The Pokémon Center's automated doors slid open as we approached, warm air washing over us in stark contrast to the biting cold outside.
I shifted Gible's weight in my arms and followed Oak inside.
The interior was modern and sterile, all white walls and soft lighting designed to be calming.
A Chansey looked up from behind the reception desk, its cheerful expression dimming slightly when it saw the unconscious Gible in my arms.
"Emergency treatment," Oak said, his voice carrying the authority of someone who'd made this request countless times before. "Dragon-Steel type, multiple injuries from combat. High priority."
"Chansey!"
The Chansey nodded, saluted, and waddled quickly through a door behind the desk, returning moments later with Nurse Joy—a woman in her thirties with pink hair pulled back in a professional bun and kind eyes that immediately assessed Gible's condition.
"Bring him this way," she said, gesturing to a treatment room off the main lobby.
I followed her into a space dominated by an examination table surrounded by medical equipment that looked like a blend of traditional veterinary tools and advanced technology I didn't recognize.
Monitors, scanners, and what looked like a portable X-ray machine.
The works.
"Set him down gently," Nurse Joy instructed, and I carefully laid Gible on the padded surface.
The little dragon's breathing was shallow but steady, scales cracked and dented in multiple places where Iron Tail had connected.
The areas where Scale Shot had torn scales away during the Makuhita fight had regenerated, but this new damage was extensive.
"What happened?" Nurse Joy asked, already attaching monitoring devices to Gible's chest.
"Level 20 Steelix," I said quietly. "Iron Tail."
Her eyes widened slightly. "And he survived?"
"Barely."
She nodded, understanding immediately the severity of what that meant. "He's lucky to be alive. Let me run a full assessment."
Oak stepped closer to the table, his expression grave as he watched the monitors come to life, displaying Gible's vital signs in real-time.
Heart rate elevated but stable. Breathing pattern is typical. Body temperature is slightly high but not dangerous.
The examination room door opened again, and I turned to see Cynthia enter, Garchomp looming behind her, the massive Dragon's presence filling the room.
Ash trailed behind them, his hands finally freed from their bonds, rubbing his wrists where the rope had chafed.
"How is he?" Cynthia asked, moving to stand beside me, close enough that I caught that faint floral scent again.
"Stable," Nurse Joy reported, checking one of the monitors. "There was extensive damage, but there's no internal bleeding or organ damage. The steel plating in his scales absorbed most of the impact. A normal Gible would have died instantly from that attack."
I glanced at Cynthia's Garchomp, at the scars crisscrossing its body, and realized what must have happened. "You gave him a Potion. While carrying him here."
Cynthia nodded. "Always carry healing items when traveling."
"Thank you," I said, and meant it. Without that Potion, Gible would still be at zero, but what did that mean for Pokémon?
After a certain amount of time, would they die without help? Would they regenerate and heal if the damage wasn't too bad?
There was no way to know without testing it.
"Don't mention it." Her hand found my shoulder—a gesture that was becoming familiar—and squeezed gently. "You tried to save someone. The least I could do was make sure you both survived the attempt."
Then she retrieved a spray bottle filled with shimmering purple liquid and began spraying it onto Gible's wounds.
I watched as the cracks in his scales began knitting together, the bent segments straightening, color returning to areas that had looked dull and lifeless.
The monitor displayed his HP climbing: 8... 12... 16... 20... 24.
Full health.
I felt tension I hadn't realized I was carrying drain from my shoulders. Gible would be okay. We'd lost the fight, we'd nearly died, but we'd survive.
"There," Nurse Joy said, stepping back to examine her work. "He's physically fine now. But he's exhausted—the battle, the trauma, the healing process. He needs sleep. I'd recommend keeping him here overnight for observation, but if you'd prefer to take him home, that's acceptable too."
"I'll take him home," I said immediately. "To Oak's lab. I want to be there when he wakes up."
She nodded in understanding. "Just let him rest. No training, no battles for at least forty-eight hours. His body needs time to process the healing."
"Understood."
Oak thanked Nurse Joy, handled the payment, and then we were back outside in the cold, walking through snow-covered streets toward the laboratory.
Ash walked beside me, having stayed quiet during the entire examination. Now he spoke up, his voice was soft. "That was really brave what you did. Running at those Team Rocket members even though you knew you couldn't win."
"That wasn't bravery," I said, adjusting Gible in my arms. "I was stupid. We almost died."
"But you tried anyway. That's what being brave means."
I glanced at him—at the spiky black hair defying gravity, at the earnest brown eyes, at the determination written across features I recognized from countless episodes in my previous life.
'This is Ash Ketchum. The protagonist. The kid who's supposed to save the world. And I just saw him get kidnapped by a Team Rocket member who should have been his friend.'
"Do you have any idea why they targeted you?" I asked. "Any reason Team Rocket would want you specifically?"
He shook his head. "I'm nobody—just a kid from Pallet Town. My mom works at a café, and I've never done anything important. I don't understand why they'd want me."
'He doesn't know about his father,' I realized. 'Or he's not telling me. Either way, there's more to this story.'
We reached Oak's laboratory, and the automatic doors recognized Oak's presence, sliding open to admit us into the warmth. The main research area was exactly as he left it earlier.