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If one knew how, it could be stopped, but Emmet hadn’t known how and, truthfully, wouldn’t have tried if he’d been fully aware of the circumstance; a Zubat’s heightened sense of hearing was helpful and a nuisance in equal measure, and, while nothing was stopping him from utilizing his sense of sight as a human, he was incredibly sick of lacking eyes in his alternate form.

In following with the analogy, Ingo insisted he’d squeaked when it started, and Emmet opted to ignore this blatantly false account. His poor brother had a Gligar’s keenness of sight, but clearly lacked proper sonar. He simply couldn’t be trusted in this regard.

Now that the precedent had been set, though, Emmet was acutely aware that there was nothing stopping him from reaching the final stage in a Zubat’s evolutionary line. He had no trainer, so it was impossible to say with certainty which of his bonds was resonating, but there was no small number to pick from.

And, like hiccuping, he might be able to avoid a second evolution for so long, but, eventually, it would sneak up on him.

He didn’t really see any reason to put it off. That was the trick-- if one didn’t fight the hiccups, and just learned to let it happen when it wasn’t horribly inconvenient, it was far easier to weather.

So, when the evening was winding down and things were calm, he flopped down on the couch next to-- and partially on top of-- his twin, contentedly melted into his alternate form, and let what would happen happen.

To his eternal vindication, he heard Ingo yelp in surprise, and proceeded to cackle his way into life as a Crobat.

“I’m happy that you’re happy,” Ingo said flatly, brushing an errant wing out of his face, “But was that entirely necessary?”

“Entirely.” Emmet agreed, and gave his limbs an experimental little shake, mindful not to whack his brother in the process.

Because, while he had no trainer and no definite answer where the affection needed to evolve originated, he was pretty damn sure. If he’d so chosen, he could have evolved a second time from his first moments as a Golbat, and as much as he loved their Pokemon, there was only one connection in his life quite that prolific. Regular Golbat were able to express the companionship they felt through evolution alone, secure in the knowledge that it was their defining relationship; Emmet had wanted to express that as well, yes, but he’d also seen no reason to deny himself. Why evolve anywhere but where he was most comfortable?

There was a heavy sigh above him, and he felt something brush against one of his upper limbs.

Oh, he’d almost forgotten! While they didn’t have hands per se, Crobat had something to grasp with-- the digits along their foremost set of wings. Eager to test them out, he seized whatever he’d gotten caught on and only just started to move when Ingo put a stop to it.

He grabbed his sibling with both hands and hefted him up to eye level-- where it became clear what Emmet had gotten a not-handful of-- and with weary patience said, “You’re a Crobat now-- far too mature for hair pulling. I would recommend that you stop that at once, and feel it prudent to remind you that I remain unevolved and have no reason not to retaliate.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Emmet asked, reaching forward to anchor himself onto the backrest. With a little doing, he hoisted himself up onto it and leaned into Ingo’s space, cheek to cheek, “Did you just imply that I’m the older brother, now?”

Belatedly, Ingo seemed to realize that he’d done just that.

Emmet turned his head and chuckled into his twin’s hair, “Aw, it’s alright. You are just a little Gligar. It’s not your responsibility to notice these things.” He stopped long enough to nip harmlessly at the hand that flew up to wave him away, at which point he announced, “It’s only fair, Ingo. You are older when we are humans. I am older when we are Pokemon. Equal and opposite.”

Finally, through vibration more than any actual sound, he felt Ingo begin to laugh. “I’m not entirely sure I agree that humans and Pokemon are opposite one another.”

Emmet hummed, and it came out as more of a screech than he’d intended. With an apologetic headbutt, he said, “The subject matter has gotten far too grey for my liking. I do not want to continue this conversation.”

“Ah, but I’m just a little Gligar,” Ingo argued, tone kept carefully even, “Isn’t it my duty to pose uncomfortably existential questions?”

“Nothing has ever stopped you before.” Emmet grumbled and, in a huff, switched back to human form, leaning over the back of the couch. Ingo reached up with a smile in his eyes and gave the hair hanging down two gentle tugs.

Emmet locked his jaw, physically preventing himself from breaking into a grin. “We are human right now, Ingo. Act your age.”

---

Months passed with little change. There wasn’t so much to adjust to, going from Zubat to Golbat to Crobat-- just minor amenities the previous forms had lacked, and one secondary pair of wings. Nailing the timing to keep them all in sync and himself airborne was arguably the steepest learning curve Emmet faced, and once he got it down-- equal and opposite, funny enough-- it was a cinch.

They revisited the topic of evolution order multiple times, either twin trying to bend it to their advantage as circumstance presented, and while Emmet had poked fun, he was… beginning to wonder.

Physically, there had been small changes to accommodate, but internally, he felt sturdier, stronger in ways he couldn’t have anticipated back when he was still a Zubat. Ingo didn’t seem to be in any hurry to pursue evolution, and that was perfectly fine-- unevolved Pokemon could be just as capable as their other forms, given the right training and strategies-- but it wasn’t just that. There was a hesitation whenever the matter came up absent the facetious tones they often fell into, an eagerness to shut the conversation down or change topics.

Emmet had once asked, in jest, if Ingo thought they had enough battle points to acquire a razor fang, and while the response had been perfectly composed, the discomfort that set into his brother's form was easy to spot.

Having no desire to evolve was one thing. Being afraid of the prospect was something else entirely. In that sense, it was fortunate that Gliscor evolved in such a specific way-- there was no threat of a spontaneous, hiccuping evolution-- but Emmet knew his twin. If Ingo wasn’t forced to confront something, he’d be happy to make an indefinite detour around the affected track.

He didn’t want to force anything on his brother-- neither his opinion nor evolution itself-- but he did want to understand what was going on.

Passing his recent acquisition from palm to palm, Emmet chewed on his lip, deep in thought; had anyone been around to observe, the twins would have been indistinguishable in that moment.

Eventually, he schooled his features-- a futile endeavor in and of itself, but the faint smile was for his sake, not to try to fool Ingo-- and headed over to confront his brother.

“I have a question,” He said before he could think better of it.

It was answered by a hum of acknowledgment as Ingo maneuvered to look at him over the bulk of Eelektross’s body, and a waiting silence.

Emmet hesitated.

“It is not meant to be a leading question. I simply want to understand.”

Ingo's brow furrowed and, as if in conference, Eelektross turned to blink at him, then to its trainer. Emmet himself jerked his head toward the kitchen, silently asking the eel to give them a moment, and it slipped away with only a quiet groan of complaint.

“You do not want to evolve. Why?”

There was a long break while Ingo processed that. Finally, he said, “I’m content as I am, is that not enough?”

“It’s a perfectly valid reason, yes. But that is not why you shy away from the subject every time it comes up. Again, I just want to understand.”

Ingo took a deep breath and, slowly, let it out. “Evolution is a very prompt, very permanent change, as you’re no doubt aware. I’m glad that your evolved forms have suited you, but am… not so confident that mine is right for me.”

Emmet cocked his head, getting slightly waylaid in spite of himself, “Gliscor are strong and tough. Physical attackers like you favor. Useful typing. Capable of Earthquake. Potential for verrrry strong combinations. I fail to see the problem.”

A hint of a grimace flashed through the crease of his brother’s eyes, but was quickly smoothed over, “While all of that is true, I’m afraid the species is also saddled with a rather… unsavory connotation. No Pokemon can be handled without risk, I understand that of course, but people seem to find Gliscor in particular-- shall we say off putting?”

Scary. The word he was skirting around was ‘scary’, and suddenly it all made a lot of sense. Ingo’s relative inability to shift away from his severe resting expression tended to draw attention, and that was very rarely a good thing. On one hand, maybe a Gliscor’s ever-present smile might help remedy the situation; on the other, it might only make things worse, pinging off of humanity’s underdeveloped sense for danger.

“Ah,” Emmet eventually said, “I see. Thank you for humoring me.”

There was a tense, expectant pause, broken only by, “You’re not going to argue with me?”

He gave his head a shake, shifting uncomfortably under his twin’s attention-- it was an unfamiliar feeling, and he didn’t enjoy the novelty of it one bit. “I knew discussion of it was beginning to wear on you. My intent was to learn why and to avoid the topic in the future.”

Taking mercy on his brother, Ingo’s gaze slid away to an undefined point beyond his shoulder, “Then you’ll find that you’ve reached your destination.”

Emmet stepped closer so he could perch on the arm of the couch, tilting to rest the side of his head against Ingo’s.

“I’m sorry.”

Without looking or making any move that might dislodge him, Ingo reached up to lay a warm hand on his arm.

“As you’ve said, you were only trying to make sense of the situation; there’s no need to apologize for that.”

Humming in something that was neither agreement nor argument, Emmet switched tracks, “You aren’t scary.”

“And I’m sure Gliscor can be perfectly wonderful companions in spite of their own reputation,” Ingo said dryly, “At this junction, however, I would prefer not to press my luck.”

He sighed against his twin’s crown, causing a section of hair to flutter in the artificial breeze, “That is entirely reasonable.”

There was a thin laugh in response, a weak, but legitimate attempt at levity, “I do have my moments.”

Pushing off of Ingo’s shoulder, Emmet pivoted and, finally, offered the item he’d been toying with for the entire conversation. The polished piece of eviolite was warm from the constant handling, this particular specimen erring more toward pink than it did purple-- color hadn’t initially been on his list of criteria, but there was certainly a meaning to be read into it now.

“For you,” He said rather unnecessarily, highlighting the words by physically tipping it into Ingo’s unoccupied hand before his brother had a chance to respond.

Ingo blinked down at it, and then looked back to Emmet, who was struck once again by how sad it was, how few people would recognize the joy that showed in every aspect save for his twin’s lips.

The vulnerable moment was left behind them as Ingo asked, “Do I want to know how you acquired this?”

And, without missing a beat, Emmet said back, “No you do not.”

---

There was a very clear turning point in Ingo’s opinion on evolving, a wonderful example of the impact good publicity could create.

It was a shift on the standard multi lines and their opponents’ combination of Tyranitar and Gliscor had proven a competent match for that day’s team. The usually-wicked chain of Crustle’s Sturdy, rocky helmet and Flail certainly wore the bat down, but despite their bugs’ best efforts, type advantages had simply won out.

At Emmet’s side, Ingo took a breath to congratulate their challengers, and habit carried him through the script as Emmet grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him over, raising a hand to stop the Gliscor’s trainer before they could recall it.

Bemused by the change of pace, the trainer humored him, their Pokemon glancing uncertainly between the parties involved. It had been a short conversation-- lasting only until the challengers were set to depart-- and while he wasn’t usually one to lead, in this instance Emmet had been happy to guide the discussion, asking after the teen’s history with it and how it fared outside of a battle facility.

Taking up the reins left Ingo to focus on the Pokemon itself, which was a nice bonus. Clearly the Gliscor recognized that something was afoot, even if not specifically what-- jaws parted to scent the air and eyes narrowed, perplexed. At one point, Emmet looked over to catch it raising one wing, trying to herd what it must have thought a very strange Gligar beneath it.

It had been a sweet Pokemon, and a very good learning experience.

Coincidences aside, though, Emmet wasn’t in the habit of pushing an evolutionary agenda. While he might try to soothe his brother’s anxieties where the species was concerned, he wholly accepted Ingo’s reasoning, and anything he encouraged was strictly for comfort’s sake.

So it was something of a surprise when, months down the line, Ingo asked if Emmet would mind holding onto something for him for the evening. Because they both knew he couldn’t resist, there had been no protest as he’d unfolded the extra pair of gloves to find a razor fang at its heart. Somewhere between comprehension and ignorance, he looked up.

“It seems prudent to have one on hand, just in case.” Had been Ingo’s only explanation.

And, well… that was progress. There was a certain amount of self-loathing to Ingo’s opinion on evolution that seemed unhealthy, and it was a comfort to see it begin to ease. Whether or not he would ever use the razor fang was a moot point; the only thing that mattered was that he wasn’t so vehemently opposed to the thought.

As before, the specter of evolution drifted quietly into the background.

---

Like any carnivorous bat, the subject swooped back into the fray without warning.

“Would you… mind staying with me, if I were to evolve?” Ingo asked one evening, apropos nothing.

Emmet waited several seconds for the full context, until he realized the delay seemed to be making his twin nervous. “Of course not. What is the rest of this hypothetical?”

“Ah.” Awkwardly, he forced his attention off of the floor and met Emmet’s eyes, “It’s not a hypothetical question. I think I’m ready. To… evolve.”

The train of thought slowly pulled into its charted destination, and as soon as it did, he bristled, “You do not need to do so. We have covered this. Did something happen?”

“Nothing in particular, no; I’ve just been affording it some more thought, lately, and this was the station I arrived at.”

“Because it is what you want?” Emmet demanded.

“Yes. Mostly.” At the look the amendment earned him, Ingo raised his hands in self defense, “I still have my concerns, but at this point in time, not knowing is worse. The longer I humor that anticipation, the greater it becomes.”

“So what you actually want is to get it over with.”

“I… suppose that’s an accurate assessment.”

Asking if he was certain would only make the situation worse. Surely Ingo had already given this plenty of thought-- he’d had years to consider it, after all. That he was only bringing it up now carried a great deal of weight.

So, without any further challenging words, Emmet held up his arms in invitation; Ingo accepted it with a surprising readiness, belying just how nervous he really was.

He needed something else to focus on, to distract him from the unease of deciding upon a drastic change of course after so long. Emmet could do that.

“Do you know where your razor fang is?” He asked, and could feel the indignant shiver running through his brother at the suggestion that he hadn’t thought that far ahead. Personally, Emmet thought it was a valid question; while it was far more likely that Ingo had checked and double-checked before making any declarative statements, there was always a chance the Joltik had spirited it away in the past five minutes.

Mutely, Ingo nodded to where Chandelure was hovering near the ceiling, one iron limb curled around the be-gloved fang.

Fair enough. If there was one way to ward Joltik off, that was probably it. He didn’t actually think she would do anything to the little bugs, but they would have to learn a healthy respect for her someday, and if that was today, then it was their own fault; the last thing he wanted to do right now was pluck one out of her personal space and get zapped for the effort.

Not for the first time, Emmet spared a thought for the indignity of having a type vulnerability to his own Pokemon, only for his twin to be utterly immune. Somewhere out there, Arceus was laughing.

There was nothing for it. He had more important matters to address.

While Ingo stepped away to call Chandelure down, he made no move to relieve her of her cargo, rightfully wary of handling the razor fang so long after sunset. She handed it over to Emmet without any fuss and, having overcome the anti-spider measures, he turned his attention back to the present.

“Where would you like to be for this?”

“The living room, I think,” A hesitation, and then, “Where you evolved.”

Ah. Well, perhaps Emmet should have seen that coming; his brother was a sentimental sap, and he loved him for it.

It took no time at all to get situated, leaving little more than to wait for Ingo’s lead. With a deep, bracing breath, he yielded to the smaller form of a Gligar, but it took a moment more for him to work up the nerve to open his eyes and greet the reality he was headed toward.

Unbothered, hands free of the evolutionary aid, Emmet steadied him, “Are you prepared for departure?”

There was a stiff nod against his chest, the pincers holding onto his arms trembling from the effort of staying somewhat slack. Before moving to take the fang up again, he moved one hand to either side of Ingo’s head and turned his face up.

“I will see you in just a moment.” He promised, and simultaneously pressed a kiss between long ears and the razor fang to a fluttering chest.

---

Evolution wasn’t like a case of the hiccups, it was the deep inhalation one took to choke them out. Doing so wasn’t necessary-- life would go on either way-- but if one so chose, they could take the plunge and hold their breath.

It was a building tension, a burning, overflowing wealth of energy begging to be set free, to show the world what it could do. It was also a sigh of relief as that potential found purchase and settled into what it was meant to be.

Where his head nestled against Emmet’s chest, a shuddering breath escaped Ingo, and he wasn’t entirely sure what emotion he could ascribe it to. For simplicity’s sake he might call it relief, but there were more layers to it than that might imply; not only that nothing had gone wrong, but also that the decision had been made. There was no going back. No matter what happened from here on out, his only recourse would be to make it work.

That was doable.

He stayed there a little while longer, larger arms more easily curving around his brother to maintain their hold; he slowly unfurled his wings, testing how it worked now that they were their own limbs, independent of the others. This quiet introspection was interrupted by laughter stifled against the top of his head.

With a chirp-- meaningless, save for its questioning note-- Ingo looked up at the culprit.

“Oh, you stopped.” Emmet said, complaint evident in his words, as if he hadn’t been the very thing to distract Ingo from… whatever it was he’d apparently been doing. Stretching his wings? He supposed he had drawn them back at the noise.

Puzzled, he spread them out again, to his twin’s further amusement.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not entirely sure. You’re the one who was disappointed that I stopped.”

“Not that. You were chattering verrrry quietly. Low like a rumbling engine. It was cute.”

He was?

Oh. Yes. He’d overlooked the subconscious rolling of his vocal cords. In actuality, calling it ‘chattering’ was wholly inaccurate; it was, without a trace of doubt, a sustained purr. Suddenly very aware of himself, Ingo preemptively went to muffle any other noise he might make.

“Noooo,” Emmet laughed, all delighted dismay as he humored the wide face burrowing into his shirt, “Don’t be embarrassed!”

It was met by an undignified squeak of, “Then stop trying to embarrass me!”

“Oh, Ingo.” He drawled, amusement audible in spite of his ever-consistent tone, “I don’t have to try. You do it to yourself.”

He grumbled into the thin white fabric, distinct from the soft, content purr. Maybe he could try something else, experiment with a screech or non-offensive growl to distract from the incident. While it didn’t bother him, everything he vocalized was lower than it used to be, and it would take some getting used to.

He wondered, vaguely, if his larger stature meant he had access to his full lung capacity.

After a minute, he stopped theorizing and gathered his courage, emerging from his ineffectual hiding spot.

Emmet beamed at him, taking his face in both hands once more.

“There you are.” He said, and proved unable to resist ruffling his twin, fingers working into the coarse fur at his cheeks, “Better?”

One ear twitched and, methodically, Ingo ran through his systems, testing claws and wings and giving his tail an experimental thump; it was two-pronged now, the stinger substantially larger, lacking the dimorphic sizing in this secondary form. Different, yes, but not in a bad way. There was something about it that felt like holding his eviolite for the first time-- a protective layer establishing itself between himself and the world at large.

It made sense from a logical standpoint; a Gliscor’s defensive stats were higher than a Gligar’s, which was precisely what the eviolite was meant to emulate. Feeling it as an intrinsic part of his carapace, though, was bizarre.

“I believe it will be, with time.”

And, since the immediate concern had passed, of course it was open season.

“Now you get to learn how to fly properly. Your ‘membranes’ excuse has run out.”

Without removing himself from the couch, Ingo flapped his wings, just once. While he’d done his research ahead of time, the firsthand sense of it only drove home the fact that they were meant for catching a breeze and riding it; he likely could create an updraft, but it wasn’t an ideal application.

“Where’s Archeops?” Ingo asked instead of any proper reply, “I need to speak with him about forming a coalition. Perhaps then you’ll accept that not everyone with wings travels the way you do.”

“You are correct. Winged creatures generally do not take the subway. All three of us are outliers.”

Emmet managed to keep a mostly-straight face until Ingo craned up to nip at the ends of his hair, unimpressed. “Ah! None of that anymore! You’re a big Gliscor now. You should know better.”

He rolled his eyes-- to a bark of laughter-- and backed off, straightening, finally, to human form.

Everything felt normal. He glanced to Emmet for confirmation, judging via his twin’s expression, and found his attention lingering just a moment longer than expected. Before Ingo could ask, however, he met his eyes once more and broke out into a relaxed smile.

“I am happy that you’re happy.”