, and he’s not really alone, not when he has Ash and his pokemon wait in the islands for his return. They can wait a thousand years, if not more.

They can keep each other company. But he’s afraid.

The future is coming and it’s not what he expected at all.

He thought Ash would go journeying. But he was wrong.

Now, he’s not sure what to do. Its easy being a traveling companion. To go back to friends in ‘normal’ society – that’s difficult for him.

He doesn’t like it at all.

He doesn’t like people.

He hates people, except Ash. And maybe Ash’s mom, since she never did anything to make him hate her. And she’s pure, like Ash is. Maybe that’s where he gets his innocence…

He closes his eyes and tries to sleep. It doesn’t work.

He has nightmares of blood and rain and shiny steel underneath the moonlight. He summons forth his knives – he has a pair, they’re simple weapons, but as he studies them, he has a strange feeling of foreboding.

He could kill Ash so easily with these. There’s no cure for the poison they’re dipped in, but that’s fine. They won’t kill him even if he cuts himself by accident – which is impossible.

He tried to hurt himself, but they wouldn’t touch him – they froze just before they touched his skin.

It’s odd. He’s researched magic weapons a bit, and normally, they’re not exactly intelligent. They don’t really have a desire to protect their owner. They’re just weapons with some extra tweaks, they do a little more damage, that’s all.

So how come these won’t hurt him?

It’s only his, too. Clair’ s cut herself by accident while training so has Drake, and although he hasn’t heard from them in years, he’s sure they’re all right. He’d know if something happened.

Clair is still his sister after all…

But he’s worried.

Does this mean something important?

And then there’s the other spell. If he’s in love now, why can’t he take dragon form yet? That makes no sense…

The more powerful the dragon, the longer the transformation…

It’s been a hundred years, two hundred. Even Dragonite would have been achieved by now…

He’s worried.

What will he become?

Does he really want it any more?

Even Salamance, Flygon… those dragons…

He’s worried.

And then the voices won’t stop… they’re calling to him again… he wants them to leave him alone. He’s no one special; he’s just… he’s just-!
No one important…

Many have burned in the flames and become dragons. What’s so special about me? Why can’t I transform?

End Chapter

Completed 8/4/05

Angsty, confused Lance…