The first thought to cross Emmet’s mind, as he’d realized what happened, had been the exact same as the first few words he’d uttered through his borrowed lips: this was awful. And, as the seconds ticked by, his brother’s body kept finding new and creative ways to be inhospitable to human life.

To give credit where credit was due, the passengers were incredible innovators.

Their movement was strange enough from an outside perspective; he’d had absolutely no desire to experience this for himself-- had gone out of his way to ensure it would be medically impossible-- and it was even worse than he’d imagined it might feel. He couldn’t begin to guess what all was going on in there, but it was a lot.

It was all a lot, and it hadn’t even taken him six minutes to take it out his own twin. Ingo had brushed it off, had been nothing but sympathetic and proactive in resolving the situation, and that made it all the worse.

As soon as they were home, he sank gratefully down onto the couch, swearing softly, “You ache. Why did you never say so?”

Watching emotions flicker over his own face was bizarre knowing full well that, if Ingo hadn’t inherited their family’s stoic countenance, it would be something he saw every day. Emmet was so used to interpreting narrowed eyes or drawn brows that he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with so much new information at once. What did a frown mean in this context if it wasn’t the default? Had he said something to upset his twin? Was it just contemplation? It was different and, like the rest of this situation, Emmet didn’t care for it.

He expected an argument-- that the persistent soreness wasn’t an issue even though it so clearly was-- and was surprised when the answer he received instead was, “I suppose I’d never noticed the extent of it.”

Circling around to collect the couch throw he’d liked best as of late-- something soft without the knobbly texture of worn fleece-- Ingo shook it out and added, “As I mentioned before, it’s easier to adjust to gradual changes than sudden ones.”

As if to highlight their father’s point, one of the foremost changes kicked him in the general vicinity of the spine, and he must have made some sort of noise, because Ingo paused what he was doing to lean over the back of the couch. Laying a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, he gently asked, “I’m afraid general pain medication is off the table, but if you’re not bothered by the prospect, you could try taking a warm shower. That said, I completely understand if that’s not a comfortable idea.”

“We’re identical.” Emmet automatically argued, before realizing the-- embarrassingly obvious-- error, “...mostly. But you’re right. It’s weird. I may try later if it does not improve.”

“Whatever you find most agreeable.” His brother said from the other side of the couch, and finally went through with tucking the throw around his shoulders.

The apartment went relatively quiet for a few minutes and, as he leaned back, Emmet found that he didn’t know what to do with his hands. They naturally gravitated to rest atop his-but-not-his stomach, lacking any other prominent station, but the thought made him shudder. It had become steadily more uncanny as the kicking grew stronger and more distinct, and now that he could feel those movement firsthand, the thought of willingly touching it was mildly nauseating.

Eventually, he decided to use the corners of the blanket as makeshift grab handles, insulating him against any accidental contact, for all the good that would do when he was borrowing the passengers’ home. It was slightly awkward in that it left his hands to rest against his brother’s chest, but better that than the alternative; he could deal with breasts well enough, cumbersome though they were.

He tuned back into reality just in time to hear the upturn of a question in Ingo’s voice-- at which point he panicked for a second before realizing it hadn’t been directed at him-- and caught a glimpse of his brother’s silhouette reflected against in TV, watching Garbodor depart from the kitchen. There didn’t seem to be anything particularly interesting going on in there, just a cursory clean up before dinner preparations, which… was another beast Emmet hadn’t thought to consider.

Fresh from the kitchen, Garbodor made a beeline toward him, draping herself over the nearest armrest and tilting her head adorably against it. Perhaps deciding that, if the person she took to be her trainer wasn’t paying proper attention to the babies, then she would, she reached an arm up to give them a clumsy-- and impossibly gentle-- pet. It was absolutely precious and, even though he had no reason to do so, Emmet found himself tearing up at the gesture.

Oh, this could not be over fast enough.

Dabbing at his leaking eyes with either corner of the blanket, he let a hand come unfurled to scratch behind one of Garbodor’s ears, right where she liked it best. Her jaws snapped shut, eyes closing as she rumbled her contentment.

The next room over, Ingo cleared his notes on client requests from the table long enough to wipe it down.

...that much was okay, Emmet supposed. He hadn’t seen his brother so animated in weeks; between an exhaustion that had been there from the very beginning and the perpetually-lowering mobility, Ingo had been growing more and more frustrated with his limited capabilities. It was a little silly that he was using this opportunity to tend to evening chores, but his twin was a little silly when it came down to it. That was part of what made him so wonderful.

There was another thump, this time opposite the last impact site, and Emmet let his head fall back against the couch.

“They’re just mad I’m not you.” He announced, and in the TV’s reflection, he saw Ingo freeze.

When his brother’s train of thought started back up, he set the washcloth down and lingered in the space between the kitchen and living room, where Emmet could see him without issue, “It’s not possible that they were switched as well, is it? Would they be able to recognize that fact in any capacity? What implications would that have when they’re not even aware of the world around them, yet?”

Oh no. Now he’d done it. He’d gone and steered them directly into Hypothetical Station.

He could fix this; all he had to do was appeal to basic logic. “It would not impact them in the slightest. All they know is violence in utero. They can do that perfectly well regardless of which of them is which.”

“What if, in the future, one of them--”

“Ingo.” He said, resting a hand, briefly, over his eyes.

“But we’ll never know whether--”

“Ingo.” He repeated, and this time his brother paused. “Go ask Chandelure?”

There was a beat of silence, and then his brother moved to do just that. Emmet shared a dry look with Garbodor, who was only just opening her eyes now that his ministrations had stopped.

Several minutes later, Ingo came back, startling Emmet out of a doze he hadn’t realized he’d fallen into. “I have an answer.”

He seemed to realize what happened a moment too late, and made an effort to lower his volume on the follow-up, “Both of them possess their own individual life force, but it’s too nebulous to alter at this point. Trying to manipulate it is akin to grasping steam, so they are exactly as they were this morning.”

Emmet stifled a yawn and, without thinking better of it, said, “Lucky them.”

Ingo’s expression went strange again-- a small not-smile that Emmet had no idea how to parse on his own face-- and he stepped closer, “Why don’t you lay down? I’ll get dinner going and wake you when it’s done. While I doubt the passengers will let you rest uninterrupted, if you make an attempt, you should at least be able to sleep through the bulk of this.”

He blinked at him, uncomprehending, until eventually the pieces snapped into place.

No, he couldn’t just sleep this off like a bad cold. His brother had already endured thirty five weeks of it; the very least he could do was face the greater portion of a day without immediately taking the easy way out.

He winced as one of the passengers twisted against his left side and rewound the thought: his brother had already endured thirty five weeks of this. They were going to be raising the pair together, sharing the burden; he’d already decided that they weren’t going to be his nephews, but his sons.

It was a terrible thought-- one he already knew that Ingo would reject right out of the gates-- but he had to at least offer.

“I could carry them for the remainder.” He said, and putting emotion into his voice had never been his strong suit, but he really did try right now. It would be a month, maximum. More than likely, they would come before then; twins were notorious for arriving early, and they themselves had been born around this point in development.

He would do it-- he would hate every hypothetical second of it, but he would do it.

Ingo stared at him for a long moment and then shook his head, moving to help him up. “Get some rest. I’m sure you’ll be mortified that you’d even suggested that once you’ve built up some steam.”

Emmet accepted one of his hands, but not for the reason they’d been offered. “I am being serious.”

“I know you are, Emmet,” His brother said, and laid a free hand over the one Emmet had used to clasp his-- hoping that maybe grip alone might convey his sincerity, since his words had obviously failed, “And it means an incredible amount that you’re offering, but I can’t even pretend to consider it. You’ve been miserable this entire time, and I won’t agree to anything that would perpetuate your distress.”

“You say that as if you haven’t been as well.”

“I don’t relish the situation, no, but it doesn’t disgust me the way it does you.” A tiny, unrecognizable smile played over his borrowed countenance, “That’s one thing I can say for Arceus: if it spared you this experience, then I am grateful that it chose me.”

Emmet tossed himself back against the couch, regretting the dramatics almost immediately when someone wriggled their displeasure. He could imagine exactly what kind of expression his lips had pulled into as he grumbled, “I cannot even say that I wish it hadn’t happened anymore. They’re too real now.”

The hand on top of his gave it a pat and gently pried it back so it wasn’t white-knuckled anymore. “It… does change things, to feel them move. That wasn’t what convinced me of this course, but it certainly contributed.”

As his hand was flattened, several things occurred to Emmet in rapid succession: the passengers had shifted back into gear, his brother suspected nothing, and he had a hand in his grasp. Would this little trick have the same effect on Ingo? Somehow he doubted it, but couldn’t pass up the chance to try for himself.

Subtly, he shifted forward, drawing their hands to the side. Fortunately, these movements had the added effect of making the throw slip from his shoulder, which was what his twin chose to focus on, drawing it snugly back into place.

He really was going to be a good parent. Emmet had some doubts about himself, but he would do his best.

...or, for now, his worst.

As luck would have it, whoever had been throwing a fit kicked in place roughly two seconds after Emmet finished setting up his little scheme.

Ingo, for his part, didn’t even blink, likely too used to the feeling to think anything of it. That wasn’t so far from what Emmet had expected, though the fact that his brother had decided the odd positioning must have been a call for reassurance was an unforeseen, if incredibly sweet, wrinkle.

“Your children are trying to get your attention.” Emmet eventually told him flat out, and almost regretted it when it caused the head pressed to his to withdraw.

Awkwardly, unsure what exactly to do with his hand with the positions reversed, Ingo let it lay flat, refraining from any movements that might rile them up further. “My apologies. We seem to have encountered an obstruction on the tracks, but will see to it that everyone is returned to their assigned cab in short order.”

The waiting pat found a home atop Emmet’s head, his hair ruffling under the touch, and time resumed.

Dinner that evening was a short, simple matter, complicated only by the realization that Ingo hadn’t been exaggerating when he claimed a portion size was too much for him. The knowledge that he should be capable of finishing the meal sat uncomfortably with the discovery that no, actually, he physically couldn’t-- not with the passengers in the way.

Emmet made a mental note to look back over the nutritional guidelines Cilan had helped to compile and perhaps follow up on it, to revise and highlight what was most important to fit in with limited quantities. When he voiced the concern, however, Ingo’s contribution had been to apologetically point out that there was nothing stopping him from finishing it when he inevitably had to get up during the night.

Not for the first time, Emmet concluded that being pregnant was possibly the worst thing. Full stop.

His twin had made an inconclusive noise and, noticeably, not argued against the declaration.

It turned out to be a quiet night-- neither of them wanted any excitement and, surprisingly, the Pokemon seemed willing to cooperate. They decided to review the Ever Grande Conference, but not in any depth. Mostly, Emmet knew, it was a way to keep his mind busy without becoming overwhelming; the ebb and flow of battle was a familiar, comforting rhythm, and the fact that they already knew the outcomes meant that he could hone in on details without the building anticipation of predicting a winner.

Before it got too late in the evening, he allowed himself to be steered to his brother’s room.

When they were kids, Drayden had spent a not inconsiderable amount of time and effort convincing the both of them that they would be completely fine if they spent the night in their respective beds instead of crowding together into one. They had fought against it at first, but eventually let themselves be won over.

As adults, they didn’t make a habit of sharing a bed, but times of high stress usually ended in one of them finding reason to collapse next to the other at the end of a long day. The frequency had been far higher at the beginning of the pregnancy, when they were both so uncertain and even scared for the future, but had leveled off to a more standard-- if still slightly high-- rate as the situation began to settle into something manageable.

Tonight, however…

“You will be back?” Emmet asked, just shy of pleading as Ingo turned to get the Pokemon settled in for the night.

The entirety of his expression softened in an unfamiliar way and he nodded. “In just a few minutes. Lay down in the meantime; I daresay Eelektross will be along shortly to help you get comfortable.”

Sure enough, as his brother passed through the door, the eel slinked his way the opposite direction; once he’d successfully infiltrated, he set his flippers on the far side of the bed, maw peeking up over the edge as he tried to figure out where to park himself.

Now this… this would be interesting. It had been some time since Eelektross had spent the night in its trainer’s bedroom, but for good cause: at some point, the elefish had realized he could contort his body in a way that got him maximum contact with a human and also free access to cuddling up against the passengers. Normally, he’d need to coil around someone to accomplish his preferred amount of physical contact-- which was simply too dangerous to be permitted around an unconscious human-- but this arrangement sated him and helped support Ingo through the night, so they let the eel think he was getting away with something.

While Emmet was incredibly happy that his partner Pokemon was being such a great help, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss him from time to time, so this was today’s second acceptable development.

Vaguely, as he settled on his preferred side, he wondered if Eelektross would notice the difference in their sleep habits-- already, it had moved to where Ingo defaulted toward, expecting to creep up the same as usual, and seemed mildly confused at the change. Would it recognize and connect their behaviors, or would it pass the outlying decisions off as a fluke? It would be interesting to observe how he reacted tomorrow, when the both of them were in their proper cabs and the routine went back to normal.

Eelektross didn’t spend long mulling it over and instead slid back to the ground, lurked past the foot board, then repeated his scouting on this side. After a second to determine that this was how things worked tonight, for whatever reason, he hauled himself onto the mattress and pressed in close, shimmying his upper body beneath Emmet’s temporary cargo to create the night’s nest.

Lights clicked off down the hallway, one by one, until finally the light shining in through the open door winked out, leaving warm purple flames as the only source of illumination. There was a soft, fond sound, but Emmet couldn’t identify what might have sparked it, facing the opposite direction as he was. That aside, there was no mistaking the way the mattress dipped, or the solid warmth that settled against him, back to back.

“I love you.” He said, needing to make sure he was heard. There was no way he understood the full extent of the past eight months, but he’d gotten a glimpse of it, and he had to make sure his brother knew that it wasn’t being taken for granted any longer.

Voice laden with the same fondness as before, belying what had kindled the initial reaction, Ingo said, “I love you, too. Sleep well.”

He was out within minutes.

Seemed it wasn’t just his body suffering the effects of exhaustion.

One of the passengers squirmed and, even though he’d been doing his utmost to avoid contact when they moved, Emmet tapped near where he’d felt it.

“Be nicer.” He hissed, without any real heat, “Fighting is only allowed on battle-rated cars.”

A second later, they thrashed again, calling his bluff; of course the line they traveled was approved for battling, what had led to this in the first place?

He grumbled to himself at the presumed backtalk and, upon being joined by Eelektross’s sleepy warbling, made the effort to rest.