It was incredible what a person could become accustomed to once they were exposed to it for long enough, or at regular enough intervals. When he heard his brother’s door open in the unthinkable hours of the night, Emmet’s initial reaction was a brief pang of sympathy, then to bury his face more firmly into Galvantula’s fur and think nothing more of it.
When he heard neither a follow up from the kitchen or the bathroom door swinging shut, however, he allowed himself to examine the silence more closely. That was the other thing about forming a routine; while it became easier to ignore phenomena when one knew their source, it also became orders more obvious when something deviated from the norm.
He sighed and glanced up, chin still resting on Galvantula’s back. 2:26. Fantastic. Usually, this would be time to revisit the untouched portion of dinner, but the directionality was all wrong. The muted steps had led in the opposite direction, toward the nursery-- and now that he was stopping to listen, he could still hear footfalls that way. At first, he hadn’t recognized pacing under the new gait-- still heavy and awkward even after it was deliberately dampened-- but now that he stopped to think about it, that was undoubtedly what he was hearing.
Emmet gave it another minute’s thought before pushing himself out of bed to investigate. A break in the routine could be nothing, but when the passengers could feasibly come at any time, it was unwise to ignore such a marked change of pattern.
The lights were off as he crept down the hallway, doing nothing to betray what was going on; the hall’s pitch dark didn’t extend to the room at its end, however, which saw ambient lighting from the unsleeping city outside. With that scant illumination, he was able to make out a slightly-darker silhouette stalking past the open doorway, the traces of light glinting briefly in his brother’s pale eyes as he turned and repeated the circuit.
A yawn sneaked up on Emmet, and he didn’t bother trying to muffle it, content to let it announce his presence for him.
From the end of the hall, he heard a slightly-rough sounding, “Go back to bed.”
Yeah. That was convincing.
He kept walking, stopping only when he reached the door frame, and from there, he stayed out of the track to observe. “You are not up for the usual reasons. Why?”
“The way they’re laying doesn’t feel safe. I need to get used to it.” Ingo said, and while it was tempting to say that he turned on a heel, the radius was far too wide for that to be accurate, “I acclimated to it once. I can do it again.”
Was it really so different now that they’d dropped? The new distribution of weight had presented something of a challenge, but he’d never thought that it would be so distressing.
“Because they feel heavier?” He asked, tired mind grasping for what he remembered of their conversation days prior.
The answer he got must have been nonverbal, because the only acknowledgment he heard was “I just don’t understand.”
“I am turning the light on.” Emmet announced, and immediately followed through on the threat. He found about what he’d expected-- his twin awkwardly stalking the length of the room-- but also noted with some satisfaction that Eelektross had parked himself on the bed, watching these goings-on with concerned eyes.
Any hint at what his brother had been feeling before was gone, now, so he tried again, “What don’t you understand?”
“I had it under control.” Ingo said, a rare plaintive note shining through in his voice, “If I’ve lost control of my own body, then who-- or what--?”
...oh. No, this wasn’t insecurities in regard to a rapidly changing body-- or, well, it was that, but that wasn’t the whole of it. This was an anxiety attack, and one that had likely been building since lightening, if the focus was anything to judge by.
What he was about to do would not help if he was trying to calm anyone else down, but Emmet had a feeling it would work here. He clicked once and jerked his head to the side, signaling Eelektross where he wanted it, and, gingerly, caught Ingo by the shoulders. A glimmer of guilt passed through him as his twin leaned into the contact, clearly anticipating something else, but he didn’t let himself falter. Secure in the knowledge that Eelektross was there to act as a guiding buffer, he pushed his brother back into a slow, carefully managed fall. Once he was safely on the floor, trapped by the weight of the passengers in front and Eelektross at his back, Emmet followed them down, kneeling in front of him.
“That is easy. When you are not in control, I am. It is how we function.” He declared, letting the previous thirty seconds highlight his claim, “I will stay in control until you regain it. How do we accomplish that?”
Slightly mollified by the appeal to cooperation, Ingo glanced down and raised a hand as if to settle it on his middle, but left it to hover instead of making contact. “It took weeks, before.”
“That’s fine. I will keep us on the rails. Show me where to begin.”
The hand idling in the air uncurled, just a bit, moving maybe half a centimeter closer before freezing again. That was incredibly fair; Emmet couldn’t blame him for the reluctance in the slightest, but it underscored a major discrepancy between this disquiet and something he’d been told weeks prior.
“I am going to move your hand.” He announced, and reached to take it with wide, easily recognizable movements. It wasn’t met with any sort of resistance, his brother utterly trusting and compliant under his guidance; there was the smallest flicker of tension right before contact was made, but it slowly dissipated. When he didn’t recoil, Emmet prompted, “It’s okay if it’s uncomfortable. But it’s better to know they’re growing well, correct?”
The answer wasn’t immediately forthcoming, but did eventually make it to the station.
“Right.”
“Right.” Emmet echoed, reaching over to place the second hand opposite the first, laying over the passengers, “Everything is under control. The babies are right where you want them.”
Ingo made a small, dejected noise of dissent, “I want them out.”
“That is why they moved. They are trying to cooperate with you.” After a second, though, a different explanation for the behavior occurred to Emmet. He’d assumed all of this was simply in response to lightening, but there was, without a doubt, a greater loss of control looming in the future. Possibly the very near future if he’d read this wrong. “Are you in any pain right now?”
His brother shook his head, and he let himself breathe out a relieved sigh.
“Does it feel at all like the practice contractions?”
“I would have noticed if I was in labor.” Ingo said firmly, though there was a conflicted note to it, as if he didn’t know whether or not he wished he was.
“You likely will.” Emmet agreed, “But it’s possible to miss important information. Your brain already played a verrrry mean trick on you tonight.”
It was harder to know how to help with anxiety attacks. They were slower building and so much more subtle than a panic attack, and, because of it, difficult to address. Unfortunately, there wouldn’t be much to do beyond practicing mindfulness for now, since the overarching fear was a valid one, and medication was currently off the table.
So far into things, the passengers were sometimes visible when they moved-- which Emmet wasn’t the only one to find disturbing-- but it proved useful in this instance. Confident that they were still asleep in spite of their father’s insomnia, he leaned in, chancing the contact, and pushed their foreheads together. “Tell me what you need right now.”
“Help me up?” Ingo asked sheepishly, and what-- did he think Emmet was going to push him over and not get him steadied again? It went unaddressed; the connecting thought was actually, “I feel like a beached Jellicent sitting like this. One of the deep-sea specimens, bloated and unable to adjust to gravity.”
“You are adjusting.” Emmet argued, thankful that Eelektross was still there to help with this process. There was a difference in how easy it was to help his brother up from sitting normally versus floor level, and he’d done it to underscore his point, but it didn’t mean undoing it wasn’t a pain.
“I’ll… manage. In all likelihood, this will seem frivolous in the morning.” He only bothered taking one hand back, moving it to brace against his spine.
“’Frivolous’ is excessive. But I agree. It’s worth revisiting in the daylight.” It was followed, pointedly, with, “Are you going back to bed? Or do you have other business to attend to at 2:30 am?”
“I’m not convinced I’ll be able to sleep right now-- not due to any interference on the passengers’ part, just my own neuroses.” Ingo’s attention strayed to the gliding chair in the corner, contemplative, and Emmet decided that was a workable compromise. It wasn’t the same as sleeping, but that was a hard-won battle on a good day, and when insomnia struck, any form of rest was proven to be healthier than forcing oneself into activity.
“I will be right back.” Emmet announced, met with a sympathetic, “You should return to bed.” which he had no intention of heeding just yet.
A number of the Pokemon had awoken at the bustling around, but few remained awake, used to the nightly interruptions by now. When he stepped into Ingo’s room, Chandelure didn’t so much as flicker to attention, her flame flitting sweetly in sleep; in his own bedroom, the only one who’d bothered to stay up was Galvantula, who was waiting to see if she should stay or move on to find a more receptive cuddle buddy. In the corner, Excadrill and Archeops remained curled around one another, dead to the world.
He wasn’t surprised to find the nursery light had been turned back off by the time he returned, or that his twin had eased back into the chair. Judging by the glint of light playing off of his eyes, he was looking across the room, to where the Sawk and Throh had been joined by a pair of plush Plusle and Minun Elesa had provided. Emmet made a note to himself to set the nightlight up sometime soon; intuiting via ambient lighting would only be appropriate for so much longer.
For now, it didn’t matter-- neither the nightlight, nor the specifics of whatever it was holding Ingo’s attention. With a quick snap of the wrists, Emmet unfurled the spare blanket he’d snagged from his brother’s room and let it fall, unhurried, over its owner. There was a murmur of thanks-- and that he didn’t have to do that-- as Emmet stifled a yawn and crossed the room; they would be spending a not insubstantial amount of time in here anyway, he reasoned, so they could stand to get used to it.
He unceremoniously tossed the guest pillow off to the side, replacing it with his own, and flopped down onto the bed.
“Might I ask one more question, before you go to sleep?”
“I was not aware you needed permission. When did that rule come into effect?”
It didn’t net him the mild offense he’d expected of it, instead met with, “I don’t want to ask too much of you, but if you judge it necessary, if I seem irrational during labor, would you please take up the controls again? To keep me on the rails?”
“If need be.” Emmet said, beckoning Eelektross to join him, absolutely delighted when the eel did just that. The contradiction didn’t come across in his voice, of course. “That is what I promised. Whatever you require, I will assist in.”
They lapsed into a silence again, not uncomfortable, but shy of their normal rhythm. It made it easy to hear as four furry legs scurried through the open door and, after a moment to assess the layout, made a spider-line for the corner. A silhouette was clearly visible rearing up to peek over the armrest, pedipalps reaching out to investigate, joined a second later by a fore-limb.
“They’ve gotten too big, Galvantula.” Ingo said softly, still somewhat somber, but definitely finding some small amount of amusement in her behavior. “I’m sorry. I promise I’m keeping them nice and warm in your stead.”
She clicked several times, thoughtful, and scaled the chair’s back instead, unbothered by the unorthodox position it put her in as she pressed her face into the curve of his neck. With a happy, full-body sigh, she began to vibrate at the frequency used to placate her spiderlings.
The last things Emmet caught before drifting off again were a long, deep breath from across the room, and then a quieter, “I see, so it works on young and their parents.”