Diamond Junction did wonders to keep patrons from using the Battle Subway as a venue for inappropriate questions, but by nature of existing in such a public space, it was impossible to eliminate speculation entirely. For the most part, it wasn’t such a major adjustment; the twins knew they were a bit offbeat, and that tended to draw commentary. They were used to ignoring it.

What Emmet had a very difficult time ignoring was the implication that he was in the wrong for holding his brother’s hand. This kind of thing reared its head intermittently, and maybe he should have seen it coming what with the recent announcement, but it got under his skin every time.

It was a perfectly innocent thing. Nobody had taken issue with it when the both of them were perceived as women. It was only suddenly a problem when people recognized that they were men. How stupid that such a tiny thing had gone from perfectly acceptable to a supposedly red flag over night.

How stupid that people assumed any display of love was inherently romantic.

“I bet that’s it, huh?” Said the asshole who’d started this whole thing by sneering when she’d noticed their clasped hands, “It’s not enough to flaunt whatever the that is, you had to stick a freak baby in your ‘brother’ and make sure we all see it.”

The hand on his tightened its grip and subtly pulled back, transparently keeping him from lunging at the woman.

“Wow.” He said instead, the word tight as he tried not to sling the same vitriol back at her, “That’s impressively wrong. I did not realize that was possible. You might pray for Reshiram to fact check your insults next time.”

She curled her lip and spat at his feet, “Fuckin’ degenerates think we can’t see the truth ourselves?”

Smiling brilliantly-- dangerously-- Emmet decided he’d do the Dragon of Truth’s work for it. “I will engage your questions. It’s my job to assist confused patrons, and you have already wandered deep into Bouffalant shit. It would not do to have you track it across the station.”

While the flow of traffic around them hadn’t ceased entirely, there were those who had blatantly stopped to eavesdrop, creating a gap which the other commuters were forced to circumvent. This was hardly the place to argue, but Emmet was content with how public it was, how clearly anyone who’d stopped to listen might hear him. He only wanted to say this once.

At his side, Ingo leaned in and managed to dampen his voice, soft enough that only those walking past might hear him call for Emmet to put an end to the altercation and walk away. It was a good idea. Emmet was already working on that first part.

The woman pulled a disgusted face at the gesture and scoffed, “Really can’t help yourselves. Well go on, let’s hear whatever excuse you think makes this remotely okay.”

He lifted his free hand to clap once, but remembered midway there that Ingo was still holding onto the other hand as though Emmet would attempt to maul the person the instant he let go; he wouldn’t, but at the same time, letting go right now would only undercut his point. There was nothing wrong with it. To cover for the minor gaffe, he readjusted the brim of his cap.

“Your understanding of identical twins and transgender men are horribly flawed. I’m flattered you think I pass so well. But you seem confused about my brother, so I will explain using simple words. We are both trans men. A man being pregnant has no bearing on his gender. I will not speculate as to what is in your pants. Whatever it is, you are certainly acting like one.”

“Emmet--”

“Listen here you ass--”

“Both of those apply to me, yes. Thank you for following my analogy.” Eyeing Ramses’ approaching form, he subtly shook his head, trying to communicate that he had it handled. His dear brother promptly thwarted that with a sharp, emphatic nod. It seemed his time was limited, then. He should cut to the chase.

“The bottom line is this. Ingo is my partner in everything that matters.” His tone might not have landed the way he wanted, but the steel behind the words was unmistakable, “Romance does not matter. Sex does not matter. It’s not our concern if you fail to recognize the value of other relationships. But you must live a verrrry lonely life.”

He had only a second’s notice as the woman abruptly stepped forward, putting her momentum into a mean-looking left hook-- and while that would have been enough warning in the midst of a Pokemon battle, the factors were somewhat different when it came to an altercation between humans.

Reeling from the blow, Emmet took a step back, free hand flying up to defend himself. Similarly belated, the unceasing grip on him finally changed, moving to pull back rather than keep him from heading forward, and move he did. As had likely been intended, he stumbled sideways, away from his assailant; what went somewhat less to plan was the fact that, with the tight circle of people observing the disturbance, Ingo had no room to step away and compensate, which caused the both of them to fall into a black and white tangle. Fortunately, whoever had stood behind him had more time to react and didn’t cause a domino line of falling bodies.

There was a scuffle overhead and the assembly of observers dispersed as Cloud began scolding them for impeding the flow of foot traffic. Somewhere in the vicinity of his side, he heard a muffled, “Not to be crass, Emmet, but please remove your elbow from my chest.”

Catching himself before he instinctively leveraged that point of stability-- the elbow in question-- to push himself upright, Emmet reached past fabric until he located the station’s tile floor. Once he found his way upright, he glanced over, verifying that Ramses had the patron under control for the next few seconds, and then turned his attention back to his twin. Ingo was angled up, though not entirely off the ground yet, one forearm braced against the tiles, the other hand tucked protectively against his abdomen.

Oh, that… could have been bad. It hadn’t been a drop from a high place, or with any particular velocity-- if anything, their combined flailing had slowed it to something that had to have been comedic-- but just days ago, he’d been making noise about a potential repeat of Ingo’s tumble on the Multi Line, and now here he was causing one. He’d meant this to be a learning experience for anyone who bought into vulgar rumors, but it seemed he’d found something to take away from it, himself.

He mumbled an apology, shamefaced, and reached out to help him. It was petty and ran counter to the behavior he’d just resolved to correct, but, as the woman was escorted away, he stuck his tongue out. Just a little, and only as he was turning his head, to ensure that the only one who might notice was his brother.

Ingo-- not wholly in response to this, but certainly taking advantage of the situation-- grabbed him by the chin and physically turned his head. His cheek throbbed, but his twin’s searching stare remained consistent, so he was relatively certain it would do little more than bruise.

“Honestly, Emmet,” He sighed, letting go to stand up properly. Before he could offer a hand up, Emmet had already righted himself. “I understand what you were trying to accomplish, but were the incendiary remarks truly a necessary part of your argument?”

“Yup.” Emmet said, defaulting to an easy grin in an attempt to pivot away from his somewhat childish-- if private-- display, “Wouldn’t have landed right without them.”

There was a semi-muted, “Something certainly wouldn’t have landed.” before Ingo took hold of his hand again, locking eyes with Cloud to say, “We’re going to put a cold compress on that before it begins to swell. My apologies for the disruption, please inform me if any further action is required.”

She tipped her hat briefly in salute, “Knowing Ramses, he has it covered, but I’ll keep you in the loop.”

Ingo nodded his thanks and, wordlessly, pulled Emmet toward the first aid station.

“She was confrontational to begin with.” Emmet said, defensive against the silence, “I had no choice but to respond.”

Wilting slightly under the critical look trained on himself, he subconsciously reached up to prod where the punch had hit home. After a second of greater consideration, he declared, “It was worth it.”

“Was it, now?”

“Mhmm. People stopped to listen. Might stop the next one.”

Ushering him through the door first, Ingo let it fall shut behind himself. “Why did this bother you so much more than usual?”

“She used everything.” He said, and allowed his head to be guided to where Ingo could inspect the building bruise in proper light. Once that was done, he elaborated. “She equated physical affection to romantic and sexual inclination. She assumed the nature of our relationship. She implied you are not a man. I wanted to send it to an end terminal. Permanently.”

His brother spent several extra seconds looking him over and, before breaking off to the freezer, gently knocked their heads together, higher than usual so as to avoid any accidental contact with the site of the injury. Emmet knew there was some manner of commentary coming, so, in the meantime, he leaned back against the table, watching as Ingo wrapped a paper towel around an ice pack to lessen its bite.

With the exact same motions as catching Emmet’s chin earlier, Ingo pressed the compress to the impact site and held it there until Emmet raised his own hand to keep it in place.

Once that was done, he finally spoke his mind, “What you were trying to accomplish is admirable. Unfortunately, it’s a track without an end terminal; when it comes down to it, people will always believe what they want to believe, regardless of any evidence to the contrary.”

“But they’re wrong.”

Ingo met the vehement statement head-on, utterly unflinching, “People are allowed to be wrong, Emmet. It’s not your place to force a truth they won’t accept.”

Emmet turned his head and grumbled into the ice pack, which Ingo humored for all of three seconds before guiding it back into place.

“I appreciate the intention behind your actions,” He sighed and folded his arms over his chest, “Sometimes you simply can’t alter course around a conflict, but if there is a next time, please just take the sensible track and challenge them to a battle. The Pokemon are better at taking a hit than we are, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I took it like a man.” Emmet argued, “You heard her. She thought I was cisgender.”

“I’m… glad you found her remarks validating?” Ingo said, just shy of bewildered, “It seems even a broken turntable can set some engines on a workable track.”

Hm. Fair point. Possibly not the best source to cite.

Even with the compress against it, Emmet’s cheek ached terribly and he was forced to conclude that, machismo or no, his brother probably had a point insofar as human-on-human violence went; it was said you learned a great deal about your opponent in a Pokemon battle, but all he’d learned in this altercation was that he wished he’d stepped back a second earlier.

“I still do not regret it in this instance.” He said, because he didn’t and he wouldn’t lie about that-- not to Ingo, “But I will not make a habit of it. Too many fights might give commuters the wrong idea about the Battle Subway.” After a brief hesitation, he added, “For the passengers as well. We should try to set a good example.”

His twin’s eyes narrowed minutely, “That’s a very peculiar choice of words, considering who all was involved in this incident.”

Deliberately obtuse, he answered, “You said ‘passengers’ was cute.”

“Emmet…”

“Again, that is correct. It was a perfectly accurate choice of words. I fail to see the problem here.”

Recognizing the futility of arguing any further-- heeding his own advice against forcing an unheard truth-- Ingo shook his head and stepped toward the door. He barely made it past the threshold before Emmet caught up and seized his hand, picking up where they’d left off.

He was pretty sure he was right. It was grammatically correct to use ‘we’ when one was part of a set.