Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alabaster 

The cold wind whipped around Ingo. He let out a shaky huff of breath, pulling his coat tighter around himself. 

He had no idea what was going on – a few minutes ago, he had been locking up the station and preparing to leave, only to find – when he stepped outside the main door, it was not onto the concrete footpath he found himself, but instead knee deep in a snow that had absolutely not been there this morning. 

He had been completely stunned on the spot in confusion, and by the time he shook himself out of it and turned to re-enter the station, the entrance was gone. 

Now he was stuck. In this blizzard, alone. They got snow in Nimbasa, sure, but never anything close to this bad.

He was running quite late. Emmet would be getting worried. 

He shivered violently, moving a hand to grasp at his hat as a particularly strong gust attempted to blow it off. He could barely see his own nose in this thick whiteout. 

He should probably find somewhere out of the snow before attempting to call Emmet – wait. 

Ingo squinted.

There! 

In front of him, only barely visible through the blizzard, a flash of yellow made itself known. 

“Excuse me!” Ingo quickly called, hoping perhaps a kind stranger would be able to help find him shelter. “Would you happen to know where we are?” 

Nothing, except the distant howling of the wind and the sound of his teeth chattering. 

“Excuse me!” He called again, catching another glimpse. It seemed to have gotten closer now, and a spark of hope built in his chest. 

From the whiteout, a small form emerged. Ingo’s eyes widened as he realised – it was not a traveller, but rather, what seemed to be a white and yellow floating pokemon. 

“Oh, hello!” He greeted, hoping his voice wasn’t shaky with cold. He couldn't help but stare at it in fascination, observing the red gem on its forehead. “I’m looking for – 

Nothing. He blinked. 

What – who – 

…

What and who indeed, were the questions that he was unable to answer when a small blonde girl asked them to him. 

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Emmet hummed as he finished off his bowl of pasta, peering over the brim at the still full bowl that was sitting opposite him. 

Odd. Ingo would normally be home by now for certain, even if he had taken longer than usual to close up the station. 

Oh well – Ingo was an adult and could take care of himself. He had probably just… gone to the store on the way home, or something. Even so, Emmet couldn’t help the jolt of worry that ran through him as he went to put his own bowl in the dishwasher. 

Your dinner’s getting cold! He typed in jest onto his Xtransceiver. Maybe that would cue Ingo in that his lack of communication was worrying. 

Two hours later, Ingo still wasn’t home, and the jolt of worry had evolved into a low thrum at the back of his mind.

Emmet was unable to go and read in bed, like he normally would, instead pacing around the living room. His pokemon chattered in concern, having gathered to watch him.

Where was his brother? It was seriously unlike him to be so late – Ingo prided himself in his punctuality.

Something had happened. That was the only explanation. 

Determined, Emmet stopped his pacing and scrambled to pull on a pair of shoes. He quickly tapped a few times on his wrist, pulling up Elesa’s number. 

It took her four rings to pick up, by which time he had already gathered his pokemon and was pulling on his warmest coat. “Hi Emmet – what’s up?” She asked.

“I am Emmet,” he greeted in return, moving to the doorway. “I’m afraid nothing good at this time – I can’t find Ingo. Would you be so kind as to help me look?” 

“What?” Replied Elesa, her voice bleeding into concern. “You can’t find him? What do you mean?” 

Emmet explained to her as best as he could while descending the stairs of their building, his voice breathy and worried. Elesa agreed to come and join him, and they settled on a meeting spot to go and check the station. 

The weather outside was cold, a heavy snow having begun while he was at home. He easily made his way through it, his vision only slightly impaired as he walked quickly to where he was to meet Elesa.

He got there first, of course, and stood in place to wait. He huffed a breath of condensation, and pulled his coat tighter around himself. 

Soon enough, he was squinting at something in the distance. It would seem… yes! The telltale yellow of Elesa’s wardrobe made itself visible through the dancing white, and he smiled just a bit wider. 

She reached him quickly, the small blotch of yellow morphing into a rather bright puffer jacket. “Hello!” He greeted, maybe more strained than usual.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice worried. “Let’s check the station first, okay?” 

When they got there, they found nothing except Ingo’s pokeballs laying scattered haphazardly around as if having been dropped.

Birthday 

It was only when Ingo was asked his age by Lian that he realised he did not have an answer. 

He wasn’t sure how old he felt – maybe… his early thirties at the youngest, he would say. Probably somewhere in his thirties or forties. He was pretty sure. Maybe.

“You have no idea, do you?” Sighed Lian in exasperation. 

“I’m afraid not, my friend,” Ingo replied awkwardly. It was always a bit weird to get asked something so obvious like that and not know the answer, though he was kind of used to it by now. 

“How about your birthday?” Tried Lian. “Surely you remember that?” 

Ingo didn’t see how his birthday would be more memorable than his age, but maybe… well, now that he thought about it, his birthday struck a certain chord within him. There was something important about it, yet he could still not remember the date. 

“No luck, I’m afraid,” he shook his head.

“That’s too bad,” huffed Lian, crossing his arms. “We’ve definitely missed it by now, anyway – you’ve already been here a year, you know!” 

Ingo’s eyebrows rose. A whole year? Really and truly? Time had gone by fast. “We can’t let this stand,” continued Lian, and Ingo blinked. “You’ve missed your birthday! We must have a celebration!” 

Ingo found a small smile tugging at his mouth. “That’s very kind of you, Lian –” he began, but was quickly waved off. 

“I will speak to Lady Irida immediately,” informed Lian, and Ingo watched him run off with a fond gaze. 

The Pearl Clan ended up having a small celebration in his honour, and Ingo was touched. Truly, he was very lucky to have found such hospitality with these people. He found that a small smile was on his face all night as they ate and laughed and danced. 

“Isn’t this wonderful?” He pondered, turning to his left. He blinked when he was greeted with nothing – of course not, everyone was dancing at the moment. There was nobody next to him. 

He couldn’t help but feel a niggling sense of wrongness at the back of his mind for the rest of the night. 

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Emmet’s afternoon was interrupted by the shrill ring of his Xtransciever. 

He sighed, putting down his pen. He supposed he couldn’t avoid her forever – she had been calling frequently for the past few days, but he hadn’t had time to answer. Or maybe hadn’t found it in himself to. Either way, it didn’t look like she would give up anytime soon, so he grudgingly accepted it. 

“I am Emmet,” he said dully. 

“Emmet!” Came Elesa’s voice, sounding relieved. “I’ve been calling you for days – is everything okay?” 

Emmet chose to ignore her, picking his pen back up. He had an incident report to fill out. 

“R-right,” hurriedly corrected Elesa at his silence. “Well – I was thinking… since, you know, we missed your –” 

Emmet cleared his throat loudly, cutting her off.

“...Erm –” said Elesa awkwardly after a second. “Maybe you’d like to meet with me at a café later? For some cake?” 

The pen stilled in Emmet’s hand, and he let out a slow breath. 

It wasn’t fair to her for him to act like this – she was only being nice. It had been months, now. Everyone was expecting him to have calmed down and wait for news. The detectives were on it, they said. 

“Very well –” he finally answered. Elesa took in a sharp breath of surprise. “I suppose I will be there.”

She quickly told him the time and place, and he hung up as soon as she was done. 

The office was plunged back into silence. The only light through the blinds were the white stripes stretching across his desk as the sun stretched higher into the sky. He quietly picked his pen back up to finish filling out the incident report. 

That afternoon, the two of them shared a few cupcakes between them. Two candles, insisted Emmet, and he pointedly sat at a table that left the spot to his right empty. 

“Happy birthday, Ingo,” muttered Elesa, and Emmet’s heart wrenched terribly in his chest. 

The space next to him was a void, sucking in any light that there might have been.

Clothes 

Ingo hadn’t had much on him when he had first found himself in this strange new land, but what he did have, he had kept consistently on his person. The main items were, of course, his unusual hat and coat.

This had the unfortunate side effect of deteriorating their condition quite severely and quite quickly. Upon his first visit to Jubilife village with Lady Irida, people whispered and stared at him. He lowered his hat to hide his eyes as they passed by. 

Irida had brought him to the village to introduce him to their leader as Lady Sneasler’s new warden. A courtesy, she had told him. The Pearl clan tried not to get too involved with those in Jubilife. 

It was as Irida and Kamado were discussing some minor details with Ingo watching that the other lady, what was her name – Cyelle, appeared at the doorway. 

“Please excuse me,” she addressed the room, before turning to Ingo. “Warden, Anthe would like to see you.” 

Ingo raised an eyebrow. The name was entirely unfamiliar to him. “She’s the woman who runs the clothier,” clarified Cyelle, and Ingo gave a nod in understanding. 

“I will be back shortly,” he told Irida and Kamado, before leaving to go and find the clothier. He had to admit, he was curious as to what she could want. 

The clothier was thankfully quite close to the Galaxy Team building, so it only took him a minute to find it. The young woman inside was wringing her hands nervously, but brightened up a little bit as he approached. “Warden!” She greeted with a polite nod. “Welcome to our village. It is an honour!” She exclaimed. 

“Likewise,” responded Ingo, tipping his hat politely. “I have been told you requested my presence. Is there something I can help you with?” 

“Oh –” she said, back to being slightly nervous. Ingo knew he could be a bit intimidating, so made an effort to soften his expression. “I couldn’t help but notice, as you were passing through, that your coat seems rather worn…” she trailed off, eyeing the article in question. 

It was true. His coat was practically in tatters, covered in tears and frays and faded from the weather. “I would be happy to attempt to fix it for you, if you’d like?” She continued, glancing up at his eyes. 

Ingo knew that he should accept this generous offer – a worn coat such as his was hardly any use. And yet… 

“Thank you very much, Anthe,” said Ingo after a second. “However, I’m afraid I will have to decline. This coat simply means too much to me for me to uncouple with it, I’m afraid,” he finished, and couldn’t help but to feel slightly guilty as her face dropped. 

“I see,” she said, sounding disappointed. “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’m always happy to help, okay?” 

“Thank you very much,” he nodded, giving her a small smile. 

Though it did cross his mind when Lady Sneasler added another set of tears, or when a button fell off, he never mustered up the heart to take her up on it. 

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“How about this one?” Queried Elesa, holding up a rumpled black shirt. 

“That one’s mine,” said Emmet in light amusement. She huffed, putting it back in the wardrobe. 

The two had set aside an afternoon to put all of Ingo’s uniforms and other clothes into storage, since it seemed as if he wouldn’t be returning for them any time soon. Emmet had agreed because some part of him, some wretched, awful part of him, didn’t want to see them hanging there every morning. 

How could he? 

Well – he reminded himself – they had been running short on space anyway. This way, Emmet would be able to hang up more shirts than usual and do less ironing. 

Arceus, he hated ironing. 

The thought persisted as he turned to the second wardrobe they shared, the one specifically for keeping a few copies of their uniforms. 

A sinking, oozing sort of dread settled upon him. The sort of dread he had gotten used to lately. Elesa watched quietly as he got up and moved over to open it up. 

A row of uniform met him, divided in half. Black on one side, white on the other. The white half was missing a few here and there, having been put to wash. The white got dirty much easier than the black. 

“It’s only a uniform,” he muttered to himself as he took an armful of a few of his brother’s coats. Even so, he couldn’t resist holding them maybe a bit too tightly, and taking in a deep breath through his nose. 

He would keep one of them out of storage, maybe. But ultimately they were meaningless – just their required attire for working as subway bosses. The real value was in Ingo’s favourite jumper, which Emmet could pull over himself when he was feeling lonely. It was in his pyjamas, warm and cosy and so very worn and loved. In the single novelty T-shirt Ingo had owned, with a giant litwick print on it. 

The uniform held barely any sentimental value compared to those things. 

It was better that they were going into storage.

Duo 

Ingo watched from across the wide path at Akari and Rei, who were sharing a plate of potato mochi together at Beni’s. He couldn’t help the small smile that graced his face as he watched them. 

Akari said something, animated and gesturing strongly. Rei replied with a bark of laughter, and Akari soon followed, the two teenagers giggling together over their food. 

Something deep within him ached with a longing he had learned to accept. 

Ever since he had talked to Akari in Wayward Cave and his fogged past had become slightly clearer, the feeling had persisted more strongly. He used to be like that with someone, he was positive. Ingo’s smile dipped slightly and he reflexively reached to pull down the brim of his hat. 

It wasn’t that he was outcast in the Pearl Clan – on the contrary actually, they did make him a warden after all, and he had been there for several years – but he wouldn’t say he had the sort of relationship with any of them that Rei and Akari had. One where he could sit down with them over some potato mochi and laugh about their days. 

He was working on it. He was a naturally awkward person, so it was slow going, but it was a clear absence in his life. Perhaps he had had such a friendship with the man who smiled. 

The deep rooted aching returned to him as he watched Akari playfully steal a mochi off Rei’s plate. 

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“I am Emmet. I won together with my partner. But if we fight again, we won’t know what to expect. That’s why we are waiting for you to come back!” Emmet recited, recalling his Archeops. 

The trainers who had just been defeated on the multi train looked at each other in despair, but Emmet felt none of the glee of winning that he might normally have. 

Next to him, the trainer who had been filling in for Ingo recalled Ingo’s Chandelure. The train pulled to a stop, and Emmet moved to wave the two unhappy challengers off with a robotic smile. 

Once they were gone, the fill-in trainer turned to him. “Erm, here’s your pokemon, boss,” she said, awkwardly holding out three pokeballs in each hand. Emmet stiffly thanked her, taking them and depositing them in the pouch he had taken to wearing around his waist. He would need to get to the pokecenter soon. 

“Good work today – Monica,” he said, momentarily struggling to recall her name. She nodded gratefully, before waving goodbye and stepping off the train herself. 

Emmet was left alone in the car. 

Monica was a good trainer, that was definitely true. She had been chosen along with several others to fill in for Ingo, after all. 

But it wasn’t the same. It would never, ever be the same. It just simply wasn’t possible. He and Ingo were a true pair. The pair. 

They had always been together, their whole lives. Ingo was Emmet’s best friend. 

It wasn’t the same. 

His chest ached with a deep, breathtaking longing as he finally stepped off the train. 

Chapter Text

Empty 

Throughout his time with the Pearl Clan, Ingo had been learning a lot about himself. Small bits of information that felt like he was getting to know someone new, someone he had never met before. 

He had a few strange habits that those in the Pearl Clan liked to give him a confused but genuine smile at. Not that he could blame them – he hardly understood himself, after all. The way he moved, the way he talked. It was all so foreign. 

One unusual habit he caught himself repeating quite often was turning to his left before doing things. Something would rest at the tip of his tongue, an exclamation of some kind, maybe a question? Either way, it never came out and he was left confused wondering why he had done that. 

It was most obvious during battles. His pokemon would faint, and he would turn to his left to-

To what? 

He didn't know. 

The space there was always in his peripheral, waiting for something. He would prepare a pokeball, and find himself mildly surprised when there was no matching motion next to him. He would automatically turn to glance there when his pokemon fainted, for no discernible reason. 

It threw him off every time, without fail, when he was met with nothing. His opponents seemed confused as well, but were usually polite enough not to say anything.

Oh well – he would grow out of it, he supposed. 

Probably. Maybe. 

Did he… even want to? 

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It had been hard for Emmet to get used to the now empty space to his right. It was something he had taken for such granted before, not realising exactly how precious it was.

He would find himself being unwittingly tortured by his own subconscious. It was the worst while at work – going to face a booked challenge on the multi-train, only for his peripheral to meet some generic replacement trainer instead of his brother when he turned to do his normal battling pose. The other trainer would never get Ingo’s side of the pose right, and Emmet would find himself struck with a wave of irrational annoyance and guilt and grief. 

It was eating at him, one moment at a time. 

At home, he would turn to check with Ingo that this was the correct measurement for cooking – right, he would have to work it out himself. He would turn to check that his brother was alright with the TV channel he had picked for the evening – but he felt so stupid immediately after. 

Why did he keep doing this to himself? It was so dumb. He knew Ingo wasn’t there. 

And yet he couldn’t stop. 

“Hey – what do you think –” he found himself saying, but - 

The apartment was silent after he cut off, the space to his right oppressively empty. 

Emmet couldn’t breathe.

Flowers 

The main meeting tent of the Pearl Clan was rather nice, in Ingo’s opinion. It was a much larger space than the living tents, enough for a few dozen people to kneel comfortably while the more important members stood up the front. 

He sometimes liked to sit in there and do some idle tasks; partially because he didn’t believe his home should be a place for work, and partially because he just enjoyed the overall aesthetic. Irida and Palina had taken their time making it a nice space, decorating it with tapestries and wreaths and pelts. 

He was currently heading in there now, in fact, along with Irida in order to provide his weekly report on how Lady Sneasler was faring. She had been going well; there was nothing outstanding, so he predicted the meeting would be brief. 

When they entered the tent, his eyes were assaulted with blue. 

Irida continued deeper, but Ingo stopped at the entrance to take it in. 

Someone had chained together hundreds of bunches of little blue flowers into a rope, and draped it all over the tent. It wound up and around the pillars holding it up, across the ceiling and back down to frame the main stage where speakers would stand in a clan meeting. Smaller, unchained bunches rested in other decorative places around the tent, 

“Ingo?” Questioned Irida, who was waiting for him nearby the pokemon records. 

“Oh – I apologise, Lady Irida,” said Ingo, dipping his hat and stepping out of the entrance. “I couldn’t help but admire the new decorations. Was it you who put them up, may I ask?” 

“Oh! Yes, they’re wonderful, aren’t they?” Said Irida, staring up wistfully at the ceiling. “However, I’m afraid I can’t claim credit – I believe it was a group of the children who took it upon themselves to brighten up the tent.” 

“How lovely,” smiled Ingo, coming to join her near the records. 

There was something about the flowers that struck him as familiar. He couldn’t help the heavy feeling that he had once known someone who really liked this variety, and he found his mouth opening without conscious thought. 

“They’re forget-me-nots, are they not?” He asked, and Irida turned to look at him in surprise. 

“I’ve never heard of them referred to as such –” she said. “Here, their common variety name is myosotis,” she explained, and Ingo thoughtfully brought up a hand to his chin. 

That sounded correct. Maybe wherever he had come from had a preference for nicknaming things. 

“I quite like them,” he decided, a small smile gracing his face. 

Irida grinned back, and the two began their weekly report. 

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“Oh Emmet,” sighed Elesa, watching him with sad eyes. 

Emmet stood in place, his fists clenched. His cap was lowered, casting his eyes into shadow. 

Someone had left a bouquet of little blue flowers in front of the entrance to the singles line. 

This was the third time this week. It was beginning to get verrrrrrrrry annoying to remove them.

“Hey,” tried Elesa, stepping up next to him and placing a light hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be too mad at them. They’re only being kind,” she said, watching his hands tremble. 

“...I know,” relied Emmet, his voice hoarse. “I am not mad. Only…” he trailed off, lifting his head slightly. 

Elesa sighed. She could hear the crack in his voice. "Don't give up hope," she said, more determined. "The detectives are doing their best – and they haven't given up yet, have they?" 

Emmet shook his head. 

"And hey –" she continued, tightening her grip. "I'm happy to take them off your hands if you want! I love forget-me-nots, remember?" 

Emmet’s weak smile grew into one more genuine. “If you would be so kind,” he said, stepping aside so she could reach them. She lowered her hand and stepped forward.

They really were lovely flowers. Someone had brought them here out of real care and passion for Ingo’s disappearance – misguided, but it was the thought that counted, she supposed. 

Even if… even if she herself was beginning to think maybe it wasn’t so misguided. But she would never dare tell Emmet that. 

“Ingo would love these,” she muttered. He had always enjoyed aesthetic items, and flowers were aesthetic by design. Next to her, Emmet silently nodded. 

“And that is why it’s so cruel,” he whispered, and Elesa was alarmed to hear tears in his voice. She quickly gathered the flowers and stood up. 

“Let’s go,” she ushered, and he followed her out of the station swiftly and silently.

If Ingo was actually dead, she would kill him.

Ghost

There was something about Akari’s Typhlosion that wouldn’t leave Ingo alone. 

He was used to this sort of feeling. It came with the territory of having no memory, he supposed. He watched silently as she released it in the training grounds to feed it, just having lost a battle against him. 

The way its ethereal flames swayed and flickered in the air, an otherworldly purple. The icy radiation it gave off when he was near it. It’s typing – Ghost and Fire. Fire and Ghost. Fire and Ghost. The professor believed it to be entirely unique, but Ingo wasn’t so sure.  

There were other pokemon that did it, too. Drifloons and Drifblims often liked to hang around the Pearl Clan settlement at night, and he sometimes found himself watching them. 

The way they floated elegantly through the air. The mysterious hypnotising purple haze that always seemed to surround them, the soft, otherworldly cries they let out. Sometimes, the moonlight would bounce off them just so, and they looked white. White like shimmering glass, and Ingo couldn’t look away. 

He knew he was on the edge of something – the precipice, if you will. A memory, just beyond his reach, of a partner that wielded flames with mastery. 

He was positive they resembled the flames of Akari’s Typhlosion. They must. Why else would they beckon him so? 

“Ready for a rematch, Ingo?” Akari called out over the training ground, and Ingo blinked as she recalled her Typhlosion. 

“Always, Akari,” he said, tipping his hat. Perhaps this time he would pay attention to what attacks her Typhlosion specifically used. Would its flamethrower be as ghostly as its own flame? 

Only one way to find out, he figured, preparing his Gliscor. 

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“Ingo’s not here,” Emmet muttered, watching Ingo’s Chandelure float in distress up to the ceiling of his room. 

It made a wounded noise, sounding like broken glass. Its purple flames sputtered and flickered momentarily.

Emmet watched it in silence, at a loss. It had been fed. He had used it in battle today, and it had been out of its pokeball for several hours now. He couldn’t do anything else for it. 

Not anything that mattered, at least. 

The Chandelure made another distressed noise, floating downwards a bit. Emmet was unable to keep his eyes off of its hypnotising purple flames, watching as it swayed back and forth slowly. The moonlight shone through the window, catching on its glass and making it glow softly. 

It lowered itself further, coming to a stop directly in front of Emmet. It made another glittery cry, and Emmet thought it sounded like a question. 

“I am Emmet,” he muttered, reaching up a hand to rest on its glass. “I am not Ingo. Ingo’s not here.” He repeated, his voice cracking. 

Chandelure made another noise. It sounded like it was crying. Emmet felt heat well up behind his eyes, and let out a shaky breath slowly. 

Chandelure moved closer again, and Emmet raised his other hand to pull it into him. He gave a wet sniff, pressing Chandelure into his chest as well as he could while avoiding its flames. He felt an odd coldness wash over him, and an ancient instinct stirred from within. He gave Chandelure a hard pat in warning. 

“Don’t check my soul. I am Emmet,” he whispered, and the feeling receded. 

A fresh wave of grief crashed through him, and he held Chandelure tighter as he began to sob.

History 

“I wonder where these items came from,” Pondered Irida, picking up Ingo’s loaded keychain. 

Ingo had laid out everything on his person on the floor of the tent he had been given, at Lady Irida’s request. She had wanted to launch an investigation into them, she said – for their purpose, or where they had come from. 

“From the same place as me, I would imagine,” replied Ingo, watching as she held the keychain up to the light. 

“Well yes, but – further than that, I mean,” she clarified. “How were they made? Where were they made?” 

She placed down the keychain, and upon a glance at Ingo for permission, gingerly picked up his coat. He watched as she opened it up from how he had neatly folded it, examining its large buttons and giant collar. 

“They are… quite peculiar, aren’t they?” He pondered. Nobody in the Pearl Clan held anything that even slightly resembled any of his items, and they were all quite fascinated by them. 

“Yes,” agreed Irida. “An item holds such a past – this coat was made somewhere, by someone who acquired these materials and tailored it like this. It’s in a style I've never seen before – just… where did you come from, Ingo?” She queried, placing down his coat and picking up another object in fascination. 

“If I knew, I swear I would tell you, Lady Irida,” said Ingo, reaching to pull down his cap but meeting nothing. That’s right – he had laid it out with the other items. “It is just as much of a mystery to me as it is to you.” He finished, unable to keep the wistfulness out of his voice. 

“Well, that is another reason for doing this, Ingo,” Said Irida, turning to smile at him. “Maybe if we figure out the past of your items, it could help us figure out your past as well!” 

“I see,” said Ingo, surprised. He supposed it was a sound idea – better than anything he had come up with, at least. “In that case, I am very grateful, Lady Irida. For your idea and your hospitality,” he clarified, hoping his gratitude came through in his voice. He had discovered recently that his face was often stuck in a perpetual frown. 

“Of course,” she smiled. “The Pearl Clan prides itself in being a kind and welcoming people. Our Noble pokemon Sneasler brought you to us, and so we will hope to be good hosts to you.” She said. “Now – what can you tell me about this item?” 

She held out a very small, bright yellow cylinder. The rest of the afternoon was spent with Ingo trying to recall all he could about his clothes and the items in his pockets, both of them hoping some of his past would come back to him. 

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“...And now we reach the display on ancient Sinnoh, also known as Hisui,” the tour guide exclaimed eagerly. Emmet looked around in fascination, as the historical tropics of Hoenn morphed into the much more frigid Sinnoh.

He was glad he had ended up taking that holiday like Elesa had suggested; he really did need a distraction that wasn’t work for once. He had booked out all his days with varying things to do, enough so that he wouldn’t have time to think. 

Today he was taking a tour in a prestigious museum that prided itself in the vast collection of artefacts it held. It was apparently the largest collection of historical objects on earth, and they supplemented it well with thorough tours and enthusiasm. 

“Here we have many items found from the era when Jubilife was first growing,” the tour guide said. “Many of the items were uncovered from Jubilife itself, but also from some of the first founding residents of the region, known as the Diamond Clan and the Pearl Clan.” 

The group followed the guide as he brought them to a large display, boasting many items under glass cases. They were brought over to one of the first ones, holding up what seemed to be a rusted, crumbling keychain with intact keys. 

Emmet’s eyebrows rose. Those keys looked remarkably out of place compared to other historical items, or at the very least, far ahead of their time. He tuned in as the tour guide began to explain. 

“This set of keys used to belong to a Warden of the Pearl Clan, though we are unsure who…” 

Emmet tuned back out, taking a moment to look around. The museum was a truly fascinating place – the objects it held could say so much about the past that nothing else could. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a sign leading to another part of the museum. 

‘WARDENS’, it read. Interesting – perhaps he would check it out later. For now, he turned his attention back to the tour guide. 

“...appeared mysteriously one day, without memories, and nobody knew where he was from. Not even him,” the tour guide finished, and Emmet found himself slightly disappointed he had missed the first bit of that. It sounded fascinating. Oh well. 

The tour went on for a bit longer – it didn’t cover the entirety of Sinnoh, and skipped the warden room he had been eyeing earlier entirely. Soon enough, they moved onto Unova, and after that, it took a few more hours to cover Kalos, Alola, Galar and beyond. 

By the time he had free reign, he had forgotten about the warden room in the Sinnoh section, much more interested in the rich history of Unova.

Chapter Text

Imposter 

The Alabaster Icelands were home to many frightening pokemon, Ingo quickly discovered. There were species he had certainly heard of before, but was sure he had never seen – but there were others that were entirely unfamiliar to him. A strange variety of Sneasel and its evolution, for one. A variety he was becoming more familiar with by the day. 

However, there was another pokemon that had been entirely unexpected to him. 

It was a frigid morning, and he had been tasked with travelling up the river to collect some medicinal herbs. The sky was clear, but the ground was covered in a blanket of fresh snow, as it often was in these parts. He had to be careful – it was perfect weather for all manner of pokemon to come out and do as they pleased. 

He could have sworn he was alone when he knelt down to gather his first lot, but when he briefly looked up, he found himself staring straight into the face of a strange, small white and red pokemon. 

He froze. The pokemon didn’t move, only observed him quietly. 

He was certain he had never seen this pokemon before. And yet – he also could have sworn he had. But there was something weirdly off about it. 

He wasn’t sure what to do. One thing that had quickly become apparent throughout his time in Hisui was that there were barely any pokemon who were friendly, and something within himself was screaming that it was doubly so for this particular pokemon. Maybe if he abandoned his task and backed away, it would leave him be. 

Deciding that was the best course of action, Ingo slowly let go of his herbs. The pokemon’s yellow eyes followed him as he straightened up to his full height and began to retreat backwards, his heart pounding in his ears. He went for a few metres, until the pokemon disappeared from his line of sight. 

He closed his eyes, and let out a small sigh of relief. That had been close.

He opened his eyes to come straight face to face with himself. 

A muffled gasp tore its way out of Ingo’s throat before he could stop it. In front of him stood a tall, grinning replica of his own likeness. 

His own face stared back at him, a sharp toothed smile stretched across it. A copy of Ingo’s cap covered its head, and a copy of his ragged coat flared out behind it. Ingo blinked. 

This was somehow much less frightening than he would have expected. He took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. The replica’s eyes followed him as he calmed himself. 

“Your original colours suit you better,” Ingo found himself saying, no thought behind his words. “Red and white.”

To his slight amusement, the grin dropped from its face and it tilted its head in confusion. 

Ingo was confused as well. Why had he said that? 

Things were very unusual today. First, something seemed off about this pokemon when it was in its original form, and now something seemed off about it when it was imitating him. 

But there was just something so right about the idea of its original colours remaining on his own smiling face like that. He couldn’t place it. 

“It’s good to see you,” he blurted out, and for some reason, his voice cracked. 

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“I have won this time, but your talent is very strong! Your tactics... reading... You have great skills. That's right! I would like to battle you again and again! Please ride the Battle Subway again soon!” Exclaimed Emmet, watching as Nate recalled his defeated pokemon. 

“Man –” Nate sighed dejectedly, pocketing his pokeball. “You’re as good as ever, Subway Master Ingo – one day I’ll beat you, I’m sure of it,” he finished, his tone turning determined. 

“I’m sure you will,” agreed Emmet, pocketing his own pokeballs into the dark coat he was wearing. “But today is not that day! That was an excellent battle, but you may need to switch tracks to reach your full potential!” 

“Yeah,” agreed Nate as the subway began to pull to a stop. “I’ll ruminate on it – thanks again, Mr Ingo!” He waved, stepping over to the door. 

Emmet gave a polite wave back as he stepped off the car completely, leaving the singles train to no doubt revise his tactics as Emmet had suggested. 

Or – well – as Ingo had suggested. In Nate’s mind, anyway. 

Emmet let out a breath, and sat down on one of the empty seats. He removed the dark hat from his head, and pulled it into his lap. 

He stared at it. The shiny finish showed his reflection, and he could not have looked more like Ingo in that moment. 

What was he doing? 

He was not his brother. He could never be his brother, and pretending he was wasn’t getting Ingo any closer to him. 

He felt heat well up behind his eyes, and he screwed them shut. 

Nobody knew. Nobody knew except for him and Elesa, and he was so afraid. The police would go mad, the press would go mad, the city would go mad… he couldn't handle it. He needed to pretend everything was alright for just a little bit longer. 

He could keep it up for just a bit longer. 

Nobody had to know. 

Shakily, Emmet returned the cap to his head. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath in. A few tears leaked out from his eyes.

Another challenger was booked in for the singles train later today. He must get a hold of himself. 

Opening his eyes, he stood up and pulled up his wrist to check the time on his  Xtransceiver. When the number faded away, his brother’s face stared back at him from the glassy black screen. If he ignored the red eyes, that was.

Emmet stared at it. 

“Please come home,” he whispered. “I miss you.”

Junction

“What a wondrous device!” Exclaimed Professor Laventon, holding it up towards the light so he could see better. Ingo hummed thoughtfully from his place in the professor’s office, watching carefully to make sure the professor didn’t drop it. 

The professor was holding the strange, bulky object Ingo had been wearing around his wrist when he first found himself in Hisui. He seemed desperate to know what it was for, even more desperate than Irida had been to learn about his other items several years ago. 

“Do you recall its function, warden?” Queried the professor, lowering it back down and bringing it closer to himself to squint at it. “It resembles Akari’s device, I find. Perhaps it serves a similar purpose?” 

“Hmmm…” Ingo pondered, lifting a finger to his chin. Truthfully, this was the one item he had a faint idea of – the first few weeks after he had appeared in the Icelands, it had still functioned, but had stopped working after a while. He hadn’t worked out how to get it started again, or if it was even possible. 

“From what I recall… I believe it can keep notes for me,” he finally settled on. It was one of the only clear features he had worked out how to use. 

“As can Akari’s device,” he nodded. “Anything else?” 

Ingo scrunched his brow harder. Anything else… maybe. There was something about that device that had been very important, he knew it. He kind of had a vague idea, but the only clear thing he could recall was the concept.

“I’m getting the impression it was… a meeting spot for two opposing tracks,” he said, struggling to express it. The professor raised an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean?” He asked. 

“A place in the middle, for two commuters to meet,” he said, aware this probably wasn’t much better. 

“Ah, so, a method of communication, perhaps?” Pondered the professor. The people of Hisui had become well versed in deciphering Ingo’s odd phrases by this point. 

“...Yes – I believe so,” Ingo finally settled on, eyeing the device. “A place where multiple tracks join together.” 

“Phenomenal,” muttered the professor, finally placing it down on his desk. “Do you mind if I borrow it? I would like to attempt to get it working.” 

Ingo didn’t mind. It’s not as if anyone would be able to reach him through it, anyway. 

He wondered if there had been anyone who had tried. 

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.

“Please, Ingo,” stammered Emmet, redialling his brother’s number. “Please pick up.” 

The number you have called could not be connected. Please check the number, and try again. 

Emmet let out a sob. Silent, distressed tears rolled down his face, and he shakily raised his hand to his Xtransciever for what must have been the fiftieth time in two days. 

“Please. It’s been days – where are you?”

The number you have called could not be connected. Please check the number, and try again.

“Please,” he whispered.

The number you have called could not be connected. Please check the number, and try again.

And though Emmet would routinely attempt to call his brother and sent him hundreds of texts, the number could never be connected.

Knave

“Oh, hello,” Greeted Ingo, passively watching the newcomer to the highlands. It had only been a few days since he had been appointed as Lady Sneasler’s warden, so he was still in the process of meeting everyone involved and learning everything new. 

“Greetings!” Exclaimed the man. He was shorter than Ingo, with blond hair that covered one eye and sporting a uniform that Ingo had seen around on a few others briefly. “I’m Volo – I couldn’t resist coming to introduce myself when I heard that the Pearl Clan had a new warden. Ingo, was it?” 

“That is correct,” confirmed Ingo, tipping his hat in acknowledgement. “Well met, Volo. It is very polite of you to have come to greet me, I must say.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing!” Waved off Volo. “I’m kind of new around these parts, and I heard that you are, too – we must stick together, must we not?” 

“I suppose!” Allowed Ingo, a small smile gracing his face. 

“I must say –” continued Volo. “I heard that the Pearl Clan found you in the Alabaster Icelands, alone – they say you just appeared there, with no memories or any idea how you got there. Is this true?” 

“...as far as I am aware, yes,” Said Ingo, his face back to its neutral frown. “I am not sure where I came from, or how I came to be in these parts.” 

“...Interesting,” Said Volo thoughtfully, eyeing Ingo. His gaze lingered on his hat and coat, the most notable and unusual features about him. “And you remember nothing? Not where you’re from? Are you sure?” 

“Quite sure, Volo,” Confirmed Ingo. “If I remembered anything, I would have most certainly told the Pearl Clan all I knew. They have been very kind to me,” he finished.

There was something about Volo… he seemed unusually curious about Ingo’s memories. But he had been polite and nice enough so far, so Ingo was content to ignore it for now. 

“That’s unfortunate,” sighed Volo. "I am quite interested in myths and strange happenings, you see. I found your case to cater to these interests quite well,” he explained, now eyeing the odd device around Ingo’s wrist. “If you remember anything, please do inform me,” he requested. “I would be incredibly interested to know…” 

“Ah, perhaps,” said Ingo, moving his hand behind his back. “We shall see.” 

The two chatted idly for a few more minutes. Volo seemed like a curious and interested person, and Ingo had a feeling he would be seeing him around quite a bit. 

After Volo had left, Ingo was once again alone outside of Lady Sneasler’s den. 

“He seemed nice enough,” he muttered to himself. 

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“We have truly exhausted all our options. I’m afraid, at this moment, we have no choice but to declare your brother a cold case,” said the officer, watching Emmet carefully. “...I’m so sorry,” He finished after another moment, his gaze changing to one of grave sorrow.

Emmet was silent. 

“...We’ll tell you, of course, if anything new comes up – but at this time, we have no choice. I’m –” 

Before the officer could finish, Emmet abruptly stood up. 

“I am Emmet. Good day, officer,” he said in a clipped manner. Before the officer could protest, Emmet strode swiftly out of the room. 

A few hours later found him sitting on the curb outside of a pokecentre, a crushing weight filling his soul. 

That officer. That wretched, scoundrel officer had lied. 

They had told him they would do anything they could to find Ingo. They had told him not to give up. And yet, there they went, going back on their word and taking Emmet’s soul and tearing it in two as if it were nothing. 

No. He would not accept it. Emmet knew that the next step in cold cases was declaring the victim dead. 

No. 

Emmet’s mind was racing so quickly that he failed to notice when someone stepped up to stand in front of him. 

“Um, excuse me?” A voice came from above him. Emmet’s mind froze, and he quickly turned upwards. 

A man was standing there, watching him in concern. The man would probably be shorter than Emmet if he stood up, and had blond hair that covered one of his eyes. He sported a large travelling pack. 

Interestingly, the man’s eyes widened momentarily as Emmet’s face met his. He seemed to do a double take, but quickly righted himself. He gave Emmet a smile. “Are you okay?” He asked, seemingly genuine. 

Emmet stared at him. “I am Emmet,” he said. “I do not know you. Who are you?” 

“Ah –” said the man, frowning a bit. “My name is Volo – I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to be in a bit of distress. Is something wrong?” 

“No,” Emmet said quickly, standing up. He took a moment to brush off his pants. “It is the police who have something wrong with them. They have given up on my brother,” he said through clenched teeth. 

“...Is that so?” Asked Volo, his mouth twisting into a strange looking smile. “I’m not sure of the specifics, but it sounds to me like the police don’t know what they’re talking about.” 

“Exactly,” agreed Emmet. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must be going!” 

“Of course!” Said the man, stepping aside so Emmet could get through. “See you later!” 

Emmet didn’t reply, stalking off in the direction of Elesa’s gym.

Language

There were many things about Ingo that confused the Pearl Clan, and later, the people of Jubilife. Many a time the things that confused them also confused Ingo himself – but possibly the worst offender of this was his odd phrasing and metaphors. 

“All Aboard!” He would say, or “Bravo! Excellent!” And he often attempted to explain things using the words ‘tracks’ or ‘carriage’ or other such words that had no meaning when put together. 

Akari was the only one who had any clue as to what he meant, but didn’t think it was possible to explain. The residents of Hisui had to accept it as just another one of Ingo’s oddities, and it wasn’t like it was causing any harm.

“What does ‘all aboard’ even mean?” Rei asked him one day in frustration, and Ingo stilled from where he had been bringing a potato mochi up to take a bite of. Akari tuned in next to him, also curious. 

“...” Ingo took a moment to think. Really think about it. He had been asked what he meant before, of course, but he didn’t think he had ever been directly asked about his phrasing like that. 

“...You know, Rei, I’m not sure,” He admitted after a moment, frowning. “It’s just as if I were to ask you how you knew how to walk. You cannot explain it, you just know.” 

Rei sighed, disappointed. “Figured,” he muttered, turning back to his mochi. 

“I apologise,” said Ingo, tipping his hat. “It is entirely automatic to me. Even if I will it so, I think I might find it entirely impossible to stop.”

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“We will be with you shortly!” Said Emmet, before hanging up. He and Elesa were meeting for lunch today. 

It took him a second, but once he realised, his smile dipped a bit. He had done it again. He needed to remember that there was not currently a ‘we’ he could be referring to. 

That afternoon, Emmet hummed happily as he entered the cafe. Elesa was already there, looking elegant as usual, and looked up at him with a smile when he entered. 

“Emmet!” She greeted. Emmet gave her a nod, and pulled up the chair across from her. 

“I am Emmet,” he greeted in return. “I am sorry we are slightly late. There was a particularly thrilling challenger!” 

“Ah, that’s great!” Exclaimed Elesa, smiling but looking lightly confused. “But – we?” 

“...Ah-!” Emmet realised, his smile dipping again. “I’m so sorry –! I didn’t notice, I’m afraid,” he explained. 

“Oh – that’s okay,” said Elesa, her smile turning slightly bittersweet. “I know what you mean.” 

Emmet gave a grateful nod, and the two began talking about what to order. 

No matter how much he reminded himself, using a collective was so ingrained into him that his mind refused to let him stop.

Chapter Text

Mount

Ingo loved being Lady Sneasler’s warden. It gave him such a sense of purpose that he had been completely lacking before, and he got along with Lady Sneasler so well that the Pearl Clan often joked that he had been sent to them specifically to babysit her. He had no reason to doubt it, honestly. 

But the best part of being her warden was getting to ride in her basket all the time. 

“All aboard!” he exclaimed in excitement as Sneasler gestured to her left, where it had been placed on the ground. He eagerly climbed inside, finding his normal comfortable crouching position to settle into. He was giddy as he felt the basket being picked up and hoisted onto Sneasler’s back, jostling him and making him bounce a bit. 

Perfect. He loved the rides the best when they were bumpy. 

Evidently, Sneasler knew this, because she seemed to be going extra rough today. He was rattled around, grinning, and he didn’t even mind when he felt his cap get dislodged and his hair get mussed up. All the better, in fact. 

The rides gave him a thrill that he hadn’t realised he had been thirsting for. The speed, the bumpiness, the noise of Sneasler’s vicious claws against the rocks – he loved it. 

He could imagine travelling like this all the time. What if everyone could travel like this? A giant, fun way to carry hundreds of passengers. 

Nothing sounded more perfect. 

When he got out of the basket, he turned to Lady Sneasler. “What move are you using when you carry me?” he asked her. “Is it Rock Climb?” 

Sneasler tilted her head at him in confusion. Evidently not, he supposed. 

For some reason, the thought was baffling. How was he meant to work out how to utilise this form of travel if it wasn’t easily tied to a move?

…Oh well. He would work it out.  

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“Ingo!” called out Emmet into the subway tunnel, his voice echoing loudly against the walls. “Ingo! This is not funny! It is verrrrrrry unfunny, in fact!” 

His only response was once again, his own echo. Elesa had told him not to check the tunnels again, since they already had the previous evening. He had ignored her, of course, completely unable to sit and do nothing when he could be out looking for Ingo. 

His brother had been checking the subway tunnels last night, right? That’s why he had stayed back, wasn’t it? It didn’t matter that his pokeballs had been at the entrance to the station – he had to be down here somewhere. 

Maybe he had gotten horribly lost. Maybe a pokemon had kidnapped him and was keeping him underground somewhere. 

Evidently, it didn’t end up mattering. Emmet scoured the whole subway seven times, each time more desperate and haphazard, and couldn’t find a single trace of Ingo. By the time he had to go home, his sense of direction was completely shot. 

Exhausted, he pulled out a pokeball and released Ingo’s Excadrill. It gave an expectant cry, evidently hoping to see its trainer. 

“Sorry, Excadrill,” said Emmet, burying a hand into its fur. “I require your assistance. Use dig, please!” 

Exadrill made a sad noise, but obeyed. Emmet held on tightly as the pokemon tunnelled its way out of the winding maze.

Despite the stress he was under at the moment, Emmet couldn't help but whoop energetically as Excadrill dragged him along. It was truly a pity that the thrill and speed of dig couldn’t be experienced as a regular mode of transport.

Nostalgia

Sometimes, Ingo would be doing something random and find himself bowled over with longing for seemingly no reason. 

It didn’t bother him that much normally, but sometimes, it threw him off enough to make him falter. Akari was often an instigator of this. Battling with her brought out something from deep within himself, something that might have otherwise been lost, making him burn with passion and a deep pining of some kind. 

Battling was his element. He always had fun, no matter the outcome. 

He didn’t get too many challengers who weren’t Akari. Maybe Rei would stop by occasionally, or sometimes another warden, and he even got one of those bandits once. But not really ever any villagers. 

Which is why it was so surprising when one day, a little girl appeared at the edge of the battlefield to watch him and Akari. 

The little girl stayed for a few hours, and returned the next day. The day after that, she brought her sister. 

The two girls were twins. Identical twins. 

They stood on the sidelines, the girl no longer afraid of standing so close, and eagerly watched on. 

As he battled, Ingo couldn’t keep his eyes off of them. 

“Whoo!” Cheered one of them, as Akari sent a supereffective move flying towards his pokemon. He watched the way her sister eagerly grabbed her arm, and couldn’t bring himself to look away. 

This of course, ended up costing him the battle. Akari was ecstatic, since she was normally the loser. 

“Bravo!” He exclaimed anyway, managing to tear his eyes away for a second. “Excellent battle, Akari! It seems you have bested me.” 

“GO AKARI!” One of the twins shouted. Both Akari and Ingo’s heads snapped towards them. 

One twin had a massive grin stretched across her face. The other twin was more subdued, somewhat hiding behind her sister, but still peeking out with a small smile. 

His chest ached. He found that his breath seemed to have left him, leaving something hollow. 

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“All aboard!” Emmet exclaimed, holding up a salute in front of the train resting at the station. “Multi line to depart in ten minutes! If you have a booking, please board now!” 

He smiled in satisfaction as several more trainers hurriedly stepped on. Maybe he would actually get to face one of them this time. 

His eyes tracked the crowd. Hmm – there were a few trainers he recognised from other journeys, but he hadn’t faced any of them. Maybe Hilbert or Rosa would show up – they always gave him a challenge, which was something that was severely lacking these days. 

Across the platform, his eye caught on something interesting. Two boys, who he had never seen before, were making their way over to the train. 

Something bittersweet settled inside of him at the sight of them. Brothers, obviously. Verrrrrry obviously. 

He watched as they moved. One of them had taken the other’s hand, and was eagerly leading him along, pointing at the train. They both looked happy. 

Emmet reached up and pulled his cap to cover his eyes. The two brothers disappeared from his sight, but he kept his mouth upturned into his signature smile. 

He would do better not to dwell on this. It had been much too long to remain focused on it any longer, to desire things so deeply that he would never have again. 

He lifted up his cap again. “ALL ABOARD!” He called out louder. The train whistled behind him, and in his peripheral, he caught sight of two forms eagerly stepping on.

Opener

“Are you sure about this?” Asked Irida, her Glaceon obediently waiting by her side. “You’ve only just obtained your first pokemon – and in one of those weird balls, too – I don’t want to accidentally hurt you –” 

“Trust me, Lady Irida!” Exclaimed Ingo, already holding a pokeball in his hand like he meant it. “I have never been more certain of anything – that I can remember, at least,” he said, already mentally preparing himself. 

He and Irida had decided to have a pokemon battle, after Ingo having obtained a few pokeballs from the folks over at Jubilife. He had battled once or twice before without the pokeballs, but in his mind, this would be the first real battle. 

Pokeballs just seemed like the natural, better way to battle. 

“Well… alright then,” said Irida, switching to a more determined stance. “Ingo – I challenge you to a battle!” 

Ingo gave a nod. “Very well! Machop, prepare for departure!” 

Something subconscious kicked in at that moment. As Irida pointed to guide her Glaceon where to go, Ingo pivoted on his heel to face his back towards her, and turned his head to the side. He held up the pokeball in an outstretched thumb and finger. 

“Ingo?” Irida said, sounding confused. She was standing behind her Glaceon, who was also looking comically surprised.

Ingo tossed the pokeball over his shoulder. He heard it open, and pivoted back around to point theatrically into the distance with one hand, the other leading itself to grab the brim of his hat. 

“Ingo?!” Tried Irida again, more shrill this time. She quickly attempted to solidify her stance, taken aback at how practiced and refined Ingo’s seemed. Not to mention – eccentric. 

Ingo barely heard her – a rush was hitting him, a rush he was just realising he had been deprived of for far too long. “Machop – use Mach Punch!” He commanded, thrusting his outstretched hand forward. 

His command was firm and confident, and his Machop obeyed him swiftly and quickly. Irida’s Glaceon didn’t stand a chance. 

Later that day, Irida approached him back at the settlement. “Ingo – I couldn’t help but notice how you opened our battle earlier,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like it – not even the people in Jubilife do it like that, where did you learn it?!” 

Ingo felt his mouth twist into a soft smile, and he closed his eyes. “You know I have no idea, Lady Irida,” he said. “I found myself doing it without realising. Wherever the instinct came from, it has now been derailed,” he said. 

Irida huffed, but gave him an amused shake of the head. “You’re something else, Ingo,” she said fondly. “Easily the best battler I’ve ever seen, that’s for sure…” 

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“Like this?” Questioned Monica, holding her hand outwards. 

“No, wrong!” Said Emmet, moving over to correct her. “Your other hand must come up like this, see? And you must be pointing without sticking your thumb out!” He exclaimed, biting down his irritation. 

It wasn’t her fault – he and Ingo had spent hours developing their very specific battle poses and motions tailored in a way just for them. Obviously it would take anyone else a lot of practice to get right. 

Next to her, one of the other replacement bosses, Simon, raised his hand. “Um, Emmet –” he said, and Emmet switched his attention over. “Will we be wearing hats as well? And will you be standing on the same side every time?” 

“Yes and yes!” He answered hastily. Someone else was already motioning for his attention again, so he gave Simon a quick nod and moved over. 

There had been about four or five replacement trainers appointed in Ingo’s absence, set to cover the singles line and Ingo’s place on the multi line on a rotating schedule.

Emmet knew it was the most sensible thing to do if they wanted to keep the battle subway open – which he did. Either way, it hadn’t been his decision – the Nimbasa City council had appointed them, but when Emmet had heard, he couldn’t help the bitter resentment, anger and jealousy rising up in his soul. He knew it was irrational, but he couldn’t help it.

Well, if they were there to take over his subway and replace his brother, the least they could do was do it properly. Hence him running this compulsory training to make sure they got every single detail right. 

They were doing okay. Nowhere near as well as Ingo, but okay. There was no way they could ever possibly be anywhere near as good as Ingo, so he hadn’t been expecting it. 

He and Ingo were a team. They were so in sync, they never needed to talk or recite their motions. They came naturally. 

It would never be like that with these trainers, never in a million billion years. 

Never.

Paradox

Ingo had been lost in thought at his station near Lady Sneasler’s den when he was approached by Lian. Ingo kept silent, watching the boy from the corner of his eye as he worked up the nerve to approach. 

Finally, Lian took a deep breath and stepped forward. Ingo turned to face him in acknowledgement. “Warden,” Lian said, then paused. “Do you have a moment?” 

This was unusual – Lian was normally very forthcoming. Ingo tipped his hat. “Greetings, Lian,” he said. “Of course I have a moment – what is it you needed me for?” 

Lian let out a breath. “Thank you. This may seem like an unusual request, but… well, I couldn’t help but notice how you threw your pokey-ball the other day, and…” 

Ah – so this was why Lian was so nervous. If certain people in the Pearl Clan found out that one of their young members was taking an interest in pokeballs, well – it wouldn't be good for anyone. 

“You want to know how to throw one?” Ingo clarified. 

Embarrassed, Lian gave a stiff nod. 

Ingo felt a wave of excitement rush through him. Someone else who could possibly share the same joy as him in the art of pokeballs-!

Well – he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. He wouldn’t want to scare Lian off, after all. 

“I’d be glad to teach you!” Exclaimed Ingo, his voice just a bit louder than usual. Lian winced. Noticing, Ingo hastily lowered it. “Do you have your own already?” 

Lian briefly glanced around, before giving a hesitant nod. Ingo felt the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile, like it tended to do when he got very excited. “Bravo!” He said, making sure not to be too loud. “Show me, and I’ll be glad to guide you onto the right track!” 

Lian pulled out his pokeball – empty, it seemed – and Ingo pulled out one of his own. Lian moved over so Ingo could demonstrate properly.

Ingo showed Lian the correct technique he liked to use when he wasn’t being theatrical – it involved adding a bit of a twist when he threw, and throwing at an angle so it curved elegantly to the side before releasing his pokemon directly symmetrical to himself. 

It was a much nicer way of throwing it rather than just chucking it forward like everyone in the Galaxy Team, if he dared have a bit of pride. Whoever had taught him this had done it well. 

Lian did his best to imitate him, his grip on the ball loose and unsure. He didn’t get anywhere close on his first try, but Ingo was happy to show him again as many times as it took. 

The two spent the afternoon going over the technique, Ingo helping Lian get a hang on it and refine it until he could replicate it fairly well. 

“Bravo!” Ingo exclaimed, giving Lian a genuine smile. “You are doing so well, Lian – I’m proud to have taught you how to properly throw a pokeball,” he said, and he found himself feeling like a great honour had been bestowed upon him by giving this lesson. 

Lian nodded seriously. “Thank you, Ingo,” he said. “I shall keep practicing and refine the technique as you taught me. I am determined to learn how to wield these properly, if they are to be the future.” 

Ingo’s cheeks were beginning to hurt from all the smiling he had been doing. “It’s my honour, Lian,” he said. 

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.

.

It had been a while since Emmet had seen any top Unova trainers other than Elesa, but he supposed it was only a matter of time. 

Word had gotten out to the press about Ingo, and all of a sudden he was getting flooded with calls and messages and well wishes and talking, talking, talking. Endless friends of friends who meant well, but didn’t know that Emmet would rather just be left alone. 

There were a select few who even came all the way to Nimbasa to see him. To help with the search perhaps, or to take the opportunity to acquaint themselves with him, or just to lend their support. 

Some were appreciated. Some less so, but he couldn’t ultimately find it in himself to be too mad at them, since it ended up being a net gain for the chances of a lead on Ingo. And that would always take precedence over any other factors. 

He wasn’t too surprised when one morning, he came to work at the station as usual, only to find Clay sitting there waiting for him. 

He hadn’t seen Clay in a while – though the circumstances were regrettable. “I am Emmet,” he greeted as he approached. “Good morning, Clay. It’s good to see you,” he said, as Clay stood up to greet him in turn. 

“Emmet!” Said Clay loudly, reaching up to clap him on the back. “It’s been a while! Nice to see you too,” he smiled, and Emmet’s own smile turned a touch more genuine. 

Clay was good friends with Emmet’s uncle Drayden, so they had seen a fair amount of each other when the twins were children. He and Ingo had loved to watch Clay and Drayden battle together, or watch them face gym challengers. 

Clay raised a pokeball. “Want to battle?” He asked.

Some things never changed, he supposed. 

Emmet agreed, and the two moved to a more open area. The Battle Subway didn’t open for another hour, so they had time. 

“I’m really sorry to hear about your brother, kiddo,” said Clay as he readied his pokeballs. Emmet felt a tear of shock rip through him – that was a low distraction tactic, and yet – it was so very much like Clay. 

Emmet felt his smile turn wicked. “That was verrrrrrry cruel, Clay,” he said, and Clay glanced up at him with a slight smirk. 

“Well, come and get me then, kiddo!” He said, and the battle began. 

Emmet and Ingo had known Clay practically their whole lives, and had battled with him many times. Normally, they used their regular subway poses when battling him – to brag about their higher qualification, perhaps – but that remark had earned Clay some revenge. 

Emmet didn’t turn around like he normally would, instead throwing his pokeball with a slight twist. The ball curved elegantly to the side, releasing his pokemon symmetrically in front of himself.

“Oi-!” Remarked Clay, throwing his own pokeball. It was thrown in the same manner, leaving their two pokemon facing each other perfectly. “Using my own technique against me, eh?” He asked, and Emmet grinned slyly. “I told you to keep that technique close to your heart! It’s been passed down through my family for generations, you know!” 

Oh, Emmet knew – he and Ingo had been so fascinated by it as young boys that they had tried to copy him and failed miserably. He had caught them doing it one day, and was unable to bear his precious family heirloom being butchered in such a manner, so had reluctantly taught the both of them how to do it properly. To this date, the three of them were the only people in the world who could throw a pokeball quite like that.

Ingo had taken a liking to it, using it as his regular throw for more casual battles. Emmet was perhaps a bit too partial to their regular poses, and so used them all the time. The fact he was using it now was a war cry. 

“I won’t let you get away that easy, kiddo,” growled Clay, grinning.

Emmet grinned back, determined. He had no intention of losing.

Chapter Text

Qualified

“Me?” Ingo asked, shocked. 

He was seated in front of a gathering of all the most important members of the Pearl Clan, in their main tent. Irida, Calaba, Gaeric, and Palina, all members who he had quickly learnt that the rest of the clan took seriously. 

“Yes, you,” smiled Palina at him kindly. 

Ingo was at a loss for words. 

Him, really? They wanted him to be Lady Sneasler’s new warden? 

“I can sense your shock,” said Irida calmly. Next to her, Calaba watched him, silent. “But truly, we have discussed it thoroughly – with Lian in training to become Kleavor’s new warden, there was really only one choice.” 

“Your competence with pokemon is truly something else!” Laughed Gaeric. 

Surprisingly, even Calaba tipped her head at him in acknowledgement. “Lady Sneasler herself brought you to us,” she said. “Who am I to disagree with the whims of one of our nobles?” 

Ingo blinked. Through the shock, something else emerged. A warmth – a deep gratitude and determination. 

“...Well,” he said after a second, tipping his hat. “Who am I to deny this generous offer? Truly – really and truly, I cannot express my gratitude to you enough,” he said, hoping it would come through in his voice that he meant it. He knew his face wasn’t exactly the best at that. 

“There would truly be nobody better,” said Irida warmly, and Ingo had never felt more lucky in his life. 

.

.

.

“Look at them,” muttered Emmet, watching as the new replacement bosses the City Council had appointed entered the locker rooms for the first time. 

“They look adequate to me,” tried Elesa, placing a hand on Emmet’s shoulder. 

“Adequate, maybe,” he said, an undertone of distaste lining his voice. “But nothing more. I would rather run the entire Subway myself.” 

“I know,” sighed Elesa. “But you don’t own the Subway, the council does. It’s their job to employ people,” she said gently. 

Emmet sighed, deflating. “I know,” he muttered. 

The council had held out as long as possible at Emmet’s request, not finding a replacement for Ingo until the police had told them what the best course of action was. Though Emmet was still viscerally against anyone even attempting to replace his brother, he couldn’t be mad at the council when they had done as asked. 

And he did want to keep his job. For now, anyway. 

“They’re some of the best trainers out there,” continued Elesa, trying to cheer him up. “They’re all more than qualified – Kit and Monica were the best performers for their age group in the world tournament last year, and Simon used to –” 

“I know,” repeated Emmet, cutting her off. “I am glad they found such good trainers for my subway. But they are not permanent,” he said. 

Elesa sighed. 

She would like to agree with him, but she had to say, the situation wasn’t looking too good. 

Nobody would ever be more fit for the job than Ingo himself, after all.

Reflection

There were many new things that Ingo was constantly discovering about himself, and one of those things was that he found his reflection very interesting. 

The Pearl Clan only had a few dirty hand held mirrors between the lot of them, so if he wanted to see it properly, he had to do it over the surface of the river every morning while he collected tumblestone. 

The first time he had seen it, he had frozen. He hadn’t realised how tired he looked. He hadn’t realised what he looked like at all. 

It was strange – though he knew it was his reflection, he often got a heavy sense from it that he was looking at someone else. If he curved his lips upwards into a smile, the effect was doubled. 

It faded into the background when his beard began to become more noticeable. He hadn’t found a way to shave yet in this new land and was a bit too afraid to ask, so he had a nice five-o-clock shadow a week or two after he had arrived.

However, he still remained fascinated. When he smiled, even with the beard, he could concentrate and not be looking at himself. 

“Hello,” he greeted the person on the other side. “I wonder who you are…” 

He cupped his hands around his chin, covering his beard. His cheeks stretched into a smile. The only noise was the rushing of the river.

The moving water made the other person look like a bleeding painting. 

.

.

.

Emmet gripped the edge of the sink, staring into the mirror. 

Ingo stared back at him, because Ingo was the one who looked this upset on a regular basis. Or, well – more often than Emmet, anyway. 

Emmet wouldn’t be surprised if Ingo was stuck behind this mirror and couldn’t get out. It wasn’t unheard of for his brother to get lost in ridiculous places. 

“Ingo, get out of there,” he whispered. 

Ingo’s face trembled. Emmet wanted nothing more than to comfort his brother, but he was just out of reach. Tears started welling up in Ingo’s eyes, and they began to turn red. 

“Don’t cry,” he muttered. 

Ingo’s face began to turn blurry, melding into a wobbling soup of swirls and colour.

Smile

Ever since he had taken Akari through Wayward Cave, Ingo could feel some of his old memories sitting just out of reach. 

They were so close. They lay just on the tip of his tongue, but the more effort he put into thinking about it, the further away they seemed to get. 

Even so, he couldn’t stop thinking about the man with the smile. The man who looked just like him. 

A foggy haze would always cover him. Ingo could make out that he wore white, but his face was obscured. 

How very pointless – if the other man looked like him, then the obscurification did nothing. Even so, it served to make him more desperate to uncover it, for some reason. He supposed it didn’t matter if the other man looked like him. 

The only constant was the smile. A smiling face, a kind face. 

When he looked at Gliscor sometimes, he couldn’t help but stare. Gliscor’s mouth stretched for miles, a wicked grin paired with mischievous eyes. 

That seemed right. Mischievous eyes. Eyes he knew as well as his own. 

One day, he would properly sit down and think about it.

For now, whenever he was feeling sad, he would think of the other man, and find his mouth softly pulling up to match. 

.

.

.

Emmet's mouth wobbled as the detective grimly handed him a letter. 

The letter. He had known this was coming, ever since they declared the case cold. They had already tried to break it to him gently, but this letter sealed the deal. 

He hastily thanked the detective, before closing the door rather harshly in his face. 

No matter. 

Emmet made his way over to the couch, already feeling the dark haze begin to cloud over his mind. The numbness beginning to choke the breath out of his lungs. 

He sat down. Next to him, Chandelure floated down and Durant cambered up onto the couch, both having sensed Emmett's need for them. 

He tore open the letter. 

There it was. A certificate. 

Ingo. Deceased. 

Deceased. 

Even if he knew it wasn't true (it couldn't be true) just seeing the words was enough. 

For the first time in his life, Emmet didn't feel the instinctive need to curl his mouth upwards.

Time

"So we know trains had been invented," Pondered Akari. “There’s no way you’re from before that. And you had that weird watch on you – I think I remember seeing people with something like that before, so you might be from the same time as me!” 

“It certainly sounds like it, Lady Akari,” Said Ingo, glancing down at his wrist. “I cannot recall what trains are, but they seem to be at the forefront of my thoughts quite often. And as the professor has already observed, our two devices are quite similar,” 

Akari nodded in agreement. “Your outfit, too. That sort of fabric definitely hasn’t been invented yet,” she said. “Though it’s very common in my time. I think we’re onto something!” 

“We might just be!” Said Ingo, amused by her enthusiasm. “If I am indeed from the same time period as you, how far away might that be?” 

“About two hundered years,” sighed Akari. 

Two hundred years – the thought seemed unfathomable. Two hundred years. That time was so far away it was unreachable. He had left it behind, well and truly. Or rather – he had been left behind by it. 

“...I must say, I hope not, Akari,” said Ingo, his enthusiasm fading slightly. “That seems much too far. I fear I would never be able to find it again,” he managed, an invisible weight settling over him. 

The two sat in silence. 

Why would he have been brought here, two hundred years in the past? Where the technology and culture and people were so different from what he was used to? Maybe it truly was because he was destined to be Lady Sneasler’s warden. 

“Well – whatever time I’m from – I am no longer there,” Ingo finally decided after a long pause. “The only thing left to do is move forward, and make this current time period my own.” 

.

.

.

Sighing, Emmet crossed off another month on his calendar with a giant red X. 

Three years. Three years and counting. 

He had never imagined it would go on this long. He was starting to move on. 

Every month, he did this, keeping track of the amount of time that had passed since he had last seen his twin. And every time, the happier he felt, a horrible wave of guilt would well up and spill over.

He knew it was only natural and healthy to begin to feel happy again, especially after so much time. But he just couldn’t help it – Ingo was left behind, stuck as he was three years ago, while Emmet was unrecognisable by comparison. 

But Ingo would have wanted him to move on, Emmet thought. It wasn’t fair to either of them for Emmet to be stuck in an endless loop of grieving for the rest of his life. 

He still kind of believed Ingo might still be alive, but he was aware of the likelihood of that. He had been declared dead already, after all, even if there was no body. He made sure to visit the empty grave occasionally, so maybe Ingo wouldn’t feel lonely if he was truly on the other side. 

Time moved on, with or without Ingo. Whether Emmet liked it or not. And Emmet was getting further and further away from his brother. 

If Ingo came back, he would be welcomed gladly with tears and hugs and so much love he would choke. But if he didn’t, Emmet supposed he was learning to live with it.

Ubiquitous 

One of the more frustrating things about having amnesia, Ingo thought, was that he paradoxically never seemed to escape his past. 

Though he couldn’t remember anything from before he had found himself in Hisui, there was always something there that seemed to remind him, just out of reach. 

A flash of red and white would catch his eye – just a Zorua. What did he think it was? Sometimes, he would glimpse the grin of his Gliscor, and be reminded of something he could not fathom. 

He would look at random things, and it would happen. The dancing flame of a candle. The soft flicker of one of those electric lights in Jubilife. From the corner of his eye, a man walking by with a newly tailored coat. An elegant lady with two long, black plaits. 

His past was everywhere, and he didn’t know it. He was never able to place what would remind him next, only able to be prepared for it to inevitably happen. 

It made him curious, but also sad. 

He wondered what he had left behind. He wondered why he felt so lonely when he watched two children running around together, laughing, or a young trainer with their Parasect. Parasect wasn’t quite right, but nearly. 

Though it pained him, he didn’t mind. The glimpses of his past that he caught all around him was more than his explicit memory was giving him. 

He would take what he could get. 

.

.

.

The first few weeks were the worst. 

Emmet couldn’t escape him. He was everywhere he looked, whether he liked it or not, his heart yearning and longing to find him somewhere he wasn’t. 

Chandelure would follow him to work outside of its pokeball these days, and if he didn’t think about it too hard, he could imagine his brother walking beside him. That stranger on a park bench with an Excadrill – nope, not there either. Someone with white hair would push past him on the platform, and Emmet’s head would follow. 

Somehow, it happened the least at home. He supposed the apartment was too quiet for him to fool himself these days, but there was still potential. An evasive shadow on the kitchen table in the darkness, before turning on the light chased it away. 

Elsea said it happened to her too, which made him feel a bit better. She would look at Ingo’s Chandelure, and be unable to see anything else but him. 

Ingo would find it amusing. You’ll never get rid of me, Emmet, he would say, and Emmet would give him a playful punch on the arm. 

His mind refused to let go of those days, compensating for his twin’s absence by placing him everywhere else. It was beginning to eat at him, lowering his performance at work and maintaining the constant grief and longing in his heart. 

He wondered how long it would take to stop happening. For his mind to finally face reality, to realise that Ingo wasn’t going to emerge from the faceless gym challenger in black that was in the corner of his eye. 

He didn’t know if he wanted it to ever stop. It was a pessimistic thought, but Emmet enjoyed the illusion for the split second it was there. 

Chapter Text

Vandyke

After a few months living in the Pearl Clan, Ingo’s appearance had evolved significantly from when he had first arrived. Most notably via the caveman-esque long, fluffy grey beard that now adorned his face. 

Irida found it amusing. Ingo hadn’t yet found a way to cut it down to size, or remove it altogether, but didn’t mind it that much. It grew downwards from his sideburns, and combined with the slouch he had taken to walking with, made him look about 30 years older than he actually was. 

That all changed one day, the first day he was scheduled to meet his fellow wardens from the Diamond Clan.

He wasn’t quite sure what to expect – he knew the Pearl and Diamond clans rarely had anything good to say about each other, but couldn’t help but think that was mainly out of principle.  All he knew about them was that they believed in a different ‘Almighty Sinnoh’ than the Pearl clan, the supposedly incorrect one. 

Ingo wasn't going to tell either of them that he didn’t quite buy the ‘Almighty Sinnoh’ thing. He got the feeling he had never been a religious person. 

Either way, the two clans had to meet sometimes to discuss various matters concerning Hisui as a whole. This would be Ingo’s first time attending. 

His first impression of the Diamond Clan was that they were… blue. Truly, there was not much he could say about them other than that; they had a leader and six wardens just like the Pearl Clan. 

A few of them shot him and the rest of them dirty looks, but others just looked on curiously. Ingo stood to the side, his cap pulled down to shadow his eyes. He was never that good around new people. 

“Hello, Irida,” Said the Diamond Clan leader – Adaman, if Ingo recalled correctly. 

Irida looked irritated. “Adaman,” she said. “Hello to you too, I suppose. I have a new warden to introduce to you.” 

“Yes, I can see,” sighed Adaman, looking over at Ingo.

Introductions were made, and throughout the whole discussion, Ingo couldn’t help but notice that one of the Diamond wardens, a young lady with red hair, kept staring at him. 

After the meeting, he was somewhat surprised when she approached him. “Ah – hello,” he greeted, tipping his hat. “Arezu, was it?” 

“Yep!” Said Azeru. “Nice to meet you, Ingo – sorry for approaching you like this, but I heard you were new in Hisui. I would like you to know that my services as a hairdresser are available to everyone, even Pearl Clan members,” she said, giving him a smile. He couldn’t help but notice that her gaze lingered on his beard. 

He couldn’t resist a small smile, probably hidden under all his hair. “Thank you very much, Azeru,” he said. “In fact, if you have a moment, would I be able to take you up on that right now?” 

Azeru’s smile grew, and she seemed eager. “Oh, I was hoping you’d say that,” she grinned. 

Ingo informed Irida, then followed Azeru back to a small clearing by a lake. The lake was for washing, she said, as she had brought all her tools with her. 

She was very good. She took time and care in cutting and shaving off all his beard hair with a razor, neatening it down slowly until a shaped goatee was left at the end. 

“What do you think? I think you look quite handsome, and wayyyyy younger,” She said once she was done. 

Ingo looked at his reflection in the lake. The shagged goatee that she had left quite suited him, he thought, and he turned around to smile at her. 

“Bravo, Azeru!” he said. “I will certainly be returning for your services!”

Azeru was very happy to hear that, and they parted ways with a wave. 

There was something very distinguishing about the goatee, he thought. When he looked at his reflection, it was much more difficult to mistake him for someone else.

.

.

.

When Ingo had disappeared, all of Emmet’s capacity for remembering hygiene had been thrown out the window. 

He often forgot to eat, leaving his pokemon to remember for him. He couldn’t survive only off of energy drinks, Ingo would say, but Ingo wasn’t there to get him to stop. If eating was hard, remembering to wash and shave was harder. 

Every time he looked in the mirror, his face began looking less and less like his brother’s. The smile that couldn’t seem to keep itself off of it, and then, the gradual beard that began to cover it. 

It was only once Elesa dropped by after several weeks in Kalos for a photoshoot that he realised how bad it had gotten. 

“Emmet!” She called out, opening the front door. He had given her access to his house a while ago, because he knew that was probably the best idea. “I’m back from – whoa!!” 

She cut off when she caught sight of him. He was currently slouched over the couch, watching a series that had happened to be on.

“Who’re you and what have you done to Emmet?” She asked, amused, closing the front door. 

Emmet let out a noncommittal grunt. He wasn’t exactly feeling up to a visitor that afternoon. Elesa noticed, and the small smile on her face fell. 

“Look at you,” she said softly, moving over to sit next to him. 

She snaked an arm around his back, and he silently leaned his head on her shoulder. “Emmet, have you been taking care of yourself?” She asked quietly. 

Emmet grunted again. Elesa spared a glance to Eelektross, who was lurking nearby. The pokemon made a distressed noise, and that was all Elesa needed. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she decided. 

It took some goading, but she was eventually able to get him up from the couch and into the bathroom. He sat on the edge of the bathtub while she cleaned up a bit, putting away boxes and tools that had been left all over the counter. She pulled out a can of shaving cream and a razor, and began to fill the sink with warm water. 

Emmet sat and stared dully at his reflection. It had been a while – he had to admit he hardly recognised himself. Elesa dragged a chair in from the other room and sat him down on it. 

“Let’s get rid of this caveman beard first, yeah?” She asked. 

“Wait, Elesa,” he interrupted before she could start. “I don’t mind you removing most of it, but – would you be able to keep just a bit of it? I… want to try a different look,” he said slowly. 

Elesa saw right through it, but nodded anyway. “Sure,” she decided, framing his face with her fingers and considering. “I’ve always thought you’d look nice with a bit of a beard, you know…” 

They spent a few minutes in silence, him watching as she cut then shaved him down until all that was left was a stylised looking goatee. 

“There!” She exclaimed once she was done, looking proud. “I think I’ve done a good job, don’t you think?” 

Emmet remained silent, squinting at the mirror. He looked like someone new, and that’s what mattered, he supposed. “Verrrrrrry nice,” he decided, his smile turning a touch more genuine. 

Elesa beamed. 

It would be easier to look in the mirror this way from now on.

Whistle

Ingo had never been much of a musical person, so when he was first handed a Celestica Flute and told that this was his way of calling Sneasler, he was stumped. 

“Erm – I apologise, Lady Irida,” he said awkwardly after the ceremony. “I’m… not exactly sure how to use this. Could you show me?” 

“Really?” Said Irida, seeming surprised. “Huh. Well, I suppose you’re not from here after all. Of course I’ll show you,” she said, and Ingo gave a grateful nod. 

The two moved to a quieter area where they wouldn't disturb the rest of the clan. Irida pulled out her own flute, and the two sat down next to each other on a pair of rocks. 

“Alright,” she said. “Firstly, I’ll show you how to hold it…” 

Ingo pulled out his own flute and did as instructed, covering the holes with fingers from each of his hands. Irida corrected his position a few times, but he found it easy enough to get the hang of. “Great!” She said, once Ingo could pull it out and hold it correctly every time. “Now, have you ever played an instrument like this before? That you can remember, I mean,” she clarified quickly. 

Ingo scrunched his brow in thought. Played an instrument? …No, he didn’t think so. But there was something about the shape of the flute that seemed familiar. “No,” he settled on, and Irida nodded. 

“So, what you’ll want to do is purse your lips like this…” 

Irida had Ingo practice the correct motions and make a few stagnant notes on the flute, and to his surprise, he got the hang of it rather quickly. It didn’t take them long to move onto the actual sequence he should play. 

Irida was suitably impressed by his fast learning, and was satisfied after about an hour of practising. 

“Wow Ingo, you’re a natural!” She praised.

“Thank you, Lady Irida!” He exclaimed, also satisfied. 

There was just something about the sound a flute made. It felt familiar to him. Irida left soon after, but Ingo stayed in order to practice a bit more. 

He played the tune a few more times, confident he had it right. When he played this, Lady Sneasler would come to him, and that fact was simply astounding to him. 

But… there was something else…

Experimentally, he blew into the flute. Not refined as if to play a song, but a single short, harsh burst of air. The resulting shriek didn’t sound very good, but – 

He did it again, twice in a row. It settled into an automatic rhythm, and he knew he had heard this sound somewhere before. A lot. Every day, even. 

He kept going, even as the sun began to set and his throat began to hurt. 

.

.

.

The train whistle shrieked loudly over the chatter of the commuters. The country train, set on a journey several hours long across Unova, was departing soon. 

Emmet loved the country train. It was rare that he was ever called in to conduct it, but it was the only train at the station with an old-fashioned whistle, and it could always be heard loud and clear no matter where you were. It was a bit of a funny way to be reminded that it was 9am. 

Normally Ingo was the one out of the two twins that got called in to usher the passengers on board. Ingo was much louder than Emmet, after all, and could be heard pretty clearly over the loud whistles. 

Emmet was in the middle of some paperwork he was behind on when there was a tentative knock at his door. “Enter!” He yelled out, not looking up from his task. 

The door cracked open, and the nervous face of one of the platform attendants peeked through. 

“I am Emmet,” Emmet greeted. “What can I do for you?” 

“Erm – well –” the platform attendant started nervously. “Normally we would get… well, are you free to try and usher the passengers for the 9:10am departure from platform 1?” 

Ah – she meant the country train. 

“Of course,” he said, setting down his pen and standing up. He pointedly didn’t think about what she had been about to say, instead following her as she gave a grateful nod and stepped out of the office. 

Emmet soon found himself waving for passengers to move themselves onto the train, like he had seen his brother do many times before.

“All aboard!” He said, but he knew it wasn’t loud enough. The train whistle blew again, and he knew he had to be louder.

“All aboard!!!”

All Aboard!!!!” 

No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t get his voice to raise like it was supposed to.

Xenomania

Though the signature move of everyone in Hisui by this point was to find things strange and unusual about Ingo, there was plenty that Ingo found strange and unusual about Hisui. 

Not in a bad way, of course. Every new thing fascinated and excited him greatly, and he knew the Pearl Clan found it endearing.

The first time he had tried to use chopsticks, he had held them in his fists, and then one in each hand, growing steadily more frustrated as nothing seemed to work. Irida and the rest of the clan had been amused, but also extremely confused – where on earth could he have come from where he had never learnt to use the most basic eating utensils?

It took him a little while to get them to work, but he eventually got it. It was also apparently custom in Hisui to take off your shoes when entering a home, which threw him for a loop. That one was much easier to implement, thankfully. 

And then there was the pokemon. There were certain pokemon which he knew that he had seen before – and yet at the same time, also hadn’t. Sneasel. Zorua. Voltorb and Electrode. Rufflet and Braviary. 

He had once gotten into an argument with Gaeric over the typing of a Zorua. It was dark type – he knew it was, better than he knew his own past – and yet, there was irrefutable proof that it was a ghost-normal type. 

Well – he had no choice but to chalk it up as just another fascinating thing about Hisui. They truly never seemed to end. 

Apparently the Pearl Clan worshipped a deity that ruled over space. Fascinating! The Galaxy Team liked to craft their own pokeballs, made from apricorns of all things. Astounding! A strange item was sold in Jubilife –  which he had managed to obtain for his Machamp – and he could have sworn it overrode the proper evolution technique. Bravo! Simply excellent! 

There was never a shortage of novelty and fascination in Hisui.

.

.

.

“Um, sir?” Came a voice from behind Emmet, startling him slightly. Emmet whipped around in surprise, his eyes lowering to meet those of a child below him. 

Actually, there were two children, the other one standing eagerly next to the first. It took him a second, but he blinked as he processed what they were wearing. 

Tiny, obviously handmade replicas of his and Ingo’s uniforms. Before Emmet’s mind could expand on that, the child thrust out a red and white cap in one hand and a fabric pen in the other.

“Can you sign our hats?!” The child asked eagerly. The other child also held out a hat, this one more shyly.

Emmet’s mind screeched to a halt. Sure – they had fans, and had been asked this before, but – 

Well – 

This was the first time since – 

He decided to ignore it. He had someone eager to see him, after all! 

Emmet let his signature grin split across his face. “Of course!” He exclaimed, gently taking one of the hats and the pen. “I am Emmet! And who might you two be?” 

“Itachi!” The first boy yelled eagerly, the older of the two.

“Enmei,” said the younger one more quietly, but giving Emmet a big smile all the same. 

“Oh-!” Said Emmet, quickly scribbling his name and a doodle on the cap. “Those names don’t sound Unovan – where are you two from?” 

“We are from Sinnoh,” Enmei said, his accent coming through at the longer sentence. “We wanted to see you and your brother. We love the railway. We are very big fans,” he explained, looking up at Emmet in awe. 

Emmet felt joy soar in his heart, despite the small twinge he felt when looking at Enmei’s outfit. They had fans all the way from Sinnoh-! And such adorable ones, too! 

“I am verrrrrrry honoured!” Exclaimed Emmet, handing Itachi’s hat back to him and taking Enmei’s. “But I apologise, my brother is not in today. I’ll be sure to tell him you were eager to see him, however!” 

The lie slid off his tongue like butter as he wrote on the other hat, and it left his mouth feeling sour. Even so, he kept the smile on his face as the two boys made disappointed noises.

“That is okay,” Said Itachi, though he did sound a bit put out. “We may come back to Unova one day. We are very big fans-! We have nothing like this in Sinnoh-!” 

“I can see that!” Said Emmet, handing Enmei’s hat back to him. “Now – are you here to ride the subway?!” 

“Yes!” Both boys exclaimed in usion, and Emmet grinned. 

“I will be verrrrrry disappointed if I do not get to fight you today! Do your best!” 

The boys exchanged glances, before both giving an eager shout and running off towards the entrance to the doubles line. 

Well – at least they weren’t setting themselves up for disappointment on the multi-line.

Yauchle

A few members of the Pearl Clan were on a short expedition to collect some rock salt when Ingo’s back started aching. 

He felt Irida’s concerned eyes on him as he struggled to bend over and pick a chunk up off the ground, every small movement sending electric lines of pain shooting down from his neck to his legs. 

“Ingo?” Asked Irida finally, after a few seconds of watching him struggle. “Are you alright?” 

Ingo managed to grab the rock salt, bringing himself back up. He awkwardly shuffled towards the wicker basket where it was all being kept to deposit it. “Y-Yes, Lady Irida,” he replied. “There is no need for concern – I am perfectly –” 

He cut off with a wince as another burst of pain crackled down his spine. 

“Uh-uh,” frowned Irida, abandoning her own salt. “I don’t think so – look at you! Ingo, you’re always so hunched over – has it ever occurred to you that you might be ruining your back?” 

Ingo paused, feeling a twinge of guilt hit him. It had occurred to him, but he had never put any effort into correcting it. In fact, he only started doing it in the first place because he was worried his height might make him too intimidating. 

“I… I apologise, Lady Irida,” said Ingo in shame. “Would you like me to… stop…?” 

“Yes!” Said Irida, exasperated. “There’s no need to ruin your posture like that!” 

“I – alright,” conceded Ingo, tipping his hat to cover his eyes.

Irida called Gaeric over, who had been keeping half a curious eye on the conversation. She motioned to Ingo, who refused to meet his eyes. One painful (but strangely relieving) back cracking later, Ingo stretched. And stretched. Irida and Gaeric’s eyebrows rose as he drew up to his full height, taller than both of them. 

“I… wow, Ingo,” said Irida in surprise. 

Gaeric let out a laugh. “I never would have pegged you for a bean-pole, bean-pole!” 

An embarrassed flush adorned his cheeks, and he pulled down his cap again, silent. 

“You’d better keep up with me now!” Exclaimed Gaeric, giving Ingo a clap on the back as he moved to go back to collecting salt. “No more of that weird painful looking walking, understand?” 

Ingo mumbled his reply, quickly kneeling down to gather more salt. Irida shook her head fondly, also returning to her task. 

Ingo got the feeling that someone, somewhere, was just as relieved as she was.

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It was Elesa who caught him out on it first. Of course it was. 

They were hanging out in one of the parks in Nimbasa City, today just content to take a walk for some fresh air. He was lagging a bit behind, walking at a slower pace than normal, but Elesa kindly didn’t mention it and kept her pace slow to match. 

It was when he struggled to move his neck upwards to follow the path of a pidove flying through the air that he felt Elesa’s concerned hand on his shoulder. 

“Emmet – what are you doing?” She asked. He tilted his head towards her. 

“What are you talking about, Elesa?” He asked, a bit confused. He hadn’t been doing anything at all, as far as he was aware. 

“You look like a hunchback,” she answered, scrunching her nose a bit. “That’s not good for you at all, and it looks painful. Normally you stand straight for battles, right? What happened?” 

At a loss, Emmet stared at her. He… did not know. 

He supposed… one day he had just stopped caring. It seemed so unimportant. 

In amongst everything – the work piling up at the subway, the empty apartment, the search, their pokemon, trying to remember to eat and wash himself. He was tired.

He was just so tired. 

“You can’t keep that up,” sighed Elesa. “Here – I’ll fix it for you.” 

He supposed there was no harm. He stood still as she moved around to stand behind him, fitting her arms under his. 

It took a few tries because of their height difference, but she eventually managed to crack him back into shape. 

“Don’t do it again, you hear?” Elesa chided. “Ingo would never let his posture get so slack, and wouldn’t want yours to, either! And you shouldn’t want your own like that in the first place,” she sighed.

“...I am sorry,” said Emmet, closing his eyes. 

She was right – Ingo would have been horrified at how hunched over he’d let himself become. 

It wouldn’t happen again.

Chapter Text

Zap

Akari had warned him about this. 

Space-time distortions were a common occurrence in Hisui. They formed semi-frequently in uninhabited areas, sticking around even after she had closed the rift. They spawned dangerous and unknown pokemon. They were scary. It was often warned that getting caught in one meant never again finding your way out. 

So when Ingo saw the telltale sign of the sky turning purple above him, he froze on the spot. 

What-! 

Of course – the one day he had decided to leave his post in Jubilife to go and stand by Sneasler’s den was the day where this happened. 

Just his luck. Just his rotten, death inducing luck. 

He had to run, before the distortion took over. But – Sneasler, and her eggs – 

His mind racing, he quickly pivoted around from where he was positioned next to her cave and thrust his head inside. Luck of lucks, the den was empty – Lady Sneasler must have carried her eggs with her when she had left to answer Akari’s call. So Akari could meet them. 

Ingo removed his head. Only himself to worry about, now. 

He had barely begun to take his first step forward when a wicked bolt of lightning appeared out of nowhere and struck the ground next to him. 

Ingo let out a shout and stumbled, only for another blast of lightning to strike frighteningly close to him. This one knocked him backwards, but he caught himself on his hands. Static zapped across the ground and over the top of him.

Above him, the sky was beginning to warp and wobble. The bubble was forming. 

This was really happening. 

Ingo could only stare with wide eyes, stuck on the ground, as he felt his mind go blank. 

This was it. He was going to get killed by a giant horde of Alpha pokemon. He could hear his heart racing in his ears. His mouth was dry. He was breathing rapidly. His arms shook as he automatically pushed himself off of the ground. 

It was too late – the bubble had already set in. There was nothing he could do. 

But… wait. 

On the other end of the distortion, something strange seemed to be forming. It wasn’t an Alpha pokemon, no – in fact, there was an odd and distinct lack of those. It seemed to be a person… a person dressed in white. 

Ingo squinted. 

The person was flickering, their form distorted, and yet… there was something terribly familiar about it. 

“Hello?” He called out, confused. 

The person turned around. 

Ingo’s eyes widened. He could just barely make it out, but the person across the distortion seemed to be wearing a face that looked exactly like Ingo’s own. 

“...What?” He asked out loud, unable to articulate his thoughts. 

The other man also seemed to have frozen. They both remained that way for a few seconds, staring at one another. 

Then all of a sudden, the other man let out a terrible shout. “INGO!!” He yelled, taking a few steps forward, and Ingo winced. “INGO, INGO!!” 

Ingo could only watch, frozen in place, as the other began to run towards him. He was speechless when a heavy weight crashed into him, and two warm arms locked themselves around his neck. His own arms came up to catch him automatically, holding on loosely.

“Ingo-o,” The other man wailed, his voice shaking and wet with tears. “I–Ingo-o, Ingo-” 

Ingo closed his eyes, his mind barely keeping up. He felt the weight of the other man’s shaking form pressing against him, heard his wet wails and sniffles and broken calls of Ingo’s name. He breathed in through his nose, taking in the warm scent of the coat that had been pressed into his face. It smelt like… it smelt like home.

They say your sense of smell is the sense most closely tied to your memories. 

He screwed his eyes shut tighter, feeling himself start to tremble. Heat pressed up against his eyelids, and a few tears leaked out. He barely knew what was happening, and yet a wave of emotions was crashing through him.

“I…” he whispered. 

The man drew his arms in more, pulling Ingo closer. Ingo couldn’t find the words. There simply were no words. He was speechless.

He managed to breathe in again, slow and deep. He finally became aware of his arms, still loosely holding the other man – he tightened them considerably, giving a firm squeeze. 

The two stood there, holding each other, lightning crashing around them.

The other man’s wails subsided, and he grew quiet. His grasp on Ingo didn’t loosen.

“Ingo,” he whispered into Ingo’s shoulder. “I’m so… h-happy to see you.” 

Ingo’s mouth opened, but no words came out. 

“I missed you,” the man mumbled. “I m-missed you, I miss-ssed y-you s-s-o mu-uch,” he said with a hiccup, trembling. 

Something unlocked itself from around Ingo’s throat. “I – I missed you, too,” he found himself saying hoarsely. 

Even though he didn’t even recall this man’s name – it was dawning on him that the fact that Ingo missed him was probably the one thing above all else that he knew for sure was true about himself. 

Nothing had ever been truer. Ingo missed this man, the sort of longing that even without him knowing, sunk slowly into his very being and inserted itself into his entire life. The sort of longing that stole his breath away when he thought of it, that wrapped itself around his soul and made him numb with grief. This longing marked a unique kind of absence in his life, the loss of something so great there was no way to express it. 

Finally. Finally, finally, a sense of fulfilment washed over him. He was so happy. He was so relieved. He had never truly been one person, had he? He had been two people. This was his other half. Finally. 

Around them, the lightning started to waver. 

The bubble was fading. He didn’t have much time left. Ingo tightened his arms. The man’s breath hitched, and his form started to flicker. 

“I love you,” whispered Ingo. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too,” the man said back, his voice cracking. 

Ingo could see the ground through his wavering form. He held on tightly, but couldn’t do anything as he felt the pressure around him lessen, then fade away all together.

It was silent. The lightning had stopped zapping the ground, and the purple backdrop had faded into blue sky and brown earth. 

Ingo was alone. 

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It was a stormy evening at the station when Emmet heard an unusual noise down on the platform. 

Today had been a weird day. Thick stormclouds had overshadowed the sky, making it feel constantly later than it actually was, and the battle trains were busy. Lots of bookings today, and Emmet had gone through them in a sort of trance, just wishing he was home so he could sleep. 

He was finishing off the day with more paperwork, hoping to get through it quickly, when he heard it. It sounded like a big boom, or a crash, and considering the storm, it immediately set him on alert. 

Lightning hadn’t struck the platform, had it? He supposed it was only wise that he go down and check. 

The platform hadn’t been harmed, thankfully. Emmet squinted, not seeing anything across the long stretch into the distance. If not lightning, then what…

“Hello?” Came a voice from behind him, and he startled. He turned around. 

Across from him, on the platform, stood a tall figure. They were dressed in dark colours, and wearing something that seemed to flare out behind them in an ethereal manner, despite the lack of a breeze. As he became more focused, Emmet noticed that the platform was slightly visible through them. 

Their eyes met. “...What?” Said the person, sounding lost. Emmet’s heart stopped, and he choked. 

He knew that voice. He knew that figure. He knew that coat. 

Ingo. Ingo Ingo Ingo Ingo Ingo Ingo Ingo Ingo Ingo Ingo Ingo Ingo Ingo. 

He choked again, his mind freezing in place. 

“INGO!!” He screamed. Ingo didn’t move, only looking confused and lost. Emmet began to move forward, breaking out into a run. “INGO, INGO!!”

Was this truly Ingo? It could be a pokemon playing an extremely cruel joke – but, he realised, he didn’t care. His mind was beyond it, suddenly overwhelmed by too many emotions and exhaustion from the long day.

Tears began to stream down his face as he reached his twin, crashing towards him and locking his arms around his neck. Ingo’s arms caught him automatically, and Emmet barely had the ability to process the fact that he couldn’t feel them. There was pressure, but no warmth. 

Ingo. His brother. His best friend. He had wanted to go home before, but he had just found it, right here on the platform. 

"Ingo-o,” Emmet wailed, shaking. He pressed his face into Ingo’s shoulder. “I–Ingo-o, Ingo-”

Emmet felt Ingo come out of his shock, then breathe in deeply from where his face was pressed into Emmet’s shoulder. He focused on his brother, just feeling the familiar arms around him, holding him loosely. Feeling his weight pressing against him, feeling his face tremble.

"I…" whispered Ingo, and Emmet savoured the sound of his hoarse voice. 

There was something… wrong, with Ingo. He was cold. From what he had briefly seen, his coat had been torn to shreds, and there was an odd vacancy in his eyes. Emmet could see the platform through him. Ingo tightened his arms, and the pressure increased, but there was still no warmth. 

He looked like a ghost. He felt like a ghost.

He hadn’t said Emmet’s name yet. 

Emmet didn't want to think about it, so he only tightened his arms in turn. 

It took him a few moments to calm down, but he managed it. “Ingo,” he whispered. “I’m so… h-happy to see you.” 

He felt Ingo’s mouth open, but no words came out. A feeling of foreboding was beginning to descend, mixing horribly with the elation and euphoria that had been rushing through him up until now.

“I missed you,” Emmet continued, ignoring that as well. He hiccupped. “I m-missed you, I miss-ssed y-you s-s-o mu-uch,” he managed, his voice breaking. 

If this was what he thought it was… it might be the only chance he ever got to see his brother again.

After all this time. After all the tears, the longing, the endless, endless wondering what had happened, it had come to this. 

“I – I missed you, too,” Ingo whispered hoarsely back, the first proper thing he had said. In that moment, any doubts Emmet might have had disappeared. This was his brother. It was really him. 

To Emmet’s horror, he felt Ingo’s form flicker. Ingo let out a breath, but there was no air. 

He felt like Chandelure. Horrible and icy and hazy around the edges. 

He didn’t want to think about it. Ingo was in his arms, and that was what mattered. But the longer this went on, the more oppressive his dread and grief got. His breath hitched. 

“I love you,” Ingo whispered. His voice was like a breeze, breathy and fragile, swept away softly. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too,” Emmet said back, his heart breaking. He managed to keep his composure as he felt Ingo’s form waver, then turn to mist in his arms. 

He was left hanging onto air, and he stumbled forward when his weight had nothing to lean on. 

Emmet sank to his knees, grasping at nothingness where before there had been Ingo . There was no indication on the platform that anything at all had happened. He let out a sob.

Ingo was – Ingo was gone. He was gone.

That’s how the station workers found him hours later, sobbing on his knees alone on one of the platforms.

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& 

I apologise for causing you all this trouble, human. 

You do not belong here.

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The cold wind whipped around Emmet. He let out a shaky huff of breath, pulling his coat tighter around himself. 

It was a freezing January evening, and he was returning from a New Years party at Elesa’s. She had offered to let him sleep over, but he had declined – he had to get home early to reopen the subway tomorrow, after all. It wasn’t too far to his apartment from her house.

This evening reminded him of another one, years ago. One where his life had changed forever. 

He hurried along, dismissing the thought. 

There was quite the snowfall this evening, enough that it might turn nasty if he were to stay outside any longer. Maybe he should have stayed over… he could have just woken up early to get there on time, after all. 

As he was making his way through the snowfall, something odd caught his eye. A flicker in his peripheral, a flash of colour. Emmet stopped in place, and curiously turned to squint at where he thought it was. 

There, just a bit in front of him, was what seemed to be a tear in reality itself. 

Emmet stared. 

There was something coming out of it – an arm, the sleeve it wore ripped and torn to shreds. He could feel his heart speed up, and unconsciously reached down to grip at Eelektross’ pokeball. He had heard of all the insane happenings in other regions – was it Unova’s turn once again? 

Maybe not, because as the arm flailed around and failed to find anything to hold onto, the rest of the person came tumbling out, falling face first into the snow. As soon as their foot fully left it, the rift crackled, then the atmosphere around it warped and it shut itself, as if there had been a zip pulling it. Emmet took in a sharp breath, and was assaulted with the heavy scent of ozone. 

The person on the ground was stirring. Emmet stared at them.

It was like that night all over again. The familiar coat – the familiar figure – The person lifted their head, and Emmet’s grey eyes met with an identical pair. 

This time, Emmet wouldn’t be so hasty.

“I am Emmet,” Said Emmet bluntly, his face stony. The supposed Ingo’s eyes widened. He pushed his emotions down, deep deep downwards so they wouldn’t swing back to betray him if this was a trick. “Ingo,” he said. “Are you real?” 

Ingo stared at him. His face was… older. There were lines where before there had been none. He sported a beard, just like Emmet, and his eyes held a deep rooted exhaustion that aged him beyond his years. 

“I… think so,” Ingo replied, quiet. His eyes never left Emmet’s. “...I know you. Don’t I? Emmet.” 

Emmet couldn’t answer, his mouth dry. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help the way his chest began to hurt and his throat began to feel tight.

He could feel hope threatening to rise up once again – but Emmet knew what he had seen on the platform all that time ago. Ingo was dead, right? That had been his ghost. If he let hope catch him off guard, he was opening himself up to a fresh wave heartbreak all over again. 

But.

“Yes,” he said. “You are my brother. My twin,” he explained. 

They kept their eyes connected as Ingo slowly pushed himself up to his feet. His long coat trailed down behind him, swaying with the wind, the edges in tatters and the colours faded. 

“I’m… sorry,” said Ingo after a second, wincing and reaching up to put a hand on his head. “I can’t remember much. I’ve had a long day.” 

It was such an Ingo thing to say. Emmet let out a startled laugh – unable to keep his longing at bay anymore, he found the breath choked out of him as a wave of emotion crashed into him.

This time, Ingo was the one who took a step forward, approaching Emmet. Soon enough, they were face to face. Emmet silently took in his brother – he really did look tired. “What happened to you?” Emmet asked, his voice cracking. 

Ingo’s face scrunched into a thoughtful frown. “I’m not sure,” He said slowly. “One day, I just… found myself alone, in the snow, with no clue what had happened. I was in a new region whose name I had never heard; Hisui.” 

“Hisui –” said Emmet. The name sounded familiar. Ah yes – he remembered something. A holiday he had taken a while ago, a museum he had visited. “You mean… ancient Sinnoh?” 

Ingo’s eyebrows raised. “Sinnoh?” he asked. “...I suppose that makes sense. Yes. I… have been there for a long time.” 

Emmet’s mind couldn’t quite grasp what he was hearing – ancient Sinnoh? Did that mean time travel? Was that even possible? He felt his heart pounding through him. His throat was tight. 

Ingo was standing there, shivering. He huffed, and his breath fogged up the air.

Fogged breath… last time, when Ingo had breathed, there had been no air.

Heat pushed against his eyes. He swallowed.

“I thought you were dead,” whispered Emmet. Silent tears began to stream down his face. “I really, really thought you were dead.” 

A look of guilt twisted across Ingo’s face. “I’m… so sorry,” he said, closing his eyes. He leaned his head forward, and their foreheads touched. 

Emmet couldn’t resist any longer. With a sniffle, he threw his arms around Ingo’s neck, just as he had last time. 

This time, Ingo was burning warm against the frigid air. The pressure was comforting, and Emmet let himself melt against it. Ingo’s arms came up to press against his back just as tightly. 

They stood there, in the freezing air, and Emmet felt… a peacefulness, one that had been absent for years now, gently wash over his soul. Ingo’s embrace was warm, and Emmet felt safe.

Finally, finally he was whole again. For real this time. His mouth stretched into his signature smile, wobbly. He ducked his head, pressing it into Ingo’s shoulder, and closed his eyes tightly. 

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Emmet whispered. Ingo said nothing in reply, but he didn’t need to. Ingo’s hand gently came to rest on the back of his head, pulling him closer. Emmet tightened his arms in turn. Deep within him, an elation he had been deprived of for so long began to rise. He began to feel giddy – a small, shaky giggle escaped him, and he gave his brother a small squeeze before pulling away. 

Ingo’s eyes were closed, and a soft smile had settled on his face.

It was real. Ingo was real, and Emmet had never been happier in his life.

Emmet grabbed Ingo’s hand. It was warm and whole in his. 

“Let’s go home,” he smiled.