"Nothing, kid. They don't mean anything at all," Justin answered as a sigh. The hell was he meant to do now? "Stay with Ashley," he told the Pikachu. "Keep her warm for me."
Those instructions given, he headed to the group of medic Pokemon, bypassing the other Rogue on his way. "What do you guys need me to do? My Trainer is sick; teach me to help her."
The pickpocket continued staring at Leon in shocked confusion, barely registering the Treecko's curses, then it's offer of help. The nurses and doctors must all be out on the field- his little group had heard some news of multiple small skirmishes going on on both Teams' territory, and occasionally on the neutral zone that the Rogues generally occupied. Maybe those 'small' skirmishes were bigger than he'd thought. This was not looking good, not at all. Magma could barely help itself; how was he meant to ask them to spare medical supplies for him? But if he didn't, eventually his group would perish...
Us or them. Is that what it had come down to?
The electrician frowned, lowering his hand. "What are we going to do with you?" he mused. "Well, we don't have enough food to spare, so if you're hungry, hunt while we travel." His voice continued lowering until he was muttering. "We need to find the damn pickpocket." And hope that he hadn't been captured by Magma, hadn't ditched them to join up with the Team, and had found food and medicine...
Too many uncertainties! He was beginning to really struggle with all of this. Always, there was doubt about his companions. He was never sure of their motives, even after what they'd shared...
He tried to force his eyes open, tried to look up at her or the Misdreavous, but he was just empty inside. He couldn't draw up the strength. How did she do it? He knew she was just as broken, probably more so, but somehow she forced herself to keep going, to keep acting. How did she do it, when all he wanted to do was curl up in a hole and wait for the pain to fade?
His hands were shaking as he reached for a square of paper nearby. Oragami had made him feel better at one stage. When Mariah had taught him, he'd been secretly proud that he surpassed her skills- albeit only in paper cranes. He would never match her skills in origami flower making. But his folds were neater, his cranes sat better, and they were beautiful. He tried to force his mind to think only of the crane as his hands slowly formed the object of his thoughts. Maybe a thousand of these cranes would take the pain away...

