"One of the paramedics brought him in shortly after the building collapsed," the nurse, Laura, explained as she led Misty and Brock down the hospital corridor. The white walls and an aroma of disinfectant left Misty feeling light-headed and dizzy. Brock held tightly to her arm, muttering words of comfort and reminding her to breathe. Laura paused in front of a room. "I should warn you. He's in pretty bad shape." Laura pulled the hospital curtain aside before Misty or Brock could ask for clarification.
Misty froze before choking back a sob. The room was silent except for the rhythmic beeping and the whoosh of the machines meant to help the patient breathe when their own body failed them.
Misty stepped closer, reminding herself that this may not be Ash, that this could be someone else, another person with a family desperately trying to locate them.
Tentatively, she leaned forward, minding the tubes and wires. So many cords and wires crisscrossed across the person's body that she felt like she was diffusing a bomb. One wrong move, and she'd set off a barrage of alarms.
White bandages were wrapped around their head, and literal ash covered what hair could be seen, dying it a gray that made them look twenty years older. She reached forward, gently sweeping away some of the stray hair that remained on their forehead to see if she could catch a glimpse of the color beneath.
Black.
The ventilator obscured parts of their face, and the patient's eyes were closed in a peaceful sleep. If only they were open, she could see if it was Ash's dark brown eyes staring back at her. Misty let her fingers trace the patient's cheek, gently rubbing away the soot and dirt that had gathered there. With some of the gunk removed, her fingers froze as the faint outline of a familiar jagged line surfaced.
Could it be?
She wouldn't let herself jump to conclusions just to have her heart broken; she needed more evidence, more signs that undeniably pointed back to Ash. Misty reached for the man's hand, instantly feeling the weathered callouses likely from years spent traveling. She squeezed his hand, hoping it might spark recognition within her, but the hand was sweaty and limp against hers.
"I don't know," she whispered, feeling an overwhelming sense of failure. Brock stepped closer, gently squeezing her shoulder. "I don't know if this is him. I...I can't tell." There were too many wires, too many scratches and dirt and gunk and ash across their face. If they could just open their eyes, she would know immediately.
She couldn't even recognize her own fiance. She had failed.
"Maybe this will help," Laura's voice broke through her thoughts.
Laura pulled out a clear plastic bag from a nearby cabinet and handed it over to Misty. Inside was a single piece of cloth wrapped tightly around a spherical object. Its colors were indistinguishable under even more layers of soot, but when Misty gently rubbed the cloth between her fingers, the layers of dirt disappeared to reveal faded shades of red and pink. Like an antique picture uncovered after years of dust washed away, the faded yellow rays of a sun stretched across the edges of a handkerchief, meeting in the center around a red circle.
Misty hastily untied the cloth, revealing a worn and faded pokéball. Etched into the top was a lightning bolt.
I can't believe it…
"It's him…" she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's him," she repeated more loudly, catching Brock and Laura's attention. She turned to face them, the pokéball in her one hand and the handkerchief draped over her other hand. "Brock, it's him. This...it's Pikachu's pokéball! And this is my handkerchief…It's Ash."
Although she swore going into this that she wouldn't let herself get her hopes up, euphoria flooded her, and her heart leaped with joy as she raced back to Ash.
Grabbing what she knew was Ash's hand, she squeezed tightly, murmuring words for only him to hear. Deep down, Misty knew that Ash wasn't out of the woods yet, but finding him after days of searching was enough to give her the strength she needed to remain hopeful.
Using her handkerchief, she maneuvered around the wires and tubes to brush the soot and dirt from his face before gently pressing her forehead against his. She was so focused on him that she didn't notice Laura and Brock leave the room.
Eventually, Misty met with Ash's doctor to discuss Ash's condition while Brock took Pikachu to the Pokémon Center. Having been encapsulated in his pokéball, Pikachu was much better off than Ash and had only sustained minimal injuries. In the end, his pride had taken the biggest hit, unable to protect his beloved trainer from danger.
Ash was alive, but he'd suffered a multitude of serious injuries, from broken bones and cracked ribs to a punctured lung and smoke inhalation. To give his body time to heal on its own, he'd been placed in a medically induced coma, given a ventilator to help him breathe, and placed on a heavy dose of painkillers. While the doctors were confident his injuries would heal over time, their biggest worry was that he would contract pneumonia or another deadly infection that could prove fatal to his already weakened body and immune system.
Misty's face grew paler as the doctor continued to list all the complications that could arise because of Ash's injuries, and for a second, she couldn't decide if this was scarier than not knowing where he'd been. She stayed by Ash's bed, slowly nodding along as if she understood what he was saying, gripping Ash's hand like a lifesaver, keeping her afloat.
Once the doctor left, Brock took his place in the seat across from Misty. "I called the league to let them know," he explained. "Ash was initially accounted for but later marked missing after he failed to report his location to the league the day after."
Misty's eyes went wide. "What? They must have made a mistake. That doesn't make any sense."
Brock glanced at Ash before directing his attention back to Misty, his face darkening. "I know, but the thing is, he made it out before the building collapsed. Someone told the league they saw him go back in. I read the paramedic report, too, and he was reported as being found unconscious under the debris."
"Why would he do that? He was safe. Why would he-" Then it dawned on her. She wanted to scream. She wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he got it through his thick skull. She stood, her voice growing louder as she lashed out. "I'm sick of this! I'm sick of him always needing to be the goddamn hero. Sure, maybe it was fine when he was younger, but…He was safe! He was safe, and then he went back in. Why can't he just stop and think, for once, about the people who need him?"
Why can't he think about me? Why couldn't he put her first for once? It was the ultimate moral dilemma: save the town from the runaway train and sacrifice the conductor, or save the conductor but risk an entire town of people. She knew exactly which one she'd make.
Was it so wrong to hope that Ash would put the same value as she did in the life they'd soon be building together?
Misty visited Ash every day. Sometimes, Brock or Delia would join her, but if it were just her, she would sit by his side and recount stories of their adventures together. Other times, she'd hold his hand, rubbing her thumb against the top of his hand as she watched his chest rise and fall in time with the whirl of the breathing machine. Although not out of the woods yet, his bruises, scratches, and broken bones had been given time to start the healing process. The dirt and grime from the debris of the fallen tower had been cleaned from his face, and she could finally start to see some resemblance of the face she recognized.
She and Delia traded off sending daily reports via social media, phone calls, and text messages to his family and friends, watching as the thoughts and prayers flooded her inbox. According to Dawn, a group of Ash's long-time followers had found her posts and started a social media campaign to share their thoughts and well wishes for their favorite trainer. Even the news had gotten wind of Ash's condition when the league released their investigation reports, and Ash's name had been listed in honor of his heroic deeds. But thoughts and prayers could only go so far. The longer Ash's condition remained unchanged, the more people began to lose interest.
It'd been just over a month since the accident when Ash's doctors decided his body was strong enough to try breathing on his own. The plan was to remove the breathing tube and, pending his ability to breathe on his own, and then slowly wean him off the medicine that had kept him in a coma. Misty stood in the corner, keeping her distance, as the team of medical staff worked to remove the breathing tube while another monitored the nearby machines for changes in Ash's vitals.
Alarms echoed through the room as Ash's body struggled to reattune itself to its essential task. Misty made to rush over to him but then reminded herself that this was to be expected. With her hands curled so tight that her knuckles turned white, she narrowed her gaze on Ash's chest, willing it to begin moving up and down. Nearby, a nurse stood with the crash cart on standby.
Please, please let it work.
It was only a few seconds, but it felt like hours had passed when Ash's chest finally expanded and contracted alongside the machine's more rhythmic beeping of a heartbeat.
Relief flooded through her.
The monitors continued to sound the same reassuring tone, and Misty allowed herself to relax a little before her eyes quickly darted back to Ash's still form. The nurses hovered over him, adjusting wires and his IV drip so that more of him was visible.
"I'm pleased with today's progress, but it's definitely going to take some time for his body to regain the strength it lost," the doctor explained. "We've already started weaning him off the pain medicine, but I'll feel a lot better when he regains consciousness. In these situations, patients often react well to familiar sounds and sensations."
Misty glanced at Ash's sleeping body and nodded. She still felt uneasy, but she'd do whatever she could to help.
Ash woke up a few days later, his eyes bloodshot and weary from the medication he'd received in the past weeks. At first, all he saw were blinding fluorescent lights. When he tried to move, he found that a maze of wires held him rooted to the bed. He opened his mouth to try and speak, but his throat was too dry. He began coughing uncontrollably, sending a wave of searing pain radiating throughout his body as his muscles constricted. Fear took hold of him as his eyes darted around the room before landing on a familiar but hazy shadow of red. Fingers gripped tightly to his hand while another hand rested gently on his shoulder to steady him.
"Shh...it's okay, Ash. I'm here," a familiar voice whispered in his ear. "It's okay. I'm going to get your doctor. You're going to be okay. Just relax." She leaned down to brush the hair from his forehead, and he could smell her shampoo, a fruity coconut. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the familiar scent relax him. If Misty was here, he had to be safe, right?
He tried his hardest to relax but couldn't stop himself from clenching his jaw as his body ached with every movement. With shaky hands, he reached for Misty, meeting her eyes. She shifted her gaze to the nearby machines, and his eyes followed, drifting to the IV drip attached to his arm.
What happened?
He still couldn't speak, but Misty seemed to understand the concern etched on his face. "Here, drink this," she offered, a cup of water in her hand. With her help, he sat up and let her bring the cup to his cracked lips before she tipped it forward. He took tiny sips as the water slowly cooled his aching throat before falling back into the bed.
It was still a garbled mess, but he could get out enough words to ask where he was. When he spoke, Misty stared back at him, her eyes watering and her face breaking out into a smile. It was much better than the worried look she'd worn when he woke up.
"You're in the hospital," Misty explained, her smile quickly fading into the same worried look from before. She sat back in her chair, but her fingers remained wrapped tightly around his hand. "There was an incident at the League…I thought...I thought I'd lost you, Ash. We were so worried about you."
It was foggy at first, but her words eventually triggered his memories. A sudden explosion and debris falling from the sky; thick, dark smog more deadly than James's wheezing clouding the sky and making it near impossible to see. And then, rubble falling around him before everything went dark.
"I was trapped in the building, wasn't I?"
Misty nodded. "There was a lot of smoke and dust. We don't know how long you were down there, but..."
"But I survived," he finished for her. She nodded. He was surprised by the renewed strength in his voice. "So when do I get to go home?"
"What? You can't go home yet," Misty replied. "Ash, you were unconscious for nearly a month! You were trapped under a building for god knows how long."
"I know, but I'm fine now," he argued.
Misty narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest. "No, it doesn't work that way, Ash."
Ash glared back at her. Sure, his body was in pain, but that's what the painkillers were for. Once he was out of the hospital and back to his old training routine, he'd return to perfect health in no time. Misty was just overreacting. To prove her wrong, he gritted his teeth, pushing past the pain and into a sitting position.
"Take it easy," she cautioned, reaching out to steady him.
"I'm fine," he snapped, and she recoiled as if he'd slapped her. He tried to steady himself but quickly lost his balance and fell backward onto his pillow. He clenched his fists and groaned in frustration. Fuck. Determined not to let this set him back, Ash gritted his teeth once more and used the handrails on the side of the bed to pull himself back up. His arms shook under the weight of his body, weak from disuse, before they succumbed to the weight, and he collapsed back onto the bed.
Misty tried to hide a wince, but Ash caught the look of sympathy that flashed across her face. The absolute last thing he wanted was for her to feel sorry for him. "Ash, you've got to take it easy. It's going to take a while." Her voice was much quieter, probably a reaction to his anger, but he didn't care. All he could focus on was the frustration coursing through him. What did she know?
"I don't have time, Misty!" he shot back. "I need to get out of here and speak with Lance. Team Rocket can't get away with this!" His eyes zeroed in on the IV placed in his arm, and a sudden rush of anger surged through him as his hand reached forward.
"Ash, stop!" Misty lurched forward, her hands wrapping around Ash's wrists as she pulled his hands away from the IV. He was too weak to fight her off, so she easily overpowered him, clasping his wrists tightly in her hands. Worry reflected back at him as she pleaded with him. "Please. This is crazy. You can't go anywhere, okay? You need to rest."
"And what? Sit here while more people die?"
"Ash, I know you're scared, but you can't do any-"
"You know NOTHING about how I feel."
Her hands went slack as she pulled away. Her eyes, which had once shone with tears, had gone dark. The tension in the hospital room was palpable as Misty and Ash locked eyes in a heated argument.
Finally, Misty took a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure despite Ash's anger and the emotions swirling inside her. "Ash, I understand you're frustrated, but you can't just rush into things like this. Team Rocket is clearly more dangerous than we thought, and you're in no condition to take them on right now."
Ash's eyes flared with frustration and anger, his pride getting the best of him. "I'm not some helpless kid, and I don't need your pity!" Ash spat. "I've faced much worse than this before, and I'm not about to back down because of a few injuries."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she remained uncharacteristically calm. "Fine," she finally gave in. "If you're going to be stubborn and risk hurting yourself even more, I'm not going to stand here and watch you do this to yourself. Do whatever you want." Shaking her head, she stood up and wiped away her tears as she quietly walked out of the room.