The air in this world hummed with a different kind of life. It wasn't the roar of Jump City traffic or the sterile quiet of the Tower. It was a low, constant thrum of things growing, buzzing, and chirping. Sunlight, thick and golden as honey, dripped through the canopy of enormous, unfamiliar trees, painting shifting patterns on the forest floor. I walked between Lila and a small, green caterpillar Pokémon currently perched on my shoulder, feeling like the odd one out. As usual.
"The bond between a trainer and their Pokémon is forged in battle," Lila was saying, in that I'm-the-expert tone she'd perfected. "When a trainer sends out a Pokémon, they're not just throwing them into a fight. They're standing with them, guiding them. The Pokéball is a symbol of that trust—a safe haven your partner can return to."
I snorted, gently stroking Caterpie's back with my thumb. Its tiny feet tickled my neck. "Sounds more like a time-out box to me. Why would I want to stuff my little buddy into a ball? We're bonding just fine out here, aren't we, dude?"
Caterpie let out a happy little trill and nuzzled closer, its big, black eyes looking up at me with absolute adoration. It trusted me. For some reason, this little guy, who I'd known for all of two days, trusted me more than the girl who actually knew how this world worked.
Lila caught the display from the corner of her eye. A flicker of something—annoyance, maybe even a little envy—crossed her face before she smoothed it over with a prim "Hmph." She adjusted the strap of her bag. "It's about protection, too. A wild Pokémon can be dangerous. A trainer needs to be able to recall their partner to safety in an instant."
"I can protect him," I insisted, maybe a little too loud. "I don't need a gadget to do it."
The words were barely out of my mouth when the forest's gentle hum was torn apart by a piercing shriek.
A shadow fell over us, swift and sharp-edged. I looked up, and my stomach dropped. A bird—no, a Pokémon, Lila's voice corrected in my head—was plummeting from the canopy. It was bigger than any hawk I'd ever seen, with a wicked crest of feathers, eyes like chips of obsidian, and a hooked beak that meant business. Its gaze wasn't on me, or on Lila. It was locked onto the small, green creature on my shoulder.
A Pidgeotto. A predator.
Caterpie went rigid. A high-pitched, terrified trill escaped it, and its whole body trembled. It was frozen, pure prey instinct kicking in, waiting for the inevitable.
Something primal and hot surged through my veins. It was the same feeling I got when Robin was pinned down, or when Starfire was in danger. It was the feeling that said, Not on my watch.
My body moved before my brain did. I spun around, placing myself squarely between the diving bird and my little friend. "Lila, get back!" I yelled, my voice a feral growl. "This one's mine."
The world dissolved into a familiar, nauseating swirl of green light. My bones twisted, my skin stretched, my insides rearranged themselves in that gut-wrenching way they always did. I aimed for a peregrine falcon—fast, agile, deadly. But something was wrong. The transformation sputtered. The pull of this world's weird physics fought against me, a thick, invisible molasses slowing my molecules.
When the green faded, I was a bird, but not the sleek predator I'd intended. My form felt… off. My wings were heavy, like they were carved from waterlogged wood. My talons felt dull, my flight unstable. I was a clumsy, hawk-like imitation, and the Pidgeotto knew it.
It met me in the air with a savage cry, a blur of brown and cream feathers. I lunged, but it was faster, its movements honed by a lifetime of hunting in these woods. It banked sharply, raking its talons across my wing. Pain, sharp and searing, exploded through me. Back home, a hit like that would sting. Here, it felt like my wing was tearing.
I tumbled, squawking, and crashed through a lattice of branches, leaves and twigs slapping against my face. My stamina, usually a deep well I could draw from for hours, felt like a shallow puddle. Every flap of my wings cost me, draining energy at an alarming rate. This world wasn't just different; it was actively fighting my powers.
The Pidgeotto dove again, a piercing Gust of wind slamming into me like a physical blow. The air turned solid, knocking the breath from my lungs and sending me spinning toward the ground. I righted myself just in time, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was bad. This was really bad.
From below, a tiny, desperate sound reached me. Chree!
I risked a glance down. Caterpie, my terrified little friend, had overcome his fear. He was reared up on his back legs, his mouth open, and a thick, white strand of silk shot out, surprisingly fast. It wasn't much, but it was enough. The String Shot caught the Pidgeotto's left wing, tangling in its feathers. It wasn't a trap; it was an annoyance, a distraction. But it bought me a second.
Seeing him fight back, seeing that tiny creature trying to help me, lit a fire in my chest. No way. No way was I letting this overgrown pigeon hurt him.
I pushed harder, ignoring the screaming protest of my muscles. I ignored the way my form flickered at the edges, my human thoughts warring with the bird instincts I'd adopted. The fight was a brutal dance of clumsy lunges and expert evasions. The Pidgeotto was a master of the sky. I was just an intruder. It clawed my chest, and I bit at its leg, a frantic, desperate defense. I was losing. I was losing, and Caterpie was still on the ground, vulnerable.
"The trees!" a voice shouted from below. It was Lila. "Beast Boy, use the trees! Its wingspan is too wide in the thicket!"
My bird brain, addled with pain and exhaustion, latched onto the logic. Of course. She was right.
"Caterpie, again! Aim for the right wing now!" she commanded, her voice steady and clear, the perfect trainer.
Another strand of silk shot up, this one missing but forcing the Pidgeotto to swerve. That was my opening. Gritting my beak, I folded my wings and dove, not at the bird, but toward the dense, tangled heart of the forest. The Pidgeotto, blinded by its hunting fever, followed.
The moment we entered the thicket, the tables turned. Its broad, powerful wings, so effective in the open air, became a liability. It clipped branches, its flight becoming jerky and frustrated. I, in my smaller, clumsier form, could navigate the narrow gaps.
"Now! Drive it down!" Lila yelled.
I didn't have another attack in me. My energy was gone. My vision was starting to tunnel. But I had one last move: a bluff.
With a screech that tore my throat, I pulled up and then dove straight at the Pidgeotto. I didn't try to claw it or bite it. I just became a green projectile, a desperate, kamikaze dive meant to look crazier than I felt. To the Pidgeotto, tangled and harassed, it must have looked like I'd lost my mind. It saw a thing that refused to die, a protector that would rather crash and burn than give up.
It was enough. With an infuriated squawk, the Pidgeotto wrenched its wing free from the last of the silk and beat a frantic, clumsy retreat, disappearing back into the bright blue sky. It decided the meal wasn't worth the fight.
The second it was gone, my strength vanished. The transformation collapsed, not in a flash of green light, but in a painful, stuttering melt. I hit the ground as me, landing hard on my hands and knees. My lungs burned. Every muscle screamed. I couldn't even lift my head, just stayed there, gasping for air, the smell of dirt and crushed leaves filling my nose.
A soft, shuffling sound approached. Then, I felt a gentle weight on my back, slowly crawling up to my chest as I rolled over. Caterpie. He crawled right onto the spot where the Pidgeotto's claws had torn my shirt and nuzzled under my chin. He let out a series of proud, happy chirps, rubbing his head against me. The fear was gone from his eyes, replaced by a fierce loyalty that struck me right in the heart. The trust between us was no longer just a feeling; it was a fact, sealed in the heat of battle.
I managed a weak smile, lifting a shaky hand to pat his head. My breath came in ragged pants. "Guess that makes me your trainer, huh?" I rasped, the words raw. "No Pokéballs, no rules… just us."
Caterpie chirped again, a clear, ringing sound that felt like a solemn vow. Just us.
I saw Lila standing a few feet away, her arms crossed. The smug, know-it-all look was gone. In its place was something I couldn't quite decipher—a mix of awe, confusion, and grudging respect. She had just watched a shapeshifting alien and an untrained caterpillar fight off a predator using a strategy she'd called from the sidelines. She was starting to see that my "alien bond," as she probably thought of it, was something her rulebooks hadn't accounted for. It might even be stronger.
As the frantic hammering in my chest slowed to a steady beat, and the forest's gentle hum returned to fill the quiet, a thought crystallized in my mind, clear and sharp. For the first time since I'd woken up in this crazy, vibrant world, I wasn't just thinking about survival. I wasn't just trying to get home. I was protecting something. I had someone to fight for.
If this world wanted me to play the role of trainer… fine.
But I was going to do it my way.