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He should’ve done something about this sooner.
Brock leaned back against the wall, one arm folded over his chest, the other hand pinching the bridge of his nose. Of all the stupid, brainless, heroic nonsense Ash pulled… this was… actually only slightly worse than normal, but for the love of –!
Adopting Chimchar.
By Ho-oh’s flaming tail feathers, Ash.
“Wah! Geez, Brock, didja have to stand right there?!”
He looked down to the side, where Ash was clutching his chest, obviously having just come out of the bathroom he was waiting outside of. And Brock had to admit, it was kind of creepy of him to grab Ash the second his friend emerged from the showers, but there were very few other times Ash wouldn’t have Pikachu or his pokebelt.
“We need to talk,” he said, and grabbed Ash’s wrist to drag after him.
“Wh- Brock, wait! I don’t even have my shoes!” he cried, but Brock ignored him. He’d found a handy supply closet earlier, which he marched for and promptly shoved Ash inside before following. Ash looked around, smiling nervously. “Uhh… something goin’ on, Brock?”
“This has gotta stop, Ash.”
“You shovin’ me into random places without any reason? Yeah, that can stop,” he said, but lost his smile at Brock’s look. “Whoa, you look really serious. What’s –”
“Paul’s not gonna take Chimchar back,” he said bluntly, and Ash blinked. He just looked shocked for a few seconds, before he pulled back into himself slightly, brow furrowing and jaw clenching. Brock ignored the look with long practice. “You aren’t gonna teach him some big lesson here. He’s not going to get jealous by seeing Chimchar battle with another trainer, he’s not going to be impressed by what you can do with it. Paul worked with Chimchar for a long time before he released it. You are not going to change his mind.”
“Then good!” he snapped back. “Paul’s a bully! He doesn’t care about Chimchar – he doesn’t care about any of his pokemon! All he cares about is powerful attacks and winning matches!”
Brock clenched his fists. Ash was a battle trainer. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he had never quite grasped that pokemon training really was supposed to be all about the powerful attacks and winning every match and earning as much money as you could. He insisted that it was about helping pokemon grow and become stronger – as individuals, not fighters.
And so things like this happened. Every darn time.
“You’ve got your way of training pokemon, and Paul has his,” he said shortly. “You aren’t going to convince him your way is better.”
“What?” he cried. “Paul’s a lousy trainer!”
“No, Ash, he’s a great trainer! He is exactly what a traditional trainer should be!” he snapped. “His pokemon get strong very, very fast. His pokemon get stronger, or they get off his team! That way he wins, he earns money, and he gets to the finals of conferences. That is what a competitive battler is supposed to do, Ash!”
It was a low blow, and Ash actually flinched back before quickly lowering his gaze. Brock didn’t let that stop him, though – Ash needed to hear this.
“Serious competitive battle trainers do that, and their pokemon know exactly what they’re signing on for. Even when they win, it’s just ‘good enough’. A tie is the same as a crushing defeat, and a loss is humiliating. And Paul makes sure his pokemon know all of that. He doesn’t praise them, he insults them. All the time. He doesn’t eat with them – heck, they probably don’t even eat. They recharge. His training methods are basically trial by fire – if you don’t win, you get hurt. His pokemon all know that they have the option to become as powerful as possible, or they’ll get abandoned.” He ignored the heaving of Ash’s shoulders and the hard line of his mouth. He wasn’t sure how this conversation was going to end, but he could already guess how it was going to go with Chimchar. Ash went through enough; he didn’t need this too. “You may not like it, but like I’ve been telling you since our first month together – it’s a legitimate training strategy. It’s endorsed by all of the Leagues, worldwide. And it works.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he growled. “It might look like it works, but it doesn’t.”
“Sometimes, sure. Like with Chimchar. And when it doesn’t work, the pokemon is left scared, angry, mistrustful of humans but incapable of living without them. Chimchar is damaged, Ash. It is going to spend the rest of its life latching onto wandering trainers, only to freak out in a few days and attack them or their pokemon. It is going to hurt you.”
“I can take it,” he snapped, and Brock just barely kept himself from yelling.
“This isn’t like Charmander! This isn’t about neglect, or a pokemon just not trusting humans. And of all trainers out there, Ash, you are not –”
“Not what?”
The tone almost stopped him. It was the tone Ash used with really big bad guys and legendary pokemon that were set on revenge. It was a tone that could stop an attack, and demand attention from across a crowded battlefield. It was a warning Ash had no idea he could give.
So Brock let his voice soften just a touch. “You’re the complete opposite of Paul. You’re nice, and calm, and gentle with your pokemon. If they fail, you tell them they did good anyway, and spend more time trying to make them strong. You’re exactly the type of trainer that would confuse an abused pokemon. Chimchar will want to be with you, but in the end, you’ll just panic it, and it’s gonna lash out. It doesn’t understand kindness – it would probably think it was a trick.” He hesitated, then finally let his concern edge into his voice. “It might even blame you for the way it was treated. I know you forget this, but pokemon are dangerous, deadly creatures, Ash. This isn’t just going to be a flamethrower to the face. This is a flamewheel to the gut, claws and teeth and things you won’t bounce back from. Chimchar is going to hurt you – badly.”
But Ash just stepped right up in front of him, all five foot nothing, and looked at him with eyes that could cow legendaries. “I can take it,” he said again, and then shoved past him.
“Ash –”
But too little, too late. Ash wrenched open the door, passed through it, and then slammed it shut so hard some of the supplies rattled. Brock fell back against it and pressed a thumb to his brow.
“Well done, Brocko,” he muttered. “Good work.”