Shades of the Past
by Kellnoa

Chapter II
The Ties That Bind

Three figures surrounded the hospital bed, one containing the unfortunate boy who had somehow ended up in a comatose condition, and it was quite likely that they would never know what had happened.

Ryan's mother was the one who was kneeling next to the bed, her hand gently clasped around the singed right hand of her son, even though he could not feel it. Her head was buried in the sheets that surrounded him, silently sobbing that he would be okay, that he would survive this ordeal. She had no idea what she would do if he did die, similar to the situation with her first son. When he had died, she had been depressed for weeks, neglecting the other immediate members of her family for some time. After realizing how selfish she had been towards her family, who was also suffering, she tried to place the past behind her and made an effort to restore the household back to normalcy. However, during that period, she constantly contemplated how her son, out of all the people that populated this world, was the one that had to die. She had felt for a long time that it was her fault, as she was the one who had suggested that he pause his pokémon journey to join the family in celebrating his brother's birthday. She had regretted that decision ever since, and she had hoped that she would never make the same mistake ever again.

But now, here was her son, lying lifeless, with only the advanced medical machinery to keep him alive. She cried even harder, as she realized that she had made the same mistake twice. That morning, just two days prior. The anniversary of her first son's death. The twelfth birthday of her second son. He had asked not to visit his brother's grave that morning, but she had insisted that he go whether he liked it or not. And now, here he was, nearly dead, with a quarter of the upper half of his body badly burned, puncture wounds around various parts of his body, and a seriously injured leg. She just couldn't get over the fact that she had made the same mistake again. She squeezed his hand more than she wanted to as she wondered if she would be doing the same to her last child, her only daughter.

Ryan's father awkwardly stood right next to his bed, his eyes resting upon his wife's shuddering head. He was gently stroking her chestnut-colored hair with his calloused right hand, an unsuccessful attempt to both soothe and comfort her. He knew it wouldn't work, for when a mother's child is on the brink of death, she can not force herself to think of anything else, and no comfort can be brought to her. He felt as though he should be doing more for her, but he was at a loss for thought.

He took another look at his son, and instantly felt a surge of sadness rise within him. Ryan's black eyebrows and black hair, the same black hair that he had inherited from his father, was gone, replaced by a large pale scalp, the same color that seemed to cover the rest of his body. The deathly paleness of his skin, along with his lack of facial expression, and the still form of his son's body, gave the illusion that he was already dead.

The father stole another look at the reddish-black "burns", as he was convinced, that ran from his right collar bone, under the sheets, and down to his leg, which included his right arm. The father knew, being a scientist, that the burn would most likely turn into a large scar, if there were the slim chance that his son managed to survive this ordeal. He also knew that a burn of that degree would seriously affect the motor nerves that not only controlled his right arm, but possibly his right leg. There was a chance, as the doctors informed, that he would never be able to use that side of his body again. And that pained the father deeply, that his son might have to live through life with a permanent disability, when he secretly knew that his son craved normality. That was if he survived.

The pain was so engraved in him as a father that it began to minifest itself at the corner of his eye. As the man slowly reached up to his eye, he realized what it was. It was tears. His tears. Tears on a man who hated to cry, because it enhanced his sorrow tenfold, which always made him feel uncomfortable. He was crying for his son. But why was he crying now, if he hadn't cried fro Travis, his firstborn? He came to the conclusion that maybe it was because he had a chance to see Ryan's body, and not Travis'. Or maybe it was because there was a chance that his son could live in pain and torment while he knew that Travis was resting in peace. Or maybe he didn't know.

Sadness, Grief, Pity, Guilt. Despair, Loneliness, Longing, Hope. Anxiety, Anger, Fury, Fear. All those emotions seemed to hang in the air of the hospital room, brought about by the four occupants that were in the room. But at the same time, they all seemed to encase themselves around the young girl that sat at the side of her fallen brother, opposite of her parents. They hugged her body tight as they began to make their way in her, creeping through every pore of her body, the astounding amount of ambiguous emotions wrecking havoc from within.

Outside, Tamissa had shown no signs of feelings for her brother, She had not yet shed a tear of sadness, not even a wrinkle of worry. She was too busy trying to discern one emotion from the next, finding the task hard with the amount she felt. She couldn't undersand why she felt this way, why she felt feelings that she normally didn't feel. She couldn't understand it at all. The only thing she knew was where each emotion had originated from. The sadness and grief came from everyone except for Ryan. The despairw loneliness, and hope came from everyone, including Ryan, even though he remained unconscious. The guilt came from both her parents, while the pity only came from her father. Strangely, the longing, anxiety, anger, and fury all came from Ryan, though she couldn't tell why.

The only thing she wasn't sure of was the fear. Fear had always been confusing to her, as it seemed to come from both one and many persons at the same time. It was an emotion that fluctuated continually, and although she was only eight years old, she figured that it was because it caused people to expect and believe for the worst, though naturally, people would try to fight it off in an act of optimism.

Fear seemed to be the strongest emotion in the room, as it tried to force everyone in the room to expect the worst for Ryan, though they tried to reassure themselves that he would pull through. And Tami was no different.

Her fear was that she would lose Ryan, just like she had lost Travis. She didn't want to lose another brother; that was why she often tried to spend as much time as possible trying to be with him, to stand by his side and encourage him, to be there for him. And even though he didn't show it much, she knew that he felt the same about her. The thought of losing him now...it would have been unbearable for her. If he died, she would have no one with whom to share a bond similar to the one that they shared presently.

As the thought passed, a single tear rolled down her cheek as she whispered, "Don't leave me..."

(-o-)

Ryan awoke to a surprise that nearly shocked him to death, if by a slim chance he had managed to survive. The last thing he could remember were the flames that were consuming him as he plummited towards the rocky shore.

Ryan took in his new surroundings in awe, initially wondering if this was what the afterlife truly ressembled. Below him, the aquamarine waters of the Angean Sea, the sea that laid between Northarim and Westarim, gently lapped up against the rusting reddish-white hull of a large boat, which registered in Ryan's mind for reasons unknown as the Eisa. Above him, the sky was hidden by a blanket of grayish-white clouds that churned on endlessly, imitating the actions of its watery counterpart. And in between the two, the unique salty smell of the ocean and the damp smell of the cloudy day danced together to concoct a natural but powerful scent that was unlike any other.

Taking in all that he was experiencing, despite the last remnants of his memory, left Ryan both shocked and confused, though he was also genuinely content for his safety. But the biggest shock came from the person standing on the deck beside him with a smile on his face. The person with the short mahogony brown hair that flew in every direction with the wind. The person with his arm over Ryan's shoulders, taking in the scenery with his concealing hazel eyes. The person that should have been dead at the bottom of the sea for the past two years. The person who possessed the name of Travis Trouleway.

The somehow resurrected older brother turned his head toward his younger brother, looking at him with eyes that were impenetrable, set in a face that had been missing for years, but had not been forgotten. "If you lean on the rail any farther, Ry, you're going to fall in the water. Probably get hit by the boat too. Not that it would be a bad thing and all."

Ryan couldn't believe what he was seeing and hearing. He tried not to believe it. He didn't want to believe it. His brother was dead, and was supposed to remain that way for all eternity, not casually standing in front of him on the deck of a boat as though the events of the past two years had not occured.

As he stared at the bizarre sight, a few words emerged from when he had visited Travis' grave:

"Everyday, I wanted to believe that I was in a dream - no, a nightmare - and that I would finally wake up any second to find that we were a family again, no death, no sadness, no troubles. But I've never woken up, and the more I stay dreaming, the more realistic and unbearable this life just seems to get. But just recently, I've been having thoughts that could possibly liberate me from this nightmarish hell, and, hopefully, give me the chance to see you again."

"Did I finally wake up?" he wondered, amazed that he could have possibly been right in his "dream". "Was it all just a horrible nightmare? Or am I still dreaming..." His thoughts aroused suspicion as to whether this world he was in were real or not. But the sounds of the water, the smell of the sky and sea, the mere gentle rocking of the boat were much too real to have been dreamt up. So was his brother...that voice was too clear to be made up by the mind. He couldn't possibly be dreaming...

As the shock began to wear off, a smile, one that had been absent for two years, began to spread across his face. All traces of the anger and hatred he once held for his deceased brother had vanished. In its absence came an irresistible urge to give his brother a great big hug, and so with a feeling of pure elation, he tried to hug his brother. Tried.

To his horror, he discovered that he possessed little control over his own body. Even though it was moving, Ryan himself appeared to be in a state of paralysis, trapped within his own mind. No matter how much energy and concentration he exerted into moving his arms and legs, or even to blink, nothing would respond. Thus he began to panic.

His voice was no different. He could feel the muscles flexing and stretching in his mouth, about to be used, but he could do nothing about it. He watched on helplessly as a prisoner in his own body, feeling a great loneliness wash over him, as his body began to speak on its own.

"Would you stop calling me Ry? I hate that name," came his voice, tinted with a false display of anger. Gods, how he missed bying called Ry right now. It was a long time private joke between the two brothers.

"The only way that I'd ever stop calling you Ry is if I ever forgot your name, and the chances of that happening is zilch." Travis paused for a moment, then continued. "However, since today is your tenth birthday, I think I can lay off on the 'Ry' for today. That okay with you?"

Ryan gave a happy nod of approval, oblivious to the rapid thoughts that raced through his own mind. If Ryan did have control over himself, all the color would have drained out of him. He would have fallen to the floor, with tears quickly following. He might have been shaking too.

"Tenth birthday..." he thought in a scared and sad manner. He felt nauseous as he realized that this world had to be some sort of joke or illusion. He was confident about it. It wasn't a dream, he realized, but a memory, as all these events had happened before. He must have forgotten that fact in his shock.

He knew what would be going on that day if the events occuring before his eyes continued their predestined course. On this cloudy October day, he would be celebrating his tenth birthday, which would be the last shred of untainted happiness his family would ever experience. During the party, the sky would darken, and a fierce storm would disturb the waters, violently tackling the ship. And he would be taken to safety...while his brother would die.

He would have to live thorugh the same awful event again, now in the form of a memory. But why would a simple memory be so real? There was no doubt in his mind that whatever power was responsible for this was cruel at heart. Living through it as a one-time event was enough to scar him. But seeing it all again, so vividly, and not being able to change the past; to sit there, helplessly viewing the death of his own flesh and blood...that could lead to a crumbling of his own sanity...or worse...

As Travis guided his past self towards the rest of their family below deck, Ryan managed to catch a glimpse of a few fast approaching black clouds, with death and sadness and despair trailing not far behind. At the sight of them, Ryan felt like crying. He wanted, and needed to cry. But he could not cry.

(-o-)

Lillian Trouleway couldn't keep it up any longer. She had been up for the past forty-eight hours, worring for the wellbeing of her son every waking minute. And now she was beginning to lose the fight against the heavy force of fatigue that had claimed the rest of her body. She looked down into her lap, where her youngest child, eight years old, lay, sleeping for the last few hours. For a second, she felt a pang of jealousy that her daughter was able to get some sleep at a time like this, though it would probably be a very troubled one as she was accustomed to. However, she quickly scolded herself for the thought, as the fear of sleeping through Ryan's death, which she prayed would not happened, was much greater than her desire for rest.

Her mind was distant as heavy eyelids tried to seduce and subdue her. She was too busy thinking about recent events to notice the trail of tears that flowed freely from her son's eyes.

As her head bobbed up and down in a consistent rythm, she felt another presence in the room, and raised her eyes accordingly, only to see a dark shape within the door frame. It was her husband, Arthur, who had just come back from talking with Ryan's physician.

"Any changes with his condition soon?" she softly asked, watching as he walked toward her, a glum expression sewn onto his face.

"I...I'm afraid not. He said that...that Ryan...if he does manage to survive...then there wouldn't be any changes. In other words - Ryan's in some sort of coma. And..." His voice began to quake as he struggled to get the last few words out to his wife. "He might not come out of it for a very long time, if at all."

Her face, her hopes, her spirit sank to the ground, total realization finally sinking in. She had to accept the fact that she may never talk to her son again, that he might never see the world again, to be lost in his own mind for a long time; months, years, and even decades.

But her motherly faith in a full recovery for her son did not falter. She would not be told to just abandon Ryan and his health. She would not be forced to. She would keep on going, hope and faith as her guide; she was determined to see her son again. She would not let him go.

"I refuse to believe that," she replied very softly, almost inaudible to her husband's ears. "I believe that he will be with us very shortly. If I accept that he will stay inactive for a long time or that he will die today or tomorrow or weeks from now, then he will be, and I will have no right to be called a mother. No matter what the doctors say, I say he will live. He is my son, and I won't let him go like I did to Travis."

Arthur listened to her words in a silent awe. Even if there were no hope for Ryan, she would still continue to hope for a recovery. She had to have had a strong bond with Ryan in order to dismiss the thoughts and opinions of professionals, and with such certainty as well. The same thing could be said of Travis. And it probably applied to Tami too. Such strong bonds with their children...

But when talking to the doctor, he had automatically accepted the fact. Maybe it was an understanding that came with his analytical mind and scientific acceptance of the world. But could it have also been that he had a weak bond with Ryan, weak enough to expect him to suffer without a second thought? Had he given enough of his time and attention towards his now eldest son? And if this was true, was it too late to remedy it?

With an almost inaudible whimper, Mr. Trouleway sat in the corner of the hospital room, contemplating his bond with his son, as well as the rest of his children, twisting it over and over in his mind. And he continued to do so as the night became morn, and as the morn became day.

E N D . C H A P T E R . T W O