Out Of The Ashes (A Pokémon Fanfiction) ~on Hold

Chapter 6: Back Home

Chapter 6: Back Home

The simple stone gate marking Pallet Town's entrance, and the beginning of Route 1, was just coming into view when Ash's steady walk slowed to a stop. Head down, fists curled at his sides, he stared at the hard-packed dirt beneath his sneakers and willed himself to move forward. Aron trundled on, unaware, for a few more paces until he realized his trainer had stopped. He chirped in question, the sound like a stone clacking sharply against another.

Ash couldn't prevent himself from pivoting on his heel and looking back at the town that had raised him. So many memories... from where he was standing, he could see the large oak tree that grew over the brook that wound around the town's perimeter, where he and Gary had played pretend trainer and held secret "Elite Four" meetings. To his left, Mrs. Wellma's purple house stood, encompassed by humongous azalea bushes. She made the best chocolate with white-chip cookies.

And to the right, just a little-

He flinched, eyes instinctively jerking away. The motion had become reflexive in the past few months. He hadn't even glanced in that direction of town in weeks.

Aron closed his jaws gently around Ash's pant leg and tugged to capture his attention. Another grinding chirp. Ash crouched on his heels, absently stroking along Aron's back and scratching at the seams in his immaculate armor. Aron closed his eyes, basking in the sensation as Ash inhaled deeply.

He had promised to be strong, right? Easy in theory, but in actuality... he wasn't quite fearless, just yet.

He had to do this. It was only morally right. He couldn't just walk out without giving his home a proper goodbye.

Feeling faint, but oddly resolute, he began to stride back into town, his fingers clenched so tightly that the nails left crescent moons etched into his skin. The bite of pain helped distract him from dwelling on the tangled ball of pain he was willingly walking into. His feet slipped into countless tracks pounded into the dirt as he traversed the well-worn path. His teeth ground together. Every cell in his body, every miniscule molecule, rattled in unease, warning him of pain and danger and darkness.

With a weary and heavy heart, Ash arrived at the porch steps of his house.

His house, now. Strange. He had almost forgotten that it was legally bequeathed to him in name until he became of proper age to purchase or own land.

The house cast a shadow over him, slipping a cool touch across his cheeks. Curious but not really paying attention to what was going on, Aron walked happy circles around Ash's solitary feet.

Considering that it had been abandoned for months now, the home was in remarkably good condition. The grass was mowed and the plants-his mother's prized tulips-had been kept watered and fed with nutrient-rich soil. The mailbox gleamed with a fresh coat of white paint. The neighbors had obviously been keeping up with the property, paying their respects in their own way. In the face of such kindness, Ash suddenly felt guilty for ever thinking of their delicate treatment of him with scorching bitterness.

"Hey, Aron," he burst out. The Pokemon turned his attention to his trainer. "This is my old house, okay? This is where my mother had me. She didn't have time to go to the hospital, so she delivered me here, in the bathroom." His skin felt clammy, and the words rolled off his tongue quickly, as if they burned.

He began to walk the steps, trailing his fingers along the wooden railing. "I got a splinter on this when I was five," he murmured. Aron jumped up the steps after him with no problem. His legs and coordination had improved greatly in the short time since his hatching.

The front door was locked, but Ash knew where the spare key was hidden. He crouched down and shifted the Oddish-shaped flower pot placed next to the swaying bench. Underneath, a space had been hollowed out, just large enough for a keyring. He grabbed it and inserted it into the lock. His muscles locked up on him again, and he froze with his forehead rested against the door, eyes tightly shut. The surreal aspect of the situation was beginning to overwhelm him. It felt as though he would enter and find his mother sitting on the couch, asking him, "Ash, where have you been? Your dinner's cold!"