Part 1
NebulaDreams
Ace Trainer
- Partners
-
Author's Note: Well, hello there. It’s been a long time, and there are a few reasons for that. My motivation for writing fanfiction has waned a bit, primarily because I've gravitated away from Pokemon. I’ve mostly lost interest in following both the games and anime and I don’t really interact with the fandom anymore as a result. This also fed into the problem of feeling disappointed by a lack of response to certain pieces because, without engaging with other people’s works, it’s rare for writing to pick up much traction on its own. So ultimately, it’s less to do with the fandom itself (which I’ve had great experiences with, especially on this forum) and more to do with my tastes changing over time.
As a result, I shifted focus towards writing original pieces, and have drafted an urban fantasy novel during my fanfic hiatus. This has been a positive change since I’m much more pleased with my writing progression and am not constantly tying myself up in knots about reader engagement or chasing trends. Well, for now, since that’s a universal worry no matter what writing you’re doing, and releasing my writing is my least favourite part of the process.
So what the heck am I doing back here then? At the moment, me and my family are dealing with a lot of stuff, though I don’t want to get into details. Because of this huge change to my life, my attitude towards writing and creating stuff has changed as well. Before I returned to fanfiction, it was difficult for me to find much fun in writing since my priorities shifted towards money making ventures, especially since I’ve started working two jobs at the same time.
However, I realised that I needed to work on something just for its own sake without any outside motivation. And fanfiction is the purest form of that, especially with the niche I’m writing in because Pokecentric isn’t really on anyone’s radar. So I decided to dig up an old WIP from a few months ago (I had written 3k words back in July) and make something out of it.
I don’t know where this will go afterwards or how many people will read it. I don’t know anything about promoting my own work so I have no pretences that this will gain much of a following. If you do read it and like it, though, feel free to share it with your friends or fandom mutuals, or spread the word about it in other forums, servers and such.
Special thanks to @canisaries for beta-reading this.
About Dreamdiver: Dreamdiver is a collection of episodic stories that each follow the adventures of Jung: a Hypno therapist who reads the dreams of distressed Pokemon in order to help treat them, each story following a different patient or problem. While this is an ongoing series, you don't need to read the previous stories to enjoy this one as they're self-contained, though it also enhances your reading experience if you have caught up with everything. The links to these stories are down below:
This entry also marks the first instance I've decided to release the story in multiple chapters. This will be posted altogether because the story was written as one huge piece, but I've just split them up since 13.5k words is a lot to read in one sitting, and unlike the other two stories, it was easy to split Teamwork up without messing up the story flow since it follows a more conventional three act structure.
Summary: A Hypno therapist gets assigned to treat a Pangoro who falls into depression after losing a huge league battle. After going through a rocky start that results in the Pangoro lashing out, the Hypno has to rely on his raw skills as a counsellor to help his patient without relying on dream reading or hypnosis.
Content note: There's not much objectionable content here aside from the occasional swear and a few innuendos, but it does tackle issues such as depression and gets a lot into the thought process of someone who might have it, so if it hits too close to home, it might be best to tread with caution here. This also portrays cognitive behavioural therapy as a treatment for depression, which is something I've personally experienced, so I've tried to keep it authentic.
Teamwork Makes the Dream Work
Part 1:
The stale air stank of sweat, spilt soda pop, nacho cheese and ale. Flashing lights bombarded Beat. The audience cheered and roared in equal measure. His claws dug into the padded floor of the ring. His trainer chanted his name from behind. The ring was Beat’s home away from home, his proving ground, his perfect square where he had everything he needed. All it needed was a face to rearrange.
But no opponent awaited him on the other side of the ring.
Beat looked to the audience, to the spectators in their glass box, then back to his trainer. He shouted a war cry, which boomed throughout the stadium. And yet, his opponent still wasn’t there.
Everything cut to black. Beat usually could see in the darkness, but it was blacker than black. Like, coffee black or space black. A spotlight pierced through the shadows to focus on a large bamboo stick in the middle of the ring, which materialised out of nowhere.
It wasn’t like a walking bamboo stalk or a Sudowoodo, it was a bona fide tubular breakfast, sourced straight from Kalos’ deepest thickets. Like a Pyroar pouncing on its prey, Beat sank his teeth into the bamboo, extracting its stalky goodness. The crowd gasped and booed, throwing tomatoes at him, but he ignored that — if anything, it complimented the sumptuous meal. He couldn’t stop eating, and even after he got to the end of the stalk, it regenerated, repeating the cycle.
Beat wanted to savour as much as possible. He wanted to forget all those years training and toning his body to give into his most primordial urges.
“Hey, fatso.”
A giant Pangoro crashed through the stadium, head scraping the roof of the building. All the spectators ran in a panic, only to get smooshed under the giant’s paws, turning them into lots of different foodies: hamburgers, fried Torchic, Miltank dumplings, peanut butter tubs, everything Beat could think of. He wanted to abandon his stalk and gobble them all up, but the giant blocked his way. The giant entered the ring, squeezing themselves into Beat’s perfect square.
“You gonna keep eating that, or are you gonna come train with me?”
Beat’s tummy hurt, like the cramps he got from eating too much or not eating enough. He wanted to stand his ground. He already did all the training he needed, sacrificing many moons to be a brawler. Instead of fighting like a manly Pangoro, he shivered like a Glaceon after eating a mountain of shaved ice.
“What’re you doin’ there, shakin’ like a Spinda?” Another Pangoro giant said, taking a chunk out of the stadium’s roof as he bit into it. “Pangoro, more like pussy.”
Beat raised his claws in defense, which had turned into bamboo stalks. He too was a bamboo stalk, and he lost his balance, rolling in the ring. The giants leaned over him, one raising their paw to stomp him into bits. He shut his eyes, preparing for the worst.
Beat stood in a bamboo thicket. He was a stalk in a sea of stalks just like him. Beat saw his face in all of them. He still couldn’t move, but weirdly enough, he felt at peace here. No limbs. No worries. No battles to fight. Just him and the wilderness and the birds and the wind. And those giants weren’t here either.
Oh, crap, those giants totally were here. They razed the thicket, grinding the stalks underneath their heels to drive it further into the ground. They delighted in this, deliberately taking the extra time to smoosh them into dust.
One laughed. “How many d’you reckon I can crush in a minute?”
“More than you, chump,” the other said, snapping one in between his claws.
“You wanna bet? All my trainer’s money goes on it.”
“Mine too, ya chode!”
“Screw you, small-tail!”
“Your mom!”
This went on for hours. By the time the sun set, casting red light along the ruined plains, the Pangoro eventually found Beat, stroking the tip of his stalk.
“Your stalk’s so small. Like a freakin’ mushroom.”
“Still bigger than yours,” the other said, which earned him a knuckle sandwich. Mmm, sandwiches. Beat could go for one right now. Particularly his trainer’s. He made the best, with beef, onions, tomatoes…
One appeared out of thin air and plopped on the ground, becoming food for the Durant. Aww, what a waste. It was way past the three second rule this time. Where was his trainer anyway—
Yank.
A searing pain flashed through him like burning white light. His stems got ripped out. The Pangoro snapped him in half like Miltank jerky. Beat had no mouth to scream with. The Pangoro’s jaws snapped into his half where his face was, biting and gnashing and tearing and crunching and munching and grinding and masticating and chomping and chewing and—
---
Beat awoke in tears, though he didn’t know why. How pathetic. And in front of that freaking Hypno as well. All this strength, and that yellow bastard had put him to sleep.
“Don’t… don’t look at me...” Beat snivelled. The Hypno, Jung, turned away, though that didn’t stop Beat’s snivelling. He backed against the wall, burying his face in his lap. Useless. Weak. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. He kept repeating that to himself. Pathetic.
He wanted to get out. Get out of this stupid garden and go back to his trainer. But he couldn’t go back. Not after that failure. Failure. He couldn’t face him anymore. How could he? His trainer wanted to leave him behind here. That’s where all the weak Pokemon went. So he was weak too. Why was he here? Why did he need help?
Why didn’t he need help?
That kept him from totalling this place and escaping to the wild. He probably would’ve preferred it there, living off of the land, chasing after prey, eating bamboo to his heart’s content. But he probably would’ve wallowed in a thicket anyway, eating his feelings until he died.
His stomach growled. He only remembered bits of that dream, and the details grew fuzzier with each passing minute, but he knew he dreamt about food. And lots of it. He even remembered how juicy those burgers were. What was he thinking, starving himself here? He needed to fill that void in his gut, and he couldn’t keep doing that if he just wasted away like that.
Beat settled down a little, his eyes still moistened. He faced Jung at last, who observed from a careful distance, but with a look of concern as he extended his hand. That Hypno stayed silent, however. At least he knew when to shut his trap.
“Doc?” Beat started, rubbing his tears away. “Can you get me something to eat?”
--
Jung squirmed in his seat as he stared at Amelie, plus a couple of other therapists staffed in the clinic. Since he was the only Pokemon in a room full of humans, he felt like a rusty nail in a plank full of polished screws. Jung could pull through this. These humans were nice enough, and knew Jung well enough to not treat him any differently. Again, he had earned his place here. Still, Jung’s gaze alternated between the other staff members and the box of cronuts in the middle of the room. Whoever thought of fusing a donut and a croissant together needed an award.
This weekly briefing recapped which Pokemon were being treated and what their progress was. Each therapist had their specialisms. Elise was more skilled in giving battle therapy, which helped the more active and aggressive Pokemon work through their natural urges. Roche had more experience in rehabilitating wild Pokemon by analysing their behaviour and trauma, and helped Jung out with Tupelo through the initial stages. While Jung’s dream powers played a part in his therapy, that was only a small part of his responsibilities as a psychologist. He also had to play the mediator between the humans and his Pokemon patients.
The instant Jung got the chance to speak, he raised his hand.
“Yes?” Amelie said.
“Hello, um, regarding Beat’s case, is there still no alternative to hypnosis? Do any drugs, soothing berries, or other remedies safely pacify the Pangoro?”
“Ah, good question, Jung. Unfortunately, we can’t find anything that’s compatible with his body chemistry. Anything we could find, it would have to be above the advised dosage, and we don’t want to risk that here.”
“Not even from the Roserade assistant? She knows aromatherapy and sleep powder.”
“Well, we’ll try, but because of Beat’s body mass, that means she’d have to use up a lot of her energy to soothe him in such a way, which we don’t want to abuse for her sake.”
“Right, I see.” Jung twirled the rusted pendulum from his neck, spinning the hollowed penny around. “Beat expressed his displeasure about being hypnotised, and I think he harbours a grudge against me because of that.” He sighed. “I knew this would happen.”
“Without your quick thinking, Jung, he would’ve done worse than merely resent you.”
“I know, I know.” He knew that in his head, sure. Jung had caught Beat wandering through the garden one night — the Pangoro threatened to punch Jung if he tried to intervene. Once it escalated, Beat got even more violent when the security staff barged in, roaring, snarling and swiping at the air. Still, the thought of knocking out a helpless Pokemon made his blood curdle. “In any case, I will continue to use it, but only when necessary. However, I got some use out of my initial dream interpretation, combined with my analysis of his present state.”
“And?”
“Cognitive behavioral therapy seems like the best course of action, if I can get Beat’s trust. He seems to suffer from a lot of feelings of inadequacy, corroborated by his trainer’s statement, which might have contributed to his depression spiralling further.”
“I had a hunch,” Roche said, tenting his fingers. “He doesn’t show the signs of a typical rowdy Pangoro or a disobedient Pokemon.”
Jung huffed, though he curbed his tongue. Despite his feelings about how Roche viewed Pokemon, at least through the lens of his work, Jung had to stay professional, so he washed his consternation down with a frosted cronut and some coffee.
“I mean, he didn’t wanna fight either,” Elise said, leaning back in her chair. “Well, if not fighting is his problem to begin with, then, y’know, I might as well be fighting fire with fire.”
“In any case, I could benefit from a mix of all your opinions, but time will tell when that will be. For now, I’ll try not to focus on digging up any emotions with dream therapy unless the patient consents to a reading.” He held out his half-eaten cronut. “At least his appetite has increased. That dream possibly reactivated his hunger.”
“Good.” Amelia smiled. “Actually, I do have an idea about how you can bond with him.”
---
Beat stared at the sky, focusing on the clouds as well as the trees in the garden that occasionally swayed in the breeze. Occasionally, he closed his eyes to see if he could force himself to sleep, but he couldn’t. His body itched for a fight, like a phantom limb, and that drive left him restless. Yet his lack of drive to do anything else made it hard to stand up. His stomach still rumbled after last night. Could he go to that kitchen place on his own? When would the staff come to help? What was his trainer doing? Would he even care after Beat failed so spectacularly?
He stopped to stare at a disfigured Eevee, whose scars laced his body with lines from head to tail. Despite his puny size, his presence in the room was massive. His eyes were pinpricks that bored through Beat.
“Hey, lil fella,” he said, clicking his claws. What would that accomplish? The Eevee continued to stare until a Furfrou popped out of a bush, licking the fox’s back.
“Don’t mind him,” the Furfrou said, “he’s been here for a while.”
“He has, huh...” He didn’t look weak. Why was he here?
“I wouldn’t recommend petting him, he gets territorial.” The Furfrou brushed the twigs and leaves out of her immaculate white coat. “If you want, though, you can pet me.”
Right. At first, Beat didn’t know why he called that Eevee over, but he realised he needed some company. He knew a Flareon in his team. Although he never had the courage to go up and cuddle him, Beat wanted to ask all the time since he looked so soft.
However, that would make him look weak. Why did he need to submit to a Furfrou? What did he need to pet a Pokemon for, especially one much smaller than him?
“I’m fine,” he said. The Furfrou hummed and walked off, the Eevee tailing her. Now Beat was alone again. Alone with his claws that pulled up the grass from the lawn. Alone with his own thoughts. Stupid. Why didn’t he accept her offer? He would’ve felt better. What, and face even more humiliation? Please.
That Hypno appeared as well. Great. Beat stayed seated, though he bared his teeth.
“Whaddya want?” he asked.
“I believe we got off on the wrong paw.” Jung raised a plastic bag. “I’m really sorry about what happened the other night, and I wish never to do that again if I can avoid it.”
Beat closed his maw, though he kept his lip tightened.
“It’s around lunchtime,” Jung continued. “If you’d like, we could talk over a little picnic.”
Ah, he saw what that Hypno had up his sleeves. He tried to bribe him with food so he could get Beat to sniff his butt like a good little Pokemon, then that Hypno would go in for the kill with his pendulum. Well, that wouldn’t work on—
“Wait, is that a beef sandwich?”
Jung pulled out a whole pack of them, perfectly sealed in a plastic cocoon. But that wasn’t all. He brought cake as well, peanut butter flavoured too! Topped with raisins! No, wait, this was a trap! What would Bro say?
Except Bro wasn’t here. But what about all of those years he built up toning his body and training himself for the fights? But one big-little dessert wouldn’t hurt, right?
While he ummed and ahhed over it, Jung pulled up a blanket big enough for the both of them and laid the food out on a plate. He also poured tea from a thermos into a couple of cups, but Beat ignored that as the nutty, succulent notes of the icing hit his nose first. He didn’t know what to focus on first: the sandwiches or the cake.
“Well, feel free to dig in first,” Jung said, sitting down with his own slice of cake. “I’m already covered—”
Beat didn’t wait for that quack to stop talking before he finished his sandwich in one gulp. Then the next one, then the next one. He wanted to savour that sweet, succulent meat, but he couldn’t stop himself. He reached out for the last one, then stopped. No, that would be too greedy. And this was Jung’s treat too.
“Sorry,” Beat said. “You can have the last one.”
“Thanks, Beat, that’s kind of you. Would you like me to slice some of this cake?”
Beat wanted to dunk his whole head in it, but that wouldn’t look dignified or considerate. Wait, why the hell did he care about manners? Still, Beat nodded as it would’ve been easier to eat from smaller slices.
They didn’t talk much, but it was a comfortable kind of silence, one he often shared with his trainer. Beat tried to properly chew his food unlike those sandwiches, as best as he could since he couldn’t properly hold much. When he finished, Beat licked the peanut butter off of his paws. Jung smiled as he washed his portion down with some tea.
“How’d you like that?” Jung asked.
“It was alright, I guess,” Beat said, sucking his coated thumb. “Nothing special.”
“Would you like me to get a different flavour the next time we have a picnic?”
“No, no, that’s fine.” Beat cleared his throat. “Actually, I like this one a lot. Thanks, you know.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But that doesn’t mean we’re friends, doc. Don’t get all chummy with me.”
“Of course not. You’re only my client. While I wish to help you, it doesn’t have to lead to anything beyond that. Perhaps you can tell me more about yourself and how you’re feeling right now.”
“What, and look like a weakling?” Beat grumbled.
“How is expressing your emotions weak?”
“Because in the wild, in the arena, there’s no room for that stuff, y’know. You give your opponent anything and they’ll use it against you.”
“Alright, in the fray, yes, you’re in fight or flight mode. But what about outside the arena when you have time to cool off?”
“I usually just train some more or eat, then sleep. Everything I do is so I can get stronger, for my trainer.”
Jung set the cups aside. “That sounds like a fulfilling routine, then.”
Beat relaxed, letting go of his legs. What was the point of all this small talk crap? Why was his routine outside of battle any of Jung’s business? And yet, Beat played back what Jung said in his mind.
“Whaddya mean by fulfilling?”
“As in, satisfying, something that makes you happy.”
How could Beat be happy when he was so stressed? But it was fine. It should’ve been fine. He should’ve been able to handle it since he was tough.
“Uh, yeah, it does. It’s all I live for.”
“It’s good to have a goal like that. I never really got into training myself, but—”
“What, were you too scared to fight?”
That came out of nowhere. Oh no, Jung was gonna walk away and leave him like everyone else did. But he only smiled.
“No, I wasn’t scared. I can fight if I need to, and unfortunately, as a Hypno, I have to be in a position to defend myself if needed.”
“But you’re not with a trainer.”
“It just isn’t the lifestyle for me. I can see why it gives others meaning, and I’m happy for them, but I find enjoyment more in other things.”
“Well, lucky you.” Beat scoffed. “Must be nice, not feelin’ that pressure to win every moment you wake up.”
His claws shook. Goddamn it, what was wrong with him? He should’ve been proud to be in the ring, to prove himself in front of hundreds of trainers. He truly was. Then why was he acting so weak now? And the tears as well. He backed away and covered his face, turning himself away from Jung’s sight.
“Beat, who’s pressuring you? If your trainer is punishing you because of your results, then you can tell me.”
“Don’t talk about him that way!” Beat dug his claws into the ground and snarled. “Who do you think you are, you quack?!”
Jung stood up. Beat hoped that if he acted scary enough, it would make that Hypno disappear. But he stayed where he was, adjusting his glasses.
“I’m not accusing him of anything.” Jung took a deep breath. “If it’s not your trainer, then who is it?”
“No one, okay!” Beat threw a clump of mud at Jung’s face, which bounced off his snout. “Just get lost!”
That quack still didn’t move. What was he, some kind of robot?
“I’m sorry, Beat. I think I overstepped my bounds there. Perhaps we can talk about this another time, when you feel ready.” His shoulders slumped and he started packing away the blankets with the empty foodstuffs. Except for the cake. Beat was desperate for some, even though he had eaten so much. What a Grumpig — grumpy and a pig. But he couldn’t help himself.
Beat gave in and dove into the box, eating the last half of the peanut-buttery goodness in one fell swoop. He wasn’t even hungry. He was already quite full. But he didn’t care. Eating was the only other thing Beat had to look forward to in his day. Jung didn’t even stop him, not that a puny Hypno would’ve done much.
After Beat decimated all that cake, he expected to feel better. But there was nothing left but an empty, crumb-filled box and a belly full of fattening cream. And that was Jung’s cake, the one he probably bought himself. Or someone else bought it. Beat didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve anything.
He didn’t flee this time when the tears came. Beat hated hiding. Always hiding like a fraidy Bunnelby. No, wait, Jung was right. How was expressing his emotions weak when showing them made his claws shake more than going up against a Salamence did? That took some strength.
“Doc, what’s wrong with me?” Beat croaked. “Just tell me. I’m so sick of feeling like this.”
Jung stepped forward. He hesitated at first. Probably afraid of what Beat would do. Then he took another step, within arms reach again, and laid a paw on Beat’s flank.
“You’re dealing with a lot of stress. Stress is normal, and even a helpful response. If you feel like that all of the time, however, you’ll burn out. Have you heard of that before?”
“My trainer…” Beat wiped his eyes. “Pierre, he told me not to push myself too far while I trained, else I’d burn out all my energy.”
“Right. Same here, except it goes on inside you, not in your body.”
“But it’s all in my head. It’s not real.”
“Your mind affects your body, Beat. If you get too stressed, you might get stomach aches, headaches, a lack of energy, no sleep, and lots of other things.” He eyed the messy box. “I’ll admit, whenever I feel really down or stressed about something, I gorge myself on sweets. Especially cake. That’s a physical result of what goes on in my head.”
“But you’re so strong, though.” Beat turned away from Jung. He didn’t feel proud enough to look him in the eye. “You didn’t flinch when I went all aggro on you.”
“Because I know how hard it is for you. And I know you didn’t want to hurt me, not deep down. Knowing when to hold back takes strength. So you’re not weak, and I’m not weak either, because we all have these emotions that claw at us from the inside.”
“My trainer doesn’t.” Beat sighed. “Pierre can block some of my strongest punches. He always knows what to do. He always smiles it off. I bet I’m just dead weight to him.”
Jung sat cross-legged before Beat and gripped his paws.
“Pierre calls me a lot to see how you’re doing.” Jung hummed. “He misses you. He misses how much you enjoy sharing those peanut butter cups with him. He misses your enthusiasm whenever you get to fight. And he told me that he hadn’t been sleeping lately because of this situation.”
“Really?” Beat cocked his head. “Did he ask you to put him to sleep?”
“Oh heavens no.” Jung chuckled. “What I mean is, he adores you, Beat. If you were dead weight to him, he wouldn’t think this much about you.”
Beat couldn’t grasp that. If he wasn’t doing something, if Beat didn’t dedicate every waking moment to his trainer’s success, then what was he? Who was he? There’s no way Beat would’ve gotten away with that while Bro was around.
“Point is, feeling negative isn’t a weakness. It’s a part of who we are. If you’ve been raised to think otherwise, then we’ll have to help you to think of it in another way, like another battle tactic. And just like training, it will take hard work.”
“How can you help, though?” Beat’s claws extended, threatening to puncture Jung’s hands. With enough self-control, Beat softened his grip. “What the heck can you even do to fix me?”
“That would imply you’re broken.” Jung frowned. “You’re not, Beat. Nobody here needs to be mended. So I’m not here to fix you, I’m here to listen to you. And until we have a more extensive chat together, I won’t be able to give much advice on my end. I want to know how you’re feeling from day to day, about stuff in your past, stuff you’re going through right now.”
“And all we need to do is just, er, talk?”
“Yes, whenever you feel up to it. Don’t feel as if you have to let it out all at once, though.”
Beat thought of what to say next. He had never talked to another Pokemon this way before. Not even his own teammates, who he stayed away from anyway. Every other Pokemon he met was an opponent for him to conquer. Not Jung.
“Actually, doc,” Beat started, “can I talk to you for a bit longer?”
“Yes, of course. What would you like to tell me?”
Where would Beat start? All this pressure made him feel like his chest would explode. He loved battling, lived for it, but before his biggest failure, every time he stepped into the ring felt like life or death. He trained for so long so he could bury those feelings, pretend they didn’t affect him, because his trainer depended on him. They all did. But if Pierre was okay with him losing, then what was the point of all this stress?
“I feel lost and alone and scared, and I don’t know why. That’s where I want to start.”
---
Partial Psychological Report
For professional use only
Name of patient: Beat
Species: Pangoro
Age: 21 (in human years)
Trainer: Pierre Bernard
Examiner: Jung Hypno, Assistant Psychologist
Initial Referral:
Pierre placed Beat under our care on the 9th this month. The Pangoro exhibited symptoms of moderate depression for a month prior to the referral. This happened after a league battle against a touring Obstagoon that resulted in a loss. Beat subsequently stopped participating in fights or training sessions and voluntarily stayed in his Pokeball for days on end, sometimes refusing to eat.
Assessment Procedure
Interview with Beat (March 16th):
Beat was initially hesitant to talk, showing heightened aggression when questioned about his emotions or his past. However, after slowly easing him into an informal chat and gaining his trust, Beat seems more willing to express vulnerability. This pattern of suppressing emotions and engaging in self-loathing behaviour seems to stem from bullying he experienced as a cub.
Wild Pancham commonly follow a leading Pangoro, as they often imitate their higher authority figures. This role may be taken up by their parents or relatives, but can also be taken up by another Pangoro in the pack. Beat had a relatively normal upbringing as a cub, staying with his mother for the first year of his life, then joining a pack to learn to hunt with them. Beat called the lead Pangoro ‘Bro’ despite not being blood-related.
In Bro’s care, Beat experienced a harsh training period. He regularly had his prized leaf taken away from him, sometimes for no reason, as a form of discipline. Beat also had a strict regimen of physical exercises and battles against his fellow Pancham. Sometimes Bro forbade Beat from eating his daily bamboo. Beat explained this as Bro’s way of preparing him for the harsh world out there, and being a good male specimen of his species.
The other Pancham underwent similar treatment, and also directed their aggression towards Beat in particular for not picking up the slack. They isolated him from their group rituals when they weren’t training. They would randomly challenge him to battles and gang up on him all at once. They also nicknamed him ‘small stalk’ for reasons that can be left to the imagination. Contrary to popular belief that Pangoro have zero tolerance towards bullying, the social dynamics of Pancham and Pangoro are similar to any group with a hierarchy, which paves the way for ostracisation.
Regardless of Bro’s intent or effectiveness, this upbringing is responsible for most of Beat’s current neuroses. Beat’s constant need to prove himself and his fear of failure in particular stems from his pack’s extraordinarily high standards. His under-eating (and occasional binge-eating) also stems from how he was starved, and he also shames himself whenever he indulges in his favourite meals. He is afraid of appearing ‘weak’ (Beat’s own words) or vulnerable, exacerbated by the environment he was raised in as a Pancham. There may be other factors behind this, but these seem to be the main ones for now.
During treatment, Beat discussed these fears for the first time in his life. Although he thrived under a traineeship, Beat felt increasingly isolated, especially because of the language barrier between him and his trainer. He also confessed that he doesn’t enjoy battling in the sense that it provides fun, only that it gives him a purpose, and that the only alternative is losing, which brings back unpleasant memories of his pack.
Recommendations:
As this is only a partial summary written in the midst of Beat’s treatment, it is impossible to provide a full analysis or any long-term recommendations. For the next week, however, Beat will undergo a series of suggested treatments.
Cognitive behavioural therapy is still the recommended course of action. It is important for Beat to recognise his own neuroses and adopt strategies that will help him change those patterns of behaviour. He will be given homework to reflect on what he has learned alongside regular talk therapies.
At the same time, Beat will undergo battle therapy with the assistance of Senior Pokemon Behaviourist Elise Duchamps. Despite Beat’s anxieties, he still feels the urge to battle and wants to release his pent up aggression. Easing him into these battles could help boost his self-esteem. Combining the two treatments will helpfully result in Beat taking a more constructive approach to battling, changing habitual behavioural patterns that have previously contributed to his dissatisfaction.
Despite Beat’s previous reservations about showing affection, he has also taken an affinity to Lotte Furfrou. As a result, Pokemon-assisted therapy is also recommended as it provides Beat comfort.
Dream therapy is a possible option, as it will provide a deeper insight into the patient’s subconscious. However, Beat is still hesitant about dream reading, so this is not advisable until Beat consents to a session.
As a result, I shifted focus towards writing original pieces, and have drafted an urban fantasy novel during my fanfic hiatus. This has been a positive change since I’m much more pleased with my writing progression and am not constantly tying myself up in knots about reader engagement or chasing trends. Well, for now, since that’s a universal worry no matter what writing you’re doing, and releasing my writing is my least favourite part of the process.
So what the heck am I doing back here then? At the moment, me and my family are dealing with a lot of stuff, though I don’t want to get into details. Because of this huge change to my life, my attitude towards writing and creating stuff has changed as well. Before I returned to fanfiction, it was difficult for me to find much fun in writing since my priorities shifted towards money making ventures, especially since I’ve started working two jobs at the same time.
However, I realised that I needed to work on something just for its own sake without any outside motivation. And fanfiction is the purest form of that, especially with the niche I’m writing in because Pokecentric isn’t really on anyone’s radar. So I decided to dig up an old WIP from a few months ago (I had written 3k words back in July) and make something out of it.
I don’t know where this will go afterwards or how many people will read it. I don’t know anything about promoting my own work so I have no pretences that this will gain much of a following. If you do read it and like it, though, feel free to share it with your friends or fandom mutuals, or spread the word about it in other forums, servers and such.
Special thanks to @canisaries for beta-reading this.
About Dreamdiver: Dreamdiver is a collection of episodic stories that each follow the adventures of Jung: a Hypno therapist who reads the dreams of distressed Pokemon in order to help treat them, each story following a different patient or problem. While this is an ongoing series, you don't need to read the previous stories to enjoy this one as they're self-contained, though it also enhances your reading experience if you have caught up with everything. The links to these stories are down below:
This entry also marks the first instance I've decided to release the story in multiple chapters. This will be posted altogether because the story was written as one huge piece, but I've just split them up since 13.5k words is a lot to read in one sitting, and unlike the other two stories, it was easy to split Teamwork up without messing up the story flow since it follows a more conventional three act structure.
Summary: A Hypno therapist gets assigned to treat a Pangoro who falls into depression after losing a huge league battle. After going through a rocky start that results in the Pangoro lashing out, the Hypno has to rely on his raw skills as a counsellor to help his patient without relying on dream reading or hypnosis.
Content note: There's not much objectionable content here aside from the occasional swear and a few innuendos, but it does tackle issues such as depression and gets a lot into the thought process of someone who might have it, so if it hits too close to home, it might be best to tread with caution here. This also portrays cognitive behavioural therapy as a treatment for depression, which is something I've personally experienced, so I've tried to keep it authentic.
Teamwork Makes the Dream Work
Part 1:
The stale air stank of sweat, spilt soda pop, nacho cheese and ale. Flashing lights bombarded Beat. The audience cheered and roared in equal measure. His claws dug into the padded floor of the ring. His trainer chanted his name from behind. The ring was Beat’s home away from home, his proving ground, his perfect square where he had everything he needed. All it needed was a face to rearrange.
But no opponent awaited him on the other side of the ring.
Beat looked to the audience, to the spectators in their glass box, then back to his trainer. He shouted a war cry, which boomed throughout the stadium. And yet, his opponent still wasn’t there.
Everything cut to black. Beat usually could see in the darkness, but it was blacker than black. Like, coffee black or space black. A spotlight pierced through the shadows to focus on a large bamboo stick in the middle of the ring, which materialised out of nowhere.
It wasn’t like a walking bamboo stalk or a Sudowoodo, it was a bona fide tubular breakfast, sourced straight from Kalos’ deepest thickets. Like a Pyroar pouncing on its prey, Beat sank his teeth into the bamboo, extracting its stalky goodness. The crowd gasped and booed, throwing tomatoes at him, but he ignored that — if anything, it complimented the sumptuous meal. He couldn’t stop eating, and even after he got to the end of the stalk, it regenerated, repeating the cycle.
Beat wanted to savour as much as possible. He wanted to forget all those years training and toning his body to give into his most primordial urges.
“Hey, fatso.”
A giant Pangoro crashed through the stadium, head scraping the roof of the building. All the spectators ran in a panic, only to get smooshed under the giant’s paws, turning them into lots of different foodies: hamburgers, fried Torchic, Miltank dumplings, peanut butter tubs, everything Beat could think of. He wanted to abandon his stalk and gobble them all up, but the giant blocked his way. The giant entered the ring, squeezing themselves into Beat’s perfect square.
“You gonna keep eating that, or are you gonna come train with me?”
Beat’s tummy hurt, like the cramps he got from eating too much or not eating enough. He wanted to stand his ground. He already did all the training he needed, sacrificing many moons to be a brawler. Instead of fighting like a manly Pangoro, he shivered like a Glaceon after eating a mountain of shaved ice.
“What’re you doin’ there, shakin’ like a Spinda?” Another Pangoro giant said, taking a chunk out of the stadium’s roof as he bit into it. “Pangoro, more like pussy.”
Beat raised his claws in defense, which had turned into bamboo stalks. He too was a bamboo stalk, and he lost his balance, rolling in the ring. The giants leaned over him, one raising their paw to stomp him into bits. He shut his eyes, preparing for the worst.
Beat stood in a bamboo thicket. He was a stalk in a sea of stalks just like him. Beat saw his face in all of them. He still couldn’t move, but weirdly enough, he felt at peace here. No limbs. No worries. No battles to fight. Just him and the wilderness and the birds and the wind. And those giants weren’t here either.
Oh, crap, those giants totally were here. They razed the thicket, grinding the stalks underneath their heels to drive it further into the ground. They delighted in this, deliberately taking the extra time to smoosh them into dust.
One laughed. “How many d’you reckon I can crush in a minute?”
“More than you, chump,” the other said, snapping one in between his claws.
“You wanna bet? All my trainer’s money goes on it.”
“Mine too, ya chode!”
“Screw you, small-tail!”
“Your mom!”
This went on for hours. By the time the sun set, casting red light along the ruined plains, the Pangoro eventually found Beat, stroking the tip of his stalk.
“Your stalk’s so small. Like a freakin’ mushroom.”
“Still bigger than yours,” the other said, which earned him a knuckle sandwich. Mmm, sandwiches. Beat could go for one right now. Particularly his trainer’s. He made the best, with beef, onions, tomatoes…
One appeared out of thin air and plopped on the ground, becoming food for the Durant. Aww, what a waste. It was way past the three second rule this time. Where was his trainer anyway—
Yank.
A searing pain flashed through him like burning white light. His stems got ripped out. The Pangoro snapped him in half like Miltank jerky. Beat had no mouth to scream with. The Pangoro’s jaws snapped into his half where his face was, biting and gnashing and tearing and crunching and munching and grinding and masticating and chomping and chewing and—
---
Beat awoke in tears, though he didn’t know why. How pathetic. And in front of that freaking Hypno as well. All this strength, and that yellow bastard had put him to sleep.
“Don’t… don’t look at me...” Beat snivelled. The Hypno, Jung, turned away, though that didn’t stop Beat’s snivelling. He backed against the wall, burying his face in his lap. Useless. Weak. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. He kept repeating that to himself. Pathetic.
He wanted to get out. Get out of this stupid garden and go back to his trainer. But he couldn’t go back. Not after that failure. Failure. He couldn’t face him anymore. How could he? His trainer wanted to leave him behind here. That’s where all the weak Pokemon went. So he was weak too. Why was he here? Why did he need help?
Why didn’t he need help?
That kept him from totalling this place and escaping to the wild. He probably would’ve preferred it there, living off of the land, chasing after prey, eating bamboo to his heart’s content. But he probably would’ve wallowed in a thicket anyway, eating his feelings until he died.
His stomach growled. He only remembered bits of that dream, and the details grew fuzzier with each passing minute, but he knew he dreamt about food. And lots of it. He even remembered how juicy those burgers were. What was he thinking, starving himself here? He needed to fill that void in his gut, and he couldn’t keep doing that if he just wasted away like that.
Beat settled down a little, his eyes still moistened. He faced Jung at last, who observed from a careful distance, but with a look of concern as he extended his hand. That Hypno stayed silent, however. At least he knew when to shut his trap.
“Doc?” Beat started, rubbing his tears away. “Can you get me something to eat?”
--
Jung squirmed in his seat as he stared at Amelie, plus a couple of other therapists staffed in the clinic. Since he was the only Pokemon in a room full of humans, he felt like a rusty nail in a plank full of polished screws. Jung could pull through this. These humans were nice enough, and knew Jung well enough to not treat him any differently. Again, he had earned his place here. Still, Jung’s gaze alternated between the other staff members and the box of cronuts in the middle of the room. Whoever thought of fusing a donut and a croissant together needed an award.
This weekly briefing recapped which Pokemon were being treated and what their progress was. Each therapist had their specialisms. Elise was more skilled in giving battle therapy, which helped the more active and aggressive Pokemon work through their natural urges. Roche had more experience in rehabilitating wild Pokemon by analysing their behaviour and trauma, and helped Jung out with Tupelo through the initial stages. While Jung’s dream powers played a part in his therapy, that was only a small part of his responsibilities as a psychologist. He also had to play the mediator between the humans and his Pokemon patients.
The instant Jung got the chance to speak, he raised his hand.
“Yes?” Amelie said.
“Hello, um, regarding Beat’s case, is there still no alternative to hypnosis? Do any drugs, soothing berries, or other remedies safely pacify the Pangoro?”
“Ah, good question, Jung. Unfortunately, we can’t find anything that’s compatible with his body chemistry. Anything we could find, it would have to be above the advised dosage, and we don’t want to risk that here.”
“Not even from the Roserade assistant? She knows aromatherapy and sleep powder.”
“Well, we’ll try, but because of Beat’s body mass, that means she’d have to use up a lot of her energy to soothe him in such a way, which we don’t want to abuse for her sake.”
“Right, I see.” Jung twirled the rusted pendulum from his neck, spinning the hollowed penny around. “Beat expressed his displeasure about being hypnotised, and I think he harbours a grudge against me because of that.” He sighed. “I knew this would happen.”
“Without your quick thinking, Jung, he would’ve done worse than merely resent you.”
“I know, I know.” He knew that in his head, sure. Jung had caught Beat wandering through the garden one night — the Pangoro threatened to punch Jung if he tried to intervene. Once it escalated, Beat got even more violent when the security staff barged in, roaring, snarling and swiping at the air. Still, the thought of knocking out a helpless Pokemon made his blood curdle. “In any case, I will continue to use it, but only when necessary. However, I got some use out of my initial dream interpretation, combined with my analysis of his present state.”
“And?”
“Cognitive behavioral therapy seems like the best course of action, if I can get Beat’s trust. He seems to suffer from a lot of feelings of inadequacy, corroborated by his trainer’s statement, which might have contributed to his depression spiralling further.”
“I had a hunch,” Roche said, tenting his fingers. “He doesn’t show the signs of a typical rowdy Pangoro or a disobedient Pokemon.”
Jung huffed, though he curbed his tongue. Despite his feelings about how Roche viewed Pokemon, at least through the lens of his work, Jung had to stay professional, so he washed his consternation down with a frosted cronut and some coffee.
“I mean, he didn’t wanna fight either,” Elise said, leaning back in her chair. “Well, if not fighting is his problem to begin with, then, y’know, I might as well be fighting fire with fire.”
“In any case, I could benefit from a mix of all your opinions, but time will tell when that will be. For now, I’ll try not to focus on digging up any emotions with dream therapy unless the patient consents to a reading.” He held out his half-eaten cronut. “At least his appetite has increased. That dream possibly reactivated his hunger.”
“Good.” Amelia smiled. “Actually, I do have an idea about how you can bond with him.”
---
Beat stared at the sky, focusing on the clouds as well as the trees in the garden that occasionally swayed in the breeze. Occasionally, he closed his eyes to see if he could force himself to sleep, but he couldn’t. His body itched for a fight, like a phantom limb, and that drive left him restless. Yet his lack of drive to do anything else made it hard to stand up. His stomach still rumbled after last night. Could he go to that kitchen place on his own? When would the staff come to help? What was his trainer doing? Would he even care after Beat failed so spectacularly?
He stopped to stare at a disfigured Eevee, whose scars laced his body with lines from head to tail. Despite his puny size, his presence in the room was massive. His eyes were pinpricks that bored through Beat.
“Hey, lil fella,” he said, clicking his claws. What would that accomplish? The Eevee continued to stare until a Furfrou popped out of a bush, licking the fox’s back.
“Don’t mind him,” the Furfrou said, “he’s been here for a while.”
“He has, huh...” He didn’t look weak. Why was he here?
“I wouldn’t recommend petting him, he gets territorial.” The Furfrou brushed the twigs and leaves out of her immaculate white coat. “If you want, though, you can pet me.”
Right. At first, Beat didn’t know why he called that Eevee over, but he realised he needed some company. He knew a Flareon in his team. Although he never had the courage to go up and cuddle him, Beat wanted to ask all the time since he looked so soft.
However, that would make him look weak. Why did he need to submit to a Furfrou? What did he need to pet a Pokemon for, especially one much smaller than him?
“I’m fine,” he said. The Furfrou hummed and walked off, the Eevee tailing her. Now Beat was alone again. Alone with his claws that pulled up the grass from the lawn. Alone with his own thoughts. Stupid. Why didn’t he accept her offer? He would’ve felt better. What, and face even more humiliation? Please.
That Hypno appeared as well. Great. Beat stayed seated, though he bared his teeth.
“Whaddya want?” he asked.
“I believe we got off on the wrong paw.” Jung raised a plastic bag. “I’m really sorry about what happened the other night, and I wish never to do that again if I can avoid it.”
Beat closed his maw, though he kept his lip tightened.
“It’s around lunchtime,” Jung continued. “If you’d like, we could talk over a little picnic.”
Ah, he saw what that Hypno had up his sleeves. He tried to bribe him with food so he could get Beat to sniff his butt like a good little Pokemon, then that Hypno would go in for the kill with his pendulum. Well, that wouldn’t work on—
“Wait, is that a beef sandwich?”
Jung pulled out a whole pack of them, perfectly sealed in a plastic cocoon. But that wasn’t all. He brought cake as well, peanut butter flavoured too! Topped with raisins! No, wait, this was a trap! What would Bro say?
Except Bro wasn’t here. But what about all of those years he built up toning his body and training himself for the fights? But one big-little dessert wouldn’t hurt, right?
While he ummed and ahhed over it, Jung pulled up a blanket big enough for the both of them and laid the food out on a plate. He also poured tea from a thermos into a couple of cups, but Beat ignored that as the nutty, succulent notes of the icing hit his nose first. He didn’t know what to focus on first: the sandwiches or the cake.
“Well, feel free to dig in first,” Jung said, sitting down with his own slice of cake. “I’m already covered—”
Beat didn’t wait for that quack to stop talking before he finished his sandwich in one gulp. Then the next one, then the next one. He wanted to savour that sweet, succulent meat, but he couldn’t stop himself. He reached out for the last one, then stopped. No, that would be too greedy. And this was Jung’s treat too.
“Sorry,” Beat said. “You can have the last one.”
“Thanks, Beat, that’s kind of you. Would you like me to slice some of this cake?”
Beat wanted to dunk his whole head in it, but that wouldn’t look dignified or considerate. Wait, why the hell did he care about manners? Still, Beat nodded as it would’ve been easier to eat from smaller slices.
They didn’t talk much, but it was a comfortable kind of silence, one he often shared with his trainer. Beat tried to properly chew his food unlike those sandwiches, as best as he could since he couldn’t properly hold much. When he finished, Beat licked the peanut butter off of his paws. Jung smiled as he washed his portion down with some tea.
“How’d you like that?” Jung asked.
“It was alright, I guess,” Beat said, sucking his coated thumb. “Nothing special.”
“Would you like me to get a different flavour the next time we have a picnic?”
“No, no, that’s fine.” Beat cleared his throat. “Actually, I like this one a lot. Thanks, you know.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But that doesn’t mean we’re friends, doc. Don’t get all chummy with me.”
“Of course not. You’re only my client. While I wish to help you, it doesn’t have to lead to anything beyond that. Perhaps you can tell me more about yourself and how you’re feeling right now.”
“What, and look like a weakling?” Beat grumbled.
“How is expressing your emotions weak?”
“Because in the wild, in the arena, there’s no room for that stuff, y’know. You give your opponent anything and they’ll use it against you.”
“Alright, in the fray, yes, you’re in fight or flight mode. But what about outside the arena when you have time to cool off?”
“I usually just train some more or eat, then sleep. Everything I do is so I can get stronger, for my trainer.”
Jung set the cups aside. “That sounds like a fulfilling routine, then.”
Beat relaxed, letting go of his legs. What was the point of all this small talk crap? Why was his routine outside of battle any of Jung’s business? And yet, Beat played back what Jung said in his mind.
“Whaddya mean by fulfilling?”
“As in, satisfying, something that makes you happy.”
How could Beat be happy when he was so stressed? But it was fine. It should’ve been fine. He should’ve been able to handle it since he was tough.
“Uh, yeah, it does. It’s all I live for.”
“It’s good to have a goal like that. I never really got into training myself, but—”
“What, were you too scared to fight?”
That came out of nowhere. Oh no, Jung was gonna walk away and leave him like everyone else did. But he only smiled.
“No, I wasn’t scared. I can fight if I need to, and unfortunately, as a Hypno, I have to be in a position to defend myself if needed.”
“But you’re not with a trainer.”
“It just isn’t the lifestyle for me. I can see why it gives others meaning, and I’m happy for them, but I find enjoyment more in other things.”
“Well, lucky you.” Beat scoffed. “Must be nice, not feelin’ that pressure to win every moment you wake up.”
His claws shook. Goddamn it, what was wrong with him? He should’ve been proud to be in the ring, to prove himself in front of hundreds of trainers. He truly was. Then why was he acting so weak now? And the tears as well. He backed away and covered his face, turning himself away from Jung’s sight.
“Beat, who’s pressuring you? If your trainer is punishing you because of your results, then you can tell me.”
“Don’t talk about him that way!” Beat dug his claws into the ground and snarled. “Who do you think you are, you quack?!”
Jung stood up. Beat hoped that if he acted scary enough, it would make that Hypno disappear. But he stayed where he was, adjusting his glasses.
“I’m not accusing him of anything.” Jung took a deep breath. “If it’s not your trainer, then who is it?”
“No one, okay!” Beat threw a clump of mud at Jung’s face, which bounced off his snout. “Just get lost!”
That quack still didn’t move. What was he, some kind of robot?
“I’m sorry, Beat. I think I overstepped my bounds there. Perhaps we can talk about this another time, when you feel ready.” His shoulders slumped and he started packing away the blankets with the empty foodstuffs. Except for the cake. Beat was desperate for some, even though he had eaten so much. What a Grumpig — grumpy and a pig. But he couldn’t help himself.
Beat gave in and dove into the box, eating the last half of the peanut-buttery goodness in one fell swoop. He wasn’t even hungry. He was already quite full. But he didn’t care. Eating was the only other thing Beat had to look forward to in his day. Jung didn’t even stop him, not that a puny Hypno would’ve done much.
After Beat decimated all that cake, he expected to feel better. But there was nothing left but an empty, crumb-filled box and a belly full of fattening cream. And that was Jung’s cake, the one he probably bought himself. Or someone else bought it. Beat didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve anything.
He didn’t flee this time when the tears came. Beat hated hiding. Always hiding like a fraidy Bunnelby. No, wait, Jung was right. How was expressing his emotions weak when showing them made his claws shake more than going up against a Salamence did? That took some strength.
“Doc, what’s wrong with me?” Beat croaked. “Just tell me. I’m so sick of feeling like this.”
Jung stepped forward. He hesitated at first. Probably afraid of what Beat would do. Then he took another step, within arms reach again, and laid a paw on Beat’s flank.
“You’re dealing with a lot of stress. Stress is normal, and even a helpful response. If you feel like that all of the time, however, you’ll burn out. Have you heard of that before?”
“My trainer…” Beat wiped his eyes. “Pierre, he told me not to push myself too far while I trained, else I’d burn out all my energy.”
“Right. Same here, except it goes on inside you, not in your body.”
“But it’s all in my head. It’s not real.”
“Your mind affects your body, Beat. If you get too stressed, you might get stomach aches, headaches, a lack of energy, no sleep, and lots of other things.” He eyed the messy box. “I’ll admit, whenever I feel really down or stressed about something, I gorge myself on sweets. Especially cake. That’s a physical result of what goes on in my head.”
“But you’re so strong, though.” Beat turned away from Jung. He didn’t feel proud enough to look him in the eye. “You didn’t flinch when I went all aggro on you.”
“Because I know how hard it is for you. And I know you didn’t want to hurt me, not deep down. Knowing when to hold back takes strength. So you’re not weak, and I’m not weak either, because we all have these emotions that claw at us from the inside.”
“My trainer doesn’t.” Beat sighed. “Pierre can block some of my strongest punches. He always knows what to do. He always smiles it off. I bet I’m just dead weight to him.”
Jung sat cross-legged before Beat and gripped his paws.
“Pierre calls me a lot to see how you’re doing.” Jung hummed. “He misses you. He misses how much you enjoy sharing those peanut butter cups with him. He misses your enthusiasm whenever you get to fight. And he told me that he hadn’t been sleeping lately because of this situation.”
“Really?” Beat cocked his head. “Did he ask you to put him to sleep?”
“Oh heavens no.” Jung chuckled. “What I mean is, he adores you, Beat. If you were dead weight to him, he wouldn’t think this much about you.”
Beat couldn’t grasp that. If he wasn’t doing something, if Beat didn’t dedicate every waking moment to his trainer’s success, then what was he? Who was he? There’s no way Beat would’ve gotten away with that while Bro was around.
“Point is, feeling negative isn’t a weakness. It’s a part of who we are. If you’ve been raised to think otherwise, then we’ll have to help you to think of it in another way, like another battle tactic. And just like training, it will take hard work.”
“How can you help, though?” Beat’s claws extended, threatening to puncture Jung’s hands. With enough self-control, Beat softened his grip. “What the heck can you even do to fix me?”
“That would imply you’re broken.” Jung frowned. “You’re not, Beat. Nobody here needs to be mended. So I’m not here to fix you, I’m here to listen to you. And until we have a more extensive chat together, I won’t be able to give much advice on my end. I want to know how you’re feeling from day to day, about stuff in your past, stuff you’re going through right now.”
“And all we need to do is just, er, talk?”
“Yes, whenever you feel up to it. Don’t feel as if you have to let it out all at once, though.”
Beat thought of what to say next. He had never talked to another Pokemon this way before. Not even his own teammates, who he stayed away from anyway. Every other Pokemon he met was an opponent for him to conquer. Not Jung.
“Actually, doc,” Beat started, “can I talk to you for a bit longer?”
“Yes, of course. What would you like to tell me?”
Where would Beat start? All this pressure made him feel like his chest would explode. He loved battling, lived for it, but before his biggest failure, every time he stepped into the ring felt like life or death. He trained for so long so he could bury those feelings, pretend they didn’t affect him, because his trainer depended on him. They all did. But if Pierre was okay with him losing, then what was the point of all this stress?
“I feel lost and alone and scared, and I don’t know why. That’s where I want to start.”
---
Partial Psychological Report
For professional use only
Name of patient: Beat
Species: Pangoro
Age: 21 (in human years)
Trainer: Pierre Bernard
Examiner: Jung Hypno, Assistant Psychologist
Initial Referral:
Pierre placed Beat under our care on the 9th this month. The Pangoro exhibited symptoms of moderate depression for a month prior to the referral. This happened after a league battle against a touring Obstagoon that resulted in a loss. Beat subsequently stopped participating in fights or training sessions and voluntarily stayed in his Pokeball for days on end, sometimes refusing to eat.
Assessment Procedure
Interview with Beat (March 16th):
Beat was initially hesitant to talk, showing heightened aggression when questioned about his emotions or his past. However, after slowly easing him into an informal chat and gaining his trust, Beat seems more willing to express vulnerability. This pattern of suppressing emotions and engaging in self-loathing behaviour seems to stem from bullying he experienced as a cub.
Wild Pancham commonly follow a leading Pangoro, as they often imitate their higher authority figures. This role may be taken up by their parents or relatives, but can also be taken up by another Pangoro in the pack. Beat had a relatively normal upbringing as a cub, staying with his mother for the first year of his life, then joining a pack to learn to hunt with them. Beat called the lead Pangoro ‘Bro’ despite not being blood-related.
In Bro’s care, Beat experienced a harsh training period. He regularly had his prized leaf taken away from him, sometimes for no reason, as a form of discipline. Beat also had a strict regimen of physical exercises and battles against his fellow Pancham. Sometimes Bro forbade Beat from eating his daily bamboo. Beat explained this as Bro’s way of preparing him for the harsh world out there, and being a good male specimen of his species.
The other Pancham underwent similar treatment, and also directed their aggression towards Beat in particular for not picking up the slack. They isolated him from their group rituals when they weren’t training. They would randomly challenge him to battles and gang up on him all at once. They also nicknamed him ‘small stalk’ for reasons that can be left to the imagination. Contrary to popular belief that Pangoro have zero tolerance towards bullying, the social dynamics of Pancham and Pangoro are similar to any group with a hierarchy, which paves the way for ostracisation.
Regardless of Bro’s intent or effectiveness, this upbringing is responsible for most of Beat’s current neuroses. Beat’s constant need to prove himself and his fear of failure in particular stems from his pack’s extraordinarily high standards. His under-eating (and occasional binge-eating) also stems from how he was starved, and he also shames himself whenever he indulges in his favourite meals. He is afraid of appearing ‘weak’ (Beat’s own words) or vulnerable, exacerbated by the environment he was raised in as a Pancham. There may be other factors behind this, but these seem to be the main ones for now.
During treatment, Beat discussed these fears for the first time in his life. Although he thrived under a traineeship, Beat felt increasingly isolated, especially because of the language barrier between him and his trainer. He also confessed that he doesn’t enjoy battling in the sense that it provides fun, only that it gives him a purpose, and that the only alternative is losing, which brings back unpleasant memories of his pack.
Recommendations:
As this is only a partial summary written in the midst of Beat’s treatment, it is impossible to provide a full analysis or any long-term recommendations. For the next week, however, Beat will undergo a series of suggested treatments.
Cognitive behavioural therapy is still the recommended course of action. It is important for Beat to recognise his own neuroses and adopt strategies that will help him change those patterns of behaviour. He will be given homework to reflect on what he has learned alongside regular talk therapies.
At the same time, Beat will undergo battle therapy with the assistance of Senior Pokemon Behaviourist Elise Duchamps. Despite Beat’s anxieties, he still feels the urge to battle and wants to release his pent up aggression. Easing him into these battles could help boost his self-esteem. Combining the two treatments will helpfully result in Beat taking a more constructive approach to battling, changing habitual behavioural patterns that have previously contributed to his dissatisfaction.
Despite Beat’s previous reservations about showing affection, he has also taken an affinity to Lotte Furfrou. As a result, Pokemon-assisted therapy is also recommended as it provides Beat comfort.
Dream therapy is a possible option, as it will provide a deeper insight into the patient’s subconscious. However, Beat is still hesitant about dream reading, so this is not advisable until Beat consents to a session.
