Work Text:
Barry doesn’t remember the Distortion World as clearly as Dawn and Lucas do. It’s all fuzzy memories, with the only concrete sign it happened was a yellow stone buried in the back of his neck, the constant monitoring of his parents, the vivid memories of his mom and dad crying over him on the top of that mountain, the therapist, the in-house doctor visits, and the constant freezing cold he can never be rid of.
Oh, and of course, the big circular scar in the center of his forehead that stares back at him when he looks in the mirror to the left of his bed.
If it weren’t for these, he could just pass off the hazy memories of using pokemon-like powers next to the side of the man who killed him, as a dream. The way his scarf wrapped around him ethereally like a tail, before falling into the distortion world’s void when all strength left him after an earthquake hit him a bit too hard. The legendary pokemon Giratina staring down at him with a vague expression he can’t read in his memories. It’s all too… otherworldly.
But it happened, and every bit of evidence that haunts him in his life reminds him that he died. And he should be dead. He’s not even alive completely, he’s basically a walking, breathing, distorted corpse, his heart doesn’t even beat despite his natural breathing. But he has a consciousness. So here he is. Spending another day in bed on his side, because the Griseous orb burns to touch even the sheets he sleeps on, and his mom and dad won’t let him out of their sight.
It’s suffocating, really. He wants to get out. He wants to move around. But Daddy and Mommy won’t let him, his body won’t let him either.
He remembers when he first tried to walk on his own two feet, it ended with his dad catching him before he fell to the floor. He can walk, he’s just tired, and just needs to regain his strength, but it’s difficult, sleeping away the days, especially when he needs to be up and moving. Places to be, things to see, a life to live. But he just can’t.
Instead he sits and watches the days pass by from his window, playing on his DS, playing with his Pokemon the best he can, while Uncle Volkner, Dawn, and Lucas tell him about their days and the things they see, and Mom and Dad sit by his bed begging for forgiveness. He doesn’t even know why they’re asking for it.
But even with his most treasured people by his side it’s lonely, isolating. Dawn had her champion battle without him (he doesn’t quite know why she denied the title), and Lucas was off getting his research license without him (he doesn’t get why he even needs it). And here he was, missing out on life, laying in his bed with fists clenched around bed sheets that can’t keep him warm.
He wonders if mommy would let him out today. He needs to move. He needs to do SOMETHING.
So he pushes himself up out of bed, he grabs the six Pokeballs on his bedside table, and he walks. One foot after another. Inching towards his door, his frozen cold, bare feet are padding weakly on the hardwood floor. They’re not as fast or as strong as they used to be before. He probably wouldn’t be able to tear up the floor of his favorite arcade machine anymore.
He can hear the mumbling of daddy and mommy in the master bedroom as he passes by. He doesn’t want to listen in. He just needs to get out. He wants to feel the grass between his toes and hear the Starly sing clearly.
He stumbles down the stairs, not unlike his stumbling up the stairs to the spear pillar, before everything becomes static that rings in his ear and fills his vision. But he needs to keep on walking, he needs to start running, just like he was before his heart stopped beating.
He almost grabs his jacket on the coat hanger, before deciding against it. He doesn’t want the collar of his jacket to touch the Griseous orb. He can deal with the stinging cold of Sinnoh, he was able to roll up his sleeves and be just fine. But that was before his body stopped regulating heat, wasn’t it?
He opens the door, and is jumped with freezing air he didn’t quite remember. Was Sinnoh always this cold?
But he must power through.
He needs to keep going.
He throws out Torterra’s pokeball, and he can tell it’s surprised to even be out of its pokeball. But no matter, Barry must keep going. Where to? He doesn’t know. He just needs to get out.
But he collapses onto the back of it, and points somewhere. He doesn’t know where he pointed (it was to nowhere in the middle of the forest), he’s just tired, and just wants to go anywhere.
“C’mon, Torterra, let’s go there…” he fumbles for his pokeballs, shuffling between them for Ambipom’s ball, so he can help him get on its back, ignoring the concerned look of Torterra. His hands are freezing though, and he drops one of them, and it lands on the button. It was Chatot, and it came out with a familiar cry.
He sees it look between him and Torterra, and he sees his starter nod at his beloved bird pokemon. Then it flies up, crying, “Mommy! Mommy! Daddy! Mommy!”
Barry yelps, falling off of Torterra’s side in surprise, feeling betrayed that his pokemon already ratted him out to his parents. The grass was freezing. “Chatot- n-no! Stop that!”
But it’s too late, and Mom and Dad are already running out the door, and start fumbling around him. Dad’s carrying him in his arms, Mom’s scolding him for going out despite their wishes, both are asking if he’s ok, all unlike they did before this whole mess started. Back when he could run around, back before he was always so warm, back when he could play outdoors and laugh with other people. Before he was informed of his prophecy, before his parents became hostages, before all those fuzzy memories haunt him, before he DIED.
He wants it all back. He wants to be okay again.
Why is he so weak now?
Why him?
Barry can’t help starting to weep in his father’s chest.