“If you’re male . . . your father is your model for God. And if you never know your father, if your father bails out or dies or is never at home, what do you believe about God?” --Tyler Durden, Fight Club.


Part Two: Silver

Silver never knew his parents.

His earliest memory was of an orphanage in Goldenrod City, stuck up by the Magnet Train and Radio Tower. It was a shabby, somewhat rundown building that didn’t mesh well at all with the glamour of the rest of the city, filled with screaming children and run by men and women who might have loved children if they didn’t have to put up with orphans day in and day out. Silver was around four at that time, and hadn’t yet adopted his Darwinistic attitude, but he could remember feeling lonely and out of place there, and could remember sitting outside, in front of the orphanage, as if waiting for something. For parents, perhaps? Maybe. Silver couldn’t remember that much.

But he did remember the orphanage eventually shutting down around the time he was five, and all of the children scattering to different places. Some were adopted. Others, such as Silver himself, were taken into “foster families,” taken in big groups with young parents that wanted to simultaneously do a good deed and raise children. Silver didn’t stick with any one “foster family” long, shuffling from Goldenrod to Ecruteak to Mahogany and back to Goldenrod again, and by the time he was eight, he was in another orphanage, this time in Cherrygrove City. This orphanage, he learned, had been around for a lot longer, and Silver could tell by the fact that the building looked even more decrepit than how he remembered the orphanage in Goldenrod City looking. The orphans there were a lot older than he was, and the entire atmosphere was decidedly more intimidating. Silver decided he didn’t care. Not anymore.

Several other foster families tried to “adopt” him between the ages of eight and eleven, but each one ended up sending him straight back to where he came from, citing excuse after excuse. “We just aren’t good parents,” “We want to move and we don’t want to take you from Cherrygrove,” “We want you to be happy with your perfect parents,” “It’s not you, it’s us.” The same excuse time and time again, and each time Silver would just grunt and look away. What did he care? He’d survived so far, hadn’t he? He didn’t need parents. Didn’t need them, and didn’t want them, and when he turned eleven, he’d prove it.

And so he did. When he was eleven he left the orphanage and headed for New Bark Town, stealing a Totodile and then taking off. Silver never heard of what became of the orphanage, or if they were even looking for him. He knew the police were due to the fact that he stole the Totodile, but he never heard any reports about a missing red-haired orphan. That fact didn’t surprise him, but it did make him feel uncomfortable on some level that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

But, all the same, Silver had never had parents. He never had a mother to kiss his injuries or bake him cookies, and he never had a father to play catch with or to take him fishing. Silver had seen other children with their parents in various cities, and if he thought back on it he supposed he could count the various foster parents to be his parents, at least for a tiny, temporary segment of his life. But deep down, Silver knew they didn’t count. They’d given him up time and time again. They were never permanent fixtures in his life like parents ought to be. And even when he’d lived with them, Silver had felt completely and utterly alone. One lone warrior, striving to survive for himself, being strong because that was what he had to be if he was going to live. The weak were always chewed up and spit out in the gutter to be washed away with the next rain, and Silver was not going to let that happen to himself. He was going to be strong, because only the strong survived, and that was that.

But just because he didn’t have parents didn’t mean that he didn’t wonder about them. As a small child, before he began to get passed around like a hot potato from family to family, Silver used to wonder about his parents. Were they dead? Did they just . . . not want him? Or would they come back one day, apologizing for being gone, and take him home with them? When he was younger, before he’d decided that he didn’t need parents, he had wanted them. He’d wanted a mother and a father to come and take him away, to care for him and raise him.

But as he got older, those feelings faded. He no longer needed a father, no longer wanted a father . . . and now, he had one.

Just when he’d finally given up, one was delivered to him in the worst way possible.

Silver wanted to scream.

Instead, he sat on his bed in the Pokèmon Center, his knees raised to his chest and his elbows upon them, his arms covering his ears in an attempt to block out Giovanni’s mocking laughter. Despite his attempts, it continued, echoing in his brain, ridiculing his attempts at leaping across the wooden desk to secure his hands around Giovanni’s throat and squeeze out the truth - the truth that he wasn’t Silver’s father, that he had nothing to do with Silver whatsoever - past his arrogant, smirking lips. But he hadn’t gotten the chance. The Rocket executives had swarmed upon him, restraining him and pressing guns to the back of his head, while the other grunts in the room reminded him loudly that they had guns held to Crystal and Gold’s heads as well, and that one wrong move and his “friends” would find their brains splattered across the walls and carpet. It was only thanks to Lance that they’d managed to escape with their lives, but Giovanni had escaped as well, before Lance had even arrived. Even if he was Silver’s father, as he claimed, he clearly wanted nothing to do with his son.

Which was fine, because Silver didn’t want anything to do with him, either.

“Silver?” It was Crystal, knocking on his door again. It had been two days since that incident, and Silver hadn’t left his room. He wasn’t sure if he was ever planning to leave his room. All he did know was that he needed to sort things out, and it would be a lot easier if she would just leave him the hell alone already. “C’mon, Silver. You can’t sit in there forever. Man up and come out.”

Silver bristled. How dare she attack his courage? “Fuck off,” he snapped, his voice rougher than he’d usually be with her. There was silence for a few minutes on the other side of the door before she kicked it, apparently fed up.

“If that’s how you’re going to be, then fine! I’ll leave, and don’t think I’ll look back, either. I thought you were better than this, Silver. I thought that you were strong and independent and brave, and that you wouldn’t let some slimy creep worm his way under your skin. Then again, I also thought that we were friends and that our friendship would let me help, but I guess I was wrong. You want to be alone? Fine! Be alone! See if I care! But don’t expect me to still be in Mahogany Town when you finally decide to come out, because believe me: I won’t.” Silver heard Crystal’s stomping footsteps as she left and he sighed, closing his eyes as he tried to push her from his mind.

It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be true. That man - that “slimy creep” as Crystal had called him - couldn’t be Silver’s . . . father. If he was - and that was a pretty strong “if,” as far as Silver was concerned - what did that say about Silver? Silver could remember being alone for all of his life; no family, no friends, no one that he could depend on or who really cared about him. His Pokèmon and Crystal were the first friends he’d ever had, and . . . well, Gold didn’t truly count. His Pokèmon and Crystal were the only friends he did have, if Crystal still wanted to stick around, and everyone else . . . Everyone else was an enemy. Some might have said that it was an extreme way of looking at things, but Silver knew better. He saw how everyone else looked at him, heard the things they said about him behind his back. They thought he was cruel to his Pokèmon, that his eyes were sharp and cold - he’d even heard one little girl ask her mother if she’d die if she looked into his “scary eyes.” Silver had always brushed off such remarks as nonsense, ignoring them, especially after Crystal had said that she thought his eyes were pretty - that they matched his name (Silver then snapped that he wasn’t a girl and as such wasn’t “pretty,” but he still thought that her words were better than the other descriptors people attached to his eyes). Silver had stopped caring about what others thought about him, because they couldn’t be right. They didn’t even know him.

But . . . what if they were?

If a man like Giovanni was Silver’s father, and if that old adage was true that the Apricorn didn’t fall far from the tree, then what did that say about Silver? Silver didn’t know who his mother was, and he supposed that he never would know unless someone told him or she came forth herself, but if he did know who his father was . . . Giovanni’s eyes were such a dark brown they were almost black, but if Silver thought about it, their shape was scarily close to the shape of the eyes Silver saw when he looked in the mirror . . .

Silver grabbed a pillow and shoved his face into it so that his scream would be muffled, and then quickly threw it across the room.

What was he supposed to do? Supposing Giovanni was telling the truth, and supposing that he was Silver’s father, what was Silver supposed to do? Did Giovanni expect something from him? Would Silver leave the Pokèmon Center to find a swarm of Rockets calling him “boss” and expecting him to issue orders? The mere thought made Silver’s lips curl in a snarl and made his stomach clench. The day he stepped in control of Team Rocket was the day that a bug-type Pokèmon could survive ten hours straight in a Fire Spin attack. Even knowing that his father was Giovanni - that is, if the words weren’t just acid-coated lies - Silver despised Team Rocket. They were weak, they were senseless, they were stupidly violent, they were greedy and selfish and . . . and . . .  and he would never be like them! Never! Not if he lived to be ten thousand, and if Giovanni thought that he could manipulate Silver into becoming one of his brainless little twits just by revealing that he was Silver’s father - something that could very well be a lie - something that probably was a lie - something that should be a lie and if it wasn’t then fate was playing some twisted, cruel joke on Silver, pointing its finger and laughing at him like it had done for the majority of his life, delighting in the fact that for once he couldn’t just raise his middle finger in a crude, rude gesture that he’d picked up from some drunk sailor in Olivine City when he was younger before he’d even known what it meant and tell it where it could shove its little twists and turns because he didn’t care. It was a cruel joke, a senseless lie, and if it wasn’t then Silver . . . then he . . . then he . . . !

Silver swallowed down another scream, suppressing it into an animalistic growl in his throat, and slammed his fist into the wall so hard that it scraped the skin on his knuckles.

Out. He had to get out. He’d been sitting in the room for days, and what was he accomplishing? His mind was performing Rapid Spin, and as he untangled himself from the bed sheets and fumbled for his travel bag, he knocked over the lamp on the bedside table and ended up leaving the blankets in a crumpled pile on the floor. He barely stopped to look at them as he made his way to the door, throwing it open and all but running down the stairs. Silver didn’t know where he was going, and he didn’t care; he ignored the Nurse Joy as he called out to him, completely blocking out all sounds except for the sound his footsteps made on the tile, and then on the dirt path outside of the Pokèmon Center in Mahogany Town.

So focused was he on escaping that he didn’t notice someone was following him until he was already outside of the town. He stopped suddenly and didn’t turn, but he raised his voice loud enough so that he would know his pursuer would hear him.

“Shove off, Gold. I don’t want to see you right now.”

“Technically, you don’t have to see me,” Gold replied, his voice as easy-going as ever. “Because I’m behind you.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“Nothing, really. Crys already left, said she was heading to Blackthorn City. But I figured I should stick around, because you seem to be even more messed up than usual and I figured you might want a little bit of help.”

Silver turned quickly, focusing his glare on Gold so quickly that it was almost like he could fire homing missiles from his eyes. Gold stared back with his usual grin, but there was something wary in his golden-brown eyes. Good. Silver hoped Gold realized how much danger he was stupidly putting himself into.

“I don’t need or want your help, so fuck off.”

“Man, Crys was right,” Gold said, whistling low. “Your language has gotten bad.”

“Thank you for the update. Would you kindly get the fuck out now?”

“I am out. In case you haven’t picked up on it, we’re outside.” Gold had lowered his voice to a stage whisper, and then laughed at his own stupid joke. “C’mon, Silver. We don’t usually get along, but it’s not like I hate you. I actually think you’re pretty cool for a guy who acts like an antisocial jerk most of the time. I know what you’re feeling, and - ”

“What part of fuck off did you not understand?” Silver interrupted loudly, quickly closing the distance between them. Before he could really register his own movements, his hands were on Gold’s chest, shoving the other boy back so roughly that Gold very nearly fell to the grass. “You don’t know a damn thing about what I’m feeling or what I’m thinking, and you never have. Despite what your over-inflated ego might have you believe, you don’t have everything figured out, much less what I’m thinking or planning or doing! You were never able to understand me when all I had going on in my life was going from town to town, collecting badges or raising Pokèmon; what the hell makes you think you have any idea what’s going through my mind now, you spoiled little brat?!”

“Hmm, I don’t know!” If it wasn’t surprising enough that Gold raised his voice, it was definitely shocking when Gold put his own hands on Silver’s chest, throwing his entire bodyweight into shoving the redhead just as Silver had shoved him previously. “Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve gone through something pretty damn similar already!”

Silver didn’t respond verbally. He didn’t ask what Gold had gone through, or ask why Gold had shoved him. Instead, he took advantage of the fact that his hand was already balled into a fist and slammed it into Gold’s jaw as hard as he could. The second Gold hit the grass Silver pounced, landing on top of him and raising another fist, not anticipating the fact that Gold really was ready to fight back. Bringing his knees up, he drove them into Silver’s stomach, knocking the other boy off him and quickly rolling so that he was no longer lying flat on his back, in a vulnerable position. But instead of remaining on the defense, Gold jumped into the offensive, driving his own fist solidly into Silver’s jaw at the same time that Silver recovered and punched Gold once again.

Neither of them kept track of time, and it was unknown for exactly how long they fought, punching and kicking each other like they were back on the schoolyard instead of on the outskirts of Mahogany Town, throwing punches and kicks and rolling around on the grass until they were too exhausted to move anymore. By the end of it, Silver was spitting blood onto the grass and his left eye was swollen and bruised, and Gold was wheezing due to a bruised rib and his left wrist was held at an odd angle. They were sprawled on the grass, completely worn out and unable to throw another punch even if they wanted to. Gold reached up with his good hand and removed his cap, wiping his wrist against his sweaty forehead to try and knock his damp bangs from his face.

“About what I said before,” he said, speaking through deep, slightly painful breaths of air, “about knowing how you felt. I meant it.”

Silver grunted caustically.

“No, I mean it,” Gold went on. “My . . . My father’s as worthless as a baby Magikarp, too. He’s not . . . he’s not some criminal, I guess . . . I mean, he is, but not . . . not in the same way as your dad, but . . . but he doesn’t care about me. He never cared. Never will care. Prob’ly’ll never even come home.”

Gold fell silent and Silver closed his eyes, opening them again briefly to stare up at the reddish sky overhead. “What did he do?” Silver asked finally. Perhaps if he concentrated on Gold’s unexpected sob story, it’d distract him from his own long enough so that it wouldn’t matter anymore.

“Has another family,” Gold said, tone almost nonchalant, though Silver could hear the bitterness there. “Another wife and kids and everything. Tire swing, too. All in Olivine City.”

“So is that why you were crying your eyes out in the middle of the street? I returned to Olivine shortly after I left because I needed to purchase some Great Balls, and Olivine was closer than Ecruteak.”

Instead of answering directly, Gold retorted, “Hey, screw you. At least I didn’t sit in my room and mope for two days.” Despite his words, there was a slight laughing tone to them, and Silver smirked in response.

“At least I had the decency to wallow in private. You, on the other hand . . .”

“Even in despair, I must always attract attention. C’mon, you had to have noticed this by now.”

“Tch. Believe me, I have.”

Silence fell between them again, but it only passed for a few moments before Gold pushed himself up, purposely avoiding putting pressure on his left wrist. Putting his hat back upon his head, Gold stood up and turned toward Silver, offering his right hand.

“We can’t stay out here forever,” he said. “And actually, I should probably head back to Mahogany to see if Nurse Joy can do something about my wrist, and maybe clean up the other bruises . . .” He paused, and then added with a crooked grin, “If we get to Blackthorn City and Crys sees us looking like this, she’ll sic Cynder on us faster than a Tauros can charge, believe me. Funny thing is, she’ll be berating us for being injured while she’s doing it.”

Silver raised an eyebrow. “That’s hypocritical.”

“That’s Crys.” Gold shrugged, his right hand still extended. “So, you wanna come with? We can both get expert care before heading off to the Ice Cave if you do.”

Silver pushed himself into a sitting position, hesitating. He didn’t like Gold. Despite their scuffle, and despite the fact that perhaps Gold wasn’t as spoiled as Silver originally envisioned him to be, Silver still didn’t like the other trainer. He had no reason to, really. They had nothing in common except for the fact that their fathers were deadbeats and that they both knew Crys, and he had survived for so long on his own that he really didn’t need another . . .

Silver sighed and closed his eyes, and just when Gold was about to accept that as a rejection and walk away, Silver reached up and took his hand, allowing Gold to help Silver to his feet. Silver jerked his hand away just as quickly, turning and heading toward Mahogany with a quiet grunt.

“Don’t think this means I like you,” he snapped. “I don’t need, nor do I really want, friends, least of all if they’re you. We just have a common destination right now, and that’s the only reason why I’m even going to bother staying in your presence for more than five seconds.”

Gold jogged to catch up to Silver, and out of the corner of his eye, Silver saw that Gold was grinning. “Sure thing, jerky-boy,” Gold replied, causing Silver to grit his teeth. “Whatever you say.”

If there was one thing this encounter had taught Silver, it was this: He certainly was nothing like Giovanni, even if Giovanni really was his father. After all, if he was, then Gold would have been dead the second the nickname “jerky-boy” left his lips.