It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that, once the day dipped past the afternoon, their tracks were met with a steep incline. The shift between early and active labor was a subtle one at first glance, but startling in its intensity looking back.

Now here they were, in the boundary between evening and nighttime, and the contractions had gotten so, so much worse.

Short of making the commute to the hospital, there was nothing to be done to ease them. Emmet already knew the basic rule of thumb, but had stopped to check again, just in case he’d happened to misread something along the line. Nope. It was still the same. The recommendation was to labor at home until the cramps came at five minute intervals, holding pattern for an hour.

They were up to three repetitions. He was slightly ashamed to admit it had never crossed his mind that it could get this bad. He’d seen his brother in extreme pain before-- had been the unwitting cause of it on one particularly dubious occasion-- but never like this.

This was merciless. Unrelenting. The only thing Ingo could do once a new round started was reach for support, robbed of his speech just as thoroughly as the night they’d learned about the passengers’ presence. Where he’d found it comforting to wander the apartment earlier, now he seemed hesitant to venture beyond the safe spot they’d carved out on the couch, sure and still, able to grasp for his twin at a moment’s notice.

Emmet wouldn’t dream of denying him that, grateful there was anything he could do to ease the burden by even a fraction, and so he readily wrapped his arms around his brother when Ingo leaned in again.

Thirty seconds through this one, he made a noise. It was a tiny thing, not even worth mentioning under normal circumstances, but what was important was the lapse it represented. Ingo had been doing his utmost to stay silent as things progressed, trying to be courteous about his sometimes-excessive volume by eliminating any sound at all, and that effort had just failed.

His brother had a steel-strong will; that it had been overcome spoke orders about what he was enduring.

The tiny whine made a reappearance in the next set of contractions, too. And the next, and the next.

At the forty-five minute mark, Emmet’s resolve also crumbled, furthered along by the helpless cry hastily pressed into his shoulder, trying to dampen the sound. Unthinkingly, he raised his arm to accommodate, one hand resting against the back of Ingo’s neck to help him through it; when the contraction began to let up, he pressed a kiss to his twin’s temple and let go.

Fuck it, he decided; it hadn’t been an hour yet, but would be close enough factoring in the time it would take to get across the city. He wasn’t going to wait around for it to get any worse.

A quick glance about the room found Garbodor loafing around at the entry to the hallway, and he gave a low whistle to catch her attention before waving her over. While she shuffled nearer, he said, lowly, “I am going to get up now. I need to collect the hospital bag and then we’ll depart. Garbodor is right here to assist you in the meantime. I will be quick.”

Voice not yet stable enough to speak, there was a warbling whine of question.

“Don’t worry.” Emmet said-- even knowing it was a useless hope-- and as smoothly as he could, moved to settle him against Garbodor in his place.

The bag was on the kitchen table, precisely where he’d left it; while important, it was only one reason for this minor detour. From wherever they’d been laying about, enduring the heaviness that had intensified over their home with each new round of cramps, the Pokemon raised their heads to watch him. He knew he had their full attention when he reached for the tote.

“We are going now,” He told them softly, “It will be some time before we return. Mom will be in to check on you before then. Behave for her.”

Crustle clicked nervously, shooting a pointed look past Garbodor.

“He’ll be alright.” He said, swallowing back the sour note that came of the incomplete truth; Ingo would be alright, but there was a long way to go, yet. Easing his conscience, he trailed it with, “The hospital will make it better. Assuming no complications arise, the passengers will be with us on our return trip.”

Galvantula perked up at that, scaling up Haxorus’s back and chirping at him. He offered her a smile and turned to rejoin his twin, only to find the way obstructed by a lamp and an eel. “Pokemon are not allowed loose in the hospital. You would not be any happier coming with us.”

Chandelure shook her entire body, emphatically trying to get her point across, and Eelektross grumbled its own argument for their case.

“It would not be fair to everyone else.”

A collective murmur went through the bunch, and Durant scuttled away, the first to make their point. He was content to stay. Haxorus was next, taking Galvantula with her as she moved to her bed, and two by two, the rest found a place to settle in for a long wait. The last was Crustle-- still unconvinced as to his trainer’s well being-- who skittered after Durant with a backwards look once the Klinklang had abandoned him for their favorite corner.

Chandelure and Eelektross continued to stare at him, expectant.

“I may have to check your pokeballs in for the duration.” Emmet warned.

Neither lifted their demand.

He bit back a groan. They didn’t have time to argue over this-- but if the both of them got their way and it didn’t net the result they wanted, that was their problem. “Fine.” He said tersely, “Get your pokeballs and meet us at the door. If you are not there by the time I lock up, we are leaving without you.”

Eelektross slithered off into the air immediately. Chandelure was just a beat behind him, fixing Emmet with a challenging look, daring him to go through with the threat. He took an extra fifteen seconds to tap a ride request into the app he’d had at the ready for the past two hours; it would give the pair a head start, and, ideally, mean that there would be no waiting by the time they got to the ground floor.

Seven sets of eyes-- their number widely variable-- tracked him as he shouldered the bag and crossed the living room again; notably, none of them was human. While it seemed the pain had receded for the time being, Ingo continued to list against Garbodor, preparing himself for the trip they had to take. He was only roused from the severe lean when Emmet laid a hand on his shoulder in warning, and he moved along with his twin as Emmet helped him up.

When they were properly upright, they were confronted with the would-be stowaways.

“We’ve had this conversation before. I’m afraid I’m already at rider capacity.” The gravelly attempt at levity earned him a displeased whistle from his partner. Eelektross, meanwhile, shoved the first of two pokeballs into the hand that wasn’t clutching his brother’s; unfortunately, the eel had forgotten to check who it belonged to, and Chandelure’s pokeball fell to the carpet with a dull thud as he was recalled.

She gave a low, irritated simmer and levitated it into the air, but waited patiently enough as Eelektross’s passed hands and was tucked into his trainer’s pocket. Once that was done, she promptly demanded the same treatment.

While there was a flicker of hesitation that suggested he wanted to keep her on his person, Ingo handed her pokeball over in turn.

With everyone else secured, Emmet turned to his co-conductor. “Ready for departure?”

“More than.” Ingo said, and laughed weakly, “All aboard.”