There was somewhat of an odd silence that fell between Ash and I after Brock left. Ash just seemed to stare away, his eyes roaming about the tent and sighing thoughtfully. I just lay there . . . watching him. I didn’t feel like saying anything, and I wasn’t going to unless he talked to me. I just breathed calmly and tried not to concentrate on my headache, but that was hard. And the worrying . . . well, you probably know how that was coming along.

After a few minutes, Ash finally looked down at me, and I in turn looked up at him. There was a problem, and we both knew it. Our eyes just locked together, and soon it wore Ash down. He glanced down and shook his head slowly.

"Misty, I’m sorry this had to happen," he said glumly. "It’s all my fault . . . I’m so sorry."

My eyes wandered. I didn’t know exactly how to take it, seeing as how Ash had already apologized to me once that night after doing something he promised he wouldn’t repeat. But his apology floated around in my messed-up head, and I needed to reply the way I truly felt.

"It’s okay, Ash. It’s all right." My voice was very low and dull.

"No, it’s not all right," he disputed. "That was all my idea. It wasn’t Brock’s. I mean, look at what happened. I break my promise, and now . . . now this." He hung his head guiltily. "I should have been the one to get hurt, not you."

His voice was so sincere, so repentant. I cocked my head gently as much as I could.

"Accidents happen, Ash," I answered delicately. "It’s okay. I shouldn’t have chased you anyway."

"Yeah, but I shouldn’t have run," he continued, trying to one-up me in the mistakes we had both made. "I shouldn’t have done that whole thing period. I’m such an idiot."

"No, you’re not," I said sadly. I felt sorry for him -- I truly did. He does stupid things, but he never means for anyone to get hurt. It was all a horrible, unexpected accident, and I wanted him to know that. "You didn’t know something like this was going to happen. You were just having fun. Even when I told ya to stop."

A reluctant, bashful grin pried at his lips, which he tried to bite away. "See? It is my fault. I don’t listen."

I smiled. "Well, maybe you should start," I suggested rather whimsically.

He chuckled softly. "Maybe I should. You can kill me when you get better."

"Nah, that’s okay," I grinned.

"No, you should!" he objected. "I’m a moron, I deserve it. You can do whatever ya like, okay? You can even smash my head into a gravestone if you want."

I rolled my eyes. "Ash, we already have me to deal with!" I laughed, which he did right after. "If you get hurt, I think Brock’s gonna leave us for good."

Ash nodded, but looked thoughtful. "Wonder how he knows how to do all this? He’s very . . . what’s the word?"

"Knowledgeable?" I filled in, and he nodded affirmatively. "He’s not a dumb guy, Brock. Besides, with all those brothers and sisters he has, he probably knows how to handle a lot more stuff than we know of."

"Probably."

His face became serious, and he began to peel the sticky cloth from my forehead. My stomach flip-flopped again, not ready to see the amount of blood I had lost since the last bandage came off. Surprisingly, Ash let the cloth back down on my forehead, and placed his hand back over it.

"Am I still bleeding a lot?" I whimpered.

Ash half-shrugged, both with his shoulders and face. "I don’t know. It might be stopping. The bandage isn’t getting any more soaked."

"How red is it?"

"Really red," Ash replied hesitantly, inspecting it constantly. "But I really think it is stopping."

I nodded, feeling the cloth go back and forth slightly against my forehead. It stung a lot, and I groaned. I made a note not to nod again. It wasn’t worth the pain.

"Does it hurt a lot?" Ash asked me, giving me a very intent look.

"Yeah," I replied. "It didn’t at first, but it does now. It stings a lot."

"Well, you gashed your head open. It’s gonna sting."

"Ash, what does it look like? How bad is it, really?"

"What, the cut?"

"Yeah."

Ash’s fingers wiggled nervously as he pulled the cloth up. He grimaced as his eyes examined my forehead, which wasn’t very comforting to me. His answer was weird, though.

"Doesn’t look like much of anything, Misty."

I gave him a face. "What do you mean it looks like nothing? It has to look like something!"

"You got . . . I dunno, it’s like a big bump on your forehead," Ash mumbled. "It doesn’t look cut or anything, but it’s hard to tell with all the dried-up blood."

Ewww. Thank you, Ash. I was hoping for him to tell me that there was a huge scratch there or something. I honestly couldn’t picture what he was telling me in my mind. Where could all this blood be possibly coming from if there was nothing there but a bump?

"It has to be coming from somewhere," I moaned agitatedly.

Ash didn’t look like he knew, so I wasn’t going to badger him. As long as the blood was stopping, that’s all I cared about.

"I guess you’ve never hurt yourself like this before, huh, Misty?" Ash asked me quietly.

"No," I replied. "I mean, I’ve never bled this much before, or hit my head, if that’s what you mean."

"Yeah," Ash nodded, "that’s what I mean. I know how you feel, though. Cracked my head open a couple times myself."

"Ooh, surprise surprise," I said sarcastically, giggling. I could have told him that easily, just by knowing the crazy boy. You have no idea how many Band-Aids and gauze we’ve gone through, or how many days Ash has spent limping about or whining. Accidents seem to find him, which made me reconsider what he had said a moment ago about how he should have been the one to get hurt. I couldn’t believe it was me, after all. I pulled an Ash, I guess. Kid’s rubbing off on me.

Ash laughed at that, too, shrugging helplessly. "Yeah, it wasn’t that great. Though I never hit my head on a gravestone for what I know."

I smiled broadly, nuzzling my head into the sleeping bag pillow. "I have to hear these," I insisted.

"What? My hospital stories?"

"I need some sort of entertainment," I chirped. "These ought to do the trick." Hey, I needed something to take my mind away from the pain. All Ash’s pathetic little stories and accounts ever seemed to do was make me laugh, so I figured this was my best bet. Maybe Brock would be back before we knew it. I couldn’t bear this waiting any longer. I decided to block the fact that my head was smarting sharply, and focused my attention towards Ash.

Thankfully, Ash accepted my suggestion. "Like which ones? Every time I bled?"

I sighed deeply. "I don’t want to be here all night, Ash!" I replied, groaning. I decided I needed to narrow it down a bit, so I randomly requested, "I don’t know. Did you ever break anything?"

"Did I ever break anything!" Ash retorted, throwing it away with a wave of his hand as if what I had asked was utterly ridiculous. I smiled, nudging him.

"Yeah! Did you?"

"Well . . ." he said, cringing. "Heh, yeah, but nothing serious. I broke my finger once."

"Well, everyone breaks their finger," I mumbled. "Even I thought I broke my finger once!"

"Oh yeah, how was that?" Ash asked.

"I dove into my pool and hit my hand on the bottom," I relayed. "It hurt so bad, but turns out it was only jammed -- hey wait! I asked for your stories, not mine!"

Ash started to laugh, so much that he fell onto his back and kicked his feet up. Where the heck does he get his energy from? I apathetically just swatted them away. After all, I didn’t need him kicking me in the face to boot. He knelt upright, rubbing his eyes as they teared.

"So, why doesn’t breaking a finger count?" he asked, returning his hand to my head. "It’s a bone, and it broke."

"I mean something big, like a leg or arm," I replied, vexed humorously. "I want a juicy story."

"A juicy story, huh?" Ash asked, cocking an eyebrow. He pondered for a moment. "Well, this might not be juicy, but I think it’s pretty funny."

I grinned madly. "Ooh, ooh, what happened?"

Ash licked his lips. "Actually, it’s kinda funny how you mentioned how you thought you broke something, cause this is the same thing."

"What did you think you broke?"

"My arm," Ash answered.

"And how did you do that?"

Ash sweatdropped, giving me a prudent smile. "I jumped out my window."

My eyes must have practically bugged out of my head, because I could feel it. They even hurt afterwards, but I hardly cared. What Ash had just told me sounded so unbelievable, so preposterous, he had to have been lying! But upon seeing my quite obvious facial expression, Ash nodded slowly, confirming it was true.

"H-h-how . . . what!?" I gasped. The state I was in escaped me, and I shot up without a second thought from the shock. He simply pushed me back down again and smiled.

"What do you mean you jumped out your window!? Your bedroom window?"

He nodded, blinking calmly.

"Your second-story bedroom window?"

Once again, he nodded, finding it difficult to hold back his grin and a laugh.

"Well, I didn’t exactly jump out. I fell out. I made a rope with my sheets, you know, like they do on TV and stuff? But my hands slipped and I kinda fell when I was halfway out."

I was speechless at that, my mouth opening and closing to find what to say. "Oh my God!" I exclaimed. "Why the heck did you do that!?"

"Because my mom sent me to my room and I didn’t want to be there," he answered, folding his arms in front of him with a playful huff. He watched me expectantly, just waiting for me to reply to that one, almost like he knew what I was going to say.

"You got to be insane!" I satisfied him, literally belting it out. "That’s the reason why? Ash, you are such a moron!" I was surprised my head didn’t pound from that. How . . . how come?

"No I’m not!" Ash protested, his voice lowering to a muffled pout. "Mom was being unfair! All I did was accidentally dent her car door with a baseball bat while I was playing with Gary. I mean, it was an accident and I was really sorry, but she was too busy yelling at me and whupping me that she didn’t even let me apologize and tell her how sorry I was! I was so mad at her, and I wasn’t going to let her keep me in my room!"

He ended gruffly, trying to frown to conclude his annoyance.

"Same old Ash," I sighed. He dodged my hand as it went to unsuccessfully ruffle his head. "Guess you didn’t just get your stubbornness overnight, huh?"

"Well, maybe I was being stubborn, but I wasn’t going to accept that!" he replied haughtily. "Besides, I wasn’t thinking right. I was mad and upset. I was planning on running away, but . . . hehe, I didn’t get too far. I fell off my little rope and landed on my arm, and it hurt soooo much. Thought it was broken, but it wasn’t. It was just sprained and bruised really bad. I couldn’t move it for days."

"Well, that was an intelligent stunt you pulled," I said casually. It came so easily out of my mouth, not like the way it was hurting to speak when I first entered the tent. I could barely feel the pressure anymore, and to me, that was ecstasy. I was still aware of how bad it was, however, especially after I felt Ash’s hand lift from my head. Immediately, a blast of cold hit my forehead and it smarted, lacking the comforting warmth that Ash had provided. Maybe that was doing the trick . . .

Ash didn’t reply to my resolution, pulling the bandage off my head suddenly. I saw the red cloth as he tossed it aside, its gruesome look bringing me back to reality. I told him I wanted to hear stories, not change my disgusting bandage! I was about to shout that out at him until I noticed him grabbing another cloth delicately. He took his canteen and splashed it with water, then squeezed it out. I watched it all conscientiously, not saying a word, and my look remained as Ash brought it to my head.

The water had been cold, and I shivered the first time it touched my wound. I was expecting Ash to just glob it over my head, and then I’d have to deal with it steaming annoyingly down my face. However, instead he held it so that it was not sagging or dripping over me, and began to wipe ever so gently at the sticky blood on my face, washing it away.

He looked so alert, so cautious as he did it. It was amazing how he had gone from laughing like a maniac to being so attentive and serious. For a moment, I wondered what I was doing trusting myself in the presence of a kid who I’d just discovered plummeted out of his house on his own will. But what he was doing made my body relax, minus the sharp chill that ran up my back each time his fingers brushed against my skin.

The cloth glided smoothly over my forehead, and Ash was obviously avoiding my cut. He turned the bandage over a few times for a clean side, bringing it up to my hairline and then down my temples.

"There ya go," he said tenderly, taking the cloth away. "I got rid of all the dried-up blood. Does that feel better?"

I was stunned. I seriously could not believe that he had just done that for me! I managed a nod but nothing else, and Ash tossed the dirtied cloth aside and got a new one, which he folded like Brock had and placed over my head again.

"The bleeding isn’t stopping, though," Ash said dejectedly, placing his pressure down again hastily. "But it didn’t do much in that last second."

I finally got my tongue working. "I -- I hope it stops bleeding. I’m worried."

"Don’t be," Ash said confidently. "Brock’s gonna find help, I know it. He’s probably sending Noctowl out to get somebody. As long as I keep this down, it’ll block it, and you should be fine."

I closed my eyes for a moment, picturing Brock walking around the cemetery, searching for help. He’d find someone; I had all hope in that. I just didn’t know how long it would take. Aside from that, at least the waiting process wasn’t as terrible as I had expected it. My head was still naturally bothering me, but I could feel myself loosening up gradually. I looked up at Ash again and smiled weakly. Even though I was yearning for another laugh from his stories, there was a question that prodded at me. I needed to get it off my chest, know the real deal.

"What do you think they’re going to do for me?" I asked. "I mean, if it doesn’t stop bleeding, does that mean . . ."

Ash nodded sadly, knowing exactly what I was referring to. "You might need stitches."

"Oh," I said, glancing away tensely. "I was hoping not."

"You’ve never gotten stitches before, Misty?"

"Didn’t I tell you I never got hurt like this before, Ash?" I responded wearily.

Ash reddened and scratched behind his head. "Oh yeah. Heh."

I shook my head. Sometimes his ignorance dumfounded me. It was annoying, but it was cute, too. Ash needed to work on using his brain a little more.

"How many times have you gotten stitches, Ash?" I asked perkily, preparing myself for another funny story. Already, I could feel my anxiety melting away. It felt wonderful.

Ash held up three fingers and grinned. It was a funky little grin, so mischievous almost. Like he was either proud of it or embarrassed. I really couldn’t tell.

"Three times!?" I gasped, astonished. Why was I astonished? This was Ash we were talking about! Forget Ash’s ignorance, have pity on me for my stupidity.

"Yup," Ash beamed wildly.

"What the heck did you do?" I was down-right curious. It was bad enough going through what I was experiencing, but how could anyone do this more than once? Wait, wait, this is Ash, the kid who jumped out of his window . . . sorry.

"Well," he said, looking up. "The first time . . . let’s see, I guess I was about four, and I slipped in the bathtub."

"Oh, owww!" I exclaimed, cringing at the thought. On second thought, maybe this was not what I wanted to hear at the moment, but he went on anyway.

Ash rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that was bad. But I don’t really remember much of that. I can remember the emergency room, and my dad carrying me in there, but that’s about it. Got them right here."

He pointed just above his left eyebrow. I didn’t see anything there, so either it mustn’t have been a large cut, or they did a very good job of patching it up. Nonetheless, I shook my head and gave him a silly smile, my cue for him to continue.

"Okay, and then I was about six or seven, I’m not sure," Ash said, "and I was jumping around my living room, you know, over the couches and everything? Just being an idiot, and Mom was telling me to stop, and of course I wasn’t listening . . ."

It didn’t take much to foretell the ending of this tale. I shut my eyes. "What did you crash into, Ash?"

"The patio door," Ash answered, sweatdropping again. "Smashed it to smithereens."

I sighed, narrowing my eyes playfully at him. The way he was smiling, I would have said he was having a grand old time telling me these stories. It was making him sorta giddy, hyper almost. He bounced around on his knees, never kept still. His eyes were so bright in that dark tent, like they were the only things catching my attention. Ash was so happy, and in a way, it was making my happy, too. Hard to explain really, but I had to keep reminding myself of the predicament I was in. So strange . . . I was having fun. Should a person bleeding so intensely be having so much fun?

My resounding laughter proved that. I shouldn’t have laughed afterwards, as it really wasn’t something funny, but Ash didn’t mind. He giggled, also, shutting his eyes as he did.

"So, how many stitches did you need for that?"

"I dunno," he shrugged. "A lot. It hurt, too. It was in my hand, since that’s what broke through the glass. I had to wear this bandage on my hand for the longest time, and I could barely move my fingers. But the stitches weren’t that bad. What was bad was how cold the house was that night. We had no door there, after all, and the people only came to fix it that next morning. We just had this blue tarp thing over it, blocking the wind. But it was still freezing -- middle of winter, I guess I should add."

"That would help," I chuckled. "So you froze your family to death because you had to hop around on the couches. What else?"

"Well," he said, picking up my bandage and setting it down again, "this one I remember really well, because it only happened when I was nine. A few months before I went on my journey, in fact."

"What was that?"

Ash blushed. Why the heck was he blushing? I tilted my head, confused at the weird action. He wasn’t answering.

"What? What?" I badgered, tugging at his shirt. "Tell me!"

"I tripped getting out of bed," he admitted.

I rolled my eyes. Dear Lord. "Ash! What do mean, you tripped!?"

"I tripped getting out of bed!" he shrugged, defending himself furiously. "I was getting up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, but I fell coming down my ladder and hit my head on my dresser. Right on the corner of it."

"You’re kidding!" I exclaimed gently, giving him a shove. Oww, oww . . . my head hurt suddenly as I did it and I felt woozy, but I didn’t care. I was getting too into this, and the feeling faded as quickly as it had come. I shut out the strengthening feeling of weakness that had suddenly wracked me, ignoring it. Big, dark bubbles formed before my eyes, but I blinked them away. "How dumb can you be to fall out of your bed?"

"Really dumb, I guess," Ash replied, shoving me ever so lightly back. I shoved him, and he repeated. We did that continuously for a few seconds before I stopped it, gazing intently at him.

"That must have hurt," I said matter-of-factly. My tone was brewing with worried interest now as the image of the event flew to my head. Ash’s bed is very high, and I know how much it can hurt to even stub your toe on a piece of furniture. Ash had been through a lot, and I never realized this. But it never came up in our conversations, so when else was I to find out?

"It did," he replied, his face sagging instantly. He looked away sadly, his eyes squinting slightly.

"I can remember that perfectly, though," he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. He looked at me all of a sudden, eyeing my kind of funny. I drew back softly from the look, but realized that he was thinking, bringing himself back to that time. My eyes drooped and my head floated as he went on.

"It was almost like your case here," Ash said. "I didn’t know I was hurt, but that’s maybe because I was so tired. All of a sudden, I missed a step, and I went crashing down onto my dresser. My head hurt like crazy. I was laying on my floor for the longest time before my mom came in, because the crash I made must’ve been really loud. And when . . . when I saw the look on her face and how she had become so pale, I didn’t know what to think."

His voice was low now, and I had to even strain to hear it. This was affecting him somehow, but I didn’t know quite why. He squeezed my bandage, and his fingers absent-mindedly flicked my bangs around.

"It was so scary at the hospital," he continued, looking off and away. He recited his story slowly, like he was relaying everything that he could recall from the experience. "It was just the middle of the night, after all, and those places are so busy no matter what time it is. And I was sitting in the emergency waiting room with my mom, just like . . . just like we are here. She was holding me and rocking me and pressing some towel or something to my head. I was bleeding a lot, just like you. And I remember how it didn’t hurt at first, but the longer we waited, the more pain I was beginning to feel. But the worst part of it was the waiting. I was just so scared. I was just remembering my past experiences at the hospital, which were probably a blur like they are now, but it was a long time before they took us in, so it gave me a lot of time to worry and think."

I kept silent during his speech, my eyes blazing into him compassionately. How he kept going from being so excited to being so serious I couldn’t believe. The intensity built up even more, and soon it seemed like he wasn’t even speaking to me.

"I was so dazed and my head hurt so much, and they laid me out on this long table. It was bringing back all these memories of when I slipped in the bathtub, and I was getting all shaky. The nurse kept trying to calm me down, but I just couldn’t. I guess because they didn’t let Mom in or something, but what I was really scared about was the stitches, and how much they would hurt. I didn’t remember what it was like because I was so young, and when I saw them coming at me with this long needle --"

Suddenly, he abruptly stopped, his eyes widening and shooting towards me. Realizing what he had just said, he cowered at once. He must have seen how my jaw had dropped, how I was gaping in rapt interest at his story.

"Oh my God, Misty!" he cried, clasping his hand over his mouth. He became fidgety. "I’m so sorry -- I didn’t mean to . . . scare you, or whatever . . ."

Scare me? Hardly! I smiled to show him that, shaking my head. "No, Ash, I’m not looking at you like that because . . . it -- it’s just because you became so serious all of a sudden!"

I grinned softly, and he gradually returned it, somewhat in relief.

"I was?" he asked. "I didn’t . . . know I was. Really? But . . . I shouldn’t have gone on like that! I don’t want you to be afraid of getting stitches! Cause, really, I -- I was exaggerating a bit. It’s really not that bad and scary as I’m making it sound."

He reached out his other hand and grasped my shoulder, almost like he was begging for forgiveness for something he hadn’t even done. I couldn’t control my face as the affectionate smile took over it. Ash looked so worried at that point, so sorry -- I . . . I wanted to hug him. If only it wouldn’t hurt so much . . . just to show him that he didn’t have to worry, that what he had said wasn’t affecting me the way he thought it had. It had affected me in one way, though. I tilted my head and took a deep breath, reaching my own hand over to hold his arm.

"Don’t worry, Ash, it’s all right," I told him gently. "What . . . what is it like to get stitches? Really, don’t hesitate to tell me. I wanna know."

I just wanted to hear him talk, no matter what it was. Oddly, at this point, I felt it was the only thing keeping me sane, the only thing diminishing my worry. Whether I was bleeding to death or not, Ash was making it a heck of a lot better. My fears were slowly declining, and as they were, I felt my body relaxing, the pressure in my head drifting away.

He smiled wanly, shrugging. "I dunno . . . it’s really not that bad. It hurts, but just a little bit. Like getting a needle. It just stings for a moment, and then it’s all over. Only, it depends on how many stitches you get. I don’t think you’ll get a lot . . . I mean, people need to get a lot when they -- like when I got my hand split open, but for you . . . it -- it shouldn’t be that bad. And . . . uh, then -- then you wear this bandage on your head for a while, which you have to change a lot, but it’s not that bad. You don’t have to worry so much, Misty. Really, you don’t."

We looked at each other for a couple of seconds, not saying a thing. I was thinking about what Ash was saying, and yeah, I had to admit, I was a little nervous about the whole ordeal. But not as much as I was before. If Ash could do it three times, certainly I’d be able to tolerate it once!

Ash took a sound breath and maneuvered himself so that he was sitting down now instead of kneeling. He picked my bandage up lightly, placed it down, and smiled at me. Only, it wasn’t a happy type of smile now -- it was very weak, full of concern. I narrowed my eyes confusingly at him.

"What?"

Ash looked down momentarily. "Nothing . . . it’s just . . . I can’t believe how well you’re taking this."

"Huh? What do you mean, Ash?"

He bit at his lip. "I mean, when this kinda thing was happening to me, I was so worried. I was crying every time and everything, even when I fell out of my window. Well, I was crying before that, but . . . you’re not crying at all, or even worrying like you were before."

I tipped my head, my eyes arching gently, taking in the sight of his concerned, yet very curious, face. His eyes melted right into mine when he said it and as I stared at him afterwards. I knew what to say, but . . . I didn’t know how to. It made perfect sense to me in my head, but when I tried to figure out how to explain what it really was, my mouth just hung open.

I decided to shrug instead. "I don’t know," I uttered. It was a lot easier to say that.

Ash’s eyes glistened. "It’s just that I can’t even imagine what you must be thinking, being out here and all . . . in the graveyard to boot! You’ve made it quite clear how spooked you are of them."

Oh dang . . . I had forgotten about that. I was about to sarcastically thank Ash for that, but he continued.

"If I were you, I’d -- I’d be so scared," he said inaudibly. "Aren’t you scared, Misty?"

"I -- you mean, about my head or about the cemetery?" I chuckled, my voice choppy.

"Well . . . your head, I guess," Ash replied. He gestured slightly with his hands as he spoke. "I just can’t believe how much fun you’re having. You’re laughing and smiling . . . and when this happened to me, I was crying and I was scared and shaking. I mean, here you are, trapped in a cemetery with your head gushing out blood, and you’re . . . I don’t know, happy."

He was noticing the same thing I was feeling, and even I didn’t really understand it. My thoughts were jumbled, but I tried hard to make my words just the opposite. "It’s not that I’m happy, Ash, it’s just that . . ." I looked up at him and smiled. "It’s just that with Brock out there trying so hard to get help, and you staying here with me and being such a great help. . . I guess I really have nothing to worry about."

I was satisfied with that, especially since it was all one hundred percent true. Each time I thought about Brock roaming around that scary cemetery all by himself, in the dark with only a weak, battery-powered lantern, I had to hand him credit. He was doing that all for me, he was worried. And Ash . . . part of me wouldn’t have been surprised if he hadn’t killed me yet, either by doing something stupid like knocking the tent over clumsily or tripping over me, or not taking care of my bandages as he done so fabulously, or just . . . just not keeping me such wonderful, pleasant company as he had. I had nothing to worry about. I had two boys who were so amazing, so special. Anyone who would do what they were doing deserved to be dubbed that.

Ash looked just as happy with my explanation. "Really, Misty?" he asked, his glossy, brown eyes flashing with modesty.

"Yeah," I replied. "You guys are so great. You have no idea."

Ash looked down, but his head shot up instantly as I went on.

"You especially, Ash," I smiled, giving his arm a gentle punch and giggling. "I’m thinking of hurting myself more often so that we could spend time like this together! What happened tonight before I got hurt -- I didn’t like that. I don’t like when we act that way to each other. But this . . . I like just sitting here talking with you, and hearing all your crazy stories. You have a lot more probably, don’t ya?"

Ash chuckled softly, nodding.

"I know what you mean, Ash," I proceeded. "It is a scary situation, and I’m scared a little bit. But you made this last fifteen minutes so . . . bearable." I laughed and he did too, lowering his head again.

"Well, more than bearable. I’m having such a nice time with you, Ash. You’re . . . a totally different person, and you’re . . . well, you’re helping me through this so well."

"Me?" Ash gasped quietly, surprised. I shivered happily as a blush streaked across his nose. "But Misty, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even be in this mess! I don’t even know why you’d want to be with me."

I beamed. "There’s no one else I think who would’ve done a better job than what you’re doing tonight," I told him sincerely, watching the humble blush extend radically.

"But . . . I’m not helping, though!" Ash challenged, sounding a bit shameful.

I scowled, unable to comprehend what he had just said. "What are you talking about? Of course you’re helping!"

Ash shrugged. "I’m just doing what Brock told me to do. Any person could have done that. When I was hurt, my mom . . . she helped me. She was so good in calming me, in telling me that everything was going to be okay. I swear, if she hadn’t held me the way she did, or hum and rock me, I don’t know how insane I would have been. And look at me! All I’m doing is telling you about all the times I ended up in the hospital! What help is that?"

My jaw dropped as the shock of what he uttered seeped through me rapidly. He looked hurt over it, like he was totally unwilling to accept my thanks for doing what he had done so marvelously. Giving him a very gentle, appreciative look, I sighed.

"Ash, you don’t know how much you’re helping me!" I told him. "Look! I’m seriously hurt here, and I’m smiling and laughing with you, just like ya said! Don’t you think I’d be scared if I just had someone here pressing down this cloth of my forehead and fretting? Just entirely concerned with what’s happening?"

"I guess," Ash replied. "But I’m concerned, too! I’m worried about you, and I want Brock back soon! We need to get you help!"

My smile never went away. "But see, you’re not constantly stressing over it, though, Ash!" I replied softly. "You might not be rocking me, or singing to me or whatever, but telling me all your stories and just talking with me is taking my mind away from the worry! And I think that’s better than just blocking my blood."

I gave him a silly smile, wiggling my finger at him. "Brock’s gonna be so proud of you!" I sang, then adding more earnestly, "And I’m proud of you, too."

I had Ash at that, and I was glad. I guess I didn’t do such a bad job of explaining, and his timid grin told me that.

"T-thanks, Misty," was all Ash could come up with. That was enough for me. He turned away for a moment, and I could tell by his look that he was still thinking of something. The blush was fading slightly, but he looked pleasingly content, getting the full zestful affect of my honest complement. I enjoyed watching him, feeling my own self-respect rise. I’m pleased I told him that . . . I wanted him to know.

"Just don’t get any ideas of rocking me, Ash Ketchum!" I warned playfully, winking. He laughed and held out his hands defensively, shaking his head.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to be laying down anymore. The enjoyment of speaking with Ash was beginning to take hold of me. It was my remedy, my pain-killer. I didn’t want to do that laying down any longer. I groaned somewhat as I pushed myself up weakly on my hand, not realizing how tough it was going to be on me. My head instantly pounded, and the pain pressed strongly on all sides. I felt my arm shake intensely and my torso bend uncontrollably.

Ash wasn’t too happy with me doing that. "No, no! Misty, lie down!" he told me worriedly, trying to push me back down. "Brock said to stay down!"

I pushed his hand away with a gentle smile, then continued in my attempt to lift myself. "No, it’s okay, Ash. I’m fine. I just . . . I just wanna sit up for a moment."

There was no use going against me on that, so Ash backed away. He just watched me worriedly as I propped myself up, holding onto the bandage on my own. I pulled it off me, cringed at its sight, and sent it back to my head.

I gave Ash a wearied smile. "You know, Brock coming back is starting to sound really good."

Ash took a deep breath, glancing towards the tent’s entrance. "I really hope he comes back soon. Noctowl can surely find some help by now, I would think. Pikachu, too. He could easily slip through the bars of the fence."

"And why couldn’t we do this before I got hurt?" I said hotly. "When I wanted to get out of here?"

Ash cowered guiltily. "I don’t know. Guess . . . it was just fun to see you act that way. Hey, how would you act if this graveyard was swarming with bugs?"

I sighed, but smiled otherwise. "Whatever, Ash. Ha ha."

"Why are you so scared about graveyards, anyway?" Ash asked, folding his arms around his knees.

I shrugged slightly. "I don’t know. I’ve always been. They just scare me, that’s all. I’m not fond of dead people."

Ash smiled. "You don’t seem to be so scared anymore," he told me, his eyes arching.

"I have other things to be more scared about, Ash," I said airily, rolling my eyes. He just pulled his hat over his face, which I knocked off his head. He went to grab it, his black, bushy hair flouncing about his head, let free from the confines of the hat.

"Graveyards don’t scare you at all, Ash?"

"Not really," Ash replied easily, plopping the hat back on his head again. "I think they’re cool."

I groaned, wrinkling my face is playful disgust. "You’re lying!"

"Lying!?"

"Yeah!" I retorted snobbishly, thrusting my nose into the air. "I bet you couldn’t spend the night here all by yourself!"

He suddenly straightened himself, putting on that oh-so-famous fearless expression of strength and egotism . . . I loved that look.

"What are you talking about? Of course I could!"

"Oh, you could not."

"Sure I could!" he replied, giving me a sly smile. "I’m not scared of this place! Pokémon Masters shouldn’t afraid of anything like this!"

"Well, in that case, you must be horrified!" I giggled, half-expecting the frisky swat Ash directed towards me. My jaw ached from my perpetual smile.

"Ash?" I asked sweetly, as we reclined from the temporary ruckus that was probably no good for my head. I paused for a moment and gazed at him. Ash leaned over, waiting for me to continue. "Will you come into the emergency room for me?"

He looked confused and a little shocked. I altered my smile into a puppy-dog frown, lowering my voice to a jokingly pleading, yet totally honest, tone.

"Will you, Ash? Maybe . . . you know, you can talk me through it. Being the expert you are and all. Please?"

Ash giggled, his tiny voice ringing softly in my ears. I wanted him to laugh more, I . . . I liked hearing him laugh . . . it made my pain go away . . .

"Sure I will, Misty," he said without hesitation. "If you want me to, of course."

"Thanks," I said. "You’re a pal, Ash, you know that?"

"I guess," he smiled, shrugging humbly.

With a feeling of calm, soothing pleasure spreading through my body, I reclined, hunching myself over. I pulled the bandage away again, felt the now familiar sting, and decided I didn’t want to do that anymore. Not until Brock came back . . . with a doctor, or the night-watchman, or Officer Jenny -- somebody. I yawned loudly. I was getting tired -- very tired. In fact, my whole body was losing all its energy, as I had felt it doing for the last ten minutes. It wasn’t bad at all . . . it felt better than the dizziness and nausea I had to deal with earlier. My eyes were weakening with the light, but I kept them open, remembering what Brock had said earlier. It was another reason I wanted someone there, and this problem to be cleared. I wanted to sleep tonight.

Ash seemed to be thinking the same thing. After I completed my vigorous yawn, one was sparked from him.

"Don’t fall asleep on me, Ash," I teased.

"I won’t," Ash replied. "Though I hope we get out of here soon. I won’t be able to battle tomorrow if I get two hours of sleep."

"More worried about your badge than you are about me?" I exclaimed, playfully whimpering.

"Yup," he snickered.

I chuckled, lowering myself back to the ground as my arm started to bobble beneath me. Man, I was getting tired. Sitting up wasn’t such a hot decision, either. I tried switching arms, but it wasn’t helping much. They were just giving out underneath me. I finally succumbed to them, allowing myself to rest as it wanted. I rested my head back on the sleeping bag again, instantly feeling a rush of sleepiness sweep to my head. I blocked it, shaking my head rigidly to get rid of it, and it worked . . . some.

I shut my eyes for a moment, receiving a blissful reaction from my body upon doing so. It was such a rewarding relief, but I forced them open right after. I knew then that if I closed them any longer, they wouldn’t open again. I’d fall asleep. I didn’t realize how tired I actually was, the talks between Ash and me stimulating me enough to keep me aroused. The little weights that pulled at my eyelids were fighting me now -- just because I had closed them that once!

I took a deep breath, pulling my knees up. It was a struggle. I couldn’t believe the amount of energy I was lacking. I didn’t pay much attention to it, though; I simply breathed deeply and a bit hard, keeping my drained arm clasped to my bandage.

"Misty? Are you okay?" Ash asked me, his face washed in concern. He nudged my hand away and replaced his over my wound.

"I’m fine, Ash," I replied, yawning again. God, I wanted to stop yawning! It was just making me more tired. "Just . . . a little tired."

"Well, you can’t sleep!" Ash blurted. "Brock said you shouldn’t!"

"Don’t worry, don’t worry," I sighed, soothing his sudden fears. "I’m not going to sleep." I snuggled my head into the sleeping bag, which wasn’t very convincing to Ash, I had realized at that moment, but he remained silent for a moment.

"I -- I know, Misty," he said softly, "but you look tired. You’re right. I just don’t want you falling asleep."

I looked away. "I don’t want to, either," I admitted, wondering to myself how I could honestly keep awake any longer. I hadn’t felt this sleepy in a long while, and that was quite understandable. My trauma was creeping up to me, and I shivered as I thought about it. "That’s why . . . that’s why I wish Brock would hurry up."

"Me too," Ash said.

I didn’t like when we stopped talking. It made me more conscientious of my situation, of how tired I was becoming. I licked my lips softly, widening my eyes to stretch them out a bit.

"You know," Ash said suddenly, "I’m not really serious about that badge thing. If I have to stay up all night with you, I will."

I turned to him, my eyes squinting. "You would?"

Ash smiled. "Of course. I can get a badge any day. I . . . I don’t know how long we’re gonna be here, or how long it’s going to be at the hospital, but I’m gonna make sure you get through it. Kinda making it my duty."

I couldn’t hold back the kind "awww" that slipped through my lips. My heart pounded at it, sending a very inviting rush through my veins, waking me up. Well, it did for a moment. "Ash . . . you will?"

"Sure I will," Ash replied. "Especially since I know how tough it is."

"Thanks, Ash," I said, a yawn escaping me again. "Man, I wish I would wake up."

Ash’s face fell in concern. "Are you . . . are you really getting that tired, Misty?"

"Well, yeah," I answered. "I mean, aside from how light-headed I’m getting, being tired isn’t helping."

"You’re light-headed?" Ash gasped, eyes snapping open. "That . . . that isn’t good."

I nodded glumly, realizing that myself. "I know. Even though we’re having such a nice time, I kinda wish Brock would come back."

"Me too," Ash agreed.

I took a deep breath, trying not to let my weariness increase. The worrying about Brock was not helping, and I truly was starting to shake from his prolonged absence. Surely he would have found someone by now, but if he wasn’t back, it was obvious he didn’t -- which scared me even more. And even if Brock did come back, who said he’d come back with help? Would I be able to last the whole night like this?

"You know," Ash said, his eyes lowering, "we -- we can talk like this anytime you want. We don’t need to have a nice time just because something like this forces us to."

I stared at him as he said this, but not once did his eyes cast upon me. Almost like he was avoiding it. Instead, he simply brushed away my loose hair, adjusting my bandage constantly. I wanted him to look at me, to see the expression I put on my face, the one of complete and utter gratification. The last few phrases that had come from his mouth were just so surprising, so startling . . . something I don’t think he could have said more perfectly.

"Ash," I responded a second or two later, my tone wavering. "I would like that."

"You really like talking with me?"

"I always have," I told him. He smiled fragily, the smile he always displayed at times like these. The uncertain, embarrassed smile that signified when he wasn’t sure about how to respond. "I like being with you."

I don’t know what got into me in that moment, how I completely ignored my nervousness, all my fears. I could easily have blamed my condition, or my constant demand for more relief, but this stemmed from something deeper. I gave Ash a friendly little shock as I used my last, dwindling remains of energy to lift my head and move it around to rest in his lap, settling comfortably between his folded knees.

Instantly, I felt Ash’s hand detach from my head and his body recoil. I wasn’t going to bring attention to it, partly since I had no idea why I was doing this myself. I simply rested my head in his lap and shut my eyes, giving him a gentle, harmless smile regardless.

We said nothing, but pretty soon Ash’s hand returned to my forehead, and his tense muscles loosened. His legs were the worst, but the more time went on, the easier and more adjusted he became. He squeezed at my bandage again, the same one that had been on my head for the longest time. I could feel him staring down at my head, wondering what was going on in my crazy mind. But he said nothing of it. Either he was terrified or he didn’t mind, but in any case, he went back to the normal routine.

"You shouldn’t close your eyes, Misty," he whispered. His fingers gently brushed over my eyelids. "Please don’t. I don’t want you getting any more hurt."

"It’s hard," I admitted, cracking them open a bit.

"Just open them," Ash commanded me softly. "Brock will be back soon."

"And what if he’s not?" I croaked, opening them to look up at Ash’s upside-down face. "I don’t think I can stay awake all night . . . or survive, for that matter."

"Don’t talk like that!" Ash said. His trembling hand found my temple, which he stroked shakily. "You’ll be fine, Misty . . . maybe really weak, but fine! Honest, there’s really no rush! Like I said, the last time they took so long before they took me into the emergency room! Almost like the time we’ve spent here."

"Well, that makes me feel a little better," I said, my words dragging drowsily. The ‘better’ came out rather haggardly to say the least. And Ash noticed that very well.

"Misty, no, wake up!" he said, his tone choppy. I forced my eyes open, shuddered as a sudden sting burned at my forehead. That was because Ash shook me.

"I’m up," I said. I took a deep breath, biting my tongue to put some sort of stimulant into me. It just made my head ache, and I was getting sick of it. Where was Brock?

Ash’s tenseness was not something that was helping. His uneasy hand continued to roam about my face and shoulders, as he wasn’t really sure where to place it. I didn’t want to put him through so much anxiety, the poor, sweet kid, but it made me feel so much better. If it was going to take a moment like this for us to talk nicely, then why couldn’t it go . . . further? Like I had always wanted it to. Like I always thought would take forever, a time that was merely a fantasy of mine, a silly dream.

I lifted my worn hand to his, directing to my forehead, right beside his other hand. I glanced at him and smiled as to tell him that that was where I wanted it to be. His face was flushed slightly, and he nodded, gulping softly. My head eased off again, drifting into the beckoning lair of slumber. The amazing contentment of that feeling, along with the presence of Ash’s warm hands soothing my sweaty, battered forehead combined to create the most desirable feeling within me. If only I could have enjoyed both.

"Eyes open, Misty," Ash said, this time a bit of demand in his voice. I complied, and he smiled when our eyes locked. "That’s it."

I pursed my lips, continuing to stare up at him. If I didn’t, I knew I’d close my eyes again. The time lagged, the minutes feeling like hours. I wasn’t in pain anymore, but I was certainly drained. Ash knew this, but he wasn’t going to give up on me. He mumbled that forcefully when he told me to wake up moments later, giving my face a gentle slap. I just grinned and reached up to playfully slap him back. It just resulted in my fingers grazing across his skin, which was very soft and warm. They tingled at the touch, and I wished my hand hadn’t had dropped so quickly afterwards, but I couldn’t overpower my condition any longer.

"Ash?" I asked, my voice floating tiredly.

"Yeah, Misty?"

"Will you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

I turned my head over to where I spotted Togepi, who had fallen asleep nearly half an hour ago. Lucky baby.

"Make sure Togepi is safe when we get out here," I said. "I . . . just in case I’m too tired to realize it."

Ash gave me a colossal smile. "You got it, Misty."

"Thanks, Ash," I whispered in reply. "Thanks for doing this all for me."

"Why wouldn’t I?" Ash responded, brushing my hair away.

"I dunno," I muttered despicably. "Because I’m so mean to you?"

He chuckled. "You’re not mean to me, Misty."

"Yes, I am," I contradicted depressively.

"No, you’re not!" he objected once again. "You just set me straight, that’s all. Trust me, absolutely no hard feelings."

I was more than happy to hear that from him. In fact, I was overjoyed at the sound. As if another of my burdens had been blown away with the wind, I clenched my fists in solace. My attitude towards Ash often worried me, such as the episode earlier this evening. I always wondered what Ash thought of those occasions, if he resented them, drew him further away from me. I sometimes can’t control how I react, that’s just my character. But, it was also in my character to . . . hide things I truly want to show . . .

My eyes were closing again. I could feel them defeating me, battling against my will. Only, it was different this time, enough to make me tremble. It was no use anymore, and I knew that. I could easily compare it to one of those nights that you’ve just been up way too long, perhaps after a tiring, never-ending day, when the sound of sleep is just music to your ears. When you know that you can’t even stay away for possibly half an hour more, if that’s even stretching it. I wanted to fight it, I needed to fight it. But it was no use . . . I couldn’t stay awake much longer . . .

TO BE CONTINUED . . .