Title: Conduit
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,431
Genre: Drama, Character Study, Friendship
Warnings: Violence
Summary: Green+Red. The night before they leave for their journeys, Red and Green are in opposite places and mindsets. Although their friendship is nearly destroyed, Green sticks to Red like a shadow, and they can't become untangled.
Disclaimer: Pokémon isn't mine.
Author's Notes: Written for the second challenge at the Pokeprompts Livejournal community, "Summer Skin." I was reading Fight Club, so there are some overtones. I know Bulbapedia says they're eleven but I can't quite believe it ;_; And yes, that's text from Pokémon Yellow in there (in case you were wondering).
-
On the night you left I came over
And we peeled the freckles from our shoulders
Our brand new coats so flushed and pink
And I knew your heart I couldn't win
Cause the season's change was a conduit
And we'd left our love in our summer skin
-
Red flicked on the bathroom light. In the harsh brilliance, his bruise was lurid, black and blue spreading across his left cheekbone and right eye. He looked tired after a night of no sleep, too torn by emotion to rest.
He blinked, and his reflection did too. No, he hadn't slept at all. One hour, maybe two—he was ten years old today and he was about to embark on the biggest journey of his life, and all he could think about was exhaustion and regret.
He leaned down and gingerly splashed water on his face, wincing when it touched his bruises. When he lifted his head, he stared at a boy he didn't recognize, tired and beaten, with the weary expression of someone who never gave up. He didn't look like he was ten years old. He didn't look like a small-town boy who had two friends to his name and, more recently, only one, who spent every day dreaming of the world that lay beyond the town's borders.
But today was his first birthday in the double digits, so perhaps this new appearance suited him. Inside, he felt exhausted, but outside he looked like a warrior.
He met his own gaze, silently, and held it: crimson on crimson.
Red reached for the light switch.
—
Green clicked off the bathroom light but continued to linger in the dark.
His grandfather and his sister were still asleep. When he'd snuck in last night, they hadn't seen the bruises on his face—one on his right cheekbone, one on his left eye. They hadn't seen the scrapes on his arms from where Red had tackled him into the dirt, but only after Green had punched him, calling him a liar, a mama's boy, a thief. Red hadn't known why Green was angry this time, but after a summer of escalating violence he no longer asked for answers. Now, Red just counterattacked, and when the fists were done flying and their blood fell in heavy drops from their split lips and bruised knuckles to stain the dust, Green was pleased. That was what he wanted—a reaction, a person to fight. To hate.
Green had called Red a loser and had stormed away to the long grass, where he went because it was where his grandfather said he could never go. He stepped into the field outside Pallet and saw the same thing in every direction, grass and trees and rocks, and was afraid because maybe the entire world was like this and there would be no one to run to, then, nowhere different.
He hid in the grass and screamed at Pidgey and Rattata until his throat was raw and the Pokémon had all fled. When the stars came out, he crawled up to his bedroom window and crept inside, his muscles aching from the beating he'd given and received.
Once upon a time, when the summers had meant more time to play with Red and Leaf and more time to dream, he left his window open so his friends could sneak in and whisper to him in the dark. Now he used it to avoid a family he didn't know—a grandfather who loved his best friend more and a sister who didn't understand him.
Green slid under the covers and listened to the night outside. He listened for hours, because he didn't sleep at all, too tired to close his eyes, too full of pent-up rage to rest. Now that it was morning, with the sun barely up, it was just him and his reflection in the dark, him and his dreams and his wants and his fury and his reflection with its bruises and its broken skin.
He looked at himself and saw a boy who was ready to burn bridges.
Green reached for the door and pulled it open.
—
Red shut the door behind him. He padded back to his bedroom and quietly dressed.
He didn't look around his room, because none of it mattered anymore. Instead, he climbed onto his bed and stared out the window. The birds were waking up, and their chirps and cries lifted his spirits after the long night. The rising sun threw long shadows across the ground, stretching the trees and low buildings into dreamlike structures.
It was okay to dream, Red thought, though his hands were too small and his voice was too soft. Despite the friendship he hadn't been able to save and the fear he couldn't quite ignore, it was okay to continue dreaming because in a few short hours, Professor Oak would send him out into the world with a Pokémon at his side.
Last night his mother had bandaged his wounds and scolded him for fighting. Green was just upset because he had to stay here with Daisy and Leaf while Red had permission to leave. It wasn't Green's fault and it wasn't Red's, but fighting was wrong, and Red had to be patient with Green because he was having a difficult time adjusting.
Red loved his mother, so he had tried, all night, to obey her, but he couldn't stop the anger or the hurt.
Red didn't tolerate bullying: when Green pushed, Red pushed back. Red also never lost fights, which was why he'd been the last one standing yesterday. Green had fallen onto his side, spitting blood when his teeth cut his cheek. "Loser," Green had snarled, his eyes brimming with hate, "You're always going to be a loser," but saying it hadn't made it true, and they both knew this. Green had fled to the high grass and Red had run to the shore, where he stood with his head in his hands until his body had stopped shaking.
But he'd won that fight, which meant he could still dream, because he had the strength to defend it.
Red lay back on his bed and closed his eyes.
—
Green's eyes opened. This was no time to rest, not now.
A bird shrieked next to his window, and a second later his hand slammed against the glass, sending it flying. "I'm going to catch you," he hissed. "I'm going to beat you, and I'm going to win."
He'd eavesdropped on his grandfather's phone conversations for years, which is why he knew that Oak had two Pokémon instead of one—one for Red and one for Leaf. But Leaf was a baby and didn't even want to go, which meant that there was one free.
His grandfather told him that he wasn't ready yet. He'd tried to prove his grandfather wrong by besting Red, then insulting Red, and finally by fighting Red. Leaf had been no contest—a few shoves and she hadn't talked to him again—but Red wouldn't back down. Red got to his feet when Green threw a shadow over him, and gave him a look that made his stomach twist.
Green was bigger but unbelievably, Red always won. Green's body was hardened after a summer of fighting, but he couldn't match Red's wiry strength or calm, unshakable confidence. But that didn't matter. Green had tenacity, Green had fury, and when he hit Red the boy bled just like everyone else. Red was only a ten-year-old child with dreams too big for his body. He could be defeated, and Green would be the one to do it.
(But thinking that didn't make it true.)
Green swung his feet to the cold floor. It was half an hour before anyone woke up—more than enough time for him to sneak out of the house and into his grandfather's lab. He carried no supplies but the ones that fit in his small pack. He was determined to make his way without anyone's help; he didn't want or need it. He would do this on his own.
There was no way he was going to stop now.
Six o'clock. Green tiptoed down the stairs.
—
Red's feet clattered on the steps.
"It's eleven o'clock!" his mother called. "You're late!"
He found her sitting at the table; she nodded when she saw him. "Right. All boys leave home some day. It said so on TV." She straightened her shoulders and tried to smile.
Red hesitated—he had never said good-bye to anyone before, so he didn't know how to say it now—before he threw his arms around her neck.
She hugged him fiercely, then told him what he already knew. "Professor Oak, next door, is looking for you." She nudged him until he let her go, and turned away.
Red hurried out into the glaring mid-morning sun. The world looked brighter today, and a surge of excitement swelled in his chest. He knew he needed to go see Professor Oak, like his mother had said, but the route leading out of Pallet Town lured him like a magnet. As he came closer to the town's edge, he remembered Green sprinting away until he disappeared in the swaying grass. He remembered green eyes glaring hatred and the ache still in his knuckles.
The first time they had fought, Green had hit him with a surprise attack before fleeing into the grass, where he'd known Red wouldn't follow. Red sat at the edge of town for hours, waiting for Green to appear and explain himself. Finally he'd left to hide in his backyard, and not five minutes later Green crept out of the grass.
Red always won, but Green always found him first.
His steps slowed until he stood at the boundary. Starting today, Red could go anywhere he wanted, and Green couldn't. After this summer, he felt no pity for Green, no matter what anyone said—only regret.
Red took a deep breath and stepped into the long grass.
"Hey! Wait! Don't go out!" came the cry from behind him. Red turned.
—
Green faced his grandfather's aides, screaming insults at them when they tried to order him to leave. He wouldn't be ordered around, not when he'd been sitting in the dark for four hours, waiting and staring at the Poké Ball that would soon be his.
He remembered Red sitting on his back fence and playing with the empty Poké Balls that Oak gave him, tossing them easily as Green watched. That was the moment he realized that they were different: his grandfather had never even let him touch a Poké Ball, much less play with one so carelessly.
Something snapped inside his chest then, and he shoved Red off the fence and ran away. From between the blades of grass he watched Red scan the waving field, until finally he crouched in the dirt with his hands on his knees. They spent hours like this, Red looking for Green and Green staring at Red, until the sun set and Green began to shiver. Red left at last and Green came out of the grass, and then their situations reversed.
His grandfather had chosen Red that day, and Green had been passed over. He would not be passed over again.
Green heard the door open, heard his grandfather's voice, and leaped to his feet.
—
Red wavered on his feet when Oak suddenly stopped. He peered around the professor's back and saw Green standing in the dark, silhouetted by the shafts of light that poured in through the windows. His lips were spread in a feral grin; a bruise bloomed underneath one eye.
Red's stomach twisted.
"Gramps!" he called across the room. "I'm fed up with waiting!"
"Hmm? Green? Why are you here..." The professor glanced at Red, not knowing how much he knew. "...Already? I said for you to come by later... Ah, whatever! Just...wait there."
Oak walked closer, and Red followed, but his eyes never left Green. Green stared back. They both ignored what the older man said after that; it was nothing they didn't already know.
Red's eyes narrowed.
Green bared his teeth.
"Go on, take it!" Professor Oak said too loudly, shoving Red hard enough to make him trip. He caught himself, expecting Green to laugh; instead, there was uneasy silence.
"Hey! Gramps! What about me?" Green said a moment later, his eyes never leaving Red's face.
"Be patient, Green, I'll give you one later," Red heard, but it sounded like a weak excuse, and it was. Red was the only one leaving today, and everyone knew it.
Green silently dared him to take one. Red lifted his chin as he stepped forward, breaking their staring match to look at the two Poké Balls before him. He took a last, quiet glance at Green—the boy tensed, ready to spring—Oak nervously watched them both.
Red reached out a hand, and Green shoved him out of the way.
"No way! Red, I want this Pokémon!" Green crowed as he snatched the Poké Ball away.
"Green! What are you doing?"
"Gramps, I want this one!"
"But, I..."
Green began to laugh at his grandfather's dismay, clutching the Ball so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Red lunged forward, and Green's laughter continued breathlessly over the sounds of their fight until Red punched him in the stomach. When Professor Oak pulled them apart, Green stood doubled over, a few last chuckles dropping broken from his lips, and Red tugged against Oak's tight hold before he finally relaxed.
"Oh, all right then," Oak said, desperate for this to be over. "That Pokémon is yours. I was...going to give you one anyway... Red, come over here."
Green waited until Red received his own Pokémon—inferior, at last—and dreamed of all the places he was about to see, the battles he was about to fight, and the championships he was about to win. Then, when his grandfather was done, he challenged Red to a fight—a real fight.
The metal ball was cold and smooth as it left Green's hand.
—
The two Pokémon appeared in simultaneous flashes of light. After the summer, the rhythm of battle was familiar, even if the attacks were new; tackle, tail whip, tackle, thundershock. Thundershock, thundershock, thundershock. It wasn't long until Eevee was unconscious at her trainer's feet.
"Smell you later!" Green snarled as he left the lab, and Red knew better than to hope he'd never see him again.
The door slammed. Red nodded to Professor Oak and walked towards the same door, imagining Green running through the grass with Pidgey flying in his wake, not stopping until he reached Viridian and beyond.
No matter where they went, Green would find him. And Red would win.