Pokémon x Male Reader-The Sounds of Battle

Chapter 17-Hammer Of Judgement

I don't own Pokémon. If I did, the Chikorita line would've been given more to work with.
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"Scrag! Scraggy!" The fighting type squirmed in your arms, hissing in pain as you tried the best you could to apply bandages to the multitude of injuries covering its body. While most of the wounds were surface level at worst, Scraggy had slapped away the rather foreign looking potion you'd attempted to apply earlier, which resulted in you wrestling with the wild Pokémon in an attempt to patch its wounds.

You groaned in frustration, but quickly managed to get control back over the unruly Pokémon, albeit with a nasty welt on your upper arm. It helped that you had a bit of experience handling Pawniard, otherwise this would've been even harder than it already was.

Imagine trying to corral a fussing toddler with the strength of three grown men, and you'd have a good picture of how fun this was. "This would be a million times easier if I could look at you directly, Y'know."

Unfortunately for you, in the eyes of a Scraggy, making direct eye contact was a challenge. A challenge that would be answered with a Swift headbutt to the attacker, without exception. Well, maybe the trainers of a Scraggy could get away with it, but you didn't have the luxury right about now. Thank god Virgil had remembered that tidbit, or else this whole thing could've gone very wrong. As in, a shattered rib cage level of wrong.

Therefore, you were stuck with the extremely fun task of pinning down the Pokémon, and trying to patch up its wounds, all while keeping your own eyes shut. Otherwise, you'd be on the receiving end of an attack that meant another month-long stay in the hospital.

"Me-Lo..." Meloetta hummed from somewhere beside you, using its own hands to guide yours to Scraggy's injuries.

Judging by the dark types grunt of approval, you'd say you hit the mark. Or maybe not, you didn't speak Scraggy. The renaming bandages were swiftly applied, before you took a step back to appraise your work, slowly opening your eyes. Only with Meloetta between you and potential injury, were you confident enough to gaze upon your handiwork.

Speaking of the psychic type, Meloetta gave you the best smile it could muster up in the moment. Which was to say, a very weak one. Your Pokémon was exhausted, and more than a little frightened. "Thanks for the help." A scratchy groan exited your parched throat. "If I ever need help catching a greased Tepig, I know who to call."

"Scrag!" "Scrag!" The newly treated patient stood, inspecting the bandages covering its arms and head. For a dark type, you had to admit the shedding Pokémon was far from intimidating, at least compared to the ones you'd met in the past. With its big beady eyes and oversized teeth, Scraggy looked like something out of a kid's cartoon.

Which you suppose it was.

The fact that it looked like it was wearing the world's shittiest mummy costume, courtesy of your half-baked medicinal skills, didn't help things. "R-Scra!" Yanking the flaps of skin around its leg up, the Pokémon turned to look up at you, muscles clenched-

Scraggy's grin lowered into a frown.

"Not good!" You threw your arms in front of your face as fast as you could. "M-Meloetta, block it!"

"Me-Lo?" Your Pokémon's confused voice answered back, followed by no telltale sounds of fighting. When you opened your eyes again, you understood the reason why, or lack thereof.

Scraggy had done nothing, besides whimper pitifully as it stared across the improvised camp you and Virgil had set up. Dozens of Pokémon lay on hastily contrasted beds and blankets, sporting varying degrees of injury.