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Dick had never flown so far without a destination in mind before. All he wanted to do was to get as far away as he could, so he could nurse his poor, broken spirit.
The air currents over Kanto bore him along swiftly, almost effortlessly, towards the Viridian Forest, and Dick allowed it to rush him forwards, back to the place where he’d first hatched. He was a Robin, and Robins were ubiquitous, unremarkable birds. Nobody paid him any attention, though he passed many of his brethren as he sought out a corner to hide in.
Great flocks of Robins were out in force today, patrolling the perimeter of their territory, defending it against encroaching Pidgeys and Spearows. Several of them chirrupped at Dick as he flew past, but he ignored him. He wasn’t like them anymore — he’d known the inside of a Pokéball and the hand of a trainer; he would never be wild again. He was different from them now, and he was sure they’d pick up on it the minute he came down to roost in their midst, so he bypassed them and flew on.
Eventually, he came to a small patch of meadow where fat Caterpies and juicy-looking Wheedles were sunning themselves on rocks, but he couldn’t work up enough of an appetite to even pop down to grab a bite. He’d spent too many years eating Pokémon treats out of a personalized food bowl. Going back to hunting for himself felt silly and juvenile.
Dick pushed the thought away and flew on.
In time, the sun began to set, shading the sky in dusky hues of pink and purple.
He passed the Robin nesting grounds and came to a more thickly wooded area. The trees here were taller, the vegetation thicker. Unseen Pokémon scurried in the underbrush, making strange sounds. Dick dipped lower, until the tree tops were brushing his curled feet.
If he could just find a small hidey-hole — some abandoned nest forgotten by the rest of the world — he could rest his wings and sleep. He was so busy searching for a temporary bolt-hole that it was awhile before he realized that the birdsong around him had gone quiet.
No trilling or clucking or chirping. Even the scamper of tiny Rattata feet had disappeared. Dick alighted on a branch and craned his neck up and back just in time for an enormous shadow to fall over him.
A wingspan eight times wider than his. A long and wicked-looking beak. And a scream that he recognized down to his bones.
Spearows dined on worm-type Pokémon the same way they all did. But once they evolved, they dined on everything. Dick dived sideways off the branch, but he couldn’t avoid the razor-sharp talons. Sharp, sudden pain ripped through his back.
Robins were small, maneuverable birds, with bright and spunky spirits — according to Bruce’s Pokédex, anyway. In the wild, they were easy targets for predators like Pidgeots and Fearows. But Dick was trained Robin. Even if he’d never evolve — never become the kind of Pokémon he’d always hoped to be — he was still a veteran of numerous battles. He’d defeated opponents many times his own size before. In a fair fight, he could out-fly a Fearow any day.
But this Fearow had taken him by surprise. It had thought him easy prey, and it had gotten in a lucky hit.
Stupid. Careless. Dick berated himself furiously. A lone Robin, without the strength of a flock behind him? No wonder he’d been targeted. He’d been a sitting Psyduck.
He raked the Fearow with his own, much smaller talons and used Take Down to grab it by its elongated neck. Together, they crashed down through three layers of foliage, right through the dense canopy. The leaves and branches broke their fall, but not enough to soften the landing. Dick smacked against one as he tumbled down, down, down. He knew, even before he hit the ground, that one of his wings wasn’t working the way it was supposed to.
Don’t faint, don’t faint, don’t faint, he chanted to himself.
He hit the forest floor, bounced, and skidded under a bush. A nesting Metapod peered curiously at him, surprised by the intrusion.
The Fearow landed with a hard thump, rolled to a stop, and fainted immediately. Dick rolled himself over and quietly caught his breath. Then he gingerly tried to stretch out his wing. It remained limp, spread out flat on the ground next to him at an odd angle. A nervous burble came out of his throat. It hadn’t started hurting, yet, but it was only a matter of time. Dick had never broken a wing in battle before, and he wasn’t sure how long it would take to heal. Minutes? Hours? Days?
Suddenly, he missed Bruce with a ferocity that ached. In an instant, all his anger at the man transmuted into sullen regret. If Bruce were here, he’d produce a Potion or a Full Heal or a Miracle Berry. He’d make everything all right again. He would never allow Dick to stay injured for long. But now, with no trainer…
Cooing to himself, he stared forlornly at the sky. If the Fearow woke up now, he was done for. If he fainted, he was done for. If another Pokémon found him, he was done for.
Overhead, the sun filtering through the leaves dimmed. The angle of the shadows changed, and the temperature fell. Lying on the ground with his soft belly exposed made Dick’s heart flutter with panic.
If he died now, he’d never see Bruce again.
Would Bruce even care?
Lately, he’d stopped paying attention to Dick’s comings and goings. Dick couldn’t even remember the last time Bruce had taken him along with him on one of his research trips. And as a Robin, Dick had exhausted his usefulness as a lab specimen years ago — there was only so much data he could give Bruce or his assistants. The technicians hardly ever called him into the lab anymore. (They were more interested in Duke and Tim these days, and Dick couldn’t blame them.) But most worryingly of all was that Bruce had stopped using Dick in battle, both in the friendly matches against his colleagues, and in the ‘exhibition matches’ he put on for the aspiring trainers who came to him for their starter Pokémon.
That was the hardest thing of all to swallow.
In just a few short years, Dick had gone from being Bruce’s first-pick Pokémon to being nothing but a decoration. He’d even stopped keeping Dick’s Pokéball on the nightstand next to his bed. Sometimes, Dick felt like castoff; like he’d outlived his usefulness.
These days, he spent most of his time in the massive aviary attached to the Institute. But even though it was large and spacious and amply furnished with trees and shrubs and an endless number of enrichment toys, it could only hold Dick’s attention for so long. He was just so bored. There was nothing fun to do. No strong Pokémon to fight. No new techniques to learn. Play-fighting with Jason and Tim just didn’t give him the same thrill as a real, live battle. Living the life of a ‘retired’ Pokémon made him snappish and ill-tempered.
Last month, he’d picked all his tail feathers out in a huff, for lack of anything better to do with himself. Last week, he’d started dropping pebbles on unsuspecting research interns. This morning, he’d picked a fight with one of the Swellows over who was getting more cereal in their bowl. And Bruce hadn’t even berated him for it! All he’d done was sigh and say, If you’re really that unhappy, I may as well release you.
That had made Dick so mad that he’d pecked Bruce’s fingers until they bled. Then he’d exploded out of the aviary and winged it for the forest.
Now, Dick closed his eyes and waited for Bruce to notice that something was wrong. Surely, if Dick didn’t come back by nightfall, he’d realize…?
An age passed.
He heard footsteps, crunching softly through the underbrush.
A human hand scooped him up. Dick twittered and struggled weakly before a deep voice said, Settle down.
Dick stared up at a face.
He had enough experience with trainers to guess their age, and this one seemed to be around the same age as Bruce. His hair was white, like snow had fallen on his head. He also had a short beard, like Bruce’s Gym Leader friend Ollie. The trainer peered down at him with a critical eye, and oh — that’s funny. Dick had never seen a human with only one eye before. It made him look like a Dusclops.
Dick was small enough that most of him could fit on the length of the man’s palm.
For a frozen moment, they simply stared at each other.
Dick was confused more than anything else. What did this trainer want with him? It wasn’t like Robins were good for much. They were widely known to be irascible and uncooperative, and most of them weren’t very strong. Plus, their skill set was famously limited compared to most other Pokémon. They weren’t even delicious to eat, the way Farfetch’d were. With their red breasts and green tail feathers and yellow-tipped wings, Robins might be more eye-catching than the average Pidgey, but they were twice as commonplace. They lived everywhere. There was no prestige to catching them. Not many trainers bothered.
But this trainer wasn’t letting go.
Gathering himself, Dick let the buzzing in his feathers shake loose in a Nuzzle attack. Sparks flew from his wingtips.
The trainer cursed and dropped him. A surprised squawk tore free from Dick’s throat as he plummeted through the air. His one good wing flapped helplessly.
Somehow, the trainer managed scoop him out of midair before he hit the ground. Thick fingers closed firmly around his torso. Dick pedaled his legs furiously in the air, to no avail.
That stung, the trainer said, his one eye narrowing. Where did a Robin learn a Electric-type attack?
Dick chirped in alarm as the man jostled his bent wing. But the man was looking at him with real interest now. Like he’d never seen anything like him before.
What happened to you. Broken wing? He ran his fingers along Dick’s primary feathers.
Dick looked him in the eye. “Please, just. Just put me down, okay? I’m useless to you.”
There was no light of understanding in the trainer’s eye. Of course there wasn’t. The only trainer who’d ever consistently understood him was Bruce, and it had take ten years of partnership for them to learn to understand each other. Trainers didn’t just become fluent overnight. You had to put in the time teaching them.
Did you take that Fearow down by yourself? the man asked musingly, looking between Dick and the unconscious Pokémon lying a few feet away.
Dick trilled an affirmative. He wasn’t sure how he knew the man was a trainer, just that he knew. Maybe it was the firm and sure way he handled him.
Would this man try to catch him? Dick’s essence was already tied to another Pokéball, which even from this distance he could feel like a hook through his stomach. He belonged to Bruce. Another Pokéball wouldn’t have any affect on him right now. If this man wanted to steal him, he was going to have a difficult time of it.
But the man didn’t take out a Pokéball. He merely studied Dick with frank curiosity. Where is your trainer now, hm?
Dick made an unsure sound, and the man hummed.
Well, no matter. You’re coming with me, Little Bird.
~~
When Dick awoke sometime later, he found himself swaddled inside a strange, hammock-like contraption. Beyond the hammock, he saw the bars of a cage.
When he tried to squirm upright, he had a moment of panic. Why couldn’t he fold his own wing? He squinted at it and saw that his broken wing was trapped in some white material. There was a long, stick-like thing attached to it.
Weird. Where was the warm, healing glow of the Pokémon Center? Where was the gentle attentions of the Chansey on duty? This was ridiculous. Bruce hadn’t been the kind of trainer who made his Pokémon fight until they fainted. And on the odd occasion when Dick did faint, he’d always woken up in a Pokémon Center.
Footsteps.
Dick looked up as the snowy-haired trainer came to loom over him. The door of the cage swung opened and Dick shrieked in alarm as one large hand cupped him and brought him out.
Relax. It’s just a splint, he said.
A splint? What did that mean? Dick boggled at the contraption on his wing. Then he gave the trainer a stern look. “I’d prefer a Pokémon center, if it’s all the same to you.”
The man’s face was impassive. It’ll heal naturally in four to six weeks. Don’t panic.
Dick tried asking six more times, in six different ways, but he eventually gave up and went back to sleep when he got nothing useful from the man. He was so tired.
The next day, the man gave him a little bowl of pellets — delicious little squares of Pokémon food that made Dick brighten. But when he tried one, the taste was so foul he immediately hacked it back out. In a fit of pique, he kicked over the entire bowl and watched as pellets scattered in all directions over the man’s table. Then he trilled at him in indignation.
What’s the problem? The man picked up the package of pellets and flipped it over. Scanned the back with his one eye. Hm. Expired. I suppose you’ll have to eat something else, then.
The next time he filled Dick’s bowl, it was with wild berries picked from the bushes outside, alongside a shredded piece of bread.
It had been over ten years since Dick had eaten food like this, but he was too hungry at this point to care. The berries were good and juicy. The bread was stale but filling. He gobbled them down and looked up for more. The man chuckled and fed him a piece of his own pastry — a light and flaky thing that melted in Dick’s mouth.
It was only later, when the sun set for the third time, that Dick stopped to wonder.
What was this trainer doing with expired Pokémon food, in a house with no Pokémon in it?
~~
The white-haired trainer lived in a house made of tree trunks, and he lived by himself. It was the sort of place where Dick might have expected to find a bug-catching hermit. The man seemed totally self-sufficient. His walls were hung with hunting and fishing paraphernalia. The stove was a wood-burning stove, the heater was a water boiler, and the tools and crockery and utensils were all made from wood. But despite the fact that the man seemed familiar with the care and feeding of a Pokémon, there were no Pokémon anywhere to be seen.
On the fifth day, Dick finally felt well enough to hop around on his own two feet. He chirped and trilled until the man opened the cage he was in, and then he hopped out and onto the lone dining table. Because of the splint, his wing stuck straight out, so it dragged awkwardly when he moved. But Dick was an agile bird, so it didn’t bother him too much.
Didn’t know people still caught Robins to train, the man said, tossing him a few pieces of fruit from the tart he was eating.
Dick’s neck feathers fluffed up in indignation, even though he was used to being maligned. Just for that, he dug his claws into the tablecloth and raked a hole in it.
It was true that Robins were famously difficult to train. Bruce’s friend Hal liked to say they were ‘more trouble than they’re worth.’ That was the main reason why they weren’t allowed to be starter Pokémon for New Trainers. Most beginners couldn’t handle them.
In Dick’s opinion, though, the real reason why most trainers never bothered with them was because Robins had no evolutionary form. There was no payoff for training them. No new form to enjoy after putting in the work. But that didn’t stop Dick from being annoyed. It always pricked his pride when other trainers assumed he was useless to Bruce.
Feeling ornery, he pecked at the man’s hand. That got almost no reaction, so Dick hopped on the man’s fingers and zapped him.
That made him drop his food with a hiss.
Electric shock? He snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and pinned Dick to the table. With the gloves between them, nothing else Dick did had the slightest effect. He wasn’t a true Electric-type. He couldn’t deliver more than the tiniest charge no matter how hard he tried. Bruce had tested him. He’d checked.
Where did you learn Electric-type moves? the man said. TM? HM? Who would go to the trouble to teach you — he broke off, looking irritated by his own question.
As soon as the man let him up, Dick hopped sideways to avoid his hand. He knocked over a bread basket, a salt and pepper shaker, and a half-full glass of water before the trainer grabbed him again — and wow, this guy was nimble for his age — and shoved Dick back into his cage with a growl. Then he examined the black smudge Dick’s wings had left on the table.
Your trainer must have devoted quite a bit of time and attention to you, the man said.
Dick hopped around the tiny cage furiously, bouncing ineffectually off the metal bars. “C’mere and I’ll show you how good I am,” he said as the man started cleaning up the mess on the floor.
Bruce had spent a good ten years teaching him moves no wild Robin would ever learn. It was more time than anyone would spend on a Robin. More time than any Trainer would spend on a Pokémon that couldn’t evolve. Thanks to Bruce, Dick still had a few electric charges in him yet. He could make it sting.
Which begs the question, the man continued, bending over to peer at him through the cage. Why hasn’t he or she come looking for you?
He reached two fingers through the bars and caught Dick’s leg between them. Then he pulled him closer for a look.
Around Dick’s right leg was a circle of blue plastic. In his own excitement, he’d clean forgotten about it. Remembering its existence made him fluff up again in annoyance. Ever since Bruce started catching more Robins to add to his collection, he’d been using color-coded leg bands to tell them apart. Dick knew he looked outwardly identical to Jason and Tim and Duke, and that the bands were mostly for the benefit of the lab assistants who helped Bruce out. But a big part of him wished Bruce would stop using these stupid visual crutches to differentiate them, because he knew Bruce could tell the difference if he’d just spend an extra two seconds looking. These bands made him feel interchangeable. Replaceable.
He’d been Bruce’s first Robin. That should mean something. It should make him special.
Is your trainer some kind of researcher? This has a GPS tracker on it.
The man dropped Dick’s leg and Dick raised it up to scrutinize it for himself. What was a GPS anyway? The word was unfamiliar. What did it mean?
Using that, they should be able to find you anywhere you go, no matter how far you fly, said the man.
Dick pulled his feet back in close to his body and settled down to sulk in the little nest he’d made for himself at the bottom of the cage. It was made of newspaper strips, woodchip shavings, and some cotton fluff he’d deviously liberated from the sofa. If Bruce knew exactly where he was, then that meant… It meant something. He just wasn’t sure what, yet.
Maybe they abandoned you, little Robin, said the man.
Dick clicked his beak at him in irritation. Then he fell asleep to the sound of the man’s boots as he moved around the kitchen, making dinner.
~~
Bruce wasn’t just any researcher, he was Professor Wayne: the world’s foremost authority on bird-type Pokémon. He’d cemented his reputation eleven years ago when he became the first trainer on record to capture all three of Kanto’s legendary birds — Zapdos, Articuno, and Moltres. Six months later, he’d made the news again when he released all three back into the wild.
Legendary Pokémon are noble creatures; they’re not meant to be caught and put on display, was all he had to say on the subject when the reporters came looking for a soundbite.
After that, Bruce had retired from the battle circuit, gotten his PhD, established the Avian Institute of Kanto, and devoted himself to the study of Robins. His pet theory was that with the right training, even “unevolvable” Pokémon could evolve. To prove it, he’d spent ten years training Dick using every technique in the book. Fortunately, he’d had no shortage of Gym Leader friends, who had all been happy to pit their low-level Pokémon against one determined Robin. Most of these had been friendly battles, designed to make Dick level up. There had never been any real stakes behind them — no Badges or Trophies or Awards on the line. But Dick had been thrilled to take part in them anyway, especially when he’d started winning.
The more he’d fought, the stronger he’d become. And Bruce was so proud of him, every time he mastered a new technique. Nobody ever expected a Robin to know Electric-type attacks, and Dick was thrilled every time he got to surprise an opponent on the field. Battling other Pokémon and winning despite overwhelming odds was the highlight of his life.
Or it used to be, anyway, before Bruce caught a bunch of other Robins and decided to divide his time between them. Dick couldn’t blame him for that — not really. Bruce had worked with Dick for so long, with nothing to show for it. Of course he’d move on eventually. Give a different Robin a try. There was a whole flock of them these days, filling the aviary day and night with birdsong.
It wasn’t like Dick minded the company. He liked having other birds around to talk to and trade gossip with. And he knew that most pro trainers worked with a dozen Pokémon at once. Nothing unusual about that. But with each new addition to the aviary, Dick’s share of the pie got smaller and smaller. Each new Pokémon had its own claim on Bruce’s time and heart; it became harder and harder for Dick to get his trainer to himself. Over the years, as the Avian Institute grew in size, Bruce had only gotten more famous. He was always busy these days — busy with his research, his assistants, his friends, and the hundred other Pokémon clamoring for his attention.
Had he noticed that Dick was missing? Did he even care that Dick hadn’t come home?
Time passed. Still, Bruce didn’t appear.
Dick had to tamp down his disappointment each sunset when nobody showed up to claim him. He knew Bruce spent a lot of time travelling these days. Was he away at another conference again? Surely, he could muster up the time to come get him?
Where was he?
~~
The snowy-haired man’s name was Slade.
Dick went around chirping, “Slade, Slade, Slade,” until the man finally clued in to the fact that this particular sound was Dick’s way of calling his name. After that, he started raising his head and looking around if he heard it.
Since Dick was a naturally inquisitive bird, he spent his days hopping around the house, looking at whatever he found interesting. It was a challenge doing it with only one functioning wing, but Dick would never let that stop him from exploring his new environs. Anyway, Slade didn’t seem to mind, so Dick went ahead and peered into every nook and cranny he could find.
Some of the things he found were puzzling — like the crawlspace in the rafters that was filled with old paper, old coins, and strange, shiny artifacts of enormous size. Other things were more in line with what he expected. Behind one hidden wall panel, for instance, he found a board covered with shiny medals, competition ribbons, and Gym Badges. Dick’s instincts about Slade being a trainer had been correct.
He also found pictures on the mantlepiece — wood-framed pictures that showed Slade surrounded by Pokémon. Dick knew these pictures had to be important because when he knocked one over (by accident!) and broke the glass, Slade had grabbed him and squeezed him till all the breath left his body.
No more breaking things, do you hear me? he growled. Or you’ll be staying in your cage from now on.
Dick managed a faint squeak.
Slade released him. Then he swept up the shards of glass and put the wooden picture frame on the dining table.
Dick preened all his feathers back into place, then hopped up onto the table and studied the picture.
All of the Pokémon standing around Slade were massive — some of them so big they barely fit inside the picture frame. But Dick recognized the head of a Steelix, the torso of an Aggron, and the feathers of a Corviknight. Other pictures showed, variously, a Metagross, an Aegislash, and a Lucario. Slade was a Steel Type trainer.
It just figured.
Even just looking at this motley collection ruffled his feathers. Dick didn’t like Steel Type Pokémon. They were his natural enemy, with a type advantage over him, and beating them in battle took a lot out of him. He could do it, of course, if the opponent was low-level enough, but still. A part of him could never quite squash his own flight instincts when something huge came at him.
Also, trainers who gravitated towards Steel Types usually had a prejudice against Flying Types. It was something he’d noticed over the years.
With a creeping sense of dread, Dick wondered where these Pokémon were now. Why had he seen no sign of them? Surely Slade couldn’t have traded them all away? Or perhaps they were all in storage, at the Pokémon Center?
A lot of things about this man didn’t make sense. Dick had known many Pokémon trainers over the years, but Slade didn’t fit any category. He had the knowhow of an experienced trainer, but no Pokémon paraphernalia in his house. No food bowls (Dick ate out of human-sized bowls instead), no water dispensers, no exercise contraptions, no cozy habitat zones where a Pokémon could relax. Nothing.
And yet he spoke to Dick in the voice of someone who not only expected to be understood, but also expected to be obeyed without question. That was how pro trainers talked. Odd.
Most of Slade’s day was filled with little projects that Dick didn’t really understand. He seemed to own lots of strange artifacts, most of them made from Pokémon parts. There was a collection of Shellder and Cloyster shells in his garage, for some reason. Occasionally, he would disappear for most of the day, and then return with more mysterious artifacts. Sometimes it was bags full of Flaaffy and Mareep wool (which carried a strong static charge that made Dick’s feathers thrum); sometimes it was dried and seasoned Slowpoke tails (yuck). Once, he brought home a whole crate full of Gyarados scales that gleamed iridescent in the firelight.
Every now and again, strange-looking visitors in strange uniforms would show up at his door. They’d hand over a briefcase, and Slade would give them a bag of something in return. Once their trade was concluded, the visitors would silently leave without saying a word. Dick couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He usually hid under the sofa when these people came by.
Slade also owned a frankly frightening knife collection, though he mostly used them to carve more wooden things for his house. He liked making things with his hands. Most evenings, he’d settle onto the couch, shaping something with a whittling knife while watching the Elite Series of Pokémon Tournaments on TV — a routine that suited Dick just fine, because he also loved watching TV. If he couldn’t partake in the Pokémon battles themselves, then the next-best thing was to watch other Pokémon battle. He could live vicariously through the Noctowls and Staraptors and Talonflames that did get to fight on live TV.
Sometimes, Slade would talk to him as he went about his day. He was in the habit of dropping commands casually, the way all pro trainers were.
Pick that up, Robin.
Don’t touch that, Robin.
Stop shedding feathers everywhere, Robin.
“I’m not your Robin,” Dick would retort each time. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
Secretly, though, he loved being called Robin. It reminded him of the days when he’d been Bruce’s only Robin. It was only when the other Robins started arriving that Bruce had switched to giving them individual names.
His only problem now was that there was very little to do in the house, which meant Dick was tragically, horrifically, debilitatingly bored. Sometimes, he’d spend hours picking a piece of newsprint apart, just to keep his claws sharp. Sometimes, he would try and entice Slade into a game of hide-and-seek. And sometimes, Slade would humor him.
One afternoon, Dick spent three hours wiggling into every nook and cranny he could find inside the house, and then waiting there until Slade finally managed to bodily pull him back out.
Stop sticking your beak where it doesn’t belong, he said.
Dick trilled a laugh.
When Slade got fed up with playing with him, he said, Stay put.
Dick never took this command seriously. Teasing Slade with his antics was the only fun activity he had these days. With only one wing, Dick couldn’t pull off his most annoying tricks, but that only meant so much to a Robin as determined as he was. So he’d scratch divots into the wooden surfaces, and peck holes in the couch and the curtains, and leave droppings in the man’s shoes.
Slade never seemed to mind. He wasn’t very reactive, which was a trait Dick associated with pro trainers who were used excitable and unpredictable Pokémon. The only time he did get angry was when Dick broke his things on purpose. That’s when he finally snapped.
Your trainer must be utterly incompetent, Slade said, in withering tones, if you can’t even go five hours without breaking something, somewhere.
Dick puffed up instantly, every feather rising up off his body. He could take any kind of talk about himself, but he wouldn’t tolerate it about Bruce. He broke two more of Slade’s bowls, just out of spite. And given that both bowls were made of wood, he felt he’d really outdone himself this time.
In response, Slade swatted Dick hard enough to send him smacking against the wall. Dick squawked in indignation as he plummeted. He probably lost a dozen feathers just from the shock of bouncing off the floor. For several long moments, he simply lay in place, stunned by the impact.
A hand dropped down over him, fingers caging him in. Dick cheeped in alarm.
Hm. I’ve never had a Pokémon as fragile as you before, Slade said, his brow furrowed. He picked Dick up and peered at him speculatively. It’s a bit disconcerting. I could snap your neck just by squeezing you too hard.
“Well don’t do it, then,” said Dick, wiggling emphatically.
Did I hurt you?
“You’d have to hit me harder than that if you wanted to.”
Slade snorted and deposited him back into his cage. You’d better settle down. And mind yourself. Or else I can’t promise I’ll remember my strength.
Dick fumed for a day, but quickly forgave him. It was obvious to him that Slade was used to dealing with hardier Pokémon — ones make of stone and metal — because Slade always squeezed too hard, even when he thought he was being gentle. He also had a way of moving through the world in a way that made it obvious he expected everything and everyone else to move for him, rocks included. But that was okay — Dick didn’t mind. A trainer could be taught.
As time passed, they got used to each other.
Slade’s touches softened. Dick learned to be more careful with his things.
In the mornings, when Slade went out to chop firewood, Dick would accompany him by riding on his shoulder. During the afternoons, when Dick’s antics would have him crawling up over the rafters and ceiling beams, Slade’s eye would track him as he made his way higher and higher. During the night, they’d watch TV together.
One night, bored by the movie that Slade had chosen, Dick pecked experimentally at the sofa fabric until he’d drilled a gaping hole through it.
A large, heavy hand dropped down over him, and Dick twitched reflexively. But all that happened was that nails carded carefully through his plumage. A warm burble came bubbling out his chest as Slade scooped him up a carefully cupped palm and held him close to his chest. The warmth emanting from him made Dick drowsy. This was how it had been, back in the days when it had just been him and Bruce, slowly figuring each other out. Back then, Bruce had looked at him with this level of singleminded focus, too.
I’ve never met a Pokémon so greedy for attention, Slade said.
“Who else would you pay attention to, if not me?” Dick asked.
Don’t push your luck, Robin.
He stroked Dick for half an hour before putting him to sleep in his cage. Dick drifted off in a haze of contentment.
Robin, Robin, Robin.
~~
Slowly, at the speed of a Slugma’s crawl, his wing got better.
One evening, after Slade returned home from work and settled down in front of the fireplace, Dick hopped up onto his knee.
What do you want now? Slade didn’t look up from the piece of wood in his hands. He was carving long strips off it with his knife.
Dick flapped his good wing. Then he strutted up and down Slade’s leg until the man was forced to acknowledge him.
If you break another bone and put my efforts to waste, I’ll feed you to a Braviary, he growled. By this time, Dick could tell he didn’t meant it. Not really.
“I’m fine now, I can feel it,” Dick said, tamping down his own frustration. “So can you take this thing off?”
Slade examined his wing. Then with a grunt, he removed the hard stick-thing that had been attached to his bone for the last several weeks.
Dick aimed himself at the ceiling, where there was an exposed rafter beam. It took a whole lot of awkward flapping and maneuvering to land properly, and his wing felt strained after not using them for so long, but just being able to fly again was invigorating. Relief trickled through him.
He took off and made three careful circuits around the living room, flapping hard for every extra inch of distance. At the end of his third circuit, he saw Slade standing up, hand held out.
Dick automatically alighted on his wrist, talons digging into the meat of his thumb.
Slade smirked at him. Will you fly back to your trainer now, little bird?
Dick nibbled playfully at the leather bracelet around Slade’s wrist while he thought about it. He’d originally planned on spending some time alone in the Viridian Forest while he waited for Bruce to come find him. But Bruce hadn’t come looking at all, which was disappointing. It also fired up all of Dick’s competitive instincts. It would serve Bruce right if Dick stayed missing. There was more than one way to win a game of hide-and-seek.
A finger stroked down his back, head to tail, and Dick wiggled in pleasure. He chased the sensation when Slade moved his hand, and there was a low chuckle overhead. The hand returned. Blunt fingers scratched at his head, and Dick leaned into the sensation. It felt wonderful. He felt treasured. He twittered a sound of contentment.
With a pang, he realized he’d missed this. Not just the safety and security in having a trainer taking care of him; he missed being the only Pokémon in a trainer’s life. He missed the feeling of having someone looking only at him. For the past five years, he’d had to share Bruce’s attention with all the other birds in his aviary. When was the last time Bruce had spent more than an hour alone with him?
Can you fight with those wings? Slade asked him.
In answer, Dick rose into the air and flapped hard enough to kick up a mini cyclone right inside the cabin. Coal dust and wood shavings and bits of paper scattered in a flurry. The pleased expression on Slade’s face deepened.
All right, he said. Let’s see what you can do.
~~
It was easy, falling into the rhythms of training again. Dick showed off at first, just a little bit. He knew a whole bunch of electric attacks and he was proud of it. Of course, he’ll never be an Electric Type — all Robins were Normal Type — but his feathers could trap enough electricity to stun small rodents and insects.
Can you do a Thunderbolt? Slade asked him once.
No, Dick could not do a Thunderbolt. He couldn’t generate the energy necessary for that. But Slade gave him a speculative look, and then he changed his diet, gave him little rubber booties to wear over his feet, and then he took out a little bag of spun Mareep wool and wrapped Dick’s torso in it.
By the time he was done, Dick was as fat and puffy as a hibernating Swinub. He could barely shift his wings. It was immensely uncomfortable.
“Hey,” he grumbled, hopping after Slade as the man went about his day. “What is this for? I already told you my wing’s all better!”
Slade paid no attention to him. Dick spent a day pecking at the horrible wool bindings and struggling furiously to get his wings free, but whenever he got close to getting a loop of wool loose, Slade would come over and threaten to stuff him into a knitted sweater. Dick finally gave up out of exhaustion.
“What was the point of letting my wing heal if you’re not going to let me use it?” Dick demanded, hopping up onto the man’s knee. He could peck Slade where it hurts, if the man insisted on torturing him like this. That was a trick Jason had taught him. But Slade merely swatted him away when Dick edged boldly up to the crotch of his pants and made a threatening swipe at the seams.
Keep struggling, was all he said when Dick fell over dramatically and screeched in outrage at the ceiling. It’ll do you good.
Dick should have escaped when he had the chance. Now he had to stew in a prison of his own making. A stupid, smelly, prison of wool. Each morning when he woke up and found himself still bound, his fury increased. By the sixth day, he was incensed.
It was difficult to even eat and drink. And he was hungry all the time. His new diet was the worst thing Dick had ever tasted. After two days of avoiding his food bowl, he finally managed to choke down five beakfuls, only to spit it right back up a few hours later.
“What is this stuff?” he demanded.
Togedemaru pellets, said Slade. Stop complaining.
This was some kind of punishment. It had to be. “But I’m not a Togedemaru,” he reminded Slade. “I’m a Robin.”
If you can eat the same food as a Rattata, you can eat the same food as a Togedemaru, said Slade, completely missing the point, as usual.
“When I get free, I’ll peck your remaining eye out,” Dick muttered.
As the days passed, Dick felt odder and odder. Something inside him was shifting, realigning, adjusting. The more he struggled against the Mareep wool, the more he could feel the static charge in his feathers building and building. Holding that charge felt precarious, like building a nest on too-skinny branches, twig by twig. It went from being an itch behind his ears to a heavy, constant buzz-saw in his breast.
One week later, Slade took him out into the forest and released him from his wool bindings at last.
Stretch your wings. Eat your heart out. And then we’ll try some agility exercises.
Dick flew up to a high branch and ignored him. “You’re not my trainer,” he said as he shook the kinks out of his feathers.
Slade held up a red hoop in one hand and delicious-looking Robin treat in the other. Can you fly through this?
Dick’s stomach squeezed painfully. He hadn’t been able to hold down much of the Togedemaru food, no matter how had he tried. Everything inside him felt upside-down and inside-out. Maybe that was Slade’s plan. To starve him into obedience.
He should fly off right now to find his own food elsewhere. He didn’t need Slade’s stupid treat. He really didn’t. …Except the idea of Slade thinking him unable to fly through a simple red hoop made all his competitive instincts rear up. Dick had been flying through hoops since he was a freshly-fledged chick. He could fly this in his sleep.
So he did.
After he’d gotten three treats in a row, Slade produced a series of smaller and smaller hoops, upping the challenge with each. And gradually, Dick found — to his own bewilderment — that he was enjoying himself. Agility exercises used to be his favourite trick — soaring, diving, barrel-rolling, spiraling — these were all staples in the routine that Bruce had taught him to do, back when Bruce was using him to prove to critics that Robins could be good fliers.
Once Slade had satisfied his curiosity on how well Dick could maneuver himself in midair, he pulled out a new set of tests. He put Dick over a fan to see if he could hover, had him turn on a dime, then hung him from a tree branch to see if he could do any of these moves while upside-down.
The next day, they did it again.
And then again the day after that.
On the third day, Slade took him outside looking for quarry. And when they came across a grumpy Pidgeot spoiling for a fight, Slade hurled Dick at it like he would if he were sending Dick out in a Pokéball.
Dick had fought larger, bigger birds before. His stats were high enough for him to handle almost anything — Bruce had made sure of it. But when he saw the Pidgeot’s beak — large enough to bite his head off in one snap — something in him quailed. The memory of the Fearow came shrieking back, and before Dick understood what was happening, he’d turned tail to flee. It was instinctive. Automatic.
Until Slade’s voice said, Show me a Wing Attack.
Robins weren’t known for obedience. It was one of their most undesirable traits. It had taken Dick a long time to get used to the idea of doing what Bruce told him to do, back when they first partnered up. None of it had come naturally. The amount of trust required to listen to someone else in the heat of battle? That had taken them years to perfect. But Bruce had earned his trust the hard way, one command at a time. For ten years, Bruce’s voice was the only he’d ever obeyed.
This felt jarring. And novel. Slade wasn’t even his trainer. Dick didn’t trust him, did he?
This was just some stranger who’d taken him in and fixed his wing in the slowest and most painful way possible instead of taking him to a proper Pokémon Center. But he was also someone who had been a pro trainer, once upon a time. The medals and gym badges in his house proved it. The pictures on his mantlepiece proved it. Maybe — just maybe — he knew what he was doing.
Dick banked his wings and veered into a hairpin turn, shooting back past the Pidgeot, who was taken by surprise. Then, banking hard into a vertical glide, he prepared a Wing Attack. It had been awhile since he’d been in a real battle against a wild Pokémon. This would use muscles he hadn’t used in a long time.
Bruce hadn’t had much use for him in recent months, and Dick knew why. Bruce’s pet theory — the crux of all his research — hinged on the idea that Robins could evolve. That all they needed was the right training, the right conditions. But ten years and eighty-five levels and forty-two new moves later, Dick still hadn’t evolved so much as a single feather. It would be enough to make anyone give up on him.
Dick might be the strongest Robin on the continent, but from Bruce’s standpoint, he was a failure.
He hit the Pidgeot from behind. It screeched, more from surprise than pain. The Pidgeot was clearly stupefied by the nerve of him — a mere Robin — attempting to take him down.
Through a gap in the trees below them, Dick could see Slade watching them, one hand shading his eye from the sun. In his hand was a — Pokédex? Dick twisted in midair to avoid a Whirlwind attack. Then he Slashed back with his much smaller talons.
Maybe he’d never be able to evolve, but he could show this man that he was the strongest Robin he’d ever meet. That ten years of training was worth something.
Twister, said Slade. He glanced down at his Pokédex.
Feather Dance.
Aerial Ace — no, use it. I know you can.
A part of Dick thrilled to hear it. To have a Trainer’s eyes and knowhow and experience behind every command — that’s the other thing he’d missed. In the heat of battle, he had no time to think of strategies and counterattacks and angles of evasion himself. He wouldn’t have the mental facility to keep up with his opponent and his environment and the rules of that particular battle at the same time. That’s what a trainer was for. A trainer — a good trainer — was supposed to know more than he did. Trusting them to call the shots was half the victory.
Dick flew. He shot straight up, flapping for every every foot he could gain, and then he reversed course at the apex of his flight, just as he could feel the air currents around him growing thin.
In theory, Aerial Ace was a ridiculous move for him to learn. He was three and a half pounds of hollow bone and fluffy feathers and semi-sharp beak. But Bruce had taught it to him on a lark, and when Dick turned and nosedived back down towards his opponent, he turned into a spiraling bullet.
Thundershock, Slade ordered.
At the moment of impact, Dick released two weeks’ worth of stored-up static energy. The crack of lightning that came afterwards was like nothing else he’d ever felt before. It blinded him. Burned and singed his feathers. The Pidgeot screamed as he fell out of the sky with smoke trailing from his oversized tail. In that moment, Dick felt more alive than he’d felt in months, maybe years.
He’d never managed an Electric-type attack that powerful before. Crowing in triumph, he followed his fallen opponent down at a glide. The Pidgeot crashed to the ground ten feet away from Slade, twitching and shivering all over. It looked a frightful wreck.
Nicely done, Robin, said Slade.
Dick alighted on a nearby tree branch and preened.
If Slade wanted to catch the Pidgeot, now would be the perfect moment. But Slade didn’t take out a Pokéball. Instead, he merely pulled the bird’s magnificent head feathers out and stowed them carefully in his backpack. The red and gold feathers caught the light and gleamed. They were so long that they stuck out of the top of the backpack in long, curling strands.
Let’s go, he called. Then he started the trek back to his house. He didn’t look back to see whether Dick would follow.
Dick flapped his wings and took off after him.
~~
One day, almost a full month after Dick recovered from his broken wing, there was a knock at Slade’s door.
Dick looked up curiously. Slade traded various Pokémon items to odd, funny-looking people, sometimes. Sometimes, he conducted his business in the city, usually at someone’s house, or in some dark, underground tunnel somewhere. Dick had accompanied him on two such excursions, so he’d seen what Slade was like when he was at work.
Was this another trader? Dick flapped up to the rafters and perched there.
Slade went and opened the door.
A familiar head of black hair appeared.
“Oh!” said Dick, dropping down and winging over to land on the man’s shoulder automatically.
Bruce had thick cotton pads sewn into the shoulders of all his lab coats, so that his birds could perch there whenever they wanted. It was comfier than trying to grip the slick fabric on Slade’s tapered jackets.
After all these weeks, he’d forgotten why he was mad at Bruce. Joy bubbled up in his chest. Bruce had finally come for him!
A familiar hand came up and scritched his neck. Dick?
Dick burbled happily and hopped sideways to butt his head against Bruce’s ear. Then he leaned over and nibbled at the tip of his nose.
Yes, that’s you, all right, said Bruce, reaching up with both hands to dislodge him. Dick flapped his wings for balance as Bruce lowered him to waist-level and began examining him critically. You were gone for two months, chum. Do you know how worried I was? Were you here this whole time?
Dick cawed an affirmative, then waggled his tail feathers playfully. Bruce ignored him in favor of giving Slade a cool look. Mr. Wilson, he said. What a surprise.
You name your Robins? said Slade in amusement. Don’t you own a hundred of them?
Bruce stiffened. I name all my Pokémon.
And you named this one Dick?
What was he doing here with you?
Slade gave him a thin smile. I was saving him from a nasty fall. You ought to take better care of your Pokémon, Professor Wayne.
Bruce was very, very still. A fall, you said?
Broke his wing, too, said Slade, smirking as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Bruce set Dick down on the floor. Show me, he said sternly.
Dick tried to waddle away inconspicuously, but Bruce’s voice froze him in his tracks. After a reluctant bit of strutting around, Dick opened both wings wide, like he was doing a mating display.
Took almost four weeks for the bone to set, said Slade. But he’s a hardy little thing.
“I’m fine,” said Dick firmly. “See? Every feather back in place.”
Bruce examined the formerly-injured bone, then gave Slade an inscrutable look. Why didn’t you just give him a Full Restore?
Do I look like I keep those around?
Bruce did a funny thing where he turned his head to the side and then the other. Ah. Right, he said slowly. You’re banned from the Pokémarts, aren’t you.
Slade gave him a look that clearly indicated he thought him very, very stupid. It startled Dick. People usually looked at Bruce with reverence. Exactly, he said. Or did you forget that most of my privileges were revoked along with my license?
Given how quietly you stepped down from the Elite Four, and how little it was publicized, you can’t expect people to know what —
Stepped down? Slade snorted. The term you want is ‘disbarred.’ And don’t play the fool with me, Professor. You were on the committee that recommended my removal. I remember these things. He turned away dismissively, took a Cubone’s skull out of a crate, and started polishing it with a small square of cloth.
Dick chirped and wiggled nervously. He did not think he was imagining the hostility buzzing in the air between them.
So why did you bring a Robin into your house, Bruce demanded.
Would you have preferred I left him there? Unable to fly? Abandoned on the forest floor?
If you were trying to catch him—
There was a crack as Slade slammed the skull down hard on the table. Dick flinched. Fury was the universal language — it looked the same on every Pokémon. And it looked the same on humans, too.
Use your brain, Professor, Slade snarled. Do I look like I have a license to buy Pokéballs?
That explained why Dick had never seen Slade attempt to catch anything. It had just never occurred to him that trainers could have their Pokéballs taken away.
Bruce looked left and right, up and down, like he was scanning the interior of the cabin. Dick wasn’t sure what he was looking for.
Did you know this one was mine? he asked after a moment.
Slade smiled in an unpleasant way. You’re the most famous researcher in a hundred miles. Your Avian Institute is devoted to Bird-Type Pokémon. And the Robin had a tag on his leg. What do you think?
If you knew, then you should have contacted us at the lab—
I assumed a caring and ethical trainer would come looking for him. Slade shrugged. Something about the way he emphasized those words made Bruce grind his teeth together.
Dick often explores on his own. He has free reign of the aviary and the surrounding forest. I don’t keep him confined.
That was true. Dick liked his freedom, and all of Bruce’s research assistants knew it. That was why Dick and a couple of the older Robins had exclusive access to a chute that would let them leave the grounds at any time they pleased.
I expected someone to come pick him up weeks ago. It’s almost enough to make me think you don’t give a flying Furret about him.
Bruce’s face darkened. I’m not the one who doesn’t care about his Pokémon.
Sure looks like it from where I’m standing.
I wrote you up to the Ethics Committee for Pokémon Cruelty, not—
What would you call this, then? Pokémon Abandonment?
Dick fluttered up to perch on the back of the couch, where he trilled his displeasure as loudly as he could. Both men ignored him.
Don’t you dare accuse me of that. You don’t know what it looks like to treat a Pokémon well.
Slade just snorted and tilted his head. Better not let him roam so far away again, Professor. He may not be so lucky next time. Someone else could have gotten their claws into him. Someone even less savory than me.
Bruce turned. Come along, Dick, he snapped.
He stomped outside with heavy footfalls. Through the open door, Dick could see a large purple shape fluttering outside. He caught a flash of four separate wings and knew it was Bruce’s Crobat, Steph. She was the Pokémon Bruce relied on the most for quick transportation.
Bruce climbed onto her back and they took off without a word. Dick gave Slade one last look. The man was leaning back against the kitchen counter, watching him with that single, cool eye. Waiting to see what Dick would do next.
Dick! came a shout from outside.
Quickly, Dick flew up to bump his head against Slade’s chest. Then he quickly tilted his wings, turned tail, and shot out the door after them.
~~
I know you like to play hide-and-seek, Dick, said Bruce as they flew home. But this was a little much.
“I just wanted you to pay attention to me again.”
That does not mean you can fly off and go missing for two months.
“Did you even notice I was gone?”
I noticed. I assumed you just wanted your freedom. Is that the message you’re trying to send me?
“No. That’s not it.”
So why didn’t you come back earlier? Your wing healed weeks ago.
“I’m sorry, Bruce.”
Bruce sighed, but in the way that Dick recognized meant he was thawing and coming around. Bruce was never angry at him for long. I’m sorry too, chum. I should have come looking for you.
“You have a hundred Robins, Bruce.” Dick floated up a bit higher, so that he was no longer coasting on Steph’s tail wind but at eye-level with Bruce. “You probably just forgot.”
I could have a thousand Robins, but none of them would be you, said Bruce, giving him an affectionate look.
Dick felt warm all over, like Bruce had bundled him inside his lab coat, the way he used to when he was just a chick. Steph gave him a knowing, sideways grin. Bruce’s good regard felt like a gentle updraft under his wings, lifting him up higher and higher. Dick tucked his own pleasure inside his chest and then he remembered what he’d wanted to share: the fact that he’d finally managed to do a real Thundershock.
“Guess what, Bruce? Guess what!”
Not now, okay? I’m not in the mood for guessing games. I’ve been up to my eyeballs in — well. You’ll see soon enough.
“But it’s — you’ll like this, I promise. It’s a good surprise.”
Later, all right? I’ve got a bit of a crisis happening at the Lab. I’ve got to concentrate on that first.
Dick’s spirits drooped. But he said, “All right.” He wouldn’t let that spoil his mood. “Later.”
~~
They arrived back the Wayne Avian Institute to find it in total disorder. Research assistants were running around in a panic. Fire had engulfed half the West Wing.
One intern came running up to them, panting. He’s flown off, Professor!
You two, stay here, said Bruce as he raced off to deal with this latest catastrophe.
“Who is he talking about?” Dick asked Steph.
Bats and birds did not really talk to each other in the wild. But they’d spent enough time with the same trainer to pick up the same language.
“Jason, probably,” said Steph, sounding unconcerned.
Dick liked her, but he also secretly envied her. Bruce had caught her as a Zubat only two years ago. Now, as a twice-evolved Pokémon who had reached her full evolutionary potential, Steph was stronger than any of them. The only Pokémon who could still regularly beat her in their weekly mock-battles was Barbara, Bruce’s Braviary.
“Why would they be panicking about that?” Dick asked. Jason flew off all the time. Much like Dick, he was free to come and go as he pleased.
“Let’s find out,” said Steph. “Wanna watch the fun together?”
Dick followed her up onto the roof of the Main Lab. Smoke was rising thick and fast from the windows of the West Wing. Several of Bruce’s Wingulls and Pelippers were flapping around the inferno, using Water Gun to try to put out the fire.
Feeling useless to help (as usual), Dick settled in to spectate. Steph certainly seemed to be enjoying the commotion.
A second Robin landed on the roof next to Dick.
“Tim!” Dick cried in surprise. Tim greeted him by rubbing his head against Dick’s.
“You missed all the excitement,” said Tim, as he scooted sideways to get a better vantage point. “Jason didn’t just fly off. He broke out.”
“Of the aviary?” The aviary was surrounded by an enormous mesh-wire net, more to keep predatory Pokémon out than to keep them in. “Why would he need to break out?”
“No, he broke out of his cage. They were keeping him in the lab for overnight testing this time.”
“What? Why?”
Bruce had stopped putting them through lab exercises ages ago. Mostly because for Robins that had reached a sufficiently high level, he’d run out of ways to test them.
Tim’s feathers fluffed up until he was more orb than bird. His head retracted slightly as he delivered the news. “Because Jason, he — he evolved.”
“What?” said Dick.
~~
That same night, Bruce’s Pokémon scattered to the four corners of the world. The task was simple: Find Jason and bring him back.
Before they left, Bruce showed them all a picture of what looked like a giant, red-and-black-feathered bird whose chest was wreathed in flames, and whose tail and wings became smoke at the edges. It wasn’t a very clear photo. But this was apparently what Jason had evolved into.
Even Barbara had been pressed into service. As their resident long-distance flier, she would be in charge of scoping out Galar and Unova. Steph, whose echolocation was unhampered by darkness, would be sent out once evening fell.
“Tell me what happened,” Dick ordered Tim as they winged it towards Johto.
Gradually, the whole story came out. Bruce had taken Jason with him to a Research Conference in Alola. On their way back, they’d run into a belligerent, wild Pokémon that Bruce would later learn was a Blacephalon. For whatever reason, the bizarre, clown-like Pokémon had taken issue with Bruce. Jason had fought off the opponent for as long as he could, until he finally collapsed. The situation had been dire. The two of them had been miles away from any Pokémon Center, and Bruce had not brought any emergency Potions or Full Restores with him.
“He really thought Jason was going to die,” said Tim, panting with the effort of communicating all this while flying. “Instead, Jason evolved.”
“Into…whatever that thing in the picture was.”
“Yeah. Bruce thinks he’s a Ghost/Fire type now. That’s why he’s sort of fuzzy at the edges, you know? Parts of him kept fading in and out. The interns said they’d never seen anything like him before.”
Dick thought harder than he’d ever thought in his life. “So we can evolve,” he said slowly.
“I mean. I guess so? Or maybe it’s just because Jason’s special, somehow,” said Tim doubtfully. “Obviously, this has never happened before. Bruce was so busy trying to figure out how Jason managed it that he completely forgot he had to go get you.” He slanted a curious, sideways look at Dick. “Where were you anyway? You’ve never been gone that long before. Were you doing some solo leveling-up again?”
“…Kinda,” said Dick, too distracted to explain Slade.
After all his years of waiting and training and hoping, it felt colossally unfair that another Robin had gotten to evolve first. There had been a time when Bruce had tried various Evolution Stones on Dick. In the name of research, he had raised Dick’s stats in every direction, given him items to hold, taught him a wealth of different moves, even traded him once or twice to other trainers, just to see if that would trigger an evolution. Nothing had ever worked.
Dick had been desperate to live up to Bruce’s dreams for him. He’d wanted so badly to prove his hypothesis right. For Jason to have broken through that impossible barrier first was — he didn’t even have a word for it. Underneath his concern for Jason was a deeper undercurrent of envy. Why couldn’t Bruce have taken him to the conference? Why couldn’t he have been the one to evolve?
And then Dick remembered. He’d been with Slade. Right. His own fault for flying off, and getting his wing broken. But even if he’d been available, would Bruce have taken him along? Lately, Jason had been the favourite. And Dick had been the one Bruce had…put aside.
Bitterness made him fly faster. He’d find Jason. Make sure he was all right. Make him come home. And then. And then, Dick would make him cough up the secret to evolving.
They landed in a forest just inside Johto to catch their breath, and Tim went around to suss out the latest gossip.
The great thing about being a Robin was that while they weren’t especially strong, they were numerous. They were in every city, every continent, every island. And news amongst them traveled fast. The Robin network was the best because they were the most populous bird Pokémon in the world.
If what Bruce said was true, and Jason had evolved into something totally new, that meant that the Robins in the area would certainly have spotted him flying by. Robins were always on the lookout for dangerous Pokémon. The last time a Ho-Oh had flown past Viridian Forest, it had been the talk of the flock for days. Whatever Jason was now, he’d looked just as distinct. That meant that someone, somewhere, would have seen him.
“We got a hit,” said Tim, landing on the branch next to Dick. “They said a strange bird with fire around its chest flew by this afternoon. Headed for Alola.”
“Well that’s where we’re headed, then.”
~~
Dick and Tim split up once they reached Alola. The local Robins there gave their input, with several possible roosting spots that the weird new Pokémon could have gone to. Dick went west while Tim went east. Divide and conquer.
Dick found Jason first.
High up on a craggy mountainside, there was a series of caves carved into the cliff-side. Dick went from mouth to mouth calling for Jason until finally, he saw a flicker of firelight from within one of the openings. Inside, he found a Pokémon hiding from the world.
“Jason?” he said, flying into the cave.
It would have been dark inside, except for the fire reflecting off the stone walls. The fire was coming from the bird nestled right at the very back of the cave.
Jason was huge. Dick had to tip his head back to look at him. If Bruce hadn’t shown them a picture of him before they set off, Dick wouldn’t have recognized him at all.
A gout of flame roared towards him, and Dick only just managed to dodge in time.
“Jason! It’s me!”
“Dick?” The strange bird clicked his beak together. Then he twisted around in place awkwardly and peered down at Dick with narrowed eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, Little Wing.” Dick fluttered backwards. The heat from Jason’s flames was going to scorch him if he got too close. It felt weird, not being able to rub their heads together in greeting anymore. But there were flames dancing on the crown of Jason’s head now, and Dick didn’t want to burn himself. “Everyone’s looking for you. You gotta come back, okay? Bruce is worried.”
Instantly, Jason turned away. Smoke — actual smoke — issued from his nostrils. “Bruce can’t help me. Go ‘way, Dick.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? Just look at me! I’ve evolved into a monster!”
“You’re not a monster, Jason,” Dick chided. “You're powerful. Stronger than ever. You could probably roast me alive right now if you wanted to.”
Jason made a deep sound of disgust. His chest feathers heaved and trembled. “Not everyone is as obsessed with evolving as you, Dick. I hate this. I liked being a Robin, okay? And now I can’t even turn myself back, and it’s just. Everything is horrible. I can’t even build a nest like a normal Robin anymore, because everything I touch turns to ash!”
“I mean sure, if you’re just looking at the downsides—”
“I can read now, did they tell you that? And not just the flashcards they used to drill me on. I can read,” his chest puffed out in pride, “whole sentences now.”
“That's, uh, great. I’m happy for you, Jason.”
Bruce had taught them all different tricks. Tim could count really high. Duke knew how to mimic human speech. Dick could use Electric-type moves. But none of them could recognize flash cards the way Jason could. That was his special skill, and he’d been proud of it.
“But what’s the point of that, Dick, when I can’t go inside the house anymore? They won’t let me indoors because I burn everything around me! I can’t sit on a tree, can’t go near the aviary, can’t even touch the grass! And can’t snuggle with Bruce either because guess what?”
“I don’t think it’s that bad, Jason…”
“Leave me alone. I didn’t ask for any of this. Nobody told me I’d have to learn how to be a freaking Moltres or whatever the heck I am now.”
“You’re a Fire/Ghost Type, apparently. Same as Blacephalon. But you’re a brand new species. Isn’t that cool? You’re the very first of your kind,” said Dick, desperately trying to inject some positivity into this conversation.
“Oh, you mean the thing I fought? Ugh.” Jason shuddered all over. “No thanks. I don’t want to be stuck like this, Dick. This is a nightmare. All I ever wanted to be was Bruce’s Robin.”
“Well, you’re still Bruce’s,” said Dick soothingly. “Just because you evolved doesn’t change anything. Your signature is still tied to your Pokéball, which belongs to Bruce. Don’t you feel it?”
Dick always felt the phantom tug of his own Pokéball, an omnipresent sensation in his belly.
“Wonder if I’d even still fit in it,” Jason muttered darkly. “The size I am now…”
“If Barbara can fit in her Pokéball, you can fit in yours.” Dick danced backwards as Jason shifted around and rearranged his wings. “And speaking of her, she and Steph and Cass are on their way and will be here soon. Between the three of them, they’ll drag your sorry tail back. So if you don’t want to face the indignity of that, maybe you should fly back with me now.”
“I don’t even fly anymore, Dick. I just float! It’s the stupidest thing. Look!” And he stomped towards the mouth of the cave and lifted off slightly. Dick made a sound of disbelief as Jason simply hovered with his feet tucked up against his belly, without having to flap his wings to take off.
“That would be the Ghost part of you, I think,” said Dick. His grasp of Type advantages and abilities was better than most. Ghosts could float. Like Haunter and Duskull. “I wonder why you evolved into this rare type, though. Do you think it’s because your opponent —”
“Can we not talk about the thing that almost killed me?” Jason grumbled. “I mean it, Dick. It was awful. And it wasn’t like fainting, you know? I could feel it — death feels different.”
He shuddered again, flames roaring up with the strength of his distress.
Dick squawked and hopped away from the lick of fire that came close to singeing his tail.
Jason’s eyes flashed when he saw it. “See? Even you won’t come near me now. Don’t think I can’t tell, Dick. You’re scared of me, too!”
“Not scared,” Dick corrected. “Just worried. Now come on. We can figure this out. But first you have to come home. Okay?”
Grumbling, Jason floated out of the cave, his wingspan now ten times bigger than it was before. Besides the flames that wreathed his torso, parts of his tail now shimmered and turned translucent as they flew. Dick tried not to be too obvious with his jealousy. Jason was now officially the most exotic Pokémon Dick knew.
Together, they winged their way home.
~~
Time passed. But nothing diminished Jason’s dissatisfaction with his own state.
When Dick tried to invite him to join their old games, all Jason would say is, “You definitely don’t want that. I’ll just singe your feathers.”
When Steph teased him about his new shape, he’d snap back, “Do you want a Fire Blast to the butt?”
And when Bruce tried to entice him into the lab for the expected round of scientific tests, Jason flat-out threw a fit. “I hate this! Nobody understands!” he shrieked at whoever would listen.
The difficulties of housing him were obvious. Nobody was sure where to put him, because his flames were hot enough to burn wood and superheat metal and melt plastic. And that wasn’t the only problem. For weeks, Jason simply refused to the touch the food they brought him, because nobody could figure out what he ate. Dick fretted and worried as he watched Jason get thinner and even more transparent than before.
As the weeks went by, Jason’s patience with Bruce deteriorated faster and faster. Dick didn’t understand it, until the night when Jason burned down half the aviary in a temper tantrum.
“This is his fault, you know?” he snapped when Dick confronted him afterwards. “Bruce was the one who let this happen. He didn’t save me from that — that —”
“You know he wouldn’t have stood a chance against that Pokémon, Jason. You did the right thing by protecting him!”
“Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t,” said Jason, shocking Dick into silence. “Sometimes I wish I’d just fled.”
“I thought you loved Bruce,” said Dick in dismay.
“I do.” He shook his head from side to side like a pendulum, and smoke rose from the top of his crown. “But I will never follow him into battle again.”
With a sinking heart, Dick watched as Jason took off.
Things got steadily worse. Jason stopped doing a single thing he was told to do. Nobody could control him, not the interns, or the research assistants, not even Bruce. Jason had turned belligerent and immoveable. He snapped at the other Robins, even the ones he used to get along with. He cleaned out the outdoor pond in a single afternoon by barbequing all the Magikarp inside it.
The last straw came when Jason almost bit Tim in half. Dick didn’t see what happened, but he did see Tim being rapid-shipped to the nearest Pokémon Center, with Bruce following in a panic. That meant it had to be serious. Their lab was fully equipped with Pokémon healing equipment, just in case of accidents. Tim’s injuries would have to be critical if their potions and elixirs couldn’t hack it.
As a result of all this, Bruce locked Jason into a hastily-constructed cinderblock shed at the far end of the Institute grounds. It was the only fallback he had because Jason had point-blank refused to get back inside his Pokéball.
“Why did you do that, Jay?” Dick asked him sadly, after the frantic hubbub of the day had passed and Tim’s condition had stabilized. “It’s Tim. You two used to get along.”
Jason snapped his beak in irritation and turned around and around inside his makeshift cage, trying to find a comfy place to sit. Dick perched on a tree branch high above him and waited. From his vantage point, he couldn’t actually see all that much of Jason. All he could really see was a large, green eye glaring out at him from the gap between the interlocking cinderblocks.
“You know what Timbo said? He made a joke about how nice it must be to evolve, like me,” said Jason. “So I said sure, let’s recreate those conditions. I’ll try to kill you, and maybe you’ll evolve, too.”
Dick was aghast. “That’s awful! You can’t be sure that’s what made you evolve — you could have actually killed him!”
“I’ve heard them talking, though. B and his assistants. They think it was the near-death experience that made it happen,” Jason mumbled. “And if it was, then what’s the harm in helping him prove it?”
“Jay…” Dick was distracted from his own disappointment by the idea Jason just planted in his head. Was it possible? If it wasn’t because Jason was special…could any Robin achieve this?
“You don’t know what it’s like. I just thought, maybe — just maybe — I could make Timmy into another Pokémon like me,” Jason grumbled, hiding his head under one wing. His voice was now muffled. “It’s so lonely being the only one.”
Just then, Bruce emerged from the house and came right up to the little shed. Jason immediately poked his head out from under his wing.
Jason. That can’t happen again, said Bruce.
“Give me one good reason why I should still obey you,” Jason growled in reply.
Bruce put his hands in his pockets and regarded him calmly. If you can’t control yourself around other Pokémon, and you won’t listen to me, then I’m going to have to release you.
In reply, Jason batted his wings against the cinderblocks with a ferocious thump. Flames spilled out between the slats — a modified Flamethrower. Bruce took four careful steps backwards. His shoulders heaved in a sigh. Dick could see perspiration from the heat running down his face.
This is your last warning, said Bruce.
“Then let me go,” said Jason.
That night, Dick watched Bruce go through his evening routine. He was in a somber mood. Nothing Dick did could cheer him up.
But Bruce had trained him to be an ‘indoor’ Pokémon, so Dick followed him from one room to another as Bruce got ready for bed. Dick knew how to stand on furniture without scratching holes in it, how not to swing from the hot light fixtures, how to keep himself from shedding too many feathers. All the trouble he’d caused Slade had been mostly done on purpose for his own amusement; Dick had been perfectly house-trained since he was a hatchling.
This is going to be a difficult decision, Dick, Bruce said to him. He sounded sad. Jason’s got the abilities and the stats of a legendary Pokémon now. And all the legendary Pokémon I’ve known had three things in common. They’re always unpredictable. Always proud. And they always thirst after freedom.
“But don’t you want to keep him?” Dick asked as Bruce got under the covers and turned down the light on his nightstand.
Of course I want to keep him. But I don’t think he wants to be kept anymore.
Dick settled onto his perch in the corner of the ceiling, twittered morosely to himself, and wondered if it was too late to make them change their minds.
The next day, Bruce set Jason free.
Dick and his fellow Robins watched it happen from the roof of the Institute. It was raining lightly that day, but the gloomy, wet outlook didn’t dampen Jason’s flames. The actual mechanics of the process turned out to be pretty simple. All it took was some fiddling with Jason’s Pokéball. Some adjustments to its settings. And then the press of a finger. Together, they watched the light on Jason’s Pokéball go dark.
Jason stretching his wings luxuriously and screeched loud enough to make Bruce stumble back half a step. And then, in a gout of fire and a rush of smoke, he was gone. The last glimpse Dick caught of him was his crimson tail, disappearing through the cloud cover.
~~
Things did not go back to normal.
Suddenly Bruce was arguing a lot more with his assistants. Everybody had a different opinion on Jason’s evolution. They couldn’t even decide on what name to call his new form. Dick had too much on his mind to pay attention to what they were yelling about. Now that he knew evolution was possible, nothing was going to stop him from achieving it too.
The current hypothesis is that Robins can somehow copy the Type of their opponent in battle before evolving, Bruce said to him one day, as he was reading over the paper that his students at the Avian Institute have put together. Of course, without duplicating the experiment, there’s no way to prove it. And it’s obviously too dangerous to replicate. I wouldn’t have let it happen in the first place if I knew Jason was going to fight that hard, and risk so much.
Then he shook his head and then went back to adding comments in redline to the paper.
Dick returned to the rebuilt aviary and made his own plans.
The next time he knew he wouldn’t be missed, he put Tim in charge of the smaller, younger Robins, and then he took off for the old Kanto Power Plant.
It was easier to find Zapdos than he expected. The elderly bird had made his nest atop the tallest lightning rod on the building. Since he lived off pure electricity, he didn’t really need to hunt or eat. Getting himself struck by lightning at regular intervals was enough to keep him going. Dick knew all this because Bruce had often regaled him with tales of his earlier exploits as a trainer, before he became a Professor.
And because Zapdos recognized the little blue band on Dick’s leg, he didn’t immediately fry Dick into cinders.
“Another one of the Professor’s featherballs?” he inquired in a nasally sneer when Dick alighted carefully on a nearby weathervane. “How is Bruce doing these days?”
“I need a favor,” said Dick. There was no doubt in his mind that this legendary Pokémon disliked everything he stood for. He’d just have to bank on Zapdos being curious enough to humor him.
“I’m not going back to him, if that’s what you’re here for,” sniffed Zapdos. “I told Bruce I’d stop his heart with a Zap Cannon if he tried to catch me again, and I meant it.” The disdain rolling off him was expected. Like many wild Pokémon, he looked down his beak at kept Pokémon like Dick.
“Oh, don't worry. I'm not here to make you into me,” said Dick quickly. “I'm here to make me into you.”
Lightning crackled off Zapdos’ spiky yellow feathers in surprise. “Keep talking, chickadee. This sounds like it’s gonna be good.”
So Dick gave him the whole story.
~~
Dick’s heart stopped twice. Maybe three times. He stopped counting after the first time.
It hurt. An unbelievable amount. That, Dick had expected. But instead of blackness closing in on him, the way it did when he was about to faint, he saw a tunnel of light instead. Searing, blinding brightness paired with agonizing pain, pulling him towards —
His insides were liquefying. Was he was dying?
His feathers were smoking. Was he on fire?
His bones snapped and creaked and rearranged themselves inside his body. What was happening?
And then he was rushing through the tunnel and there, on the other side —
~~
“Well, whaddaya know,” said Zapdos. The buzz of his voice was far away to Dick. “Guess you Robins do have hidden depths.”
~~
When Dick landed on the front lawn of the Avian Institute a week later, every Pokémon in the vicinity scattered at his approach.
Robins and Pidgeys and Spearows fled for the trees. Magikarps dove down and hid amongst the rocks.
A perimeter alarm went off, and moments later, Bruce appeared on the lawn. There was astonishment on his face. Dick hadn’t seen Bruce look at him like that for ages. Years, perhaps. That open-eyed curiosity. That pure, unbridled wonder. It was enough to make him puff out his breast feathers. To stand tall. And oh, he was tall now. He’d never seen Bruce from this angle before. Not while he was standing on the ground, at least.
What kind of Pokémon is that? one intern whispered.
Never seen one like that before.
Professor, do you think—?
Bruce shushed them as Dick approached at a careful hop and dropped something at his feet. The little blue leg tag had snapped off when he evolved, but Dick had made sure to carry it back with him. It belonged to Bruce after all, and even he could admit that his foot felt weird without it.
Bruce looked down at the tag, then back at him. …Dick?
Dick warbled and shuffled his black and blue feathers. Sparks of blue lightning crackled when he moved. His tail was so long that it dragged on the ground when he walked. He could summon lightning on command, but there’s only ever been one man he wanted to impress.
“Bruce,” he said. Then he hopped up and bowled him over.
Oof, said Bruce, landing heavily on his back. He sounded winded — Dick was heavy now. The interns and assistants gasped, but not a single one was brave enough to make a move.
Dick sat down on Bruce’s warm chest. “Bruce, I did it.” Then he leaned his long, wickedly curved beak in and gently nibbled Bruce’s nose.
Yup, that’s you, all right, said Bruce, wincing.
~~
They couldn’t decide what to call him, either.
And that was the least of their problems.
We can’t publish this! Bruce hissed to more than one assistant in the months that followed. It’ll start a trend. A terrible one!
It worked twice, the assistant muttered.
Didn’t work with Tim, and Tim almost died, too! Look, it’s not ethical. I can’t condone this. Two data points does not make a convincing argument, much less proof.
Maybe that’s because Tim wasn’t close enough to death—
Do you even hear what you are saying?! Bruce growled, and the assistant finally cringed and wisely shut up.
Dick didn’t much care what they were arguing about, because the research assistants had descended on him like a flock of Pidoves on a field of berries. There were an endless barrage of tests. Everyone wanted to know how many volts he could generate (the answer was a lot — the number was higher than Dick could count. It was higher than Tim could count); how much electricity he could absorb (again, a lot); how wide his new wingspan was; how many toes he had on his feet; how hard his beak was. They wanted feather samples, and claw samples, and speed metrics. They poked and prodded at him till Dick wanted to explode. One day, he really did explode by accident, causing a massive power outage across three boroughs.
The thing was, Dick didn’t mind the tests. He’d been raised on this. For years, participating in Bruce’s research had been his entire job. But right now, what he really wanted to do was pit his new abilities against a Pokémon that could take the hit and give him a fight. He wanted to show Bruce what he was made of. He wanted to prove how strong a Robin could be when he put his mind to it.’
Now that he’d evolved, he had lightning coursing through his feathers — a constant thrum of power buzzing at his wingtips, a deep well of resources at his command. No Pokémon would ever look at him and think he was prey again. In one leap, he’d hurdled to the very top of the food chain. The world looked different from these eyes. He’d finally fulfilled all of Bruce’s dreams for him — all of his dreams for himself. So why wasn’t Bruce taking advantage of that? Why wasn’t he utilizing him to his fullest capabilities?
“Come flying with me,” he said to Bruce in the evenings, when the work of the day was done. He was big enough now. He could carry a person without any problems.
I’m proud of you, chum, said Bruce with a fond smile. I’m just puzzled at how you made it happen.
“Broooooose.”
I know the tests are boring to you, but you’ll just have to be patient a little longer, okay? We don’t know what you’re capable of yet, said Bruce.
Dick tilted his head in confusion. Then he butted it against Bruce’s stomach and felt him wince again.
The next day he said, “Bruce, come play with me.”
Are you hungry? Bruce asked, searching his pockets for treats. All he managed to produce were Robin pellets, which Dick didn’t eat anymore. But Dick hadn’t mentioned wanting a snack at all.
“I’m not hungry, Bruce,” he said, feeling a slow-rolling concern set in.
I’m not sure what you want, said Bruce slowly, leaning back in his seat in bewilderment.
Dick made a sound of dismay as he hopped backwards on the lab table. The interns around him went, whoa and easy! but Dick didn’t care. It had only just hit him. Bruce couldn’t understand him anymore. Everything in him felt jumbled together, discordant. Sure, his voice was different now, harsher and more resonant. But he was still saying the same things. Bruce could understand Robins just fine after ten years of practice, but now…
Had Dick changed that much? Surely he couldn’t have.
“Bruce, do you understand what I’m saying?”
Chum, I need you to stay still, okay? It’s only going to be for another five minutes.
With a shrill squawk, Dick leaped off the table and flew towards the open window. He burst out of the building in a storm of flying feathers and pelted across the grounds. Distantly, he was aware that his heart was going too fast. Pokémon from the surrounding area poked their heads out in alarm as he zipped past. There were shouts of confusion behind him as assistants and interns alike spilled out onto the lawn.
Was this what had happened to Jason, too? The thought made him numb inside. Why hadn’t Jason said anything?
Dick, come back! Bruce was shouting to be heard over the gale of wind that had kicked up in his wake.
“You’re not listening to me,” Dick shrieked back.
The sky above them turned black with roiling clouds. The atmospheric pressure dropped precipitously. Dick veered into a hairpin turn at the treeline and doubled back. Thunder rumbled ominously above him.
I’m sorry, chum. I know this isn’t what you really wanted, said Bruce.
Dick wanted to scream. Maybe that had been true for Jason. But Dick had wanted this from the moment Bruce had looked at him — young and inexperienced — and said, in a conspiratorial way, I think you can evolve, Robin. We’ll show ‘em, you and me. What do you say to that, chum?
Maybe Bruce had forgotten that in the years since, but Dick never had. It had remained his long-cherished dream all these years. And now he’d finally done it.
“Stop testing me,” said Dick, “and let me fight, Bruce. Please. Let me do something useful for once.” He flapped his way back over the roiling Poliwag Pond. His wings made waves break out over the normally tranquil surface. The poor suffering Poliwags had all vanished. “Take me into battle, and let me show you what I can do now.”
Lightning flashed through the storm clouds above them. A matching thread of lightning danced through Dick’s feathers — blue lightning, to match the blue of his wings. A heavy rain started coming down.
But there was no light of understanding on Bruce’s face. Only a deep, aching sadness. Look, I know you’re angry at me for some reason, he said. But I really don’t know enough about your new form to know what you want from me anymore. I just know that the more powerful you are, the less you’ll like being controlled.
At one point in time, Bruce had had three legendary Pokémon in his possession and they’d all chafed against it. Zapdos had absolutely hated it with every feather on his body. Some Pokémon would always prefer to stay wild; that was the way of things. And in the end, Bruce had understood and he’d let them go.
But not me, Dick wanted to say. He had always been Bruce’s. That was the only thing he’d ever wanted to be. But he couldn’t say that out loud. It felt pointless. Bruce wouldn’t understand anyway, and Dick wasn’t sure whose fault that was anymore. Ten years of mutual understanding and progress, wiped out with one evolution. Did he have the patience to start all over again with him? To teach him to understand the way he had when they first met?
Dick. Chum. I know you’re frustrated, but. This storm is getting bad. Can you put a stop to it?
Rain was pelting sideways with the force of the winds whipping up around them. Bruce was barely hanging onto his lab coat. His dark hair was a ruffled mess. His spectacles were comically askew. Lighting stabbed down on the far edge of the lawn, no doubt drawn by Dick’s presence. A curious Diglett barely escaped the direct hit.
It was too late to calm the turmoil in him. Which meant it was too late to calm the raging weather. The only way out was up. With one flap of his wings, Dick lifted off the ground. As he rose up, lightning arched through him, filling his veins with fire. The discharge made his wingtips and chest glow neon-yellow. He flapped with all his might for the charcoal-colored cloud cover and pulled the lightning with him. Then he burst through it and into the safety of the skies.
~~
For some time, Dick roamed the wilds of Kanto and Johto.
When he got bored of his surroundings, he widened his range and went to explore the mountains and seas of Hoenn and Sinoh.
There was a new freedom in being what he was now. Even Steel and Rock types hid from him when he passed. The little thundercloud he’d kicked up in the Institute’s backyard followed him intermittently and went where he directed it. Dick learned to summon it anytime he wanted.
At first, he tried looking for Jason. But to his own disappointment, his fellow Robins no longer trusted him, or wanted anything to do with him. He should probably have expected this, since he wasn’t technically a Robin anymore. But while Pidgeys recognized Pidgeots as belonging to the same family, none of the Robins recognized him as a relative at all. He was like nothing they had ever seen before. Dick had lost his access to the Robin network, and that meant he had no way of finding Jason.
Four seasons rolled by, and Dick observed them as if from a far-off distance.
One day, he was in the middle of foraging for berries in Kalos when he felt something inside him snap. A warmth he’d always taken for granted suddenly vanished. His tether to his Pokéball had vanished. The world was suddenly colder than it was before. He hadn’t missed it until it was gone.
Dick hid himself inside a cave and wished he could go into hibernation for a hundred years. Outside, the weather soured as quickly as his mood.
Freak lightning storms battered Kalos for two solid weeks.
~~
At the end of a long, sodden winter, he went looking for Slade. The man’s distinctive white hair blended into the snow that still covered the forest floor, but his single eye made him easy to spot even from a distance.
Dick banked his wings and let himself plummet down through the tree cover. He screeched in greeting when he got close enough for human ears, and was gratified when Slade looked up. That single blue eye narrowed.
He shaded his eye against the noonday sun. But he didn’t flinch away and his knees didn’t buckle when Dick swooped down right on top of him and landed on his shoulders, one foot on each side of his head.
He dug his talons in, folded his wings, and clucked in satisfaction. Slade stood very still and looked up warily, while Dick tipped forward to look at him, upside-down.
“Slade,” he chirped.
The man’s eye narrowed. For a long moment, he merely regarded Dick.
“Slade,” he repeated, and the man seemed to remember. His expression was one of disbelief. But Dick had spent several days teaching him the sound of his own name once, and it had apparently not gone to waste. Something flickered in his expression.
What a pretty bird you are, he said, as he reached up to run a hand over his belly. Static crackled when his fingers met supercharged feathers.
Dick hopped off him with a flutter of wings and landed lightly on the snow. His feet sank in up to the heels, but that was okay. His head now came up to Slade’s chest, where before he had barely reached Slade’s ankle. It made such a difference to be big.
What in the world are you? Slade murmured as he pulled a Pokédex out of his back pocket.
The machine, when confronted with Dick, failed to produce a single coherent reading. Pokémon Unknown, it stuttered apologetically.
A new species, hm?
When Slade reached out and stroked a hand over the raised plumage on his head, Dick shook out his long blue tail-feathers and trilled in pleasure.
Slade pulled out his phone and tapped on it with his fingers. A voice Dick didn’t expect to hear came out of it.
Professor Wayne speaking.
I’d like your expertise. As an avian expert.
…Who is this?
Thought you’d recognize my voice, said Slade, very droll.
…Mr. Wilson? said Bruce after a significant pause.
I’ve got an unknown bird Pokémon here, about 5’1” tall, cerulean blue feathers edged in black, with gold wingtips and a golden, V-shaped crest on its belly. Seen it before?
There was a sharp intake of breath. That’s Dick, said Bruce in a rush. Is he there? Is he okay?
Dick? Your Robin, Dick? Slade frowned. Suddenly he swore under his breath. Did you actually evolve a Robin, you mad fool?
I didn’t evolve him, said Bruce, uncharacteristically defensive. If anything, he evolved himself. Just tell me if he looks healthy to you. I haven’t seen him in almost a year.
That single, cool blue eye tracked over Dick soberly. Assessing him in ways the research assistants never have. Looks fine and dandy to me. What’s he doing here? I thought I told you to keep your birds in line.
I released him a month ago. He’s not mine anymore.
The light in Slade’s eye changed to a speculative gleam. And why would you do that?
That’s beside the point. What you need to know is that he’s got abilities and stats on par with a legendary Pokémon now, and we don’t know the extent of what he’s capable of yet. For all we know, he can fold space and time.
I’m aware, Professor. I’ve dealt with legendaries before. Slade’s eye followed him as Dick strutted a circle around him, his tail sweeping a fan in the snow.
Hearing Bruce’s voice again made him realize how much he’d missed his trainer. But going back wouldn’t satisfy the deepest longings in his heart. He was sure of that now. There would only be research and more research waiting for him. No battles, no training, no glory. Bruce was never going back onto the battle circuit no matter how much Dick hoped he would.
But staying wild didn’t suit him either. It was surprisingly isolating, not having human voices to listen to, or having a warm home to return to each night. Jason had been right; being the very first of one’s kind was a lonely position to occupy. Unlike some of the other legendary Pokémon he’d met during the course of his travels, Dick had no wish to seclude himself from the world. He wanted to live in the world, not exist apart from it.
What is he doing now? Bruce asked.
Slade reached out and smoothed a hand down Dick’s long, Swanna-like neck. Why haven’t you published this finding in the latest journals? This should be a research breakthrough for you.
Another sigh. The data was inconclusive. I’m still not entirely sure how he managed to evolve himself all of a sudden. I wasn’t there for it.
What do you even call him? Slade was studying Dick appreciatively, so Dick turned around to show off the delicate patterning on the underside of his tail feathers.
Call him?
You discovered him, Professor. You get naming rights.
Oh, yes. Hm. Well. We were considering…‘Nightwing’.
It suits him, said Slade. He crooked his fingers. Come here, Nightwing.
Dick butted his head against Slade’s chest, and then gave him a small electric shock. Just an itty-bitty one. He could feel Slade stiffen, then stumble slightly. This was followed with some quiet cursing. When Slade straightened and glared down at him, Dick spread his wings wide and let him take in his fourteen-foot wingspan.
“Not such a little bird anymore, am I?” said Dick.
Magnificent, Slade murmured, and Dick preened. Magnificent. Not a word that had ever been applied to him before. He liked the sound of it.
Where is the Pokédex entry for him? Slade said into the phone.
I’m not submitting one, Bruce replied.
Why not.
A sigh. I’m not going to publish anything about him in the academic journals. The fewer people that know Robins can evolve, the better.
And why is that.
The words came out of Bruce grudgingly, like they were being wrenched out of him with pliers. I have reason to suspect that the…process for evolving a Robin…is dangerous. Dangerous for the Pokémon. Of course, more research will be required first. I’ve got nothing conclusive so far, but they appear to be able to evolve in the heat of a battle, depending on various…conditions. My other Robin evolved as well, though into a completely different species. His battle conditions were somewhat different.
So they’re like Eevees, then. What did the other Robin become?
A Ghost/Fire type. I released him back into the wild, too.
Hmph. So you don’t want to share your arcane evolution secrets? Typical of you, Professor, Slade muttered.
I don’t want overzealous trainers to start catching and pushing their Robins to the brink of death in hopes of evolving them… Bruce trailed off and muttered something unintelligible under his breath. That’s the same thing that got you disbarred, Mr. Wilson. You should know the consequences for Pokémon cruelty.
It’s not cruelty to push a Pokémon to its full evolutionary potential.
Slade started walking as he spoke. Dick picked his way across the forest floor in his wake, his long legs easily letting him keep up with the man’s stride. His senses were sharp enough to pick up the next little bit of conversation.
You killed three of your own Pokémon because you pushed them too hard, said Bruce, his voice going sharp. That’s destroying their potential, not fulfilling it.
And I’m still paying the price for it now, am I not?
Soon, Slade’s familiar house in the woods came into view. Slade unlocked the front door, and after a moment’s hesitation, Dick folded his wings tight and hopped inside after him. It was warm and dry next to the crackling fireplace, and Dick found something inside him uncurling. After living in the wild for so long, it was nice to be indoors again, even if everything suddenly felt a whole lot smaller. In fact, the sofa was positively tiny. Dick fluttered over to perch on the back of it. The cloth groaned and protested under his razor-sharp talons, but Dick knew Slade wouldn’t mind. Even if he did, there was literally nothing he could do about it. Dick had the power to stop a man’s heart now. Slade was at his mercy.
And what exactly are you planning on doing with him? Bruce demanded.
He seems to want to spend some time with me. So I’ll let him.
You don’t have a license to buy Pokéballs or register them under your own name anymore. And may I remind you that catching a Pokémon is illegal without membership in one of the g—
He came to me, Professor. I don’t need to catch him to make him stay, Slade interrupted. He scratched Dick under the beak, and Dick crooned in satisfaction. Your Robin was a clever and talented little bird, and I’ll bet now that he’s evolved, he’s even smarter. He belongs with people. Do you think you did him a favor by releasing him back into the wild?
All Pokémon start as wild creatures, said Bruce. We just… borrow their capabilities, for the brief time they’re with us.
But your Nightwing is a tame bird, Professor, and we’re responsible for what we tame. You taught him human speech and fighting smarts and you gave him a home and a goal. Now you expect him to live without that?
He’s the one who flew away, said Bruce quietly.
Well, as they say. One man’s trash. Slade chuckled.
Mr. Wilson.
Don’t worry. Your ‘Dick’ seems to like me just fine.
There was a splutter on the other end of the phone.
It was true, though: Dick did like Slade. Slade had the steady, sure hands of an expert trainer, and the easy confidence of a former Elite Four. It was a good combination. The way he’d trained Dick before had improved his skills. And Slade seemed like the type who liked the thrill of battle. Under his training, Dick could expect Pokémon matches galore. Maybe, just maybe, he’d find his satisfaction here, with a trainer who actually did want to show him off in the field.
He deserves to be free, Slade, said Bruce.
We’ll let him decide that, said Slade. He hung up and put down his phone. Then he went into the attic of his house and rummaged there for some time.
In time, he returned with a cube. It didn’t look like anything Dick had ever seen before. Dick fluttered off the sofa and landed in the middle of the living room. Slade tossed the cube down in front of him, and Dick pecked at it experimentally. The colors on it were sharp — half orange, half black. Was it a toy?
I haven’t replicated the technology perfectly yet. But I did make it specifically with something like you in mind, said Slade.
Dick tilted his head to one side, then another. He prodded the cube with his talon, and it sprang open with a chime. Oh. So this was what Slade had been working on all those evenings. The warm light from within was familiar.
It was a hand-made Pokéball (a Pokécube?), and it was completely hewn from wood. The shape was clumsy and not at all aerodynamic. A trainer would never catch anything with this. Not in the wild, anyway. But maybe Slade hadn’t made it to be thrown.
Dick looked skeptically up at the man who had — apparently — gotten three Pokémon killed.
Your Professor worries too much, said Slade, crouching down in front of him. The only way a Pokémon would fight to the death is of its own free will. No trainer can command a creature to die, your survival instincts would override it. Don’t pretend you don’t know that.
Dick thought about Jason, who had almost killed himself protecting Bruce. Jason, whose fighting instincts had overwhelmed his survival instincts in the heat of the moment. And Dick knew in his heart that he was the same. There was nothing he wouldn’t have done for Bruce, not until Bruce chose to sever their connection himself.
You did this to yourself, didn’t you? Slade continues. Pushed yourself to the brink of death to evolve into something new. You’ve got ambition, Nightwing.
Dick butted his head against Slade’s forehead, and was impressed when the man didn’t flinch away from his sharp beak. Didn’t shrink away from the power buzzing under his wings.
Without a Pokédex entry, Dick technically didn’t exist. He was a myth. A legend. And the label fit, because there was no Pokéball that could hold him now. Dick had deliberately sought out the strongest trainers in the area over the past few seasons. Even challenged a few Gym Leaders out of a rising sense of loneliness, all to no avail. No wonder Bruce didn’t think legendary Pokémon should be kept. He was impossible to catch by conventional means now.
But this wasn’t a conventional Pokéball. And Slade wasn’t a conventional trainer. Maybe this time, he could choose differently.
Slade picked up the open Pokécube and held it out to Dick. Warm, orange light beckoned from within.
Want to see what you could become next? Slade asked.
Dick dived into it.