Sneasler hadn’t intended for their departure from the Entralink to actually be their final departure, the child had explained to Emmet at his guardian’s urging. There were still matters in their soon-to-be-former home that needed settling before they could actually move on, and they had resources they could bring with them to help or to serve as repayment.

By Emmet’s understanding, payment and debt were loaded topics where the fae were concerned; some demanded they be compensated for the smallest kindness whereas others took reimbursement as a slight against their character, and it was a roll of the die which was which. He’d tried to tell his brother that he didn’t need to be repaid for his help, but the boy had insisted, and at a point, it became clear that it wasn’t out of obligation, but excitement. When he’d realized the difference-- and that his twin was using it as an excuse to get him a present from their old home-- he stopped trying to argue his case.

They were still half a week out from returning to the Entralink just once more, biding the time until Emmet’s next day off. His brother wasn’t better yet, and wouldn’t be for a long time, but he was well enough to tackle liquids that weren’t clear and had a decent amount of energy back. They had waited two weeks already as he regained his strength, but nervous energy meant that the formerly feylost group wanted to get the trip over with.

Emmet’s coworkers had been sympathetic to his requested schedule changes once he’d explained that he was caring for an ill sibling, which was helpful in that, at the time, he hadn’t yet trusted his brother not to skip lunch when left to his own devices. Heading to and from the apartment twice per day was irritating during the commutes themselves, but ultimately worth it for the chance to check in with the kid. Not only did it help keep him out of trouble, but it felt like they were really beginning to click, and nudging him into trying new things was a fun way to get to know him better.

He liked sweet things, which was hardly a surprise, and-- equally unsurprising-- lacked tolerance for spice. There was a good chance he’d acclimate as time went on, and Emmet hoped that would be the case; there were a lot of foods he wanted to introduce him to.

He was already learning so well. It was easy to be proud of him.

In addition to their progress there, Emmet made a point of taking some time out every day to clear a little bit from the room he’d been using as an office. While the trio from the Entralink was content in the living room, he had the space and it only seemed right to share it. The only problem was that it had been some time since he’d done a thorough cleaning of the room, and while it was easy to move office supplies or pieces of furniture, the miscellaneous paperwork that had slowly been accumulating needed to be sorted, then put on file or discarded as appropriate. Emmet legitimately had no idea what he’d been thinking when he’d implemented his old system. It was terrible.

Doing his best to focus on a statement from the landlord, he didn’t let himself investigate the scuffle that sounded from the living room, confident that, between his twin and Sneasler, the disagreement would be put to rest. When paws padded down the hallway, accompanied by a tittering “Sne-ne-ne” he assumed that had been the end of it, and failed to think anything of the ensuing silence.

It was broken by a tapping on the room’s door frame, and he hummed to Eelektrik, acknowledging its presence.

Another silence, absent any footfalls, which suggested that the renewed tapping-- this time against his elbow-- was the eel begging for a treat. He ignored it. It wouldn’t do to spoil its dinner.

It happened again, to similarly null response. There was no third instance.

Instead, what followed was an audibly reluctant whisper of, “Emmet.”

Finally, he stopped and looked. His brother, who’d been leaning back to look at something out the door, glanced back at him, relieved to find that he’d finally gotten his attention. “Gligar’s stuck in Galvantula’s web, and Lady Sneasler won’t cut him down.”

Emmet paused, set the statement down, and followed him out. Sure enough, Gligar was all but plastered to the ceiling. He spared a second for how the bat had possibly managed that, but realized quickly that some of the webbing was newer than the rest, suggesting that he’d had help.

That was annoying, but not the important thing to take away from the situation.

His brother had used his name. It hadn’t been his first choice, but he’d been willing to try it in his own way, hushed and wary. Maybe it was time to pose one more question.

...well. Almost time.

Between the two of them, they managed to get enough height to free Gligar from its spider silk prison, with absolutely no help from the rest of the Pokemon. Galvantula was a given, and Sneasler had already declined, but Emmet was slightly surprised to find neither Durant nor Eelektrik had gotten themselves involved. For a spell, he’d worried that the bat was on bad terms with his Pokemon, but halfway through clearing webbing away, realized the chirping wasn’t impatient, but content. It still didn’t mean they should leave Gligar there, but he wasn’t bothered by what had happened.

With the help of a broom dedicated to removing webs from high corners, Emmet cleared away the bulk of what was stuck to the ceiling several minutes before his brother managed to rid Gligar of the spider silk. Unfamiliar with how to handle it, he kept getting his fingers stuck together, which prompted Gligar to reach out and snip the web binding them, and the situation really only spiraled from there. Emmet managed to stifle his amusement until he made it safely to the bathroom, at which point he let himself snicker into a hand as he rummaged around the medicine cabinet.

Through strategic application of rubbing alcohol, he got the both of them de-webbed, and while Gligar scurried off to clean itself of the cleaner, Emmet ushered the child to the office so they could talk. He hoisted him up to sit on the edge of the desk, then seated himself in the corresponding chair so they were roughly at eye-level.

“You used my name.” He said, and realized immediately how his brother would take that. Before the apology could sound, he held a hand up, calling for quiet, “I know you did not want to. But I am glad you felt comfortable enough to say it.”

The child fidgeted, unsure how to handle the situation when he was being praised for something instinct warned him against.

Emmet continued, sparing him the trouble of finding a response, “That is something I’ve been meaning to address. You are making verrrry good progress with the soups. Unfortunately, there is another adjustment I have to ask that you make.”

Wrinkling his nose, the boy asked, “Is it more vitamins?”

Despite himself, he laughed. “No. But you are handling those well, too. There are different types of rules in the Entralink, correct? The fact that you do not have to eat or drink is by its nature. But other rules are social?”

“Right,” His twin said, straightening up a bit. He seemed to have taken it as a call for advice-- perhaps connecting the question to the upcoming trip into the fae realm-- and, though it was off-course from his intended destination, Emmet listened with rapt attention. “You have to be very careful about what you offer or accept. It’s safer to avoid both if you can do that without offending anybody, but that should be okay, because we’re just going to the den. Don’t let Durant out unless you have to, because people get paranoid about the type advantage. And don’t tell anybody your name.”

It ended with Emmet somehow being stared down by a tiny seven-year-old, in direct defiance of the angles involved. Arms folded over his chest, he scrunched his nose and his lips fell into a pout so severe it bordered on comedic.

Gently, Emmet reached forward and drew both hands into his. “That is what I needed to speak with you about. Eating or drinking in the Entralink would bind you to it. But it is necessary if you wish to live in the human world. In the Entralink, it’s safer for you to be nameless. You cannot remain so here. You trusted that I had your best intentions at heart before. Please trust me again.”

“I need a name here?”

Silently, he nodded.

“But...”

“You are correct that it would be a liability. I know. It’s verrrry scary. But humans cannot really live without an identity.” It was true in a practical sense-- the child couldn’t go on as Faelost F7 forever-- but Emmet meant it in a slightly more personal one. He didn’t know what it must be like to go so long without this facet of oneself. Maybe he was just projecting his frustration with their parents onto the situation, but it felt like his brother had been wronged, deprived of something every human was given before they knew to appreciate it. He wanted to make up for that slight.

There was a lapse as they both considered their own side of the matter, and the boy took his hands back to wrap his arms around himself, looking over the controlled chaos that was his future bedroom.

Almost too quietly to hear, he asked, “Why do you care so much?”

...well. If it was time to broach the matter of a name, then maybe it was time to address that topic, too. Before, he’d asked something of his brother and given a piece of himself in return, so why not now as well?

“I care because--” But he’d started the statement without fully thinking it through. As much time as he’d had to plot out how he might eventually approach this, he realized with a dawning annoyance that there was one factor he’d never considered. It was a snap judgment, and not the perfect truth, but not technically wrong either-- and far, far easier than going into the details of how many ways his sibling had been failed, “Because I’m your big brother.”

The child stared after him with a healthy dose of skepticism, which, while good for him, certainly didn’t make this any easier. “You’re… just saying that.”

Sighing internally, Emmet shook his head, “I’m not. The doctors confirmed it when you were in the hospital. That is why we look so alike. Sneasler assumed we were related as well. Do you remember?”

His brow furrowed, “Lady Sneasler just thought we were the same species of human.”

“Humans are all the same species.” Emmet reminded him, “Visual similarities can suggest a common ancestry. Our resemblance goes beyond that, however.”

He stood and, once his brother followed suit-- all but launching himself from the edge of the desk-- laid a hand on his shoulder, ushering him gently out into the hall, then to his own bedroom. Leaving the boy to idle uncertainly just inside, Emmet moved to his bookshelf, where he picked up a framed photograph. He gave it a once-over, wiping the it free of the thin sheen of dust that accumulated over the years, and then turned to offer it.

It wasn’t perfect-- he’d been twice the child’s age when it was taken-- but it would carry his point. His fourteen-year-old self hadn’t lost the rounded features of childhood yet, and surely his brother would be able to recognize their shared face.

It was comical to watch his sibling rationalize what he was seeing, brows drawn with a gravity that didn’t suit him. At one point, he glanced up from the photo to take in the details of Emmet’s face-- as if for the first time, again-- and then dropped it back down.

“Do you see now?”

His twin’s thoughtful frown pressed into a thin line. “But before, you said...”

He stopped short of actually structuring an argument, his tone betraying the fact that what he said now was born of confusion rather than abject disbelief. The boy took another few seconds to stare down at the picture, nibbling on his lip.

“You don’t have to, you know.” He eventually said, voice laden with an uncharacteristic heaviness, “I’m fine with Lady Sneasler and Gligar. We’ll be okay. Being related… doesn’t mean you need to help us.”

That was… not at all where Emmet had seen this going. A bitter part of him wanted to laugh for the circumstance that had led to this: how none of his twin’s relatives had felt the need to care for him prior, and would surely be relieved to find themselves rid of the responsibility, now. Fortunately, he’d landed himself with the one who would hear none of it.

“It doesn’t.” He agreed gently, and, when his brother stiffened slightly, hastily added, “But I can still want to help.”

Silently, without looking up, his brother handed the frame back, eyes downturned even when he was left with nothing but the floor to stare at.

“Can I think about it some more?”

It was difficult to say what part of their talk he might have meant. Taking pity on the both of them, Emmet chose to interpret it as the original topic of discussion. “Of course. I would ask that you wait, anyway. Even if you did want a name right away. It seems unsafe when we will be visiting the Entralink again.”

The child nodded and, finally, lifted his gaze from the carpet. His expression was more solemn than it had been in days, and while Emmet was incredibly sorry to see even a small backwards step, he understood where it came from. Taking a chance, he reached out and rested his free hand on his brother’s head, gingerly ruffling his hair. “I am sorry for my conduct when we met. But I am verrrry glad to know you now.”

While he was eventually shaken off, it was far from an immediate thing; there was a similar hesitation-- deliberation-- before his brother reached over in turn, haltingly taking that same hand up.

Watching Emmet’s expression closely, a sheen of anticipation beneath the thoughtful look in his eyes, the child murmured, “Thank you, Emmet.”