Unfortunately, this year had proven to be the exception to the rule.

 

The frigid temperatures did nothing to impact the city’s infrastructure; the rails operated as they always had, diligent maintenance keeping them perfectly on-schedule even as people stumbled in their attempts not to fall behind. Even when the snow began to build up, everything went perfectly according to the itinerary-- in terms of mechanics, at least.

 

It was a credit to Gear Station’s staff that, even on the first day of abnormal weather conditions, not a single Depot Agent ran late; as a matter of fact, most of them arrived early-- if just barely-- clearly trying to mitigate any difficulties they might find on their commute. The Agents really were a credit to the field, and it was thanks to them, in no small part, that the system ran as smoothly as it did.

 

The bosses fared somewhat differently.

 

The first few days had been amusing enough. Anticipating a more dramatic temperature drop, Ingo meant to ensure a comfortable trip to the station by adding a number of extra articles; Emmet had promptly reminded him that in spite of the snow, this was still Nimbasa, not the Icelands, and refused all but the thick grey scarf. Neither of them judged with complete accuracy, though, and it was with a begrudging concession that the younger accepted his brother’s unneeded cardigan on the way home that evening.

 

Even as the slush piled up, things were… manageable. Emmet tried without success to figure out how Ingo was traversing the snowdrifts and not soaking his pant legs or falling flat on his face, and was teasingly offered Sneasler’s services if he found the task so difficult. Sneasler herself was having a grand time tearing through the ice; it wasn’t every day she got to put her claws to good use without leaving the city, considering that the towering buildings were off limits.

 

All in all, things would have been okay if they’d decided to take a different route that morning. The one they favored was late to be cleared of ice, and the repeated snowfall meant that a great deal of it remained even after the fact. It made perfect sense that cold-dwelling Pokemon would be drawn to the area.

 

It was just… it was just a Vanillite. Its swirling, crystal studded head barely poked out of the den it had carved into a buildup of ice, and it didn’t pay a lick of attention as they approached, but as soon as he noticed it, Ingo stopped cold.

 

Emmet made it another two paces before realizing his footfalls weren’t being echoed.

 

He forced an uncertain laugh, looking between the two. “It thinks it is hiding. We shouldn’t ruin its fun.”

 

Without tearing his gaze away from the Pokemon, Ingo took a step backwards; unthinkingly, Emmet turned and made up that distance.

 

Another step.

 

When Emmet reached out and made to follow, about to ask what was wrong, Ingo’s eyes snapped to him instead of the Vanillite. Wide and glassy, it would be a lie to say there wasn’t recognition in them, but it was the… the wrong kind of recognition. Like he knew whatever he was looking at, and it wasn’t his twin. He flinched away from the extended hand, taking another few backwards steps, but his haste negated any experience with icy pathways and he slipped.

 

Instinctively, Emmet lunged forward, trying to steady him, but wasn’t able to process what was happening soon enough, and his brother hit the pavement with a painful sounding thump-- not that one would be able to tell by looking at Ingo. He didn’t so much as flinch at the impact, sight line unbroken but for the arms he’d tossed up to protect his face.

 

Emmet picked up the slack and winced. Somewhere ahead of them, where their path had yet to follow, there was a minor avalanche and a “Sne?”

 

Neither of them moved for a long moment, and by the time Emmet decided to try inching backwards, he realized he could hear running footsteps drawing nearer. Sneasler spared the both of them a single, puzzled look before her expression eased and she warbled in amusement; she cut in without a trace of doubt, moving to pull her human back to his feet.

 

Ingo allowed it, to an extent. She got him upright, at least, but he refused to let her touch his left arm, holding it close to himself as if to avoid jostling it. He couldn’t have injured it in the fall-- he’d immediately thrown both arms over his face when he’d slipped-- so then why…?

 

The Vanillite gave a frightened keen and plunged itself into another, more defensible snowbank. A heartbeat after it emerged, but before it reached safety, Ingo turned in full and fled the way they’d come.

 

Sneasler immediately gave chase, followed at something of a distance as Emmet fought the terrain. Part of him questioned how much this could possibly help, given that their presence had clearly been a source of upset, but it was balanced by the equally valid point that they couldn’t just let Ingo rush through the city streets in this state.

 

His lungs burned by the time he finally caught up, the cold, dry air ripping right through his ill-prepared system, but when a cough sounded, he wasn’t its origin. The coughing turned into a retch and, while unpleasant for everyone involved, it suggested there wouldn’t be another pursuit in their near future.

 

Emmet gasped in a cutting breath and leaned against one of the buildings they’d stopped between, trying simultaneously to understand and regain his composure.

 

The Vanillite had been the unwitting catalyst, that much was clear, but it wasn’t one of the species that Unova and Hisui had shared in common, was it? It didn’t make sense for it to evoke such a strong reaction. So what was really going on?

 

Minutes slipped by, and when Emmet was reasonably sure he could speak without the words coming out in a wretched wheeze, he called, shakily, to his brother. There was a long hesitation and then a raised hand, half blocked behind Sneasler’s bulk.

 

For lack of anything more astute, he asked, “...can I come over?”

 

In a single, jerky motion, Ingo flicked his wrist, signaling a go ahead.

 

His head was angled toward the ice-encrusted ground when Emmet skirted past Sneasler, eyes shut tight. With a clear line of sight, it was possible to put one of the mysteries to rest, at least.

 

He’d had a panic attack-- was having a panic attack. That much… that much, Emmet could assist with.

 

Keeping his voice steady and his sentence structure simple was easy. Be receptive. Be predictable. Under normal circumstances, he would have set a breathing pace himself, but between being ever-so-slightly winded and not wanting to risk touch right now, settled for leading a slow count instead.

 

Eventually, Ingo stopped shaking, but didn’t look up or open his eyes. That was fine. Looking back at what had happened, it seemed increasingly likely that whatever he’d seen hadn’t matched up to reality-- if not where the Vanillite was concerned, then with Emmet, at least-- and if the absence of visual stimulus helped, Emmet wasn’t going to argue.

 

Sneasler chirped, anxious, and butted her head against his shoulder.

 

“Looked like-- Zorua.” Ingo signed after an indeterminate amount of time had passed.

 

Oh.

 

Well.

 

...shit.

 

That explained his response to seeing Emmet above him, at least, and if he’d mistaken his brother for the Zoroark that had attacked him so long ago, the rest fell easily into place-- the desperation to get away, the cradled arm, the hesitant response to Sneasler.

 

It also made it nigh impossible for Emmet to offer any meaningful assistance, but maybe…

 

Already ruing what he was about to do, Emmet deposited his hat over Sneasler’s right ear and slipped out of his coat. He gave it two quick folds, its inner lining facing outward, and promptly buried his hands in it.

 

“We need to get you home immediately.” He said carefully, kneeling down so they were at the same level, “Can you stand?”

 

There was a terse nod and, still looking resolutely away, Ingo pushed himself upright. Emmet stepped into place on his opposite side. Sneasler padded along behind them.

 

The walk home was a silent one.