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Faces That You Know Seem Like Fantasy

  • Originally posted to AO3 June 8th, 2022, last updated July 15th, 2022
  • Rated: T
  • Word Count: 15,025 words
  • Relationships: Ingo & Gliscor, Ingo & Emmet, Ingo & Sneasler, Emmet & Sneasler
  • Tagged: Crack Treated Seriously, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Dissociation, Hallucinations, Isolation, non-linear recovery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Selective Mutism

Based on a post by tumblr users Nemesis-is-my-middle-name and Answrs.

"hear me out: postcanon p:la and due to Shenanigans, everyone EXCEPT ingo gets (temporarily) yeeted to the future"

---

Sinnoh had made its point. For whatever reason, be it punishment or trial, there were no other humans to be found in Hisui.

He was trying to make peace with it.

Chapter 1

As usual, it was Sneasler who clued Ingo in to the fact that something was wrong.

 

Or, rather, it was Sneasler’s sudden and complete absence.

 

It wasn’t unusual to go a day or two without seeing his Noble, especially since his posting in Jubilife, but it was utterly unheard of for her to be gone when there were still unhatched eggs in her nest. He’d called for her, of course, but she never responded, and fear seized Ingo’s heart.

 

Despite Gliscor’s somewhat rocky relationship with the Lady of the Cliffs, he hadn’t hesitated for a moment when his trainer asked him to survey the Highlands from above, but his search hadn’t turned up anything of note. Perhaps… perhaps Akari just needed her assistance on a much grander scale…?

 

He’d suppressed his concern long enough to see the eggs insulated and secured, coat tucked snugly around the clutch, before hurrying off to consult the only other human on Mount Coronet.

 

Melli hadn’t been at his campsite, nor was Electrode anywhere to be found in the arena.

 

A thrill of panic raced through him. Had he missed some manner of natural disaster, leaving the others to deal with the fallout? But no, Gliscor would have seen anything that warranted the attention of two Nobles and a Warden. He wanted to set out for himself, to ensure that this was a baseless fear, but by the time he concluded that there was nothing to be found in the Hollow, night was already beginning to fall.

 

Normally, he’d retire to his own camp, but without any assurance that Sneasler would be able to return to her nest, he dragged himself back up the cliffs and crept into the cave-- quietly, just in case. There was no need to fear waking her up, however, because Sneasler wasn’t there.

 

Ingo swallowed thickly and admitted himself, letting the tanned hide curtain fall shut behind him. He’d remove it in due time, once Sneasler was back, but for now, it was the only thing keeping the cavern from dipping into temperatures the eggs couldn’t withstand.

 

For some time, he busied himself with normal tasks: checking the provisions stored up here, briefly ducking outside to ensure that his team had situated themselves for the night and didn’t require assistance, half-heartedly making his way through the rice ball he’d been too preoccupied to eat earlier in the day. He shouldn’t have been surprised when his bid for time failed to see Sneasler’s return, but still, somehow, he felt worse for it.

 

With a deep breath, he settled himself on his side and laid an arm across the bundled cluster of eggs.

 

He had a bad feeling it would be some time before he’d be able to breathe it out in relief.

 

---

 

Sneasler was still missing the next morning. Ingo tried not to let his thoughts derail as he asked Gliscor, again, to get the lay of the land beyond where he could reasonably venture. If there was no guarantee that the Noble would be back to tend to her eggs, he couldn’t, in good conscience, leave the territory.

 

Gliscor sat patiently for him as he lashed a note just above its claw-- firm enough to withstand the winds, but not so firm as to dig into the bat’s hide. Perhaps this entire matter was a misunderstanding; the Pearl Clan played specific songs on their flutes to summon their people, so it was entirely possible the same had happened with the Diamonds, and that Sneasler was simply busy elsewhere, trusting her Warden to care for the clutch during her absence.

 

When he was done, he ruffled the top of Gliscor’s head.

 

“Don’t be hasty; if you need to stop for any reason, do so. Follow the rules and safe flying.” He said, and with that, it was up in the air and off for the Alabaster Icelands.

 

Ingo spent the rest of the day in a blur of scouting the Highlands for trouble, gathering supplies and ferrying any nest-worthy materials from his campsite on the off chance they would help keep Sneasler’s eggs warm. It was only once he was confident that the layer he built up well exceeded the worn fabric of his coat that he slipped it back over his shoulders.

 

Far ahead of the mental schedule he’d put together, Gliscor returned late that night, claws scrabbling beneath the curtain and startling Ingo out of a fitful doze. Before he could get to his feet and meet the bat, it was already dragging itself past the barrier-- for a second, Ingo worried that it was because he was hurt, but a second inspection in the darkness suggested that Gliscor was fine, just unsure how to breach the obstacle that the curtain presented.

 

He would have to apologize for the new-- if familiar-- scent in her lair once Sneasler caught wind of it.

 

Gliscor sat upright and chittered at him, extending the arm on which he’d tied the letter, and Ingo dutifully set about releasing him from the tie. He got as far as identifying where the knot was before realizing that it was the same he’d fastened that morning, the note warped by weather, but undeniably the one he’d sent along.

 

His hands stilled for a moment as this fact sunk in, and then he spurred himself back into action, focusing on the fastening so he wouldn’t have to consider what this meant. Eventually, however, that excuse ran out, and he had no choice but to ask, “Are-- are they alright? Did something happen? A… Pokemon attack or an avalanche…?”

 

With a low trill, Gliscor tilted his head to the side, unable to answer. He was confused-- that much was plain to see-- but not afraid or upset. There was nothing in his demeanor to suggest tragedy had befallen the Pearl settlement.

 

But why, then, would his missive go unanswered? The rest of the clan was wary of Pokemon, yes, and Gliscor cut an intimidating figure, but his sweet temper more than made up for it. Surely, even if nobody else was bold enough to approach, Irida or Gaeric would have recognized him?

 

Ingo was so consumed with thought that he didn’t even notice the Pokemon in question clamber into his lap and set its head on his shoulder. Absently, he ran a hand over its back and it leaned into his neck, rumbling appreciatively.

 

With time, he would realize that the accelerated timetable meant that Gliscor had likely disregarded his instructions-- failing to rest at appropriate intervals-- and ply it with a late night snack of plump beans. For now, though, he subconsciously accepted the comfort of a warm embrace on a lonely night.

 

---

 

Since Gliscor had proven himself unlikely to perform safety checks without his pincers being forced, Ingo’s next course of action was to call upon the Honchkrow and Staraptor he’d trained up and send them to the Diamond Settlement and Jubilife Village.

 

Both returned the next day, the written appeals for information still tied to their legs.

 

Something like muted horror settled at the back of Ingo’s mind, but he tried valiantly to busy himself with the task at hand. The eggs had already spent quite some time developing before Sneasler had vanished, and would likely be ready to hatch before too much longer; he didn’t understand what was going on outside of the Coronet Highlands, but so long as the clutch was relying on him, he would be there to tend to it.

 

By the time the hatchlings were stable enough to travel, the greater portion of a month had passed since their mother’s disappearance.

 

It wasn’t the longest Ingo had gone without straying to a settlement, but there was something uniquely terrifying about the experience this time around. He’d tried, with diminishing hope, to contact any of Hisui's factions and gone unanswered every time.

 

He hated to move the kits so young, but he had to know what was going on out there-- not just as a matter of personal curiosity, but also of practicality. In order to prepare accordingly, he had to understand the circumstances, and he wouldn’t be able to do that if he stayed in the Highlands.

 

But he couldn’t leave the four young Sneasel alone, on an emotional or physical level; in their mother’s absence, they’d imprinted on the only caretaker they had, and had taken to trying to follow him out of the nest ever since they grasped rudimentary mobility. The curtain had been enough to contain them for quite some time, but at a certain point, he’d had to ask Tangrowth or Probopass to plop down at the mouth of the cave to keep them from escaping. Now, though, it seemed they would get their wish. Like it or not, he’d have to take them with him on the commute to Jubilife Village.

 

It was fortunate that they were still small enough to fit in a pocket, noses poking out to scent the air, while the remaining two perched on a shoulder or snuggled into his chest. He kept a member of his team out at all times, rotating through so everyone would get a chance to stretch the equivalent of their legs, and between the lot of them, it was possible to fool himself into thinking that he was just headed to his position at the Training Grounds.

 

The flimsy veneer only lasted until he reached the village’s unguarded gates.

 

Or-- well-- not unguarded. Mr. Mime was still there, but there wasn’t a member of the Security Corps to be seen. That was the heart of the matter, really. There didn’t seem to be a single human in the village. The pastures still teemed with life, a Chimecho hanging forlornly in the eaves of a house and a Graveler eyeing him from in between a set of pickling pots-- but as he walked the paths, he only found Pokemon.

 

Eventually, after picking his way past the fields, he circled back around to idle in front of the Galaxy Building, where a Dustox perched on the rails.

 

It felt wrong to enter uninvited-- even though he had a standing agreement with Kamado-- so, ignoring how absurd it was, he asked the Dustox, “May I come in?”

 

Its antennae twitched and wings slowly folded back and then open again. He took that to be an affirmative.

 

As he’d expected and feared, very little was different inside-- though he received a substantially warmer welcome than Mr. Mime’s vague surprise. The Professor’s Oshawott and Rowlet raced up to meet him at the sound of the door, and didn’t even seem to care that Ingo was the only person there. The Sneasel perched on his shoulder raised its hackles, and the one in his left pocket poked its head out in full to see what was going on.

 

Silently, he passed them-- one at a time-- over to Machamp, whose grip was inescapable, but would do them no harm. Devoid of any passengers who might escape into the facility’s depths, Ingo knelt down to the Pokemon’s level.

 

“Do you know where your friends have gone?” He asked, but the only answer he received was a downcast hoot and a furious nudge as Oshawott forced its head under his hand, desperate for contact.

 

Ingo bit back a sigh, but couldn’t begrudge them the responses. Even if they did have an answer, how were they supposed to communicate it to him? He spent a minute with them, scratching between Oshawott’s ears and ruffling Rowlet’s feathers and, before standing, rifled around in his satchel and found a pair of berries for them, to the immediate outcry of the kits behind him.

 

This time, he did sigh, and braced a hand against his knee to stand upright. “Settle down, you lot.”

 

As he stood, he fished out another berry, then the sheathed knife he kept lashed on his satchel’s side. In two quick motions, he cut the oran into quarters and handed one to each squirming Sneasel. Wiping the blade clean of juice to safely store again, he offered Machamp a wan frown. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten you. Once they’ve been taken care of, we’ll get everyone fed.”

 

Machamp nodded, interested but not terribly concerned by the babies’ neediness; his attention quickly wavered.

 

Ingo was belatedly made aware of a presence at his back that hadn’t been there before, and turned to find Cyllene’s Abra.

 

A staccato hope began to beat in his chest.

 

“Would you like one, too?” He asked, fingers blindly closing around the firm flesh of a ripe berry, but Abra didn’t respond either way, content to study him. Ingo retrieved it anyway, and held it out.

 

Instead, Abra took his unoccupied hand.

 

She had been in the office, meditating next to her trainer as was routine. An unearthly pressure settled over the room, and by the time it dissipated, even in the depths of her trance, Abra knew that Cyllene was no longer there. Her senses told her the neighboring rooms were similarly unoccupied. She could hear Oshawott surface in his tank, head raised to look above water level for all the good it would do.

 

She cast about mentally, trying to figure out where if not here, but her psychic scouting couldn’t find purchase. Even at a broader scope, there was a terrifying emptiness. Cyllene wasn’t here. The Professor wasn’t here. Even the stubborn Commander had vanished.

 

Abra… Abra was scared.

 

As the vision cleared from his eyes, Ingo scrambled for something to say, but there wasn’t anything he could do to sooth the Pokemon’s fears. He didn’t know what the pressure had been, hadn’t felt any inkling of it himself-- not in this instance, at least.

 

Distantly, he was aware that the sensation of too-heavy psychic tension was a familiar one-- was something he associated with the unexpected burn of snow against a thin uniform-- but he wasn’t prepared to face that particular reality just yet. Instead, he guided Abra’s hands and tucked the berry between them.

 

He wanted, so badly, to assure her that Cyllene would be back.

 

But how could he, when years had passed and he still remained where the pressure had left him?

 

---

 

Ingo lingered in Jubilife for some time, seeing to it that the Pokemon had everything they needed. It was a miserable task, if only because he was confronted at every turn by the evidence that he was alone.

 

The Pokemon, at least, were generally happy to see a human. That was a nice change of pace; it felt right in a way very little did, these days.

 

When he was satisfied they would continue on without issue, he worked out a system between the southern gate’s Buizel, the eastern’s Mr. Mime, and his Staraptor, to keep the village secure and alert him in the event that the population returned. He wasn’t holding his breath, but it made the Pokemon perk up, so he could live with the knowledge that it may have been a false hope.

 

The quartet of Sneasel were larger now, impossible to carry in a pocket and far more mobile than he could feasibly conduct, but it wasn’t a problem as he moved on to where the Diamond Settlement laid. While they were a curious sort by nature, they were also young and skittish, far more likely to scamper after their caretaker than seek out trouble on the road.

 

That didn’t mean much-- the tracks were more treacherous than ever without the flow of trade and Galaxy folk keeping them clear-- but it was certainly better than going out of their way to incite mischief. Ingo could usually keep an eye on them, but upgraded from traveling with one companion to two to be safe-- one to help look out for and deal with hostile Pokemon and another as a fail safe pertaining to the Sneasel pack. Despite her type disadvantage, Tangrowth was a wonderful minder when Ingo was too busy with a wild Pokemon to heed the kits’ hijinks; her vines were especially helpful in keeping them from wandering off into the mud pits.

 

He hadn’t expected to find much upon reaching the settlement, and wasn’t disappointed. Like Jubilife, it was just empty. A few partnered Pokemon crept around tents to stare at him, but seemed uninterested in interaction.

 

Ingo spent the night and moved on.

 

---

 

The Razor Claw in his satchel grew heavier with each passing day. It was a Warden’s contingency, a way to appoint a successor in the event of the Lady of the Cliffs’ death, but was that really the best track to take? Sneasler wasn’t dead, just… gone. All the Nobles were gone. Was it a sign from Sinnoh that Hisui no longer needed them? That Hisui no longer deserved them? Would it be going against its design to find one of Sneasler’s older kits and offer them the opportunity to take up their mother’s mantle?

 

A small part of Ingo wondered if this hypothetical successor would just vanish into thin air after the fact. If the problem wasn’t Hisui, but Ingo himself.

 

It sounded self important, but Sinnoh had made its point. For whatever reason, be it punishment or trial, there was nobody else to be found.

 

He was trying to make peace with it.

 

---

 

The Coastlands were the worst of his region-wide sweep. It wasn’t because the bulk of the territory was inaccessible without Basculegion or Sneasler, but because of the Chatot.

 

While the little birds were usually content to mimic the sounds of the Pokemon around them, they had a habit of spouting random Hisuian at inopportune moments. The first time it happened, Ingo had startled so badly that Alakazam reflexively pitched a spoon at him.

 

It was hard to endure with the disembodied bits of conversation passing behind his back, and he quickly vacated to the Highlands’ border.

 

Frustratingly, the phantom voices followed.

 

The Chatot did not.

 

---

 

The empty region made it far simpler to call a Zoroark’s tricks.

 

Not that it was something Ingo tended to fall for any longer, but it was laughably obvious what their game was when it had been months since he last saw another human. His heart still panged at the flash of a white coat, but he was beginning to wonder if there was any reason to it-- if the man who shared his face had ever existed.

 

It was almost easier to believe the brief snatches of memory had been the product of a desperate mind, and nothing else.

 

---

 

Ingo learned to avoid the abandoned settlements after the hallucinations set in.

 

What had started as the distant impression of a human voice progressed to the lull of a steady conversation the next room over, then evolved one step further to become blurry figures at the edges of his vision.

 

Anywhere people had once lived, the shapes bustled to and fro in the echo of inhabitants long gone, and he had to force himself steady to keep his head from snapping up to look.

 

All the same, he felt himself gravitate toward the evidence that someone else had been there, once upon a time-- that his entire life in Hisui hadn’t been one massive episode. He certainly hadn’t set all the tents in the Pearl encampment up; he hadn’t even known how to drive a tent spike until faced with the task of creating a home for himself in the cliffs.

 

It was a precarious balance between reassurance and disquiet and, after a long back and forth, the latter won out.

 

---

 

Eventually, he gave up on any semblance of direction.

 

He began to let the Pokemon chart a course for any given day, rotating between them. It meant they spent a great deal of time in the deep wilderness, but that didn’t have much of an impact. The Sneasel were old enough to take care of themselves for the most part-- though they still followed wherever Ingo wandered-- which left his team available to deal with anything that decided they were encroaching on its territory.

 

When they’d grown weary of the sport, he would call to one of the Pokemon he’d trained for the Path of Solitude, and it would serve as a challenge for a time. Battle had always been engaging in a way little could match; he’d been so sure it was a part of him, something that could help him figure everything out. He didn’t think so anymore, but it was as good a way to pass the time as any other.

 

Once in a while, he’d seek out the biggest, nastiest Alpha in a territory and test his team against it-- a serious battle, those were important-- but even that began to lose its luster as the weeks dragged by.

 

There was a special kind of hurt in the realization, and he didn’t understand why that was.

 

---

 

...what had he done? Surely-- surely-- this wasn’t a warranted response, no matter the offense.

 

---

 

Ingo wasn’t sure when Gliscor stopped returning to his pokeball, but he was quietly grateful for it.

 

There had been a yawning void at his side ever since he could remember, and, while the incredible emptiness everywhere around him shifted his perspective, it never matched the original’s depth. Some days, it was far too easy to forget the endless abyss it represented and, while Gliscor couldn’t hope to fill the pitfall Ingo continuously found himself stepping into, it was far better to have him there than not-- a steady presence to grasp when he felt himself teeter.

 

He didn’t relish the thought that, someday, he’d slip and be unable to wrench himself back up from the edge. Gliscor would do his best to put that day off as long as he could, Ingo knew-- would stay close and swoop in to catch him before he could free fall.

 

At the end of days spent dwelling on the matter of voids and falling, Ingo always found himself dreaming of pale, reaching hands, and waking with a set of massive pincers holding his own hands away from gouge marks in the ground.

 

He was lucky to have a partner like Gliscor. Verrrry lucky.

 

---

 

He was forced, once, to retreat to the Pearl encampment. His supplies were running dangerously low, and, while he’d never raid private larders, it seemed wasteful to let the clan’s communal stores slowly rot. Whether or not anyone else would ever make use of it again, Ingo made a point not to take much, augmenting his own cache with whatever he could forage along the way.

 

This time, he took the bare minimum, unable to handle the renewed facsimile of life around him-- the figures so much more distinct than usual, calling to him in voices he half recognized.

 

Even though the apparitions had grown bolder, their inability to withstand being looked at gave them away and, eyes trained on his path, Ingo wove back out of the settlement.

 

He wouldn’t return again, if that was what waited for him after so long in the wilds. Better to collect whatever was in season and make do than endure the ringing of his own name.

 

---

 

Ingo didn’t actually notice that something was amiss for quite some time; far too long, if he was honest with himself. He was content to follow the path one of the Sneasel laid out for them, along the high-up ice shelves, until he absolutely had to change course. Tangrowth, having grown privy to the dangers inherent in falling-- be that literally or mentally-- had put herself on the open edge, the other three Sneasel treating her vines as a mobile jungle gym.

 

He might have been worried if they were any other Pokemon, but not Sneasel, to which climbing came so easily-- and Tangrowth could plant herself firmly in place, even if she had to anchor into the ice. Just to be safe, Ingo kept her pokeball in hand, ready to recall her if need be.

 

Above them, Gliscor twisted in lazy loops. He kept circling back and staring at something, unabashed, and Ingo had to wave away the foggy thought that there was a Pokemon that didn’t like that-- that would charge at you head-first if you made the mistake of looking it in the eye.

 

He was vaguely aware of the Chatot at the back of his skull, cawing his name with increasing desperation, and decided it would be prudent to find stable ground before it could develop into anything more dangerous. The buffer that Tangrowth provided was appreciated, but it wouldn’t do to tempt fate; Sinnoh had already proven itself incapable of resisting such bait.

 

The quartet of Sneasel watched as he recalled Tangrowth and gave a sharp whistle to Gliscor, who cut through the air to join him at once. He nodded to the lower path of the Icebound Falls, and Gliscor answered him with a series of rapidfire clicks, holding its pincers out as handholds.

 

Gliscor’s descent was smooth, if steeper than it would usually be, by virtue of carrying a passenger along for the ride. The Sneasel squawked at the track change and ran along the upper path for some time before digging their claws into the ice to rappel down.

 

Down here, the voices were louder. That was a bad sign, but at least he’d caught it early. He gave the nearby Elekid a wide berth as he crossed the ravine to lean against a frozen tree’s trunk, reaching to tilt the brim of his hat down. The tree shuddered as Gliscor found a perch in its branches and, even with his eyes closed, he knew the Sneasel were ganging up on Elekid. He should really do something about that.

 

Ingo winced at the sound of his name again-- called, nonsensically, by his own voice-- and reached for Alakazam’s pokeball; it was still a work in progress, but he was willing to give Calm Mind another try if it could resolve the malfunction. He cracked an eye open to scope out where the pack had ended up and, instead, caught sight of a Zoroark tearing down the path.

 

Odd to see them this far south, but right now he really didn’t have it in him to fight off illusions on top of what his own mind had conjured up. He tossed Alakazam’s pokeball, startling all conflict right out of the pack and giving Elekid the chance to run off. There was no need to give orders; at this point Alakazam knew the drill.

 

...or so he’d thought. Several seconds passed and Alakazam didn’t attack.

 

Oh. Well. If the hallucinations had gotten that detailed, he definitely had a problem. Would Calm Mind even do anything for that? Maybe the figments were close enough to dreams that Cresselia might be able to assist?

 

Still staring blindly with its approach, Ingo didn’t quite realize that he’d raised one hand to meet the phantasm in white. It reached back, and he had to fight off the sense memory of that gloved hand clutching at him, digging into his flesh, of his own hand creaking under the force as he clutched it, in turn.

 

It made contact.

 

It threaded its fingers through his own, and-- and he could feel it.

 

Sinnoh above, he’d lost his mind.


Chapter 2

Things became very hectic in Unova with verrrry little forewarning.

 

First an influx of regional passengers who had no idea what they were doing and sightings of strange Pokemon all over Unova, then Drayden calling in a favor, asking that Emmet ensured the visiting representatives didn’t get themselves lost on the way to their assembly in Nimbasa. It would have been notable, but ultimately not worth remembering, if not for the looks the clansmen gave him.

 

It was brought into an abrupt focus as the Pearl leader insisted to her Diamond counterpart that she knew her Wardens, and that was not Ingo.

 

To be entirely fair to Irida, she was correct-- but perhaps she hadn’t realized what the declaration would bring down upon her. What could she do about it? If they didn’t want to answer his questions, that was fine, but they weren’t going be rid of him any time soon; not only was he their guide through Gear Station, he knew the who where and why of the meeting the clans were set to attend.

 

Emmet had waited this long for answers. He could endure just a bit more.

 

None of the officials running the gathering-- themselves gym leaders and municipal workers-- begrudged his unexpected presence. In time, some even began to understand it, to help prompt the information he’d come here seeking.

 

There was a saying that no news was good news, and it was factually incorrect. By definition, bad news was bad, but no news was torture-- so even though everything he heard was car after car of complications and concerns, Emmet embraced it, took in everything on offer.

 

The Pearl Clan was short one representative because they were missing a Warden, their empty spot the one Ingo usually filled. They’d tried repeatedly to contact him, but the best result had been a frantic visit from the Noble he cared for, who’d departed immediately after realizing he wasn’t there, either. That Sneasler was rogue in Unova was a problem in and of itself.

 

With exceptions for traveling merchants and scouts, each of the Hisuian factions could account for their people, and those missing seemed to have found a station with one of the other sects. Between the Diamond and Pearl Clans and Galaxy Team, the Hisuians could vouch for one another’s presence, even if in the wrong place. With one glaring omission.

 

To hear the Hisuian’s story of what brought them here was simultaneously encouraging and frustrating-- in the span of a heartbeat, the ground had fallen out beneath them, only to flicker back into existence somewhere completely new. It was so close to the horror Emmet had borne witness to that he had to clasp his hands to keep them steady, the fabric of his gloves twisting unpleasantly as he tried not to relive the moment his grip failed and he’d been left staring, uncomprehending, at where his twin had vanished. The versions of events were so similar that it couldn’t be coincidence, but it was impossible to say with complete certainty because...

 

Ingo had never actually told anyone how he arrived in Hisui. He hadn’t been able to, because he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember anything. Allegedly, he’d wandered into the Pearls’ territory with a high fever and head wound, and nobody knew which of the two was to blame for resultant amnesia. One of the Galaxy surveyors put in that she wouldn’t count a ‘Uxie’ out, which led to the final matter.

 

When the meeting concluded, the girl-- Akari-- pulled Emmet to the side and confessed that she had an idea what might have happened. She was from Sinnoh, she’d whispered, the modern day word for Hisui. If she and the Hisuians were here, in Unova, then wasn’t it possible that a wire had gotten crossed somewhere, and the lone Unovan was in Sinnoh?

 

Because yes. Yes, that was entirely possible-- and if Ingo couldn’t remember the first thing about himself, then that meant he was wandering aimlessly half the world away. Had Emmet thought it actually stood a chance in hell-- that between himself and Chandelure, they’d be able to find one stray man in an unnecessarily huge region-- he would have accepted the possibility and acted on it, but something had stilled his hand.

 

For good reason, it seemed.

 

“Arceus finally got back to me,” Akari told him one day, several weeks into the entire debacle. She was idling at the edge of the desk he’d commandeered-- littered with renewed research into Pokemon that helped in search and retrieval missions-- and frowned at the phone in her hands.

 

Emmet spared it half a glance, a brow raised. “Arceus texts?”

 

“Not if it has the choice. It prefers, you know, yanking you out of existence to talk face to face. Face to earthly visage? I don’t know.” She was stalling, tapping nervously at the sides of the device with the hand supporting it. “Or video calls, when that’s too much work.”

 

He hummed, unimpressed thus far with the God of Pokemon, “Regardless of the format. What did it tell you?”

 

“It… it made a mistake.” Akari squeaked, as if she were the being at fault, and not just the all too human messenger, “It was trying to make things right, and accidentally got it reversed instead-- it called it a coding error?”

 

“So he’s still in Hisui.” Perhaps it sounded cold, but there was no intention behind it; Emmet was confirming the information and little more.

 

Ingo remaining in Hisui was… actually preferable to being stranded in modern Sinnoh, in a way. The timing would be a hurdle, but one they’d overcome to get the Hisuians home, anyway; Emmet would simply accompany them on their return. At least this way Ingo would have something he knew to fall back upon-- a familiar environment, the Pokemon Akari had mentioned, and--

 

He paused that line of thought, “It compared the mistake to a coding error?”

 

Akari nodded, repeatedly-- nervously-- catching her thumb nail on the phone’s ostentatious décor.

 

Emmet wasn’t a programmer, but Gear Station ran on an incredibly advanced system; even if they hadn’t been formally educated, a person learned minor details from observation and overseeing its operation throughout the years. If the original intention had been to send Ingo-- and only Ingo-- to modern day Unova, did that then imply that the inverse was…?

 

“Did your Captain ever finalize her headcount?”

 

Blinking at the sudden change of topic, Akari tilted her head to the side, offering a half-hearted shrug, “It sounded pretty good from what I heard, but that’s not really any of my business. I think we rounded up the Ginkgo merchants from the clans, and the missing corpsman have been to Nacrene City to check in, at least.”

 

When there was no response forthcoming, she went on to ask, “What’s that got to do with anything?”

 

“He’s alone.” Emmet said, trying to swallow back the surge of alarm that rose in his throat,  “We are not meant to be alone. We’re--”

 

“I know, I know. You’re twins and you’re not used to being alone. Don’t worry too much, okay? Ingo’s been Sneasler’s Warden for… I don’t actually know how long, but a while! He’ll be fine.”

 

“No. You do not know. The clans, Galaxy Team and Ginkgo Guild are the only factions in Hisui, correct? And all of their members have been accounted for? I do not mean ‘we are not meant to be alone’ as in the two of us. I mean that humans require companionship. And the entirety of Hisui has been mistakenly transported here.”

 

Akari’s lips parted, but her voice didn’t sound. With wide, comprehending eyes, she pressed the phone to her sternum. “Well… Arceus… knows what happened now. We’ll get this sorted out…?”

 

Emmet waved the comment off and changed tracks entirely, abandoning search and rescue in favor of looking into more extreme measures. The Hisuians, fine, he’d let Arceus pick up after itself. But with his brother?

 

No, Emmet didn’t trust the God of Pokemon one bit.

 

---

 

Emmet liked winning more than most anything else, but he could admit when he’d been outpaced.

 

Though he didn’t want to rely on Arceus’s aid given the problems it had created, in this, practicality mattered more than his pride. It would have been ideal to find an avenue to Hisui without the months in between, but the truth of the matter was that it didn’t make a difference under what power he arrived-- only that he’d made it here and could finally do something to help.

 

They started in the Highlands, headed toward the spring where Ingo had made his camp. It seemed, to Emmet, a long shot. Perhaps there would be some manner of guidance to be found, but he could hardly imagine confining himself to the apartment-- to Nimbasa City, even-- in the event that the rest of humanity vanished. To be entirely fair, however, Emmet wasn’t sure what his plan of action would be in such a scenario.

 

Hopefully he’d never have to entertain the thought.

 

The tent they arrived at was a mess-- not in the way of a Pokemon rooting around, but with all the hallmarks of a human frantically digging through their supplies and not finding what they sought; a futon had been stripped of its coverings and was, instead, blanketed in miscellaneous bottles, stones and small chunks of wood. From the ceiling, braids of vegetation had withered to nothing, suggesting that Emmet had been correct and this site hadn’t been revisited in some time.

 

Akari’s hands were hovering, uncertain, over a cutting board with several shriveled leeks resting on it when something let out a shriek outside; Emmet caught her by the shoulder as she jumped, steadying her, and moved to peer through the doorway.

 

Immediately, the door was wrenched open by massive set of claws and Sneasler invited herself in, jaws open to scent the air, nose twitching furiously. She barely afforded them a second look as she rummaged around, came up empty pawed, and huffed in her frustration.

 

The set of claws that hadn’t been used to nick the door had a piece of paper skewered on them-- irreversibly creased and weather damaged-- and when she grudgingly accepted that she’d find nothing more here, she offered it to them.

 

Despite the blemishes in the paper, some substantially newer than the rest, the writing was still perfectly legible:

 

Lord Adaman of the Diamond Clan,

 

I recognize that this is highly unconventional, but it has recently come to my attention that Lord Electrode and Warden Melli cannot be located within the Coronet Highlands. I would like to stress that this is, in no way, an accusation or complaint against them. Quite the opposite, in fact; it’s my hope to confirm that they are safely among the Diamond Clan, or otherwise acting under your guidance.

 

Their business is not mine, and I sincerely hope that this inquiry doesn’t cross the yel - line between our clans. As per my duty as a Warden, I simply wish to ensure that your clansman and Noble are well.

 

Best regards,

 

Warden Ingo of the Pearl Clan

 

It was one thing to be told his brother had been in ancient Sinnoh this entire time, and quite another to find himself holding evidence of that fact. The content didn’t help in the slightest, but once Akari pulled back from reading over his arm, Emmet still found himself moving to pocket the note. Sneasler caught his hand before he could, giving him an insistent look.

 

“He was asking if Adaman could confirm Melli and Electrode’s locations. Obviously Adaman could do no such thing. Hence its return.” He said, and slipped the paper away before she could intervene again. “Can you show us where you found this?”

 

Her face scrunched and she spent several seconds toying with the end of her crest feather, but the options she weighed seemed to end in their favor, considering the short jerk of her head and her immediate departure. He caught the door before it could slam shut, ushered Akari ahead, and closed it behind them.

 

While the trek up-- directly up-- was humiliating, it was plain to see where Sneasler’s hesitance stemmed from: a pelt-turned-curtain protected the interior of a Pokemon’s nest. Presumably a nest belonging to the Lady of the Cliffs.

 

“That’s right,” Akari said slowly, pacing around the pile of linens that had been missing from the tent, “You were freaking out because you were separated from your eggs.”

 

“They’ve clearly been cared for.” He didn’t bother to specify further, already beyond that. Absent an incubator-- and given the Hisuians’ collective mindset, Emmet somewhat doubted they’d branched into Pokemon breeding-- it wasn’t a bad setup. Hardly ideal, but one worked with what they could get up in the mountains.

 

Given how much time had passed and the amount of damage to the various fabrics, there was little doubt the eggs had long since hatched into Sneasel. Of course they had. If it had been Ingo’s duty to care for Sneasler, then he would naturally look after her offspring, too-- especially after her disappearance.

 

There was little use in speculating where they’d gone, since; as was true of the tent, this space hadn’t been occupied in some time. Either they were still with Ingo or he would know where they’d settled, and regardless of which it was, it still hinged on reaching the same terminal.

 

Satisfied that he’d seen all the actual nest had to offer, he turned his back on Sneasler and Akari-- ignoring the latter’s “Oh shit, so that’s where I left my snow jacket”-- to focus on the other side of the cavern. He found some of the same here, too: jars of dried plant matter, a couple hollow apricorn shells that had cracked down the side, wooden shapes of varying quality and, finally, a cache of forgotten notes.

 

Lady Irida of the Pearl Clan--

 

Miss Akari--

 

Commander Kamado of Galaxy Team--

 

Lady Irida of the Pearl Clan--

 

Esteemed Warden Calaba--

 

Captain Zisu--

 

Gaeric--

 

To Whom It May Concern--

 

Emmet skimmed the missives to Irida, the first expressing concern over the disappearance of the Highlands’ other residents and Ingo’s inability to venture further from the territory while caring for Sneasler’s eggs, the second seeking reassurance as to the Pearl Clan’s well-being. A quick glance over the ones with clear addressees confirmed that they used most of the same key words-- Akari’s in particular asking if she’d heard any news of the Pearl Settlement.

 

Each of them was perfectly measured in terms of tone, belying little of his brother’s mental state as he’d penned them. In the final message-- the one asking that anyone who happened upon the carrier Honchkrow send it back with even a charcoal smudge-- Ingo stated that he could be found on Mount Coronet, but would soon depart for Jubilife Village.

 

Technically, it constituted a lead. A dubious lead, but still something.

 

When he showed it to her, Akari agreed it was unlikely that Ingo would still be in Jubilife-- but she would check, just to be sure, if he wanted to get a head start elsewhere.

 

Emmet lingered past her departure, watching Sneasler pace around her den. When her face began to crease in frustration, he gave a sharp whistle-- the one he used when he and Ingo were traversing the subway tunnels-- and she snapped her head up.

 

“I will call you when we find him. Like that. It will be louder.”

 

Sneasler stared at him for a moment and yowled back a variation on Ingo’s answering whistle. He nodded, pushed the curtain aside, and began to pick a path down the rocky incline.

 

As the last flashes of white departed from her den, Sneasler drooped, ire giving way to sorrow, and curled in on herself.

 

Her placement was perfect. In another time, she’d have been able to nestle her chin into her Warden’s hand as he fretted over her eggs.

 

---

 

Actually finding Ingo was… difficult.

 

Not only in the sense that they faced the challenge of locating him in the depths of the Icelands, but also because finding him didn’t go both ways.

 

The Tangrowth prowling the upper cliffs had been a peculiarity until it fumbled and fell a step behind its rhythm; this brief misalignment had revealed that it wasn’t just a Pokemon going for an ill-conceived stroll, but a Pokemon walking with its trainer. The human accompanying it-- distant, but the patterns still unmistakable-- had reached out and then continued as it regained its balance, his wrist occupied by the vine affectionately curving around it.

 

At the time, they’d thought the wind so high up must have drowned them out, but in hindsight, it seemed far more likely that Ingo had simply been ignoring them-- not with any malicious intent, but from sheer disbelief. The look he’d pinned Emmet under with his approach had spoken of dim recognition, but not comprehension.

 

And then he’d stopped responding at all.

 

Emmet had moved his free hand to cradle a cheek, startled by the chill that seeped through his glove at the contact, and gently turned his brother’s face up. Ingo didn’t fight it. He didn’t do anything, staring steadfast at their linked hands.

 

He stayed unresponsive the entire way to the Pearl Settlement, giving Emmet plenty of time to wonder--

 

For all that he’d worked toward getting here, did he even know how to help?

 

---

 

Reaching out to Pokemon seemed like a reasonable first step.

 

While it quickly became clear that other humans were simply too much for Ingo to deal with, the stubborn presence of Gliscor and the Sneasel indicated that it wasn’t a universal problem.

 

And, given Emmet had already promised The Lady of The Cliffs that he’d be in contact, it was only natural to call out to her. Unfortunately, when she began to fret over her Warden, he shut down. Sneasler clearly didn’t understand the distress-- nosing, worried, at his jaw-- and had to be dragged away at the first hitching preludes to hyperventilation.

 

She growled at Emmet, low in her throat, but it was borne of uncertainty, not anger.

 

At the sound, the nearest Sneasel puffed up and spat; its siblings scattered. Two ducked beneath the frayed ends of Ingo’s coat while Gliscor plucked the third by the scruff, catching it before it could charge its mother.

 

In that moment, Emmet wasn’t sure which plight he was more sympathetic to: Gliscor, holding back a well meaning companion, or Sneasler, helpless to reach those she’d never meant to separate from.

 

---

 

It had bothered Emmet, when they returned to the Pearl Settlement and been directed to the visitors' tent he’d become somewhat acquainted with. Save for Lian, who stayed with his human guardians, the other Wardens had dedicated homes within the encampment, even though they spent a great deal of time in their Noble’s province. The fact that this didn’t ring true for Ingo suggested a number of things, none of which Emmet was happy to contemplate-- but, mostly, it confirmed Akari’s claim that his brother had spent a great deal of time isolated from other people, even prior to the mass exodus.

 

There wasn’t much to be done about it-- this was a place to retire to, and some nights that was all that mattered. His twin wasn’t aware of those goings-on, but Ingo would be mortified if he knew how the villagers looked at him when he shut down; it felt right to take him somewhere quiet and private so he could recuperate at his own pace.

 

It was during one such episode that Emmet noticed an interesting habit.

 

Once he’d had a moment to adjust, Ingo wrapped his hand around his unoccupied wrist and closed his eyes. Emmet didn’t know what to make of it that day, but he noticed it every time his brother began to dissociate, without fail. Sometimes the Sneasel would butt in and offer their clumsy form of assistance; often, Gliscor would be nearby to wrap itself around him. No matter what else was happening, Ingo would spend a full minute holding onto his wrist.

 

With time, Emmet realized what was going on: it wasn’t an old injury that acted up in times of distress or some kind of trauma response. He was laying a thumb over his artery, feeling for and testing his heart rate.

 

It was a grounding technique. He was actively trying to steady himself, not just letting the dissociation run its course. And if it was a matter of staying grounded-- that much, Emmet understood.

 

Like the phrases he repeated, like his deliberate steps as he marched, like honing one’s focus down to the motion of a train and nothing else. He’d never used them in this exact context, but it was the same, wasn’t it? It was the pursuit of a quiet mind while the world raged outside, so entirely overwhelming.

 

He peeled one glove back and removed the other in full, mirroring his brother’s gesture. His heart rate was high from the thrill of comprehension, the skin beneath his hand warm. Emmet allowed himself to perch on the edge of one of the tent’s beds and gradually felt his pulse slow to a more reasonable level.

 

This was good. It was progress. He could work with this.

 

---

 

It took some time for Emmet to realize that Gliscor was actually one of Ingo’s Pokemon and not just a wild companion. There had been signs, of course, in how attached it was, the way it hovered and anticipated where it was needed, the reflexes that suggested substantial battle experience-- but he’d never seen it return to a pokeball. It had always just been there, watching.

 

Any doubt was allayed one day, when Ingo’s attention was on his Tangrowth and Probopass, giving the Sneasel pack an opportunity to snag the pokeball that sat foremost on his belt and bat it between one another. Gliscor, hanging by its tail from one of Machamp’s arms, squawked in alarm as one of the kits recalled it, then popped back out with a scolding screech. The entire display was incredibly unsubtle, and it took no time at all for Ingo to intervene.

 

With the parties soothed down and separated-- the stray pokeball back where it belonged-- he’d returned to Probopass, Gliscor clinging to him like an over-large pack.

 

It was confirmation of something incredibly important: Gliscor stayed outside out of its own volition, just to ensure its human was safe.

 

Thus began a working relationship.

 

While Ingo wouldn’t-- couldn’t, really-- acknowledge the human presence around him, his Pokemon did. They were endlessly curious about their trainer’s twin, and though they didn’t get the opportunity to interact as they pleased, were happy to bother him when they did. It was an overstatement to say the parties understood one another, but they’d come to accept that they all cared for Ingo-- which, when it came down to it, was all they needed to know.

 

Gliscor’s dedication to its cause dovetailed wonderfully into a solution to one of Emmet’s greatest concerns:

 

Ingo did not enjoy staying in the Pearl Settlement. At least once per day-- sometimes past nightfall-- he would attempt to leave, and Emmet’s only recourse would be to pull him back, triggering another dissociative episode. It was an unfortunate situation, bad for everyone involved, but he couldn’t just let his brother wander off into the Alabaster Icelands.

 

Once he’d won Gliscor over, however, it became possible to avoid causing the unnecessary stress; it would corral its trainer-- with Tangrowth’s help if need be-- and keep him from an unscheduled departure.

 

And even if Emmet was unable to contribute directly, it was nice to see some semblance of normality-- to watch Gliscor stick its head into Ingo’s face when he began to drift, so eerily similar to the way Chandelure would beg for attention. Human contact was something that couldn’t be replaced, but the constant companionship of his partner Pokemon was keeping Ingo tethered, and it was clear that Gliscor was pulling a double shift to ensure that everything ran smoothly.

 

“I hope you are prepared to become the world’s most spoiled Gliscor.” Emmet had told it one day, and it clicked at him, entirely oblivious of the fate to which it had consigned itself.

 

---

 

Ingo had a tendency to avoid looking at anyone directly.

 

It made sense. The easiest way to escape confronting them was to look away-- and the Pearl Clan made it so easy. On the off chance Ingo’s attention happened to idle on one of the villagers, odds were that they’d find a reason to be somewhere else. It was rude, but Emmet bit his tongue.

 

He… supposed he could see the problem.

 

They’d always had pale eyes-- pale enough to nearly be reflective-- but, short of causing a few scares in dark subway tunnels, it had never been an issue. Here, surrounded by the blinding backdrop of snow, the matter was at the forefront, refraction turning ‘pale’ into ‘white’, Ingo’s glassy stare taking it a step further into ‘utterly blank’.

 

It was ridiculous, but the Pearls were a superstitious lot.

 

Personally, when he felt those same eyes on his back-- when they didn’t shy away-- Emmet took it as a victory.

 

---

 

Years of working at Gear Station meant that Emmet was used to waking early, but he’d never been first to rise. In Hisui, that still held true.

 

It was difficult to read time through the tent's thick material, but his body didn’t immediately scream at him to go back to sleep. He spent a long, lethargic minute staring at the lavender blotch on the opposite side of the tent and wondering if, somehow, Hisuian Sneasel had Levitate and he’d just failed to notice until that moment; eventually, his wits returned to him long enough to realize that, no, the Sneasel was sitting on Ingo’s lap, it was just dark enough inside to miss him on first glance.

 

Still functioning on autopilot, Emmet decided the Sneasel had the right idea, and got up just long enough to cross the space-- blanket trailing behind him-- where he flopped down next to his brother. He only realized his drowsy oversight at the sensation of skin brushing against skin, and tensed in anticipation as he looked over.

 

Ingo… hadn’t shut down. His attention was fixed on the point of contact, just as it had out in the Icelands, but with an intensity his dissociative episodes lacked. His focus didn’t waver as the opposite hand slowly smoothed over the Sneasel’s fur. Finally, he stopped and raised the first.

 

Then, deliberately, he traced two fingers over the line of Emmet’s thumb with the same steady motion-- as though he’d reassigned the job from one hand to the other. It wasn’t necessarily an affectionate gesture; the intention was neutral, inquisitive. At its end, he flexed his hand, expression drawn into deep contemplation, and mouthed a single syllable; be it from the early hour or relative disuse, his voice didn’t seem to get the memo.

 

Emmet held very still. This one mistake hadn’t wrought the consequences he’d feared-- even seemed to be turning out for the better-- but he wouldn’t risk causing another disconnect from reality.

 

Several heavy minutes passed; the Sneasel grew tired of waiting for attention and crawled beneath the bed to curl up with its nestmates. At its departure, Ingo pivoted and experimentally grazed the back of Emmet’s hand.

 

Gradually, his investigation turned bolder, going from a hesitant touch to turning it over between his own hands. Emmet let him do as he wanted, unbothered by this particular contact and far too invested in the examination to interrupt now.

 

Without any warning, the study halted-- Emmet’s palm pressed loosely between his twin’s-- and Ingo’s attention inexplicably strayed upwards.

 

“It’s warm.” He said to himself, the crackling sigh like a concession, and changed his grip without looking. His thumb pressed down on Emmet’s wrist.

 

He was looking for a pulse.

 

He was looking for a pulse.

 

Emmet dutifully counted down the seconds, trying to keep his heart rate steady and his own anticipation in check. A minute passed without any movement between the two, Emmet carefully managing his breathing, Ingo, deep in thought, staring at the tent’s ceiling. Finally, he closed his eyes-- expression twisting like he was about to do something incredibly ill-advised-- and turned his head down.

 

“Are--”

 

He faltered immediately, lips pressed into a thin line as he breathed in; when he opened his eyes again, it was to stare somewhere beyond Emmet’s shoulder. Maybe there was a Sneasel back there. Emmet didn’t dare turn and look.

 

“You’re… here?”

 

For just a moment-- in spite of his nerves screaming finally, finally-- Emmet’s own voice failed him.

 

“I am!” He breathed on his second try, and, though he didn’t usually struggle with having to rein in vocal enthusiasm, he made a concerted effort right now; not too excited, not too loud. “I am Emmet. I am verrrry glad to be here with you.”

 

Something like alarm passed over Ingo’s features, and he drew back the slightest amount, holding his hands up apologetically; the moment he made to speak, Emmet knew what it would be and cut him off. Hoping he was on the right track, he grabbed for both of his brother’s hands and laced their fingers together.

 

It hadn’t worked before, but things were different now.

 

“There’s no reason to apologize. We’ve held hands since we were verrrry small children. I missed it.” Without quite realizing he was doing so, he squeezed the hands interlocked with his own. A tentative pressure answered it, and he wanted nothing more than to drop all pretense and bundle his brother into his arms, but that would definitely be a stop too far.

 

He contented himself with adding, “I missed you.”

 

Luminous silver eyes met his own in the dark, and it was quite possibly the least scary thing Emmet had ever seen.

 

A sob worked its way free from his twin's throat-- the final destination of a hope, a breath held for so very long-- and he couldn't help but meet it in kind.


Chapter 3

Much as Emmet told himself not to press his luck, that even holding hands again was a massive step in the right direction, that morning still found the both of them clinging to one another once their mutual sobbing fit had run its course. He might have been frustrated with himself if Ingo hadn’t been the one to lean into his space, first.

 

Drayden always said retaliation was childish, but what did he know?

 

An indeterminate amount of time after the fact, Emmet was roused from a light doze by a dull-- if growing-- pain in his arm and muted clicking; the former, he realized as his head cleared, was Ingo, grip so tight his hand was trembling, the latter Gliscor, maneuvering its pincers to try to release Emmet from his hold.

 

The motion was a practiced one, and it managed its self-appointed task without waking its trainer. Distantly noting the leathery wings mantling over their heads, Emmet murmured another round of thanks to the bat, wondering how difficult it would be to get it registered, officially, as a service Pokemon. It was a designation usually reserved for a certain… sort of Pokemon-- Chansey, Audino and the like-- but with the right training, any species could fill the role, couldn’t it? If it already had a routine like this in place, there was little doubt in Emmet’s mind that Gliscor could handle the task.

 

It would make one hell of a service Pokemon, for sure. If people hadn’t already made goth jokes about Chandelure, the introduction of a giant vampire bat would certainly do the trick.

 

Corners of his mouth twitching downward, he put the thought on hold; he was getting ahead of himself again. There would be plenty of time for that kind of planning later, when they knew what they were dealing with and had a more reliable itinerary in place.

 

When Emmet moved to get up-- or at least shift upright-- Gliscor blinked at him and beat its wings twice. The world’s most aerodynamic alarm clock, it flipped in midair to hang from the unmade bed and, in the vacuum it left, the Sneasel swarmed.

 

Without looking, Ingo raised a hand to fend off the one that got in his face, only for one of its siblings to stick a nose behind his ear while he was otherwise occupied. He sighed heavily and propped himself up on an elbow, turning to judge the offender, but got distracted before he could get that far.

 

Though he didn’t say as much, the surprise on his face was easy to read as, ‘You’re still here.’

 

Emmet hummed, gathering up the Sneasel that was hanging from his twin’s shoulder; it wriggled in protest and tried to free itself. “I have no intention of decoupling from you again.” He said plainly.

 

There was a silence as Ingo sat up properly, visibly scrambling for the right words. The last two Sneasel promptly deposited themselves in his lap and began squabbling for space, which gave him the opportunity to buy for some small amount of time, scolding them with an odd uptick of a whistle. They pinned their ears back and, reluctantly, settled.

 

“I’m… very sorry.” He eventually said, attention fixed somewhere to the left of Emmet’s elbow, “What you told me before. I-- I can’t actually remember--”

 

“I am Emmet. I am aware of this.” There wasn’t so much as a blink at the interruption or repetition, which boded well, “It’s a troubling situation. Please do not worry about it for my sake, however.”

 

He was well aware that Ingo would, in fact, continue to worry about it; unfortunately, even after three decade’s worth of experience dealing with one another, Emmet didn’t know any way to stop that. The best he could hope for was to avoid drawing attention to the matter, but, considering he was a walking reminder, that strategy wasn’t viable. A distraction was in order, then.

 

He had something in mind.

 

“I believe it’s time the Pokemon were seen to. If you’re not opposed, I’d like you-- ouch-- to meet someone.”

 

The Sneasel, finally free of its confines, dropped to the floor. As soon as he heard the mild exclamation, Ingo did the opposite, hurriedly dislodging the perturbed pair on his lap to get to his satchel.

 

After a short spell, a pecha berry was shoved into Emmet’s grasp.

 

“Eat that.” Ingo said shortly, already turning back to assess what he had on hand. With a bit of digging-- and pushing back curious noses-- he set aside another berry, what looked like a lump of charcoal, a wilted purple flower and a short length of bandaging.

 

Though he’d never been particularly keen on the flavor of a pecha, Emmet did as he’d been told and, by the time he’d finished the berry, found something else pressed against his hand-- this time at the puncture site.

 

“Keep this on the wound. If you start feeling sick, inform me posthaste.” His voice grew rough by the midpoint, unaccustomed to any substantial back and forth, and though it had been a short conversation, Emmet wasn’t particularly surprised. He’d been paying attention, after all; he was well aware that most of the communication between Ingo and his Pokemon fell under the nonverbal umbrella.

 

“I’ve been informed of their typing. I hadn’t realized their poison was so virulent, however.” Eager to keep the topic somewhere safe-- always safe, Pokemon were always a good line of discussion-- Emmet didn’t address the rasp, though he wasn’t entirely sure how to keep the issue from worsening. They’d always been a dialogue, a conversation, and Ingo had been happy to take initiative; even with years of having to socialize by himself, Emmet wasn’t entirely sure how to guide the both of them in this instance. “One of our partners is a poison type. She also produces unique toxins. Unfortunately, she is not currently with me. It would be interesting to see what she might synthesize from this.”

 

“...it’s quite versatile.” Ingo said after a long moment, kneeling to re-pack the miscellaneous items that had fallen out of the satchel in his haste. Instead of replacing it where it had lain, he’d set it to the side and reached for the over shirt. He didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic to start the day. Almost hesitant, really. It didn’t stop him from adding, “After evolution, it can induce paralysis and drowsiness.”

 

He paused in the process of smoothing the tunic down. “Was Sneasler…?”

 

“She would be verrrry happy to see you again when you are ready.”

 

The frown deepened. Emmet only had to wonder what it was about for a moment, before his twin looked to wrestling lump of Sneasel, sighing.

 

Yes. Well.

 

With no way to respond to that, he turned to deposit the wayward blanket onto the bed and get dressed, himself.

 

The Sneasel were going to be difficult no matter what. As much as Emmet could sympathize with the Lady of the Cliffs' plight, there was a key difference between their situations; for all that Ingo didn’t know him, there was still a lingering sense of familiarity. It was clear in every action he initiated between them, in the way he’d accepted the rhythm of their back and forth, interruptions and all. The Sneasel didn’t have that benefit. They’d never met their mother-- had hatched and lived under a human’s care. It would make them fantastic candidates for competitive battling, but that wasn’t exactly a concern in Hisui.

 

The rule of thumb, when introducing a Pokemon to a household with a member of the same species, was to keep them isolated in one room for several days, letting the original Pokemon grow accustomed to the new scent, sounds and aura. Somehow, Emmet doubted that would work in this case. As someone who’d worked with young Pokemon, he thought the best chance lay in letting them observe their caretaker’s interactions with Sneasler, to demonstrate that he didn’t see her as a threat-- but that was something that would wait until Ingo was able to handle it.

 

Short of reaching for his gloves, Emmet paused. There were a number of reasons to leave them behind for the day, first and foremost being that he didn’t want the shallow cut to leave a stain. He’d also been instructed to keep the berry-charcoal-herb mixture on it, but that was a somewhat more distant concern and, in complete honesty, almost convinced him to put the gloves on so he wouldn’t have to come into direct contact with it. He hadn’t touched it-- not without the bandaging acting as a buffer-- but he could imagine the exact type of sticky-yet-gritty texture it would yield. If at all possible, he’d prefer not to risk getting it on his person.

 

When it came down to it, he didn’t have much say in the matter. Ingo caught him idling and grabbed the poultice, taking the affected hand and pressing the bundle to the injury site.

 

Though it wasn’t aimed directly at him, the exasperated look in his brother’s eyes screamed, ‘What did I just tell you?’

 

There was no move to saddle him with the medicine a second time. Ingo seemed to have decided that it was staying there, even if he had to hold it in place, personally.

 

And Emmet… could live with that.

 

---

 

The first-- the only-- words Ingo had to offer upon seeing Chandelure for the second-first time were:

 

“You’re beautiful.”

 

Emmet had seen a person fall so quickly in love with a Pokemon only once before.

 

Coincidentally, it had been the same pair.

 

---

 

Ingo was nervous to meet with Sneasler again, that much was clear-- but every time Emmet tried to give him an out, to remind him that the only expectations being impressed upon him were his own, he doubled down on the decision. It seemed too soon, but, just as he’d taken it upon himself to look after the Lady of the Cliffs’ children, he felt duty-bound to report to her, and it was all but impossible to argue with him when he invoked the responsibility.

 

It was a moot point now, anyway. He’d already called with a trembling hand and thready flute melody, so there wouldn’t be any stopping the Noble. The best Emmet could do for the time being was stay close and follow his brother’s lead, and so they waited side by side on the settlement’s outskirts, their sleeves a stark, unbroken line where they pressed against one another.

 

They heard her long before she became a visible part of the landscape, a distant yowl promising that she was inbound. The Sneasel playing in the snow perked at the sound, the two who’d hidden, before, turning their furtive eyes to gauge Ingo’s reaction while their siblings bristled.

 

It was the latter two that warranted a response; there was a sharp, wordless vocalization as Ingo jerked his head to the side, signaling for the both of them to come closer. Made nervous by the command, the others were first to respond, abandoning their frozen dugout to hide behind him while the first two necessitated further prompting. Grudgingly, after a chiding click and pointed eye contact, one made its way over. The other required vines-on interference, and visibly vibrated as Tangrowth bundled it up and deposited it into Ingo’s arms. Even as he smoothed its fur down, it looked like it was weighing the pros and cons of wresting its way free to go fight its mother.

 

Oh. So it was that one.

 

Emmet had, in fact, become incredibly ill the evening after their last encounter, and she was entirely to thank for the experience. Never mind the fact that, perhaps, he’d been rather lenient with the poultice when Ingo wasn’t literally forcing his hand.

 

He wasn’t sure whether to be glad he wasn’t the one wrangling her this time, or worry for his twin’s well being-- but abruptly dropped the line of thought when she opened her mouth, primed to nip, and the hand went from petting to gripping the scruff of her neck. Something between a mewl and a displeased puff escaped the Sneasel, only to be replaced by a building growl as she caught sight of a figure rapidly growing nearer.

 

With both hands full, Ingo was unable to snag the other as it darted forward, confronting what it surely saw as an unwelcome interloper. It didn’t get far. In one fluid motion, Sneasler stooped to pick it up, dangling from her jaws, but otherwise didn’t slow.

 

She stopped entirely too close. Emmet could feel the tension in the form at his side, but, with the pair still using him as strategic cover so immediately behind, Ingo forced himself to stay stationary.

 

Showing a hesitance he’d never observed from the Noble, Sneasler bent down, offering the squirming Sneasel to its caretaker. Ingo took it awkwardly, trying to support the first kit as her protests grew louder, whilst also helping this new passenger find purchase. It promptly scrabbled up to a shoulder and peered out from behind the well-worn hat.

 

After a too-long moment of staring at one another, Ingo finally rasped, “Have you been well?”

 

Sneasler’s eyes narrowed and she let out an abrupt huff. Emmet wasn’t sure whether to take it as incredulity or offense, but it was certainly a negative. Briefly, her attention flickered his direction, trying to determine whether or not he’d pull her away this time, and when she’d decided he wasn’t going to stop her, she leaned in. Ignoring the kit rumbling a pitiful warning and the one that spat at her before dismounting to land amongst its siblings, she gently bumped her head against Ingo’s. She trilled once, mournful, before pulling back.

 

“...I see. I’m sorry.”

 

Sneasler’s ears pinned and, irritated, she bopped the bill of his hat, knocking it into his face.

 

When she drew back, it was with a Sneasel attached to the wrist, wailing affront on her human’s behalf.

 

Ingo made to intervene, but Sneasler seemed unbothered by the irate kit, mushing the opposite paw over her face. After a moment, the Sneasel let go. Nose twitching as she landed in the slush, she scampered to join her nestmates. She chattered something and then peered around her sister, looking Sneasler up and down.

 

There was a brief stillness, then the other two loped behind Emmet to look for themselves, mirroring the pair peeking past Ingo.

 

The standoff was uneasy, but, as Emmet had expected, smoothed over by the human presence. Sneasler’s eyes lingered on either set, and, while her ears had yet to perk back up, she favored her Warden with a shallow smile.

 

They stayed out longer than was reasonable, trying to coax the Sneasel into investigating, but were ultimately forced in by nighttime’s biting chill.

 

Sneasler followed them back to the visitors’ tent, and Emmet couldn’t bring it in himself to be surprised.

 

Like litter, like mother, he supposed.

 

---

 

There was only so much a tent could take.

 

To be entirely fair to the Pearl Clan, their housing was a far cry from the camping gear Emmet remembered fighting as an adventuring preteen, but they were still tents-- and, as such, weren’t meant to house two grown men, four Sneasel, Gliscor and an oversize Sneasler.

 

Fortunately, most of those entities weren’t only willing to share overlapping space, but actively sought it out.

 

But, while the Sneasel were happy to fill in any gaps that the twins were careless enough to leave, Gliscor and Sneasler were somewhat less inclined to get along. There was a strained moment as the two of them locked eyes, soundlessly challenging one another. Conspiratorially, Emmet whispered that his money was on Gliscor, and Ingo outright refused to humor his hypothetical. In fact, his only commentary, prior to settling the conflict, was a tired, “Absence has done nothing for the two of you, I see.”

 

He eventually got them situated, Gliscor possessively stretching his wings as far as he could get away with while Sneasler curled up, head resting upon the dip in her Warden’s side. One arm stretched well past him, her claws scraping the floor behind Emmet, making her point.

 

It would work for now, but they only had so long until certain Pokemon’s patience ran thin.

 

And just as a tent had its limits, so too did an urban apartment.

 

Silently, Emmet adjusted his plans once more.

 

---

 

The Pearl Clan had an… interesting approach to physical contact between two people. Namely, that it wasn’t supposed to happen outside of emergencies, or closed doors. Their collective time spent in the modern day, surrounded by people clustered together to make room on sidewalks or the admittedly painful rush hour commute had done little to sway this mindset, it seemed.

 

This made it all the more curious when, even days after the poultice’s departure, Emmet frequently found his hand held hostage. It wasn’t that he was complaining-- far from it!-- he was just surprised. Between the cultural taboo and the dissociative episodes, it was expecting a lot.

 

But even so, he understood the power touch still held. He knew what it was to go from living side by side with someone to surviving their sudden absence. To have done the same in this frigid landscape, with no sense of self, no way of knowing where the still-bleeding wound lay, was unimaginable-- never mind what came after.

 

When his brother reached for him, he was happy to reach back, happy to find a solid hold that might, someday, erase the memory of that very same hand slipping away. Every hesitant reach was a reminder of how much farther they had to go, but it didn’t stand to be pessimistic about it, because it just proved that recovery wasn’t just some distant terminal. They would get there someday, stop by stop, even if the tracks occasionally switched and they had to make up for the detour.

 

An immature part of Emmet wanted to remind his twin that he’d told him calling Sneasler so soon was too ambitious, but he bit the urge back; it might have been the first observable setback, but, undoubtedly, it would be far from the last. There was no reason to make things any worse-- to offer shame instead of a calm head and shoulder to lean on.

 

That was another learning experience: that, as quiet as Ingo had learned to be, he could always go one step further, into utter silence. It made Emmet miss the absentminded chatter all that much more.

 

As if he could sense the unrest, even with his face buried in his brother’s shoulder, Ingo blindly reached for Emmet’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

 

Emmet exhaled a breathy laugh, “I am not your concern right now.”

 

There was an answering noise from his left-- all air, no vocal component-- and, while it sounded neutral, he recognized it as dissent. To hell with it, he decided, and tugged his twin that much closer. He rested his cheek against the top of Ingo’s head; the first breath against his neck was one of surprise, but the second quickly settled into something more at home.

 

It took time, but, eventually, Ingo’s voice returned, and they found themselves back on track.

 

---

 

“Gliscor’s taken to you.” Ingo said one day, apropos nothing. That he was initiating a conversation was notable in and of itself.

 

Still, Emmet waved it off on principle, “Gliscor would ally himself with a wild Froslass if he believed it would aid you.”

 

“...he’s a very loyal friend.” Had been the response, and the topic was allowed to rest for several hours.

 

When it did resurface, they were at the settlement’s edge, keeping an eye on what was getting to be an absurd number of Pokemon. Eyes on the bat in question, Ingo said, “I suppose... my real question is how long he’s been aware of your presence.”

 

Ah. Fair enough. It had to be difficult to track time when one kept dipping into a dissociative state.

 

“Seventeen days.”

 

There was a brief silence as he worked backwards through that timeline.

 

“I see.” He hesitated again, throat working against shame as he tried to find the words, “My apologies. I hope I didn’t cause you--”

 

“Stop. You did not cause me any trouble. Even if you had, no amount would be too much.”

 

His response was a soft sigh, resigned, but accepting that this was the only answer he’d get-- the only truth that Emmet believed.

 

---

 

For some time, now, Emmet had been keenly aware of one particular fact:

 

They wouldn’t be returning to Nimbasa City. Someday, perhaps, but not immediately.

 

The Pearl Clan was made up of fewer than fifty individuals, and Ingo struggled to move among them, even as he slowly reacclimated to being around other humans; bringing him back to the world’s third most populous city was absolutely unthinkable.

 

Emmet had been brainstorming possible solutions ever since, but none was without its flaws. His first thought had been of Anville, of course, quiet and out of the way-- but its greatest strength would also be its greatest detriment. They were from Anville Town. Even out of uniform, people would recognize and ask after them, which would only make Ingo more likely to shut down. If amnesia had been the only hurdle to pass, Anville would have been ideal. As things stood, it ranked, at best ‘maybe in the future’.

 

Lacunosa had also been on the radar-- less remote than Anville, but still sedate. It was also very insular, and its citizens prone to superstition. Emmet knew combinations. That was a bad one. Village Bridge almost boasted the opposite problem; there was an element of wilderness that wasn’t so different from what little he’d observed of Hisui, but it attracted people. It only made sense-- it was a public thoroughfare, just one that happened to be inhabited.

 

And then there were the Pokemon to consider. He didn’t even have their full roster with him, and the numbers involved presented a problem. Not that he begrudged any of the Pokemon who’d gotten attached to his brother-- if anything, he owed them for the care they’d afforded in his absence-- but he was at a loss for how, exactly, to resolve the issue of sheer numbers.

 

He didn’t expect an unsolicited suggestion from Akari, of all people, as she made her final rounds of Hisui.

 

“Well, compared to Unova, it’s pretty peaceful in,” She hesitated, looked back and forth, and then dropped her voice to say, “Sinnoh.”

 

“You do not have to whisper that.” Emmet said, while Ingo was busy looking politely confused.

 

She grimaced and shook her head, dismissing that sentiment before returning to her own line of thought, “It’s just… if you guys wanted to visit, Twinleaf’s nice and quiet. Or Celestic Town.”

 

“We’ll take it under advisement.” He returned, and she didn’t push any further.

 

While she’d had a great deal to cover before her early exit, Akari spent a large portion of her time with them sitting close and watching the Pearl Clan go about their daily lives, content to simply be present.

 

Not for the first time, Emmet had to concede that she was shockingly astute for a child of her age-- and that regard only grew when, prior to leaving, she made a point of asking Ingo if it was alright to hug him goodbye-for-now.

 

So he’d thanked her the only way he knew how.

 

“We will battle the next time we meet.”

 

She’d laughed, reminded them-- again-- what station to depart from, and then gone.

 

---

 

The day prior to their own departure was a difficult one.

 

This was exactly what Arceus had meant to happen all that time ago, so it only stood to reason that facing it now would renew anxieties-- but even if Emmet was somewhat accustomed to it, it still hurt to see Ingo nonverbal and withdrawn, Gliscor clinging to his back.

 

For a time, it was possible to keep him busy with the last few material preparations they had to make, but, inevitably, those ran out, leaving nervous hands idle. That wouldn’t do. Sneasler was actually the first to respond, and Emmet dearly wished he’d thought to keep an eye on her, because he had no idea how she’d managed to fold herself small enough to fit-- albeit precariously-- on Ingo’s lap.

 

Her presence had the intended effect, though. The hands raking gingerly through her fur trembled, but the fact that they occasionally moved up to compensate Gliscor, preempting any inter-Pokemon conflict, proved that their owner was still mentally present.

 

Late into the morning, there was a sharp whistle, guiding Emmet’s attention first to his twin-- who was only just returning to the task of stroking the Noble-- and then to the Sneasel trotting toward him, a piece of paper impaled on its claws.

 

He took a steady breath and, on the exhale, let go of his mental image of an empty cave, littered with unanswered pleas for help. Keeping the Sneasel distracted by scratching behind its ear, he reached with his free hand to remove the paper from its paw, mindful of the poisonous tips.

 

I still do not know what offense I committed against Sinnoh. What if it--

 

Emmet stopped as soon as he realized what was being asked, unable to stomach the hypothetical. They’d never actually touched upon the Hisuians’ exodus-- neither the cause behind it, nor the reason for the populace’s sudden reappearance. It was important, yes, but also incredibly sensitive. Emmet had had no intention of broaching the subject until Ingo signaled that he was ready.

 

In a sense, this was that signal-- just nothing like he’d ever imagined.

 

Part of him wondered how his brother could possibly think he’d done something to deserve what had happened; the rest of him realized there was no way he could have thought differently. It seemed like a calculated exclusion because it was, after a fashion, and Emmet legitimately didn’t know whether the truth of the matter would help in the slightest.

 

He folded the note over twice and pocketed it, ruffling the Sneasel’s head for a job well done, and crossed the tent to join his twin on the floor. When Ingo shifted-- his intention to draw closer clear, in spite of the sheer bulk of Pokemon draped across him-- Emmet held a hand up, halting him in the process.

 

It wasn't because he wanted to withhold reassurance-- never that-- but because, absent words, he needed to be able to see what his brother was feeling. He needed to be sure he was understood.

 

He did, however, accept the hand that reached out to him. That would do them both some good.

 

“You did nothing wrong.” Emmet said plainly, seeing no reason to drag it out, “It was not a punishment. It was a mistake on the part of a careless god.”

 

Ingo’s expression twisted in confusion, fading into denial. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he shook his head.

 

Emmet mirrored the gesture-- faster, more emphatic. “Listen to me. What happened was entirely out of your hands. Knowing that does not help. I realize that. But I need you to understand that you were not at fault.”

 

His twin’s attention dropped to the top of Sneasler’s head, expression closed off, even for him. When he looked back up, the confused helplessness was too much to ignore, and Emmet finally reoriented himself so they sat side by side.

 

As Gliscor stretched a wing to accommodate, he tilted his head, knocking lightly against Ingo’s. “It will not happen again. It cannot. Even if Arceus was negligent enough to repeat its mistakes, you would not be left alone. I am Emmet. I am here. That is why.”

 

The pressure against his temple moved to rest against his shoulder and, after a long moment, buried itself into the crook of his neck. When Ingo’s breathing turned shallow and rapid, Emmet hummed, pulling his attention back, and began to set a safer pattern. Without prompting, he turned his hand palm-up and guided the loose grip down to his wrist.

 

They didn’t end up accomplishing any of the things they were set to do that day, but, arguably, managed something far more important.

 

---

 

In order to compensate for the day prior, they didn’t find themselves in the Coronet Highlands until early evening. The commute ran smoothly, guided by the territory’s Warden; it was leaving the Pearl Settlement that had been the complicated part. Throat too tight to speak properly, Ingo had done his utmost to set concerned minds at ease, but was clearly uncomfortable being seen in such a state-- never mind the fact that it would be the final impression he left on the clan.

 

Unfortunate, but the ones who cared about him would understand.

 

When they made it to the Temple of Sinnoh, the sky was awash in orange and pinks; it was so far removed from the Hisui Emmet knew in the Icelands that he had to stop and process that this was, in fact, the same region. There was a soft sigh beside him, and Ingo turned away from the view of the Highlands, hand tracing along one of the ruined statues as he looked to its dais.

 

Emmet got the distinct impression this was not the first time he’d ventured up here.

 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know why, exactly, that might have been.

 

To settle himself, he ran through his safety checks one more time, ensuring his passengers were accounted for and recounting the directions Akari had relayed to them. When Ingo noticed, he copied the motion, one hand straying to his belt and the other to his satchel-- familiar enough with the former that he only saw fit to peek into the bag for confirmation.

 

As he was the only one with a functioning voice, Emmet took up the lead. “Are you prepared for departure?”

 

Patting the satchel down, ensuring it was closed properly, Ingo made the effort to straighten to his full height and gave a decisive nod.

 

“Everything’s ready!” Emmet said automatically, and stopped long enough to laugh at the look his twin gave him-- puzzled, but not entirely lost, like he’d remembered a punchline without the setup. Without hesitation, he scooped his brother’s hand up and maneuvered his own to aim at the temple’s focal point, delighted to find Ingo not only following suit, but completing the pose on his far side. “Aim for victory! All aboard!”

 

And so, hands clasped tightly together, they followed the tracks before them, destination a higher and higher state. The path culminated in a platform, dark save for its single occupant.

 

Subconsciously, Emmet clung tighter-- to keep from being separated again, to sooth the ratcheting tension in his limbs, or to prevent himself from confronting the God of Pokemon, he didn’t know. He just knew that he had to hold on, just in case.

 

With a slow majesty unbefitting of a creature that had caused so much fear and suffering, it rose to its hooves and met them at the landing.

 

THOU ART READY TO RETURN TO THINE POINT OF ORIGIN?

 

It was at this exact moment that Emmet also found himself at a loss for words-- but, beside him, the form that had locked up at the deity’s approach lurched back into motion, back straight and head high.

 

JUST ONE MOMENT THEN, IF THOU WOULDST. It said, and drew far, far too close. Bowing forward on its front legs, it delicately bumped the gold crest on its head to the top of Ingo’s hat.

 

AN APOLOGY, OF SORTS. COMPENSATION FOR ANY UNDUE PAIN ONE MIGHT HAVE PRECIPITATED.

 

In a direct contrast to its claim, Ingo immediately reeled away, dropping his twin’s hand and falling to his knees, held upright only by the shaking arm braced against the ground. Arceus was lucky it stepped back, as Emmet was running on instinct and now had two free hands with which to act; fortunately for everyone involved, he defaulted to assisting his brother. Following him to the ground, Emmet put himself between the two, trying to understand the nature of the problem.

 

There was a pitiful, dry retch that gave way to a low keening noise.

 

For lack of anything else he could do, he gathered Ingo up and hid him against his chest. Venomous, Emmet looked over his shoulder and located his voice again.

 

“Return us now.” He said, a register lower than he’d known he could produce, as if spite alone could cow Almighty Sinnoh, “And pray we never meet again.”


Bonus Material

Playlist

Chapter 1

Main Theme - We Were Here Together

Eternal Oath - Final Fantasy: Crystal Chronicles [GCN]

Chapter 2

The Space Between Worlds - Bugsnax: Island of Bigsnax

Emotion "An Unwavering Heart" Arrangement - Zame

Chapter 3

La Lune (Instrumental) - Madeon

Chapter 4

Everything Goes On (Instrumental) - Porter Robinson

Scrapped From Chapter 2 (1/2)

Emmet got himself involved twice over. The first time, he didn’t even realize what was happening.

All he’d had the time to process was the too-large unidentified Pokemon that charged up to him, sniffed furiously, and, with a disgruntled look, tore away again. Later in the day, he’d hear stories about it scaling buildings and screeching from its various perches, among other minor nuisances, but the city’s fascination was the Pokemon itself.

Of course, the incident– while not forgotten– was quickly overtaken by the news coming out of Virbank, Nacrene and Opelucid. People had appeared, en mass, with no idea how they’d gotten there or even where they were; it was a [revelation] accompanied by the sudden appearance of an unfathomably huge Avalugg in the Moor of Icirrus and sightings of other odd, if more reasonably sized, Pokemon.

It stood to reason that Emmet’s strange encounter had been with one such creature.

Curious as it was, he wasn’t officially [associated] until a week after the fact, when he was asked to receive and corral a number of their odd visitors so they could [meet/collaborate] in the halfway point Nimbasa represented. It was meant to be a brief task– to ensure that nobody got lost before they met at the designated gathering point– but all it took was one particular set of words for Emmet to decide it was his business.

The first group arrived with little fanfare, later than he’d anticipated. They stared longer than was polite, but Emmet said nothing on the matter; perhaps, wherever they came from, it wasn’t considered rude. The girl leading the pack sent a sharp look toward a man who’d refused to button up his shirt, and then began whispering furiously to the other two women accompanying her. The group’s youngest member said nothing, but pulled the brim of his hat down as he continued to [stare], as if to camouflage what he was doing.

Through irked, Emmet paid them little mind and ensured that they were all settled before checking his timetables. This group had missed their scheduled train, and he wouldn’t have time to see them off before the second [group] was set to arrive. It would be fine; he could coordinate large gatherings, and the first party seemed easy enough to work with, if lacking in common courtesy.

Fortunately, the second set of travelers arrived right on time. The man in charge was the last of his [pack] through the doors, and spared him a nod and a lopsided smile on the way by.

“Warden,” He greeted, “I’d nearly forgotten what you looked like beneath that ratty old coat.”

The one who’d exited ahead of him stopped abruptly, whirling around to give Emmet an unabashed once-over; the leader sighed and took him by the shoulder before he could start anything, “Not now, Melli. We have a schedule to keep.”

Melli continued to give Emmet the stink eye until the other man tightened his grip and dragged the both of them to where the others were waiting. The girl from earlier was already standing to greet him and, while Emmet busied himself with arranging further transport, the two spoke amongst themselves.

It eventually culminated in a plainly offended, “Do you think I can’t recognize my own Wardens, Adaman? The first I appointed after earning my position, even? I don’t know who that is, but he is not Ingo.”

[…] “Correct! I’m not Ingo. I am Emmet. A Subway Boss– one of two.” / “My brother has been missing for a verrrry long time. But you know him well enough to tell us apart.” At the tension rising in the groups, he forcibly calmed himself and, more [defeated] than he meant to let slip, added, “Can you tell me where he is?”

The girl, at least, looked far more sympathetic than she had initially, “I wish we could. We’ve made every effort to regroup since coming here, but,” She waved a hand toward the rest of her people, “He’s the only Warden who never responded. That was odd enough in and of itself. We saw Lady Sneasler once, but as soon as she realized he wasn’t with us, she ran off again.”

Emmet nodded vaguely, still listening, but his focus drifted with the negative answer. Wherever his brother had been, it wasn’t Unova– not if these foreign visitors knew him well enough to recognize [how odd his tardiness was]– so the initial effort had been doomed from the start, but maybe…

His hand dropped to the second pokeball on his belt. Several heads shot up at the motion, wary; others, like the two leaders, looked on in distaste. Emmet ignored the lot of them and released Chandelure.

It had already been a week without any [reaction] from her, but she hadn’t known that the circumstances changed, or made an active attempt to find her trainer. If so many people had been sent here from… wherever Ingo had wound up, there was a chance it could work this time.

“I’m sorry to ask you again, Chandelure,” / “Can you sense him? Is he here?”

She chimed at him, concerned, but obligingly teetered in the air; the light in her globe slowly pulsed as she focused on her task. After a moment, her flame stabilized and she looked up at Emmet with the same sad yellow eyes as always.

He tried not to let the disappointment show, resting a hand on her glass and quietly thanking her.

Emmet truly didn’t believe he was being lied to; the entirety of the first group had reacted to the sight of him without consulting one another, and two separate members of the second had been familiar enough to acknowledge him in radically different ways. There was no arguing against the fact that they knew someone who looked like him and who bore his brother’s name for godsake– but he trusted Chandelure’s senses without question.

He had no idea what to make of this, but it was the first solid lead he’d had in months; a small thing like a lack of logical consistency wouldn’t deter him.

His Xtransceiver pinged, informing him that the next leg of the groups’ journey was set to begin.

How nice for them.

They weren’t leaving his twice-damned sight.

—

Drayden had arrived in Nimbasa earlier that morning, and was, in fact, the person who’d requested Emmet’s help to begin with. He was one of several people already waiting in the meeting hall when the largest factions filed in, and was the first to notice something amiss.

He was not, however, the one who called it out.

“Door to door service, huh? Really going Pidove and beyond here.” Elesa said as she sidled up next to Emmet, and, when he failed to respond, puffed a cheek in irritation, “Seriously? Nothing? I spent a whole fifteen seconds on that one– at least tell me all my hard work shines through.”

Completely ignoring the complaint, he asked, “Are you at all aware of what’s going on here?”

“Vaguely. I’m only talking if you Fess-piquen up, too.”

“No more puns.” He said flatly, not even dipping into the well of fond [exasperation].

“Man,” She said, dropping the pretense, “I thought you were just making sure everyone got in okay, but you sound pissed. What happened?”

“I am trying to understand precisely that.” / “Can you tell me who these people are?”

Elesa hummed, twisting a strand of hair between a thumb and forefinger, “Purple hair– that’s Melli. The day everyone showed up, we hosted the weird Electrode at the gym, right? He’s the Electrode’s… caretaker or something.”

“Its Warden?”

She snapped her fingers, “Yep, that was it. Kept up with all this talk about a Diamond Clan, so that has to be who he walked in here with. The three up there are from a ‘Galaxy Team’. No idea about the rest. For real, though, why are you here?”

“The leaders immediately began to argue upon arriving at the station.” Emmet said, and Elesa nodded along, following his logic so far, “The Diamond leader believed that I was Ingo. The other insisted that I was not, and that she knew better.”

Elesa’s lips parted as she tried to formulate a response; the best she managed was, “…what?”

He hummed in agreement. “She was correct. To be fair.”

[…]

A great deal of information passed through the various factions, most of it coming from the visitors– Hisuians– as the rest of them tried to keep up. At one point, one of the Galaxy people had honed in on a map of Unova and come to the conclusion that the relative positions of everyone who’d been shifted still matched– that it made sense for Virbank, Nacrene and Opelucid to have received the worst of those displaced because they [corresponded] to Hisuian settlements. The Galaxy Captain had taken to the theory and favored him with an expression that most would charitably call dour, but Emmet had the [experience] to recognize as genuine appreciation.

While the last of the Galaxy representatives was paying enough attention to be an active participant in discussions, she spent most of it tapping frantically at her phone or watching Emmet out of the corner of her eye. Given the reception he’d found from the Pearl Clan, it marked her as someone he needed to speak to as soon as the gathering ended.

“All permanent residents of the village have been accounted for, and most of our stray corpsmen have found their way to our current accommodations; my Survey Corps have actively deployed members to assess the situation.” Cyllene reported, inclining her head shallowly to the teenagers beside her to illustrate the final point. “The Ginkgo Guild are still missing those members who had been traveling at the time. Some have since contacted us, but we can’t speak to the rest.”

Chin resting on one palm, Adaman nodded, “We’ve got a few with us– some Security Corps, too. Sabi spent the first few days out with Lord Braviary and brought everyone she could back; we’ll compare lists once we’re done here.” He raised his head and gestured vaguely to those gathered behind him, “With our Nobles’ help, the Diamond Clan’s headcount broke even, so there’s no need to worry on our behalf.”

There was a long silence, and then a deliberately even sigh as Irida bit back her frustration.

“The Pearl Clan’s situation is… similar. Several merchants and Galaxy recruits have found a haven in Opelucid City along with my people, but, to address the Avalugg in the room, one of my Wardens is still missing.” She tapped at one of her overlarge bangles and looked to Cyllene, “I’m certain you would have said so much, but it isn’t possible he’s been assisting Galaxy Team?”

“He’s not, I’m afraid; the help would have been welcome, and, doubtlessly, the offer would have been deafening.” The woman’s attention shifted, briefly alighting on Emmet, “Am I to assume the man who accompanied the clans here is not, in fact, Warden Ingo?”

Across the room, Elesa twitched, primed to hear from Irida or Adaman, but not Cyllene, who’d had no contact with Emmet and theoretically no business knowing Ingo’s name. Likewise, Drayden’s gaze moved from the Captain, to Emmet and back again, slowly honing its intensity.

“Subway Boss Emmet received the Diamond and Pearl representatives as a favor to me,” He said, voice deceptively even, “Subway Boss Ingo has been missing for several years, now. Are you implying that you’ve been in contact with him?”

[…]

“I’m aware of the urgency behind all of our [?], Captain, but [speed] can be make or break in a missing persons case, and this lead is already [a week?] out of date.”

“I’ll help you,” Said the Survey girl– Akari– standing abruptly from her seat, “Ingo’s my friend, so I’ll probably be able to tell you more– and that way Cyllene can coordinate who’s where.”

As she spoke, Irida briefly turned to one of her party.

“Warden Calaba will tell you what we know,”  She said, after they’d come to some kind of conclusion, “I’m terribly sorry not to [help], myself, but it’s my responsibility to see to the clans’ safety. I trust each of my Wardens implicitly, and it’s quite likely she can provide more information than I.”

[…]

‘do you know what happened’ idk/c who.

The Warden’s brows raised, and she gave a rueful chuckle, “Seems to me this may not be as productive as we’d hoped. No, I’m afraid Ingo’s arrival in Hisui was a mystery we never traced to its roots– and if you’re asking me, I have to assume you’re none the wiser, either.”

“He vanished.” Emmet said flatly, “Mid-commute. Nothing unusual registered on the security cameras. He was simply there one moment and gone the next.”

Lips pressed into a thin line, Elesa took over for him, “You said it was instant for you guys, right? It doesn’t seem too out there to think that the same thing could have happened back then.”

“It’s impossible to say. We’re told that one fell from the sky,” Calaba nodded to Akari, who grimaced and hid her lower face beneath a scarf, “But we have no such witnesses when it comes to Ingo.”

“And he was unable to give an incident report?”

“Sinnoh, but you are related, aren’t you? Do an old woman a favor and speak what you mean.”

“He never told you what happened?” Drayden asked smoothly, eyeing Emmet in preemptive warning.

“Can’t say we ever got a straight answer from him. Have you ever thought you were talking to an Unown, only to realize it was an ordinary wall? It was something like that.”

Tightly, Emmet asked, “Because of the way we speak?” and Elesa patted him on the shoulder blade, both [warning] and a comfort.

“Well, it certainly didn’t help,” She sighed and shook her head, tucking her hands behind her back, “It’s not my intention to cast judgment. The first few days were difficult, but I can hardly blame him for that; I never was able to determine whether the problem stemmed from the fever or the head wound.”

“I still think it might’ve been Uxie– Lake Acuity’s super close to the Pearl Settlement.” Akari put in, nibbling at a thumb nail.

“Stop.”/”What?”

Scrapped From Chapter 2 (2/2)

He didn’t seem to have heard them on the ice shelves, had barely reacted to anything save for the Gliscor that helped him down, but, somehow, Ingo was even less responsive as they ushered him through the Alabaster Icelands. It was like he’d shut down the instant Emmet had taken his hand, and Elesa wasn’t sure what to do.

Nothing either of them said registered, and the blankness behind his eyes suggested he wasn’t even watching where they were going, but he followed along without complaint, barely lagging even a forearm’s length as Emmet led the both of them through the snow.

Only his entourage voiced their concerns. The Gliscor hovering just a [idk]s breadth above their heads kept up a steady stream of worried clicks and chirps, occasionally swooping down ahead of them to assess the group, which was incredibly tame compared to the chaos wrought by the Sneasel. Mostly, they tried to cling to Ingo or got underfoot; at one point, a Sneasel managed to scale up to his shoulder– not eliciting so much as a blink in the process– to hiss at Emmet from close range, only to be plucked up by a pincer and deposited on the ground a moment later. A different time, one peeled off and deliberately picked a fight with a Piloswine in a clear attempt to waylay them.

The bunch wasn’t particularly well trained– and Ingo’s standards hadn’t loosened, based on what was so obviously his Gliscor– but neither were they wild Pokemon. Elesa would have asked what their deal was if she thought she’d get any kind of answer.

She told herself she’d get the chance, just not today.

An unexpected resistance cropped up as they set foot on the bridge to the Pearl Clan’s settlement. The Sneasel, save for the one draped over Ingo’s left shoulder, immediately scaled its handrails– so Elesa’s attention was on them when the twins came to an immediate halt.

Moreso that Ingo came to an immediate halt, dragging Emmet to a stop with him. Wordlessly, he tried to pull away, to start walking along the river instead, but the fact that he had yet to let go of Emmet nipped the attempt in the bud. There was a puzzled, pathetic little tug on their linked hands that might have been cute under different circumstances, but all pleas to explain what was wrong fell on deaf ears.

Eventually, the dazed look in his eyes returned and he allowed himself to be led across.

The Pearls reacted to the sight of them with a strange mixture of relief and apprehension, and one immediately ran of to alert Irida.

While they waited, Emmet wasted no time in flagging down a villager who hadn’t had the foresight to leave while they had the chance. “Where do we take him to rest?”

They ran a hand over the back of their neck, looking away awkwardly, “Probably where you stayed before, the travelers’ tent.” Holding the other hand up defensively in response to the look it earned them, they added, “He doesn’t stay here often– I’m pretty sure he lives in the Highlands?”

Emmet hummed something both indistinct and irritated, but offered a curt thanks, then steered them away.

Irida met them halfway to the tent, eyes lighting up as she caught sight of them, and ran the last few meters. “Oh, thank Palkia almighty, you’ve found him! Ingo, we were worried sick about…”

She trailed off at the lack of any recognition, smile fading into a [worried] frown. Sharing a brief look with Elesa, Emmet broke off and [ushered] his brother into the tent; the Sneasel immediately followed, unabashed.

“Gliscor,” Irida said, when the bat looked like it was about to follow, “You know the rules.”

Gliscor swished its tail and flattened its ears at the scolding, then let out a petulant hiss; using its stinger to catch the handle, it yanked the door open a crack and wriggled its way in. If anybody on the inside was surprised by its entrance, there was no audio cue.

“Did– something happen?” The Pearl Leader asked, voice lower than before. Judging by the look on her face, she already had a solid guess.

“Beyond [x] months of isolation?” Elesa asked, and she could only hope the sardonic edge to it didn’t find a mark with the younger woman. She sighed, “Not that we saw. It kind of seemed like he was just taking a walk with his Pokemon.”

Irida nodded along solemnly, one hand raised to bite at a thumbnail in thought, “I can only imagine what it’s been like from his perspective; I’d always thought it odd, how close he was to his Pokemon, but… at least he’s had them with him.”

They fell into an uncomfortable lull, and Elesa decided this was as good an opportunity as any other, “Gliscor’s a no-brainer, and we saw a Tangrowth and Alakazam, but what’s with the Sneasel?”

“They’re the right age to be Lady Sneasler’s last clutch,” Irida said, just as relieved to have a different matter to address, “Part of a Warden’s duty is ensuring the well being of their Noble’s line, so it’s quite common for the younger ones to get attached. Lady Sneasler in particular is…” She hesitated, but was saved from concluding that thought by a sudden, “Oh! Be mindful of their claws. It seems likely these ones are old enough to regulate their poison, but I’d like to spare you a truly awful experience.”

“Shii-noted.” Elesa said flatly.

The silence returned, and she was about to follow the procession into what must be a truly packed tent when Irida spoke up again. “If I might, I don’t believe it’s a good idea to tell him what happened in that state.”

Elesa pushed her bangs up and heaved a sigh, “I’m right there with you, but you could say anything to his face right now and you’d get the same response.”

“I’ll speak to Warden Calaba.” Irida promised, “And, if need be, send word to the head of the Medical Corps.”

Unless Sinnoh had a truly storied history in the field of mental health, Elesa had her doubts how far that would take them, but she wasn’t about to say no. Instead, she nodded in thanks and followed her friends.

She was completely and utterly unsurprised to find them pressed together on the bottom cot, being hounded by poisonous Sneasel. Gliscor watched as she stepped in, technically from the top bed as it hung upside-down by its tail.

“How’s everyone Gol-do-een in here?” She asked, making an effort to keep her voice from pitching into overly-sympathetic.

The response she got was immediate.

“Worse for that.”

Elesa shrugged, “Can’t please ‘em all.”

“I would start with one.”

“Ouch.” Though it was harsh, she understood that the frustration wasn’t really aimed at her, “Irida’s going to get in contact with a couple of people who could help, but one of them’s Calaba, so…” She waggled one hand to signify her feelings on the matter.

Tempting as it was to pick the opposite side of the bed, Elesa wasn’t confident in her ability to dodge four Sneasel’s worth of venomous claws, and so she plopped down next to Emmet.

What neither of them expected was for that to the cue that snapped Ingo back to reality. Startled, he scrambled to his feet past the Sneasel on his lap and blinked at the quartet; though his eyes still passed directly over the humans in the room, it was something, at least.

“Ah,” He breathed, voice rough from disuse, and pivoted to reach into a satchel hidden beneath his coat. Frowning at its contents, he extracted several mismatched berries and [deliberately] distributed them; once that had been settled, he reached for something wrapped in a leaf, which was summarily handed off to Gliscor. “Apologies, it seems I’ve severely mismanaged my time today. If you would?”

Gliscor’s eyes turned to him, pausing its upside-down munching long enough to trill a response. Its attention flickered minutely to his belt– the side opposite the satchel, where a full six pokeballs were mounted– and he nodded. Content with whatever had passed between them, Gliscor went back to consuming its treat, wrapper and all; Ingo, meanwhile selected the second pokeball back and turned sharply on his heel.

He’d wrenched the door open before either Emmet or Elesa could react, and they both shot up after him.

“Is this better or worse?” Elesa hissed, hands poised to grab, but unsure whether she should. Fortunately, Ingo didn’t seem to be in any hurry, though he was very clearly making a path to the settlement’s entryway. It seemed unlikely he’d leave with the Pokemon still in the tent, but if Gliscor could fly whilst supporting the weight of a grown human, it could definitely make up distance while carrying some Sneasel.

“I’m… uncertain.” With the release of first Tangrowth, then Alakazam, Emmet relaxed fractionally. They weren’t going any further; it seemed that it was just dinnertime. “But I believe it’s safe to let him continue.”

Tangrowth’s vines immediately migrated into the branches of a frosted tree, where it began to pluck berries and drop them into Alakazam’s lap. They were quickly joined by the last three Pokemon, a Machamp, Magnezone and Probopass– the former of which began to stretch its arms, and the other two buzzed an incomprehensible conversation. There were no orders forthcoming; they all seemed to know what was going on without being told, and wandered off within a reasonable distance to do as they saw fit. In time, each approached Ingo– either seeking attention or a snack, in spite of the fact that they seemed perfectly happy to fend for themselves in the latter regard.

Magnezone hovered particularly close, its three eyes tracking Alakazam, Machamp and Probopass; Tangrowth, intent on shaking the tree’s upper branches, didn’t even seem to register as a concern. From where he’d settled against the waist-high ledge that defined the path, Ingo absently stroked Magnezone’s chassis.

“I don’t recall rerouting here,” He told it, staring blankly up into the village, “That worries me, but the scheduling certainly works out.”

Magnezone [cry description], its furthest eye shifting away from Alakazam to settle, again, on Elesa and Emmet some [idk] meters away, idling at the edge of the village proper; it didn’t seem to understand what was going on, but that was fine. Nobody could really be sure right now.

Footsteps crunched in the snow behind them as Irida and Calaba joined. Elesa raised a hand in greeting, and, while Irida returned it, Calaba wasn’t interested; instead, the old Warden focused in on the interaction before her.

It really wasn’t anything special. Tangrowth, vines full of fallen leaves, gleefully trundled across the space to decorate its teammates in bits of plant life; it only saw success with Probopass, artfully sticking twigs into the magnetic sand of its mustache.

[…]

There was a long, slow silence as, one by one, the meandering Pokemon decided they were done and sidled up to be returned to their pokeballs. Finally, Machamp was the only one left, and he moved to meet it, instead.

“We must not have challenged the Alpha Lucario,” He said in quiet realization, “Why would I– what possessed me to reverse course before reaching our terminal?”

While the Pokemon had seemed content to ignore their spectators as a group, Machamp’s stance changed now that it was on its own. It straightened to its full height and took a deep breath to bark in their direction; it didn’t seem to be an act of hostility, just… warning.

Ingo followed its line of sight, but still didn’t see them, attention straying up to the settlement at the sound of an answering shriek. He took a deep, measured breath, and visibly metered it out on the exhale. One of Machamp’s hands curled around his shoulder, and he offered it a grateful nod. “Please permit just another moment’s delay.”

Scrapped From Chapter 3

Emmet woke on the floor with a Sneasel in his face and an arm steadily numbing as he used it as a makeshift pillow.

The blanket he’d tugged down from the bed had been haphazardly arranged to fill its intended purpose, and beyond the wall of fur, he could vaguely make out the top of Gliscor’s head through the darkness, sprawled out at ground level.

His other hand was still occupied, fingers twined loosely, a gentle rise and fall suggesting it was being held to his brother’s chest.

He had exactly enough mental energy to utter a brief, “Holy shit.”

Then he passed back out.

—

He woke up, properly, absent the Sneasel and all feeling in his left arm. Though it remained impossible to tell time through the tent, he was certain that it was unforgivably late in the day– until he processed the fact that Ingo was still out cold, too, head ducked beneath a leathery wing and pressed to Emmet’s collarbone.

Around that point, Emmet decided ‘unforgivable’ was a bit harsh. He wasn’t convinced his twin had slept for three consecutive hours since he’d found him; could he really begrudge him– either of them, really– one late morning to recharge? It wasn’t as though they’d be late for work.

Technically, their careers didn’t exist yet, and wouldn’t for a very, verrrry long time. What an odd thought. What a boring existence. When Ingo was feeling up to it, he’d have to ask how he’d managed in a culture without railways or standardized battling. For now, he was beyond content with the progress they’d already made.

…how long had it been since he’d had a morning without the routine of pushing off the heavy shrouds of loss and apathy, or the summer veil of single-minded determination? His logical mind had an answer– had never stopped counting, even when friends and family insisted that it was setting him back– but the rest of him rebelled against it; he had to have lost time in there somewhere, surely it had been longer than that.

The internal debate could wait for another day. What mattered was that it was worth it to be laying on the ground in the frozen depths of ancient Sinnoh, so long as his brother was next to him.

Emmet wasn’t entirely sure what happened– if he’d made a noise or moved without realizing it– but Gliscor abruptly stared him down with one luminous eye, gave it some real thought, and clicked once. If he were to judge solely by the intensity of the bat’s stare, Emmet might have thought he was being cussed out, but there wasn’t any measure of hostility in it. Amusement, yes– particularly at the muffled [groan] that sounded from beneath its wing– but not a lick of irritation.

—

Ingo had become quieter in their time apart.

It was only to be expected; an absentminded soliloquy to nobody in particular could only drive reality home when there was literally no one to speak with. Compared to what his own normal had become, Emmet would gladly take their companionable silence, but a part of him would miss the distracted chatter. If push came to shove, he supposed he could always pick up the slack. Maybe it could even be helpful– a low-intensity way to help catch his twin up to speed.

Or maybe it would just be overwhelming; there was really no way to know until something went horribly off the rails. But, even then, there was no guarantee it would be off the table for good.

Emmet legitimately had no idea what had changed between the Icelands and that morning in the tent. He wasn’t complaining by any means, but it would be nice to understand– if only to apply the knowledge in the future.