Surprisingly, he wakes up. It would be a pleasant surprise if the bed he was on wasn't so unpleasant.
Blinking blearily at the world around him, he takes a few moments to adjust. He's in a small room, far too small for his tastes, lying in a straw bed. The wooden walls and floors suggest he's in a cottage of some sort. There's a small bookshelf with ratty books against the wall, and a poorly made vase resting on a chipped end table. The rug beside the bed looks scratchy and uncomfortable.
He's not in much better shape than his surroundings. At the very least, all his injuries have been cared for. Electric burns marr his skin, wrapped carefully in bandages. He tries to move, but the motion shoots stinging pain throughout his entire body, and he falls back. The impact makes him wince.
As he waits for the pain to subside, he glares at the ceiling. How is he supposed to beat Zekrom now? The dragon was already unbeatable, but now he's got all these injuries weighing him down. He doesn't have time to recover; he needs to return to his father's good graces as soon as possible.
Just as he's considering scrounging together some cash and hiring some cheap mercenaries to do the job for him, the rickety door swings open with a loud creak. His head shoots up to see a swadloon waddling in with a bowl of soup. The swadloon, in turn, jumps at the sight of him awake and drops the bowl on the floor.
"Oops!" The bug laughs, his tone absolutely delighted in spite of the mess on the floor. "Silly me! I oughta clean that up, though—"
As soon as he bends over to pick up the bowl, he bumps right into the end table. The vase wobbles dangerously, and before Montgomery can even say a word, the swadloon bumps into it again and the vase falls over. The loud shattering sound startles the bug, who quickly whirls around.
...And then runs straight into the bookshelf, knocking several books off the shelf.
With that same carefree country accent, the swadloon remarks, "Aw, shucks. Well ain't that just a mess?"
The swadloon chuckles to himself, cleaning the soup. In what was once a peaceful room, this lone bug-type managed to let all Hell loose in the span of five seconds. Montgomery trains an eye on him warily. He's not gonna die in some dusty hovel because of a clumsy insect.
Out of nowhere, the swadloon shoots back up. It does not make Mongomery jump.
"Pardon my manners, I haven't introduced myself! My name's Lenny, what's yours?"
When Mongtomery is certain Lenny isn't going to accidentally knock the roof down on them, he responds, "Montgomery."
Lenny's face brightens. "Montgomery? Well that's an awfully nice sounding name! But we have some neighbors with the last name of Montgomery, and it might get a little confusing if we keep mixing you up. You might need a nickname..."
Montgomery bristles at the thought. "No."
Lenny doesn't seem to hear him, head in the clouds as he picks up the fallen books. "Mind if I call you Mott? It's got a fun little ring to it, don't you think?"
Montgomery scowls, deciding he isn't just cautious of this Lenny. He hates him.
"Why am I here?" He demands, glaring at the back of Lenny's head. Lenny turns, still smiling, the hostility going right over his head. "And where am I?"
"We're at my folk's home, just outside the valley in Wheatfield Village. I was out picking berries last night when Zekrom attacked. I saw him knock you into the river before flying off, so I dragged you back home."
Having his blunders brought up again and rubbed in his face isn't helping his mood. "Thanks."
He means it in a biting, sarcastic way, but that's not how Lenny takes it. "It's no problem! You distracted Zekrom from attacking the valley, so the least I could do was help you out, too. One blast of lightning from that guy and I'd probably go up in flames!"
Montgomery looks out the window, seeing a measly excuse for a farm outside. Most of the crops are withered and dying, even though it's prime time for growing. Looking out at dead fields does nothing for his grim thoughts. Last night was a disaster. One strike from Zekrom—one—was enough to take him out. How is he going to get back in the good graces with his family?
"So, Mott," Lenny begins, and it takes all of Montgomery's willpower not to lose it right then and there, "where are you from?"
Montgomery is not in a talking mood. He has been beaten. He is in a suffocatingly small room. He is sitting in a straw bed, overlooking a dead field. And an annoyingly cheerful stranger keeps calling him Mott.
He answers, "Out of town."
Lenny laughs. "I guessed as much, silly. What town?"
His lips twist downward at one corner. "Andovine."
A surprised exclamation escapes Lenny, and he drops the book he was putting away. "Andovine City? Oh my, you must be awfully rich."
He was.
Again, he doesn't appreciate the reminder of how far he's fallen.
"What's it like, in that big city? Are there a lot of people? Big buildings? Fun things to do?" Lenny practically bombards him with questions, the dropped book long forgotten. Montgomery leans away from him, but Lenny doesn't seem to care. His eyes shine like stars. "I bet it's wonderful, there. I bet it's like you're on an adventure every day."
Montgomery scoffs. "Yeah. It's like floating on clouds of cotton candy."
Lenny's eyes sparkle even more.
Barely concealing his eye roll, Montgomery looks back out the window. This guy is clearly some clueless, dense country bumpkin without an inkling of reality. Even more clearly, he isn't worth Montgomery's time. He should be out there tracking Zekrom right now, not cramping himself in a dusty hut.
"Is there anything else you could tell me about Andovine? Or anywhere you've been?" Lenny asks, hopeful. "Is it a lot like this place?"
Montgomery looks outside at the molding fields and hardly suppresses a grimace. "It's nothing like this place."
"I thought so," Lenny says, almost dreamily. "I bet it's wonderful. Really, really wonderful."
He's not going to sit around and gush about how sparkly and perfect everything is with this hillbilly. He has things to do, legends to beat, so on and so forth. Swinging his legs over to the side of the bed, he moves to stand up. Lenny's eyes widen, and not in the over-eager way he's seen too much of today.
"Hold on, hold on—you're in no shape to be getting up so early!" Lenny protests, trying to block him from leaving the bed. Montgomery frowns, ducking to get around him. "Don't push yourself—"
The moment he stands, pain shoots up his legs like his bones are on fire. Hissing, his legs buckle under him and he falls against the wall. Hastily, Lenny catches him just as he grips the end table to keep himself upright. He hates that he probably would've fallen without Lenny there. Every inch of his body shakes like it's about to crumble apart.
Every second he spends standing only compounds the pain. It feels like the flesh is being stripped from his bones. With no strength to fight back, he can only grudgingly relent as Lenny gingerly places him back in the bed. It doesn't make him feel much better. The straw pokes his back like a dozen needles.
When Lenny seems satisfied that he's safely back in bed, he chides, "You oughta stay in bed for at least the rest of the day. Probably more, but I won't push my luck. I have a feeling you wouldn't listen, anyhow."
That's the one thing Lenny's gotten right all day. "I don't have time to rest. I'm leaving, now."
"Why, you got something to do?"
"I need to beat Zekrom." Lenny's eyes nearly pop out of his skull. "And I need to do it now."
"You need to beat—hold on, that's not..." Lenny stumbles over his words, as if trying to wrap his head around Montgomery's insane quest. He understands the feeling; he's still trying to puzzle through it. Eventually, Lenny manages to land on: "Why have you got to have it done now?"
Montgomery snarls before he can help it. "Why have you got to stick your nose in everyone's business?"
Lenny flinches back. A moment of silence interjects itself between them, and Lenny wordlessly bends over to clean the remaining mess. For a moment, Montgomery actually feels kinda bad. The guy did save him, after all. And bring him into his house, as unpleasant as it is. The way Lenny deflates in the slightest forces Montgomery to look away before this... feeling... in his chest gnaws him to death.
He doesn't have time to focus on it, he tells himself. He doesn't have time to focus on anyone's feelings or even his own. He doesn't have time to focus on anything but Zekrom.
Once the room is (relatively) clean, Lenny stands back up. Montgomery doesn't know how he manages to smile, even if it's more diluted than before. The gnawing feeling returns with a vengeance, and he has to muster up all his strength to shove it back down.
"Get some rest," Lenny says. Even if his tone is gentle, there's a hint of insistence in his voice, and Montgomery knows he won't take 'no' for an answer. "I'll fix another pot of soup so you can eat something when you wake up."
Montgomery doesn't acknowledge him as he leaves the room. He doesn't think he could stomach looking at a smile when he feels so gross inside. The door quietly shuts behind Lenny, closing with a soft 'click.' For the first time all day, Montgomery is left alone in complete silence. Again, he mercilessly shoves down the mixed feelings that come with that. Ironically, struggling to bottle it all up makes him angry. He's been meticulously trained by his father to contain all his emotions and never let them see the light of day. Yet, years and years of learning to school himself into carefully balanced neutrality has gone out the window after mere days of banishment. Maybe this is why his father never gave him the crest; he's so useless he can't even silence his emotions right.
He casts those thoughts aside after making a mental note to work on his inadequacies in the future. Perfecting himself into the ideal son will mean nothing if he isn't accepted into the Alcott family, and that means he needs to get back to hunting Zekrom. But where does he start? The first time he encountered Zekrom was a complete fluke; he doesn't expect he'll be so lucky in the future. As much as he loathes to admit it, he's already blown his best chance at redemption. It's going to be a lot harder to catch Zekrom, starting now. Especially because no one seems to understand its pattern.
As far as his understanding goes, the creature seems to come and go on a whim. It'll disappear for weeks at a time only to unexpectedly return with a vengeance. There's no predictability to it, no method. It's simply the depraved, bloodthirsty whims of a beast.
Montgomery hadn't paid much attention to all the Zekrom talk back when he was still in the good graces of his family because he found the matter boring. Right now, he's cursing himself for it. Even the slightest hint would be better than what he has now: an empty bag, a lot of injuries, and no leads. The best he can do is ask around town and see what people have to say. A direction, no matter how misleading, is at least a start.