A/n: Quite honestly the most moronic thing I've ever written. Actually, I'll probably top this in about two months, but definitely the most moronic thing I've written thus far. Nonsensical, off-beat, but still desperately trying to cling to canon. Yay!


Unlike Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, or Sinnoh, who sent out their 11 year olds to traipse about in the wilderness with their pets, the Western world chose 16 to be the minimum age for trainers. This five year delay left them at a slight disadvantage when fighting foreigners of the same age group, but ultimately the child mortality rates were drastically lower than those of other countries.

Well, not in Sunnydale.

Buffy peered down at the little brown Eevee. It peered back at her and mewled.

No cross country adventure for the Slayer, no siree. Still, nights patrolling alone wouldn't be so lonely anymore.

"I'm naming you Swordie."



Xander was, to all extents and purposes, a normal kind of guy. Helping out the Slayer and stuff aside, of course. So, naturally, he was looking for a nice normal-type. Not too hard to train, yet sturdy. He was no fighter, nope. That was Buffy's deal.

But fighting types had been Jesse's favorites, and if his friend had been alive, this was definitely what he'd have chosen.

"C'mon Timmy, let's go home."

The young Timburr bounced behind him happily.


Wild Pokémon were rare in Sunnydale. With all the demons and vampires running around, any living creature out after dark was a free meal, and that applied to trainer-less Pokémon. As a result, the few wild ones that did run around the Hellmouth were dark, psychic, and ghost.

A dark-type was the problem here.

"C'mere, you!"

Anyone who saw young Willow Rosenburg tackle a small child in the middle of the park would be a little worried, save for maybe Cordelia, who would tell everyone that she always knew Rosenburg was a freak and hey, didn't this just prove it?

Had Buffy, Xander, or Giles seen this, they'd merely roll their eyes. This was the third time in 2 days.

Holding the laughing child down with one arm, Willow tugged on an out of place, red, fuzzy tail. With a poof, the child revealed itself to be a tiny red and black fox.

"You have to stop doing this, Rua," Looking around and taking in the setting sun, Willow gathered up her little Zorua and headed home.


It was evolving.

Mid-song, too. That was kinda awesome. Oz settled his acoustic against the wall and leaned forward, an uncharacteristic look of elation on his face.

His Poochyena was evolving.

A silver glow filled the room, though from the moonlight or the evolution, he really couldn't bring himself to care much. The little dog's silhouette grew larger and with one more blast of light, it was done.

One look into the wolf's red eyes and snarling face, and Oz knew.

This was no longer the sweet little Poochyena he spent the past year or so raising. The little snorting dog who loved to howl along to his music was no more.

It was then that he also knew he was not yet strong enough to control Mightyena.

"Oh, Ringo…"


Dawn was still too young to have a Pokémon, but that didn't mean she couldn't start deciding what to get.

She knew she wanted a cute one, though. Buffy's Eevee was downright adorable, and it toddled around the house all the time. Joyce had a Smeargle, and it was cute in an odd way, Dawn decided.

"A Teddiursa? Or maybe a Squirtle? How about…."

From behind the door, Buffy grinned as she tucked Swordie into her jacket, tickling his little chin. "Stay cute, Dawn-ster," she whispered, and headed out into the night, ready to make the world a safer place for her baby sister.


Tara had started on her Pokémon training a bit earlier than most kids. Growing up on a farm, she never knew a time when she wasn't surrounded by Ponyta, Rapidash, Miltank, Tauros, Grumpigs, and the farm dogs, Growlithe and Herdier.

It was a peaceful way of life, raising them.

So how had she ended up using the corral like some makeshift arena, her little Cyndaquil taking a beating from Donnie's Snubbull?

She turned to Daddy, leaning on the corral fence, watching the fight. His large, grizzled Typhlosion stood behind him, watching the fight as well.

He'd step in if Donnie started hitting her, but he'd never intervene in a Pokémon battle. There was only so much Cyndaquil could take; only so much her magic could do. Donnie was older, had been training longer, and he wouldn't show any mercy.

Needless to say when the bright glow nearly blinded all of them, Tara's Cyndaquil evolving into a Quilava surprised her most of all. A rather impressive flame wheel later and Donnie's Snubbull was a crumpled heap at the other end of the corral.

"You did it Crowley!" She whooped. Tara stooped down to sweep the little fire-type into her arms when a second white glow blazed.

There was Donnie, grinning triumphantly, his newly evolved Granbull at his side.


It was much later, hours after Granbull got tired of brutalizing her Quilava that she decided. Packing her things and her mother's books and all her money, she left after everyone was asleep, for Crowley's safety just as much as her own.

Next stop, Sunnydale.

Besides, with all the vampires running around, a witch with a fire-type could do some good on the Hellmouth.