A tale of Brockian Angst. It's flame-bait, I know, but I'll write whatever makes me happy, thank-you very much. And besides, a flame is better than no review at all.
The Gym Factor
Brock came to bed late, and his feet ached from having walked so incredibly far in one night. It was January, and when he had first begun his journey it was nice and brisk, but he ached to find relief as night fell and the cold seeped straight to his bones, and his nose became red and numb, and he had goose bumps for about five hours straight. He was relieved enough to wet his pants when he got to a hotel and found that Ash and Misty had left instructions for the lobby manager to give him a key to their room should he show up. Brock had asked them to do that, and was quite surprised that they remembered. He thought of nothing but bed as his frigid body forced its way up the staircase, telling him to collapse with each step taken. When he finally arrived he could stand no more, and just laid on the couch with no struggle. He shivered as he was without blankets, but he didn't have the strength to go looking for one. He was uncomfortable as someone laying out on the front porch in twenty degree weather, but he didn't have the will to lift a finger. He was stupid to have stayed in Lagonas City for two days when his friends had left. But that was his trouble, he always had his hopes up that he would just end up with someone, possibly forever, but he was always blown off.
This time it wasn't a nurse Joy or an officer Jenny, he had just met a girl in a pokemon center. Sure, her hair was the exact color of a strawberry, and she had the cutest little button nose, and the most slender hands, and the fullest lips, and the most sparkly eyes, but she was just like every other woman. She seemed interested at first, then ended up wholly indifferent.
Well damnit, Brock smashed his right fist into his opposing hand, I'm sick of this!
He continued to lye on the sofa shaking and in a terrible mood. He was willing to engage in long term commitment. Didn't women want that? What was so wrong with him?
Sleep didn't come easily, that was for sure. But he had to sleep so that he would wake up before Brock and Misty. He had to sleep so that he wasn't left behind.
He wondered if his friends really cared at all. When he left the first time, to go stay with Professor Ivy (another tally mark on the scorecard of his loveless life), they had wished him luck, but didn't seem to really give a flying fuck that he had left. When he left again two days ago, they hadn't really seemed to care either. It was the same old story.
Brock plunged into sleep while his thoughts were still racing. They became incredibly incoherent right before he nodded off, and they shaped his dreams. Would they leave him alone in the morning? He didn't want that. But he didn't want them if they didn't care either.
*******************
We should have left a blanket on the couch, Misty whispered.
Ash muttered, then left for the bedroom.
Brock awoke to a hand on his head. He was still cold beyond relief.
he mumbled, his teeth chattering.
He has the chills, Misty snapped at Ash, mostly in anger at herself for not leaving a blanket on the sofa.
Ash threw a blanket over him, and Brock's teeth continued to chatter.
I'll get the vapor rub and the Nyquil, Ash muttered, shaking his head.
Is it day? Brock asked.
Misty replied, taking the vapor rub from Ash as he brought it. We bought this stuff when we woke up and saw you lying here. You've really caught a nasty cold.
Misty bit her lip and pulled Brock's shirt over his head.
she asked, go get a pajama top for him. One that buttons up.
What am I, your bitch? Ash whined, but left dutifully as he didn't want to feel the painful end of Misty's mallet in his head.
Misty dipped her fingers into the concoction, and found the scent to be a little nauseating. She pressed her fingers to Brock's chest and began to rub gently. Brock gasped, and the air which entered his lungs had to pass a great wall of phlegm. The sound of his congestion was deep and made Misty want to cough herself when she heard it.
was the only word which escaped Brock's lips.
Misty nodded, it's pretty cold.
Brock brought his hands up to his mouth and began to cough severely, his lungs rumbling heavily with congestion. He sniffed afterward, and wiped his hands on the couch, as if it would get rid of the germs they had acquired.
Misty had pulled back from applying the vapor rub to Brock's chest while he coughed, but resumed once again after he had settled down. He had calmed down about the chilliness of the substance, and began to breathe it in deeply with his mouth. His breaths were marked by crackling, and he almost sounded like a weak vacuum which was happily caught in a pile of dirt. Misty winced, and put her hand to his head again.
she shouted, and Ash ran back into the room with a set of pajamas in hand.
Misty took the pajamas and put the top on Brock, leaving the front unbuttoned so that the vapor rub would still affect him.
Yes master? Ash grunted.
Get the Nyquil too, like you were supposed to in the first place, and bring a rag wet with cold water while you're at it, Misty ordered.
Why don't you get it? Ash asked, but stalked off to do as he was told once again as the fear of the omnipotent mallet coerced him.
Brock's lips were dry and were begining to crack. His tongue was dried out as well from breathing from his mouth all night long. The rim of his nose was much of the same, but it was too stuffed to breathe from. He sniffed a bit as it began to run, and his congestion became louder as he continued breathing from his mouth.
Ash came back begrudgingly, giving the materials that Misty had asked for straight to her hands.
Misty made quick work of placing the rag on Brock's overheated head, and she filled the Nyquil cap to the fill line.
I'm going to need you to sit up, she told Brock, and he complied. He drank the Nyquil down, despite its raunchy taste, and went back to lying feebly and sniffling his runny nose away.
Here you go, Misty sighed, handing him a Kleenex from the table. Brock grabbed it weakly and held it to his nose.
Brock's eyes burned a little, and were fairly bloodshot. Though it hurt when they were closed, it felt good as he didn't have to hold up the little weights that seemed to be tied to them. The Nyquil attacked his stuffy nose quickly, and with a couple of sniffs he was soon able to close his mouth and breathe out of his nose. It lasted for a few moments, then the discomfort of a filling nose returned to him as he tried to sniff it away before it could impair his breathing. It was a losing effort, however, and his mouth was agape soon enough. It made it hard for him to fall asleep, and he became delusional again, in some feverish half-sleep that didn't quite cause his mouth to cease functioning.
Misty rested a hand on his cheek, trying to see if his fever had subsided any from the cold compress. He was still alarmingly warm, and she grumbled as she deliberated on calling the doctor.
he mumbled, and if his mumbling hadn't been Misty's own name, she wouldn't have understood him.
Misty asked, removing her hand from Brock's face.
Doan leave, Brock pleaded, still stuffy nosed. I doan wanna die.
Misty chortled in a reassuring manner. You're not gonna die, Brock. You just caught cold. That's all. Maybe you should get some sleep.
Misty noticed that Brock's eyes were closed and he had lapsed into some sort of congested snoring, but he spoke to her just the same.
I wanna go home, he whimpered, really desiring escape from his discomfort, but he felt as if his mind was swimming in ether, and his eyes rolled beneath his eyelids as a sickly dizziness fell upon him.
Poor Brock, Misty sympathized, and pulled his blankets just below the chest where the vapor rub was. Brock began to tug weakly at the blankets himself, and Misty let him have them. He would have to have more vapor rub later, when he didn't have the chills.
Brock then took the time to sleep away most of the afternoon, and when he woke he was coherent again, though no more comfortable than he had been before.
Brock's awakening began with his eyes, and the room seemed strangely dim to him as he scanned it for anything interesting. The objects in the room seemed to move with his eyes, and he realized that he was still terribly tired. But he was restless at the same time, and didn't want to go back to sleep.
He felt slow and stiff, and he saw Misty come into the room. He merely watched her as she came up to him. He wanted to speak to her, but at first felt too lazy and tired to open his mouth. His limbs were stone, and he knew that if he got up he would momentarily black out from dizziness then throw up. His hair felt sticky and wet, and he felt grotesque overall from being sick and clammy and dry and sweaty all at the same time. But he couldn't go take a shower because of the dizziness that would surely ensue.
Being in such a state gave Brock a minute to think. Misty took his temperature, and he did nothing but look up at her hand, his eyes half open and not truly disposed to listening to the commands his mind gave them.
Is she really my friend? He asked himself, but he was truly relieved by the fact that she cared for him enough to tend to him while he was sick. He knew it would be put to the test momentarily as he felt a wave of nausea creep up his esophagus.
It wasn't a thing that could be helped, and he knew it, but nothing felt worse than turning over and involuntarily vomiting all over the floor. He breathed heavily after the first wave that came over him, moaning in discomfort as his throat felt sparred by acid. Misty ran to get him a bucket, and it came just in time as he convulsed and began throwing up again.
Man oh man you're sick, Misty winced, leaving to get materials with which to clean up the mess. She repressed an urge to yell at Brock for not leaping to the bathroom, telling herself that it wasn't his fault.
She had to turn away from the smell as she cleaned it, but didn't feel bad. Brock was sniffling and shaking and generally feeling terrible for it, and his eyes were heavily watering from the trauma. Throwing up had to be the worst feeling in the world.
Misty then took extra care to get him some more damp cloths for his head, and wiped his face with a wet napkin. Brock was even more restless since he was so helpless, but felt safe and comfortable as Misty touched his cheek with her cool hand once again.
I haven't had the flu since I was ten, she recalled. five years ago.
Brock sighed inwardly, wondering how they could have cared so little when he left even though they'd been with him so long.
Brock couldn't stand wondering for so long, and after a moment of mustering the strength, began to speak.
Why didn't you guys care when I said I was staying in Lagonas? He frowned.
Misty startled a little, and put her hand back on Brock's cheek. Of course we cared. It's just, we can't stop you from doing what you want. You're seventeen. You can go wherever you please.
You would have acted like you wanted me to stay if you really wanted me too, he sniffed.
Misty patted his cheek and pursed her lips in a concerned manner. I didn't want you to leave. I'm sorry, I didn't want you to feel bad for wanting to leave.
Misty blinked after saying this. She didn't know what had gotten into Brock. She figured it must have been his sickness, and decided to console him as much as possible so that he could get well. She never realized that he felt like she and Ash didn't care about him. It shocked her, really. She was a little stunned at the thought.
Brock bit his lip, next time, if you don't want me to leave, tell me so.
All right, Misty agreed, taking his hand and patting it. Next time you want to leave, I'll make Ash get his Bulbasaur to tie you up with vine whip so that you can't.
Brock's mouth turned upward into a smile at this, and the small dirt sucking vacuum struck again as he sighed contentedly. Misty winced at how terribly his breathing had become. She began to worry that he had pneumonia.
Do you think you need to go to the doctor? she asked, not knowing why she was asking the patient. She assumed that he would know best about how bad off he really was.
Brock groaned before replying. Geez, I really don't want to get up.
That's not a good answer, Misty tilted her head. She looked around to ask Ash, but he was apparently avoiding her, not wishing to have anything more demanded of him.
I dunno, Brock answered simply, then ending his response with another fit of coughing. He seemed to leap from the couch with each deep, liquedy and throat-scratching hack, and when all finished he felt thoroughly exhausted.
I'm thinking you might need to, Misty tsked, shaking her head.
Brock shuddered. Let me take a nap first, he requested.
All right, Misty agreed, but if your fever isn't better when you wake up, you're going to Urgent Care, you hear me?
Brock nodded, and closed his eyes again.
Misty stifled a desire to grab Brock's hand and cuddle him. She felt very guilty for both his sickness and for making him feel unloved. He and Ash were her best friends. She never thought that it would hurt him that they were so willing to let him go follow his whims.
Brock began to snore gently, and Misty fluttered her eyelashes against his cheek. She mentally wished him to get well, then left his side to take a hot shower while he slept. The January air chilled the desire for hot water into her skin, and she felt rather gnarly after having cleaned up puke. She decided to be quick about it.
Brock awoke to the sound of water pounding the floor in the bathroom. A shower just sounded marvelous, but he had neither the will nor desire to get up from where he lay. He thought for a moment about what Misty would look like in the shower, but shook the image away. She was Ash's to dream about.
Brock sighed, and knew he was too restless to stay where he lye. He was fueled by both his feeling of loneliness and by his feverish delusional state to be drawn back outside. He wanted to get away from the people he loved that taunted him by not giving a rat's ass whether he remained with them or not.
He didn't know where he would go, but he didn't even feel like living at the moment. He was right that dizziness would overtake him if he stood up, but he hobbled past it and exited the hotel room. He wobbled and tripped all the way down the hallway back outside.
Ash walked out of the kitchen into the main room with Pikachu on his heels when he heard the door open. He looked at it and found it to be cracked open, and he got up and shut it. A chill went down his spine as he contemplated a million different terrible scenarios of someone breaking in, but looked over at the couch and realized that it was just Brock.
he shouted, the realization that his friend, terribly ill, had just walked outside.
Misty, Misty! he shouted, then began pounding on the bathroom door.
Misty turned off the water and shouted back to the pounder.
Yeah, what do you want? she asked irritatedly, drawn from her Amazonian Rain forest of shower fun to hear some sort of trauma.
Brock's gone! Ash shouted back, ignoring her snappy tone.
Misty slapped her head and grabbed her towel from the rack above the toilet. She put her underwear and clothes on, then wrapped her hair in a towel.
We have to go find him, she stated, and tried to wring her hair out quickly.
Yeah we do, Ash agreed.
Pikachu threw in, also in agreement.
Misty entered frantic mode as she slipped a hotel room key into her jacket pocket and dashed out the door. Ash followed, also careful to slip on a jacket.
They reached the glass doors which marked the entrance to the lobby, and Misty nearly hit the floor as she looked outside. Though it was daytime, darkness had settled over the city as clouds encapsulated the sun from above. Snow absolutely covered the ground, and more powder dolloped from the sky onto the slick ground as they spoke. Any footprints to speak of were gone.
Ash ran back to the administrator of the lobby. Have you seen our friend? He's this tall, brown haired, teenaged guy, really really sick?
The man behind the desk lit up at the description. Yeah! Some idiot like that walked out without a jacket. He was headed west I believe.
Ash scratched his head, then ran back over to Misty. We gotta go, he was headed west.
Misty frowned, almost hyperventilating in her worry.
Ash said, pointing toward the west. That away. You know, where the sun goes down?
Misty calmed down. Let's go, she clenched her teeth, throwing open the door.
The wind outside had died down, but the snow-crested cold nipped at her relentlessly. She couldn't even imagine the bite it would give someone with the flu and the chills.
She was going to murder Brock when she found him. How could he do something so dangerous? He would have to go to the hospital for sure now.
The more they traveled in the westward direction, the more Brock's plan had become clear. It was just their luck that this town had to have a bridge over a lake, and Misty broke into a run for it as they neared it. She knew Brock didn't leave too much earlier than they had, and she knew she could catch up to him.
Misty spotted Brock, sitting against the bridge railing and curled into a ball.
You want to get hypothermia? she shouted, running over to him. She gathered him into her coat, trying to warm him up. His skin was frigid as it touched hers, and his lungs sounded like one huge honeycomb of phlegm as he breathed.
Oh Brock! she shouted, gripping him more tightly. Why did you leave?
Y-y-you g-guys d-don't want me a-around, he shivered, burying his ice-solid nose into Misty's shoulder as he said this.
Misty pulled Brock out of her shoulder and made him face her. Of course we care! Oh Brock, I'm so worried about you!
Brock breathed in with difficulty, then began to sob. But you didn't care if I left! his teeth chattered, you didn't care! You didn't give a rat's ass!
Misty's eyes widened, and pressed her warm lips to his. His were positively frigid, but he returned it.
Both pairs of eyes widened as they stared at each other, and Brock could do nothing but gape.
Misty whispered, I only wished that you wanted to stay with me. I thought I would, I would--
Brock whispered, then turned away to cough, you would what?
Sound desperate, she lowered her head, and sound like I wanted you--if--if I begged you to stay.
Brock remained in his speechless state, and although he had the headache from hell, his head felt more clear than ever. Misty held him close once again, and Brock fell unconscious.
Misty turned to look up at Ash.
I know, I know, Ash rolled his eyes, anticipating the demand he would be given. Go call an ambulance. And hurry.
Misty nodded, and Ash ran back to the hotel. He had to stay on the phone, but an ambulance came to where Misty and Brock were about six minutes later.
Brock was piled into the ambulance on a stretcher, and Misty climbed in along with him. She held his hand as they drove back to the hospital, and Brock's eyes fluttered open as they were nearing it.
He smiled up at Misty, and her heart skipped a beat. It had been pounding furiously, and she wondered if she had just made a fool of herself by confessing to Brock.
Brock did nothing but smile for a moment, then reached for Misty's hand.
Misty's heart didn't skip a beat this time, but it fluttered quickly at the touch.
he whispered as the ambulance stopped, I'll never, ever leave again. And that's a promise.
Now, if you're like most reviewers that respond to this flame-bait kind of story, you're thinking, what the fuck was she thinking? Brock and Misty? But, my dear friend, flame away, because this story was written in pure rebellion to you anti-BAMR's out there. you may think the story itself sucked, no matter what kind of romance it was, but I feel sorry for Brock. As I watch the show, it seems to me that no one really DOES give a rat's ass about him, and he never seems to get depressed when all those girls turn him down. Misty can go ahead and explore her damn options. Maybe she'd be better off with someone who can cook, clean, and who never insults her. I remember being like, Noooo Brock, don't goooo! On the Professor Ivy episode, but Ash and Misty were like, well, bye, yuk yuk. It bothered me. A lot. And I think that I'll elaborate on that thought more in a more well thought out fic in the future. Anyway, read this bad boy and REVIEW IT damnit! I don't stay up until 4 am writing slop so that I can live out my days wondering what kind of a reaction it got! Peace out.