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The end of things. A pokemon fanfic by Rocko Wallaby

DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 11: Absolution.

The light was too bright. It was the first thing I became aware of, apart from the throbbing beat of my pulse through my temples. It shone harshly from above, penetrating my closed eye lids. I wondered why it was so bright.

After a while, it began to sink into my consciousness that perhaps, I wasn't dead. I couldn't seem to remember why I should have been dead, but it seemed important, somehow. I still wasn't able to recall why, though.

Perhaps I really was dead? It seemed kind of dull, if it was. Again, I couldn't work out why.

I tried opening my eyes, but the glare was too much, too soon. The pain stabbed into my temples, and I groaned slightly, before working up the courage to try again.

This time, while it still hurt, it was not as painful as before. Another good thing, I thought, but again wasn't sure why this was the case. The ceiling, as it slowly came into focus, was too white.

"Unfamiliar ceilings", I thought to myself, before bringing a hand up to rub my lids, trying to make sense of where I was.

I attempted to turn my head, but something prevented my doing so. Reaching past my ear with a shaking hand, I found the reason; two foam blocks were keeping my head still. I pushed them away as best I could, with one falling from the bed to the floor below with a dull thump

Odd, the thought came to me. That seems odd.

This time, as I looked at the ceiling, other things began to clear. The chrome rails, for example, with cheap, plastic curtains hanging limply from rings beneath them. There was also the low buzz of distant conversation, muted to the point of incoherence, which seemed particularly grating. It didn't seem right, if I was dead, for the noises to be so irritating.

Perhaps I wasn't dead, after all.

I tried getting up, but the sharp pain in my shoulder, and dull ache in my stomach, stopped me cold.

I ran my hands down from my neck, encountering the mass of bandages covering my shoulder. Bandages. Hospital. I was in a hospital.

Why was I in a hospital?

I just couldn't seem to get my head together. My thoughts swam around in a fuzzy haze of deliberation, on where I was and what had happened...

I suddenly tried sitting up, a jolt spasming through my form, before I slumped groaning back onto the hospital cot. I'd been shot! I remembered that suddenly! That fucker had shot me! Jameson! Son of a bitch!

Things became clearer, as the memories began to come flooding back. The lab. The dead. All the dead. Those blood red eyes bearing down on me!

What had happened? I wasn't dead. So what had happened?

Still lying back, I reached gingerly down my chest towards my stomach, feeling for the wound I knew had to be there, somewhere.

That seemed strange. My belly felt fuzzy. Why did my belly feel fuzzy?

I moved my hand along the fuzziness, tracing it back to a large, furry lump on the sheets next to me. As I ran my fingers through the fur, caressing the warm softness, it stirred fitfully, before letting out a groan and moving out from underneath my fingers, which dropped back onto the sheets limply.

I groaned myself, attempting again to sit up, and this time succeeding in lifting my neck far enough to look down at my body. I found myself gazing into a pair of blood red eyes. I recalled those eyes. They'd haunted my dreams since things went black after I was shot.

The eyes blinked, before suddenly starting, and a large blue and cream shape moved forward into view, as I lay back down with a sigh. Suddenly I knew those eyes, and realised I must be dead. Because those eyes were dead. They'd been dead for over a year.

I reached out tentatively, and pressed my fingers against the cheek of the typhlosion leaning over me. "Hey", I said, lamely.

He blinked again, and leaned into my hand, bringing his paw up to cup it against his cheek. "Hey", he said.

"You're not dead?" I asked, still trying to gather my thoughts together. "Not anymore", he replied with a wan grin, before continuing "Nor are you" "Oh, good", I said, before being engulfed in a huge hug from above.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, as he buried his face in my neck, I caressed the soft, soft fur on his back, before running my hands gently up to his head. I gently teased his ears, as he began sobbing into my shoulder with great, heaving gasps, tears leaking down my cheeks freely.

After what seemed an eternity, his sobbing slowed, before he pulled away slightly and stared again into my face. "I missed you", he said with a hiccup. I smiled back at him, and caressed him gently "Yeah, I missed you too, butthead" He gave a soft, stuttering giggle, and then sniffed deeply "Yeah, but you fucking stink, you know. You need a bath!" I grinned back. "You can talk!", I said, before pulling him back into my arms, dragging his hairy butt up onto the bed, and snuggling against him. He didn't resist too hard.

_____________________________________________________

It wasn't too long before we had a visitor. A slightly embarrassed cough from the other side of the curtains advised of his arrival.

Storm made to get off the bed, but I kept my arms tightly around him, stopping him leaving. He turned his head over his shoulder, eyeing me curiously, when I leaned against his ear and whispered "Fuck 'em. You're not going anywhere". He gave a grin, before relaxing back against me with a sigh.

After he settled, I gave permission for the person to enter, and Captain Barklay drew back the curtain with a quick wrench. Looking down at us, he raised an eyebrow briefly, before giving a shrug and a smile, and sitting with a sigh into the visitors chair next to the bed.

"Discovered the good news already, I see", he began, eyeing the typhlosion on the bed next to me.

"Seems like his death was a bit overrated", I replied, while Storm gave a snort of laughing agreement.

"Yours too, it seems. Thought we'd lost you for a while"

"Thought the same, Sir. Tried being dead, but it was very dull. The ceiling there was very bright, and really boring"

He raised an eyebrow again curiously, and looked to pursue it further, before changing his mind. Instead, he began debriefing me on what occurred after my unexpected exit from the raid.

"Well, after you left the party, the remainder of your group caught up with Ranger Smith, who was trying to get through to you in the lab. He'd crawled over half the way there, leaving a bloody mess everywhere, before the others found him. Seems he'd heard all the shots, and thought you'd need some backup"

Leaning back with a sigh, he stuck his legs up onto the bed next to Storm, who moved over obligingly, making him room.

"Radio's were still out down there, but one of your team tore back up the stairwell, until he re-established communication. His message came through clearly enough for us to send down a whole party after you. After the medics finish stabilising Smith, the rest came into the labs looking for your carcass. Fuck, what a mess it was in there. Been a while since I've seen that much carnage"

He eyed Storm, who stared back at him unblinking, before he turned back to me.

"This one nearly got himself shot though. Haven't seen anything like how he looked in a lifetime in the Rangers. Thought he was going to rip the entire squad into pieces, before he calmed down enough to let us through to attend you. You were...well...pretty fucked up, Scotty. They pumped over three litres of blood into you, and that was before you even made it to the hospital. The trauma team gave you only a thirty percent chance of survival."

He paused, rubbing a temple with a gnarled hand.

"Could have told them Rangers are made of much tougher stuff than that, though. The odds amongst your colleagues were at 5:1 you making it. Make it you did, too. Even out of it, you kept searching for Storm, and he didn't leave your side bar to eat and shit since you were brought here. Well, we did get him to wash the blood off himself, at least. Near terrified the staff here to death. Looked like a walking slaughter house"

He gave Storm a wink, and received a coughing laugh in return, before he settling back in his chair.

"Far as the raid went, apart from your near death experience, it was a major success. Sinnotech, as a problem in our backsides, is no more. Apart from being indicted with nearly every charge imaginable, they were completely caught up in that Jameson mess. What started as mild public anger, soon changed into huge moral outrage, especially once the media finished releasing the recording we had from your shoulder camera. A few in the government, not to mention the lawyers acting for Sinnotech, tried denying their involvement in the whole thing, but there's nothing like a good, bloody death bed confession to discredit them completely. At least Jameson did us all one big favour, however unwittingly, before he became a barbeque. I think they can all kiss their freedom goodbye for a long, long time, once the trial finishes"

I listened in silence, before giving him a puzzled glance, moving around a bit to get into a more comfortable position against the fur ball hogging the bed.

"The trial has started already? How long have I been in here?"

Storm piped up quietly from within my arms. "Two months, Scotty", he said, and Barklay nodded in agreement.

I shuddered, realising just how closely I'd come to meeting the reaper. Two months? No wonder I felt like shit!

"So, what do we do now?" I asked. Captain Barklay raised an eyebrow, and gave a grunt of amusement.

"I think you probably deserve a holiday, Ranger Scott" he said, and I felt Storm nod vigorously in agreement.

___________________________________

Getting released from the bloody hospital wasn't as easy as I'd hoped. Apart from my wounds needing further time to heal, the extended period in bed resulted in all sorts of muscle wasting issues, and I endured another 3 months of intensive physiotherapy before they were prepared to even consider whether I was ready for the outside world.

After much argument, and on the threat of both our resignations from the Rangers, the medico's finally relented, albeit reluctantly, to let us return to the mountain posting to recuperate. We'd both left the hospital nothing but skin and bones, although our condition had improved a bit under the diligent care of the nursing staff. Certainly, we were still a long way off being considered "recovered".

Returning to the cabin was a relief. The media frenzy following our release was exhausting, and it took Captain Barklay and a whole team of Rangers to help us escape the hoard to the relative safety and quiet of the mountain cabin. While the media pursued us relentlessly, the Ranger presence guarding the main road into the area deterred all but the most obnoxious, who soon found themselves in a world of shit if they tried continuing to hound us.

I pushed open the cabin door, after raiding the fridge for some cold beers. The hinges still squeaked, but surprisingly, I didn't seem to care as much as I once did, leaving the dark cabin interior for the bright afternoon sunshine of early autumn. The brisk, fresh mountain air felt wonderfully chilled in my lungs, and I leaned back with arms behind my head, stretching my spine and giving a groan of pleasure. My shoulder still ached like a bitch whenever the cold air met it, so I gave it a rub before shutting the door behind me.

Storm was relaxing in an old cane lounge that sat under the eaves of the veranda, although he sat up quickly enough to catch the beer I tossed towards him. Puncturing the pull tab with a claw, he took a long gulp from the can, before leaning back with a sigh, staring quietly at the mountain scenery. I slumped down in the seat next to him, throwing one arm over his shoulders while flicking open my brew with my other hand, and taking a lengthy sip myself.

By Arceus, it tasted good!

Since returning, the place seemed so much...better, somehow.

The difference was life changing.

Life was good.

I'd asked Storm how he'd escaped the warehouse explosion, and his story was pretty chilling. It seemed Jameson had planned the entire thing. All those dead Rangers were nothing but a distraction to his main goal, which was to bring Storm back under his control.

After the group had entered the warehouse, they were caught in wire netting that dropped from the ceiling above. While they had tried to fight their way out, their captors simply stunned the team with gas, before dragging Storm out of the mesh, half unconscious, and throwing him in a waiting cage. He'd barely heard the explosion they had triggered to mask all evidence of their scheming. The rest of the Rangers they left to die in the conflagration.

He'd woken up in another cage, within the underground Sinnotech facility. His first view on regaining consciousness was of Jameson smiling darkly at him from beyond the bars. He'd tried reasoning with the guards, even threatening them to let him go, but was met only with silence, and the butts of their weapons. Regular beatings and lack of nutrition had sapped his strength, to the point where attempting escape was virtually impossible. Not that he didn't try, again and again, but with every failure came further beatings, and as his strength deserted him, he was ultimately left to rot in the cage in isolation.

Unfortunately, Jameson was a regular visitor; his cutting comments and snide threats a form of psychological torture. Whenever he replied to the taunts, the guards either tasered him into silence, or beat him unconscious. Eventually, he simply let Jameson ramble on; his threats gaining nothing but silence from the pokemon.

The weeks turned into months, and all hope of rescue had passed. With the systematic torture of the other pokemon weighing so heavily on him, he became resigned to his eventual death at the callous hands of his captors.

When Jameson finally announced his intention to "test" his toxin on the typhlosion within the week, it almost came as a relief.

However, what eventuated instead, was the Ranger's raid.

The rest was history.

I rested my head against Storms shoulder, taking another sip of my beer, and letting out a contented sigh.

He turned to me with a half grin on his muzzle, gave a loud belch, and asked the question that had been plaguing me since we returned to the mountains.

"So, what do we do now?" he asked curiously.

I looked out over the mountain vista, which had turned a cascade of golden highlights in the approaching twilight, and exhaled loudly in return

"We do what we have to do, butthead. We go on."

His forehead creased in a frown, as he pondered the reply.

"Together?" he asked.

I embraced him closely, and whispered back.

"Always together..."

The end of things...