Arceus. The supposed Alpha Pokemon.

It was said to have created the entire Sinnoh region and all those Pokemon that dwelt within it. Some considered it a god: the God of Pokemon.

Ingo had listened carefully to what little information Drayden was able to procure, and while it seemed to confirm what had met them at Gear Station, every new wrinkle made one thing very, very clear.

“We can’t fight against it.”

“Sure we can.” Emmet said, focused either on the word choice or what this information meant for his side project, “Simple bait and switch. Goad it into becoming one type and counter with its weakness.”

“Not that,” He nearly snapped, and immediately felt awful about it. Knowing why it happened-- that the short temper was a product of his body slowly turning against him-- did nothing to help the situation.

Emmet seemed unbothered, though, waiting for the rest of the thought. Inclining his head in apology, Ingo obliged. “It was a wishful destination at best, but I had hoped that there was still something we could do about,” Unsure what label, specifically, to apply, he settled for laying a hand flat against his abdomen. “But it seems there’s nothing to be done; I’m going to have to carry and birth it. It will disrupt our lives and potentially sabotage the way we’re viewed. While I recognize that you love a challenge like nothing else, I can’t understand this fixation in light of everything else occurring right now.”

Ingo was vaguely aware of Archeops squawking, stressed, in the background; he probably thought they were arguing and was working himself up into a panic. Once Archeops went, that would set off a chain reaction and the entire household would be upset. The least he could do after making such a harsh judgment was prevent anyone else from feeling as poorly as he did right now.

Turning to calm the bird before this could turn into a mass anxiety event, Ingo was stopped by a grip on his wrist.

“He’ll settle if we leave.” The pressure stayed consistent, easy to break out of if he so chose, but Emmet’s suggestion was accompanied by a plaintive tug, “It will be good for everyone. We still need to talk.”

Sighing, Ingo allowed himself to be nudged down the hall and to his own bedroom. He knew his body language was closed off, defensive even, and made a token effort to soften it as he perched on the edge of his bed, but was well aware that it only saw partial success.

Closing the door behind them-- as if Garbodor might convert their conversation into toxic gossip for a change-- Emmet shut his eyes and pressed a fist to his forehead, giving it several shallow knocks.

“I’m sorry. I got carried away.” He began, and opened his eyes, though they were quickly covered again by the hand that passed over them, hiding his self-reproof, “I did not mean to make you feel secondary to battling. It seemed to help when you first told me. I had thought it would be cathartic.”

Ah. Well put that way, it actually made a great deal of sense. In the confusion of that first day, battling had been a tremendously helpful coping mechanism; while he might not have known how to approach the situation he’d been thrown into, there was no such difficulty in doing his job. Having some semblance of control had been valuable while it lasted-- and, looking back, Emmet’s fixation on challenging Arceus was transparently an extension of that.

He should have given his brother the benefit of the doubt, and shame rushed in to fill the channels left by vexation.

“Stop that.” Emmet added, “You had no way of knowing my intentions. The station you arrived at was a logical one.”

“Still, you have my apologies; I shouldn’t have assumed, nor been so critical.”

His brother snorted and all but threw himself onto the bed next to him, “You are allowed to be as critical as you want. Your body is being used without your consent. I think you are being verrrry restrained about it. Too restrained.”

Both of them were aware that the other was watching him, mutually reading signals to move forward, and when he’d determined that the contact wouldn’t be unwelcome, Emmet scooched over, close enough to gather Ingo up and hook his chin over a shoulder. It was silent encouragement to mirror the movement, and when he did, Ingo was struck with the sudden impression of an ally setting up Protect. He realized he could finally use Explosion, safe behind the barrier Emmet had made for him, and breathed out, out, out until he could finally inhale again.

“I don’t want this.” He said, and oh no, now the air was rushing too freely through his lungs. There was a solemn nod against his shoulder. “I don’t-- Yes, I- I understand that it was Arceus, but I can’t understand why.”

Emmet simply held fast and let Ingo shake himself apart.

It was a maelstrom of everything he’d been holding back, whether he’d been physically unable to voice it or determined to rein it in. Right now, it all spilled out into a formless squall-- and maybe it was completely inarticulate, unable to convey the intricacies of those thoughts, but it was exactly what it needed to be.

He didn’t want anything to do with Arceus. He didn’t want a child. He couldn’t begin to guess why any of this had fallen to him in the first place. Surely there were followers of ‘Almighty Sinnoh’ who would gladly indulge its machinations-- so why didn’t it inflict its scion on one of them, instead?

They’d found answers up to this point, but these were questions that would have to remain. The best he could do right now was endure, to grip onto his brother for life itself and cry until the hopelessness was washed from his eyes.

They must have stayed like that for some time. While signals from the outside world didn’t register, those from his own body did, and his arms were wavering by the time Emmet spoke again.

“This was the other reason I wanted to confront Arceus.” Emmet said, petting a repeated, soothing motion down the back of his head, “It did this. It hurt you. I wanted to hurt it back. To force it to undo the damage. But that never should have taken precedence. It will not happen again.”

Ingo didn’t respond-- not because he was mad or physically incapable of speech, but because it was easier to just listen to his twin for now. He turned his head to the side, for no reason other than that he needed to move, but didn’t want to get up.

“No matter what is required of me, I am here for you.”

Nodding shallowly against his brother’s throat, Ingo made the attempt to speak. It was difficult after weathering the storm of negativity he’d built up, his voice ragged and breathing still somewhat heavy, “I love you.”

The response was immediate and just as emphatic as Emmet was physically capable of, “I love you, too.”

Reality slowly trickled back in in the form of little metal mandibles scraping at the bottom of the door and a thin foreleg blindly reaching into the minimal gap at its base. They both stopped and stared at it for a few seconds as it waved around, feeling for anything in range, and came up empty save for carpet fibers. Undeterred, Durant retrieved his limb for about four seconds, and then made another attempt using both at once.

Nobody could say he wasn’t a persistent little thing. It was one of his many charming features-- though, in conjunction with something that sounded suspiciously like wood being nibbled on, it was somewhat less tolerable.

“Stop it.” Emmet said firmly, which only caused the legs to begin reaching more frantically. “What a big baby.” He groused and only seemed to recognize his wording after the fact, shooting his brother an apologetic look.

“No, you’re correct.” Though still hoarse, a thread amusement was present in Ingo’s voice, and-- eager to move on from his minor meltdown in favor of something more pleasant-- he finally pulled away, rising to put a stop to any actual property damage. He felt his back crack with the motion, and bit down on a preemptive wince, trying not to think about how that might worsen.

The warning prod at Durant’s foot just caused it to curl its claws, trying to grasp the sock it felt, so there was little surprise when Ingo swept the door open and the bug half-fell, half-scooted directly in, having failed to take the hint.

“You realize that behavior is unacceptable.” Notably, it was not a question, which was great, because Durant didn’t have an answer. It was already busy cruising around the bedroom, antennae twitching as it retraced the same path it did every evening. Usually, that was able to wait until bed-- a fact that Ingo had long since learned to accommodate if he didn’t want to trip over an ant in the dark-- so its determination to see the pattern through so much earlier was unusual. Maybe the closed door had confused him.

Regardless of the minor behavioral change, there was little concern that it would do any damage with its path unobstructed, and-- after a moment to wipe any remnants of distress from his eyes-- Ingo stepped past the threshold to see what the rest of their household was up to.

Emmet brushed past him, but he didn’t give that much thought, somewhat more distracted by Galvantula’s solution to calming Archeops’s anxiety. While the raptor didn’t seem bothered by its new spider silk compression shirt, it nibbled appreciatively at his fingers as he cleared the band of webbing holding its mouth shut. When he stopped to turn, accusing, at Galvantula, she hastily found somewhere else to scuttle.

That was another point against Arceus’s decision making. He already had eleven menaces to chase after; by whose logic did he need another? Any biological connection was made completely irrelevant in the fact that, on occasion, that number grew to include his twin.

With a chirp that would sound more at home from a baby bird, Archeops let himself be scooped up and toted to the kitchen, whereupon Emmet’s attention finally landed on it. He promptly looked to Ingo for an explanation.

“You need to have a talk with Galvantula.” He said simply, depositing it onto a chair to be divested of its makeshift shirt. The process of unraveling it was a mindless one, giving him plenty of time to observe what was going on atop the table.

“Unrelated legendaries there.” Emmet said, gesturing mildly to a series of folders containing the vast majority of their research. “Sorted by region of origin. Arceus here.” He added, and tapped to a comparatively thinner file. “I wanted to collate the new information. Then I will put it away with the rest.”

“If you find the strategy of countering Arceus’s ability cathartic, I won’t ask you stop.” Ingo said, turning his attention briefly to Archeops as it began to squirm; he secured it with one hand, the other still busy gathering the webbing and acting as a substitute spool. “It is a unique challenge, a foe that can change type at a moment’s notice.”

Emmet hummed and moved his head in something that was neither a nod nor a shake, “It’s interesting. But I don’t want to lose sight of my priorities again.”

“I don’t believe you would.”

There was a pause. “You think too highly of me.”

Ingo stopped his tidying to afford Emmet his full, sincere attention.

“No, I really don’t.”