Things became very hectic in Unova with verrrry little forewarning.
First an influx of regional passengers who had no idea what they were doing and sightings of strange Pokemon all over Unova, then Drayden calling in a favor, asking that Emmet ensured the visiting representatives didn’t get themselves lost on the way to their assembly in Nimbasa. It would have been notable, but ultimately not worth remembering, if not for the looks the clansmen gave him.
It was brought into an abrupt focus as the Pearl leader insisted to her Diamond counterpart that she knew her Wardens, and that was not Ingo.
To be entirely fair to Irida, she was correct-- but perhaps she hadn’t realized what the declaration would bring down upon her. What could she do about it? If they didn’t want to answer his questions, that was fine, but they weren’t going be rid of him any time soon; not only was he their guide through Gear Station, he knew the who where and why of the meeting the clans were set to attend.
Emmet had waited this long for answers. He could endure just a bit more.
None of the officials running the gathering-- themselves gym leaders and municipal workers-- begrudged his unexpected presence. In time, some even began to understand it, to help prompt the information he’d come here seeking.
There was a saying that no news was good news, and it was factually incorrect. By definition, bad news was bad, but no news was torture-- so even though everything he heard was car after car of complications and concerns, Emmet embraced it, took in everything on offer.
The Pearl Clan was short one representative because they were missing a Warden, their empty spot the one Ingo usually filled. They’d tried repeatedly to contact him, but the best result had been a frantic visit from the Noble he cared for, who’d departed immediately after realizing he wasn’t there, either. That Sneasler was rogue in Unova was a problem in and of itself.
With exceptions for traveling merchants and scouts, each of the Hisuian factions could account for their people, and those missing seemed to have found a station with one of the other sects. Between the Diamond and Pearl Clans and Galaxy Team, the Hisuians could vouch for one another’s presence, even if in the wrong place. With one glaring omission.
To hear the Hisuian’s story of what brought them here was simultaneously encouraging and frustrating-- in the span of a heartbeat, the ground had fallen out beneath them, only to flicker back into existence somewhere completely new. It was so close to the horror Emmet had borne witness to that he had to clasp his hands to keep them steady, the fabric of his gloves twisting unpleasantly as he tried not to relive the moment his grip failed and he’d been left staring, uncomprehending, at where his twin had vanished. The versions of events were so similar that it couldn’t be coincidence, but it was impossible to say with complete certainty because...
Ingo had never actually told anyone how he arrived in Hisui. He hadn’t been able to, because he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember anything. Allegedly, he’d wandered into the Pearls’ territory with a high fever and head wound, and nobody knew which of the two was to blame for resultant amnesia. One of the Galaxy surveyors put in that she wouldn’t count a ‘Uxie’ out, which led to the final matter.
When the meeting concluded, the girl-- Akari-- pulled Emmet to the side and confessed that she had an idea what might have happened. She was from Sinnoh, she’d whispered, the modern day word for Hisui. If she and the Hisuians were here, in Unova, then wasn’t it possible that a wire had gotten crossed somewhere, and the lone Unovan was in Sinnoh?
Because yes. Yes, that was entirely possible-- and if Ingo couldn’t remember the first thing about himself, then that meant he was wandering aimlessly half the world away. Had Emmet thought it actually stood a chance in hell-- that between himself and Chandelure, they’d be able to find one stray man in an unnecessarily huge region-- he would have accepted the possibility and acted on it, but something had stilled his hand.
For good reason, it seemed.
“Arceus finally got back to me,” Akari told him one day, several weeks into the entire debacle. She was idling at the edge of the desk he’d commandeered-- littered with renewed research into Pokemon that helped in search and retrieval missions-- and frowned at the phone in her hands.
Emmet spared it half a glance, a brow raised. “Arceus texts?”
“Not if it has the choice. It prefers, you know, yanking you out of existence to talk face to face. Face to earthly visage? I don’t know.” She was stalling, tapping nervously at the sides of the device with the hand supporting it. “Or video calls, when that’s too much work.”
He hummed, unimpressed thus far with the God of Pokemon, “Regardless of the format. What did it tell you?”
“It… it made a mistake.” Akari squeaked, as if she were the being at fault, and not just the all too human messenger, “It was trying to make things right, and accidentally got it reversed instead-- it called it a coding error?”
“So he’s still in Hisui.” Perhaps it sounded cold, but there was no intention behind it; Emmet was confirming the information and little more.
Ingo remaining in Hisui was… actually preferable to being stranded in modern Sinnoh, in a way. The timing would be a hurdle, but one they’d overcome to get the Hisuians home, anyway; Emmet would simply accompany them on their return. At least this way Ingo would have something he knew to fall back upon-- a familiar environment, the Pokemon Akari had mentioned, and--
He paused that line of thought, “It compared the mistake to a coding error?”
Akari nodded, repeatedly-- nervously-- catching her thumb nail on the phone’s ostentatious décor.
Emmet wasn’t a programmer, but Gear Station ran on an incredibly advanced system; even if they hadn’t been formally educated, a person learned minor details from observation and overseeing its operation throughout the years. If the original intention had been to send Ingo-- and only Ingo-- to modern day Unova, did that then imply that the inverse was…?
“Did your Captain ever finalize her headcount?”
Blinking at the sudden change of topic, Akari tilted her head to the side, offering a half-hearted shrug, “It sounded pretty good from what I heard, but that’s not really any of my business. I think we rounded up the Ginkgo merchants from the clans, and the missing corpsman have been to Nacrene City to check in, at least.”
When there was no response forthcoming, she went on to ask, “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“He’s alone.” Emmet said, trying to swallow back the surge of alarm that rose in his throat, “We are not meant to be alone. We’re--”
“I know, I know. You’re twins and you’re not used to being alone. Don’t worry too much, okay? Ingo’s been Sneasler’s Warden for… I don’t actually know how long, but a while! He’ll be fine.”
“No. You do not know. The clans, Galaxy Team and Ginkgo Guild are the only factions in Hisui, correct? And all of their members have been accounted for? I do not mean ‘we are not meant to be alone’ as in the two of us. I mean that humans require companionship. And the entirety of Hisui has been mistakenly transported here.”
Akari’s lips parted, but her voice didn’t sound. With wide, comprehending eyes, she pressed the phone to her sternum. “Well… Arceus… knows what happened now. We’ll get this sorted out…?”
Emmet waved the comment off and changed tracks entirely, abandoning search and rescue in favor of looking into more extreme measures. The Hisuians, fine, he’d let Arceus pick up after itself. But with his brother?
No, Emmet didn’t trust the God of Pokemon one bit.
---
Emmet liked winning more than most anything else, but he could admit when he’d been outpaced.
Though he didn’t want to rely on Arceus’s aid given the problems it had created, in this, practicality mattered more than his pride. It would have been ideal to find an avenue to Hisui without the months in between, but the truth of the matter was that it didn’t make a difference under what power he arrived-- only that he’d made it here and could finally do something to help.
They started in the Highlands, headed toward the spring where Ingo had made his camp. It seemed, to Emmet, a long shot. Perhaps there would be some manner of guidance to be found, but he could hardly imagine confining himself to the apartment-- to Nimbasa City, even-- in the event that the rest of humanity vanished. To be entirely fair, however, Emmet wasn’t sure what his plan of action would be in such a scenario.
Hopefully he’d never have to entertain the thought.
The tent they arrived at was a mess-- not in the way of a Pokemon rooting around, but with all the hallmarks of a human frantically digging through their supplies and not finding what they sought; a futon had been stripped of its coverings and was, instead, blanketed in miscellaneous bottles, stones and small chunks of wood. From the ceiling, braids of vegetation had withered to nothing, suggesting that Emmet had been correct and this site hadn’t been revisited in some time.
Akari’s hands were hovering, uncertain, over a cutting board with several shriveled leeks resting on it when something let out a shriek outside; Emmet caught her by the shoulder as she jumped, steadying her, and moved to peer through the doorway.
Immediately, the door was wrenched open by massive set of claws and Sneasler invited herself in, jaws open to scent the air, nose twitching furiously. She barely afforded them a second look as she rummaged around, came up empty pawed, and huffed in her frustration.
The set of claws that hadn’t been used to nick the door had a piece of paper skewered on them-- irreversibly creased and weather damaged-- and when she grudgingly accepted that she’d find nothing more here, she offered it to them.
Despite the blemishes in the paper, some substantially newer than the rest, the writing was still perfectly legible:
Lord Adaman of the Diamond Clan,
I recognize that this is highly unconventional, but it has recently come to my attention that Lord Electrode and Warden Melli cannot be located within the Coronet Highlands. I would like to stress that this is, in no way, an accusation or complaint against them. Quite the opposite, in fact; it’s my hope to confirm that they are safely among the Diamond Clan, or otherwise acting under your guidance.
Their business is not mine, and I sincerely hope that this inquiry doesn’t cross the yel - line between our clans. As per my duty as a Warden, I simply wish to ensure that your clansman and Noble are well.
Best regards,
Warden Ingo of the Pearl Clan
It was one thing to be told his brother had been in ancient Sinnoh this entire time, and quite another to find himself holding evidence of that fact. The content didn’t help in the slightest, but once Akari pulled back from reading over his arm, Emmet still found himself moving to pocket the note. Sneasler caught his hand before he could, giving him an insistent look.
“He was asking if Adaman could confirm Melli and Electrode’s locations. Obviously Adaman could do no such thing. Hence its return.” He said, and slipped the paper away before she could intervene again. “Can you show us where you found this?”
Her face scrunched and she spent several seconds toying with the end of her crest feather, but the options she weighed seemed to end in their favor, considering the short jerk of her head and her immediate departure. He caught the door before it could slam shut, ushered Akari ahead, and closed it behind them.
While the trek up-- directly up-- was humiliating, it was plain to see where Sneasler’s hesitance stemmed from: a pelt-turned-curtain protected the interior of a Pokemon’s nest. Presumably a nest belonging to the Lady of the Cliffs.
“That’s right,” Akari said slowly, pacing around the pile of linens that had been missing from the tent, “You were freaking out because you were separated from your eggs.”
“They’ve clearly been cared for.” He didn’t bother to specify further, already beyond that. Absent an incubator-- and given the Hisuians’ collective mindset, Emmet somewhat doubted they’d branched into Pokemon breeding-- it wasn’t a bad setup. Hardly ideal, but one worked with what they could get up in the mountains.
Given how much time had passed and the amount of damage to the various fabrics, there was little doubt the eggs had long since hatched into Sneasel. Of course they had. If it had been Ingo’s duty to care for Sneasler, then he would naturally look after her offspring, too-- especially after her disappearance.
There was little use in speculating where they’d gone, since; as was true of the tent, this space hadn’t been occupied in some time. Either they were still with Ingo or he would know where they’d settled, and regardless of which it was, it still hinged on reaching the same terminal.
Satisfied that he’d seen all the actual nest had to offer, he turned his back on Sneasler and Akari-- ignoring the latter’s “Oh shit, so that’s where I left my snow jacket”-- to focus on the other side of the cavern. He found some of the same here, too: jars of dried plant matter, a couple hollow apricorn shells that had cracked down the side, wooden shapes of varying quality and, finally, a cache of forgotten notes.
Lady Irida of the Pearl Clan--
Miss Akari--
Commander Kamado of Galaxy Team--
Lady Irida of the Pearl Clan--
Esteemed Warden Calaba--
Captain Zisu--
Gaeric--
To Whom It May Concern--
Emmet skimmed the missives to Irida, the first expressing concern over the disappearance of the Highlands’ other residents and Ingo’s inability to venture further from the territory while caring for Sneasler’s eggs, the second seeking reassurance as to the Pearl Clan’s well-being. A quick glance over the ones with clear addressees confirmed that they used most of the same key words-- Akari’s in particular asking if she’d heard any news of the Pearl Settlement.
Each of them was perfectly measured in terms of tone, belying little of his brother’s mental state as he’d penned them. In the final message-- the one asking that anyone who happened upon the carrier Honchkrow send it back with even a charcoal smudge-- Ingo stated that he could be found on Mount Coronet, but would soon depart for Jubilife Village.
Technically, it constituted a lead. A dubious lead, but still something.
When he showed it to her, Akari agreed it was unlikely that Ingo would still be in Jubilife-- but she would check, just to be sure, if he wanted to get a head start elsewhere.
Emmet lingered past her departure, watching Sneasler pace around her den. When her face began to crease in frustration, he gave a sharp whistle-- the one he used when he and Ingo were traversing the subway tunnels-- and she snapped her head up.
“I will call you when we find him. Like that. It will be louder.”
Sneasler stared at him for a moment and yowled back a variation on Ingo’s answering whistle. He nodded, pushed the curtain aside, and began to pick a path down the rocky incline.
As the last flashes of white departed from her den, Sneasler drooped, ire giving way to sorrow, and curled in on herself.
Her placement was perfect. In another time, she’d have been able to nestle her chin into her Warden’s hand as he fretted over her eggs.
---
Actually finding Ingo was… difficult.
Not only in the sense that they faced the challenge of locating him in the depths of the Icelands, but also because finding him didn’t go both ways.
The Tangrowth prowling the upper cliffs had been a peculiarity until it fumbled and fell a step behind its rhythm; this brief misalignment had revealed that it wasn’t just a Pokemon going for an ill-conceived stroll, but a Pokemon walking with its trainer. The human accompanying it-- distant, but the patterns still unmistakable-- had reached out and then continued as it regained its balance, his wrist occupied by the vine affectionately curving around it.
At the time, they’d thought the wind so high up must have drowned them out, but in hindsight, it seemed far more likely that Ingo had simply been ignoring them-- not with any malicious intent, but from sheer disbelief. The look he’d pinned Emmet under with his approach had spoken of dim recognition, but not comprehension.
And then he’d stopped responding at all.
Emmet had moved his free hand to cradle a cheek, startled by the chill that seeped through his glove at the contact, and gently turned his brother’s face up. Ingo didn’t fight it. He didn’t do anything, staring steadfast at their linked hands.
He stayed unresponsive the entire way to the Pearl Settlement, giving Emmet plenty of time to wonder--
For all that he’d worked toward getting here, did he even know how to help?
---
Reaching out to Pokemon seemed like a reasonable first step.
While it quickly became clear that other humans were simply too much for Ingo to deal with, the stubborn presence of Gliscor and the Sneasel indicated that it wasn’t a universal problem.
And, given Emmet had already promised The Lady of The Cliffs that he’d be in contact, it was only natural to call out to her. Unfortunately, when she began to fret over her Warden, he shut down. Sneasler clearly didn’t understand the distress-- nosing, worried, at his jaw-- and had to be dragged away at the first hitching preludes to hyperventilation.
She growled at Emmet, low in her throat, but it was borne of uncertainty, not anger.
At the sound, the nearest Sneasel puffed up and spat; its siblings scattered. Two ducked beneath the frayed ends of Ingo’s coat while Gliscor plucked the third by the scruff, catching it before it could charge its mother.
In that moment, Emmet wasn’t sure which plight he was more sympathetic to: Gliscor, holding back a well meaning companion, or Sneasler, helpless to reach those she’d never meant to separate from.
---
It had bothered Emmet, when they returned to the Pearl Settlement and been directed to the visitors' tent he’d become somewhat acquainted with. Save for Lian, who stayed with his human guardians, the other Wardens had dedicated homes within the encampment, even though they spent a great deal of time in their Noble’s province. The fact that this didn’t ring true for Ingo suggested a number of things, none of which Emmet was happy to contemplate-- but, mostly, it confirmed Akari’s claim that his brother had spent a great deal of time isolated from other people, even prior to the mass exodus.
There wasn’t much to be done about it-- this was a place to retire to, and some nights that was all that mattered. His twin wasn’t aware of those goings-on, but Ingo would be mortified if he knew how the villagers looked at him when he shut down; it felt right to take him somewhere quiet and private so he could recuperate at his own pace.
It was during one such episode that Emmet noticed an interesting habit.
Once he’d had a moment to adjust, Ingo wrapped his hand around his unoccupied wrist and closed his eyes. Emmet didn’t know what to make of it that day, but he noticed it every time his brother began to dissociate, without fail. Sometimes the Sneasel would butt in and offer their clumsy form of assistance; often, Gliscor would be nearby to wrap itself around him. No matter what else was happening, Ingo would spend a full minute holding onto his wrist.
With time, Emmet realized what was going on: it wasn’t an old injury that acted up in times of distress or some kind of trauma response. He was laying a thumb over his artery, feeling for and testing his heart rate.
It was a grounding technique. He was actively trying to steady himself, not just letting the dissociation run its course. And if it was a matter of staying grounded-- that much, Emmet understood.
Like the phrases he repeated, like his deliberate steps as he marched, like honing one’s focus down to the motion of a train and nothing else. He’d never used them in this exact context, but it was the same, wasn’t it? It was the pursuit of a quiet mind while the world raged outside, so entirely overwhelming.
He peeled one glove back and removed the other in full, mirroring his brother’s gesture. His heart rate was high from the thrill of comprehension, the skin beneath his hand warm. Emmet allowed himself to perch on the edge of one of the tent’s beds and gradually felt his pulse slow to a more reasonable level.
This was good. It was progress. He could work with this.
---
It took some time for Emmet to realize that Gliscor was actually one of Ingo’s Pokemon and not just a wild companion. There had been signs, of course, in how attached it was, the way it hovered and anticipated where it was needed, the reflexes that suggested substantial battle experience-- but he’d never seen it return to a pokeball. It had always just been there, watching.
Any doubt was allayed one day, when Ingo’s attention was on his Tangrowth and Probopass, giving the Sneasel pack an opportunity to snag the pokeball that sat foremost on his belt and bat it between one another. Gliscor, hanging by its tail from one of Machamp’s arms, squawked in alarm as one of the kits recalled it, then popped back out with a scolding screech. The entire display was incredibly unsubtle, and it took no time at all for Ingo to intervene.
With the parties soothed down and separated-- the stray pokeball back where it belonged-- he’d returned to Probopass, Gliscor clinging to him like an over-large pack.
It was confirmation of something incredibly important: Gliscor stayed outside out of its own volition, just to ensure its human was safe.
Thus began a working relationship.
While Ingo wouldn’t-- couldn’t, really-- acknowledge the human presence around him, his Pokemon did. They were endlessly curious about their trainer’s twin, and though they didn’t get the opportunity to interact as they pleased, were happy to bother him when they did. It was an overstatement to say the parties understood one another, but they’d come to accept that they all cared for Ingo-- which, when it came down to it, was all they needed to know.
Gliscor’s dedication to its cause dovetailed wonderfully into a solution to one of Emmet’s greatest concerns:
Ingo did not enjoy staying in the Pearl Settlement. At least once per day-- sometimes past nightfall-- he would attempt to leave, and Emmet’s only recourse would be to pull him back, triggering another dissociative episode. It was an unfortunate situation, bad for everyone involved, but he couldn’t just let his brother wander off into the Alabaster Icelands.
Once he’d won Gliscor over, however, it became possible to avoid causing the unnecessary stress; it would corral its trainer-- with Tangrowth’s help if need be-- and keep him from an unscheduled departure.
And even if Emmet was unable to contribute directly, it was nice to see some semblance of normality-- to watch Gliscor stick its head into Ingo’s face when he began to drift, so eerily similar to the way Chandelure would beg for attention. Human contact was something that couldn’t be replaced, but the constant companionship of his partner Pokemon was keeping Ingo tethered, and it was clear that Gliscor was pulling a double shift to ensure that everything ran smoothly.
“I hope you are prepared to become the world’s most spoiled Gliscor.” Emmet had told it one day, and it clicked at him, entirely oblivious of the fate to which it had consigned itself.
---
Ingo had a tendency to avoid looking at anyone directly.
It made sense. The easiest way to escape confronting them was to look away-- and the Pearl Clan made it so easy. On the off chance Ingo’s attention happened to idle on one of the villagers, odds were that they’d find a reason to be somewhere else. It was rude, but Emmet bit his tongue.
He… supposed he could see the problem.
They’d always had pale eyes-- pale enough to nearly be reflective-- but, short of causing a few scares in dark subway tunnels, it had never been an issue. Here, surrounded by the blinding backdrop of snow, the matter was at the forefront, refraction turning ‘pale’ into ‘white’, Ingo’s glassy stare taking it a step further into ‘utterly blank’.
It was ridiculous, but the Pearls were a superstitious lot.
Personally, when he felt those same eyes on his back-- when they didn’t shy away-- Emmet took it as a victory.
---
Years of working at Gear Station meant that Emmet was used to waking early, but he’d never been first to rise. In Hisui, that still held true.
It was difficult to read time through the tent's thick material, but his body didn’t immediately scream at him to go back to sleep. He spent a long, lethargic minute staring at the lavender blotch on the opposite side of the tent and wondering if, somehow, Hisuian Sneasel had Levitate and he’d just failed to notice until that moment; eventually, his wits returned to him long enough to realize that, no, the Sneasel was sitting on Ingo’s lap, it was just dark enough inside to miss him on first glance.
Still functioning on autopilot, Emmet decided the Sneasel had the right idea, and got up just long enough to cross the space-- blanket trailing behind him-- where he flopped down next to his brother. He only realized his drowsy oversight at the sensation of skin brushing against skin, and tensed in anticipation as he looked over.
Ingo… hadn’t shut down. His attention was fixed on the point of contact, just as it had out in the Icelands, but with an intensity his dissociative episodes lacked. His focus didn’t waver as the opposite hand slowly smoothed over the Sneasel’s fur. Finally, he stopped and raised the first.
Then, deliberately, he traced two fingers over the line of Emmet’s thumb with the same steady motion-- as though he’d reassigned the job from one hand to the other. It wasn’t necessarily an affectionate gesture; the intention was neutral, inquisitive. At its end, he flexed his hand, expression drawn into deep contemplation, and mouthed a single syllable; be it from the early hour or relative disuse, his voice didn’t seem to get the memo.
Emmet held very still. This one mistake hadn’t wrought the consequences he’d feared-- even seemed to be turning out for the better-- but he wouldn’t risk causing another disconnect from reality.
Several heavy minutes passed; the Sneasel grew tired of waiting for attention and crawled beneath the bed to curl up with its nestmates. At its departure, Ingo pivoted and experimentally grazed the back of Emmet’s hand.
Gradually, his investigation turned bolder, going from a hesitant touch to turning it over between his own hands. Emmet let him do as he wanted, unbothered by this particular contact and far too invested in the examination to interrupt now.
Without any warning, the study halted-- Emmet’s palm pressed loosely between his twin’s-- and Ingo’s attention inexplicably strayed upwards.
“It’s warm.” He said to himself, the crackling sigh like a concession, and changed his grip without looking. His thumb pressed down on Emmet’s wrist.
He was looking for a pulse.
He was looking for a pulse.
Emmet dutifully counted down the seconds, trying to keep his heart rate steady and his own anticipation in check. A minute passed without any movement between the two, Emmet carefully managing his breathing, Ingo, deep in thought, staring at the tent’s ceiling. Finally, he closed his eyes-- expression twisting like he was about to do something incredibly ill-advised-- and turned his head down.
“Are--”
He faltered immediately, lips pressed into a thin line as he breathed in; when he opened his eyes again, it was to stare somewhere beyond Emmet’s shoulder. Maybe there was a Sneasel back there. Emmet didn’t dare turn and look.
“You’re… here?”
For just a moment-- in spite of his nerves screaming finally, finally-- Emmet’s own voice failed him.
“I am!” He breathed on his second try, and, though he didn’t usually struggle with having to rein in vocal enthusiasm, he made a concerted effort right now; not too excited, not too loud. “I am Emmet. I am verrrry glad to be here with you.”
Something like alarm passed over Ingo’s features, and he drew back the slightest amount, holding his hands up apologetically; the moment he made to speak, Emmet knew what it would be and cut him off. Hoping he was on the right track, he grabbed for both of his brother’s hands and laced their fingers together.
It hadn’t worked before, but things were different now.
“There’s no reason to apologize. We’ve held hands since we were verrrry small children. I missed it.” Without quite realizing he was doing so, he squeezed the hands interlocked with his own. A tentative pressure answered it, and he wanted nothing more than to drop all pretense and bundle his brother into his arms, but that would definitely be a stop too far.
He contented himself with adding, “I missed you.”
Luminous silver eyes met his own in the dark, and it was quite possibly the least scary thing Emmet had ever seen.
A sob worked its way free from his twin's throat-- the final destination of a hope, a breath held for so very long-- and he couldn't help but meet it in kind.