Having a starter Pokemon… wasn’t going the way Ingo might have hoped, so far. He’d tried to temper his expectations-- not everyone could have the storybook encounter that Emmet and Tynamo found-- but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed by the reality that met him. He’d wished to Zekrom for a partner whose ideals would align with his own, and while he understood that it didn’t mean he and this hypothetical Pokemon would see eye to eye on everything, his thoughts had been that they could at least find an accord.
He’d longed to meet someone who might accept him for his imperfections-- for his inability to emote the way other humans expected, for the peaks of volume he couldn’t always control, for the creeping doubt that he was too much and not enough, all at the once. He wanted so badly to work with Litwick, but even though her telepathy made it possible for them to communicate more clearly, his misgivings only grew stronger with every passing day.
Ingo thought he understood. He wasn’t her first pick by any stretch of the imagination; if she’d had her way, she’d have left Emmet as a disoriented heap on the floor and faded into the background, never to be noticed. Instead, he’d caught onto her game, and then caught her. He knew it wasn’t a terribly uncommon phenomenon, and that good trainers could work with even the most reluctant Pokemon, but nothing he’d attempted was working. He’d tried letting her feed from his soul, and while it eliminated the language barrier between them, functionally speaking, it only meant that he could understand her malcontent in her own words. He’d tried compromise, to meet her on her level, but hearing how bland he was-- how utterly lacking-- became difficult to take day after day. He’d even overheard Emmet trying to bribe her into cooperating with him, and it was humiliating. He knew his brother wasn’t blind to how he was struggling, but to have her ambivalence spelled out so plainly made his doubts resurface, tenfold.
He’d waited this long for a Pokemon to show interest in being his partner, so he could wait a little longer. If Litwick truly wasn’t happy-- if he really was dragging her down, as she seemed to imply-- it was only right to let go. The situation in the Celestial Tower had meant that he couldn’t give her a choice back then, but he could now.
It might delay their outset, but maybe a minor miracle would happen, and he’d find a Pokemon that wanted to be his friend-- or was at least open to the possibility-- within the span of two weeks. They hadn’t tried the Desert Resort, yet. Even if he was incompatible with ghosts, maybe a Sandile or Dwebble would suit him.
...and if he couldn’t make the turnaround, he could try to ensure that he’d be the only one inconvenienced; he didn’t have any earthly idea how he’d convince Emmet to go ahead with their plans on his own, but surely being left behind by choice would feel better than holding his loved ones back.
In a roundabout way, that included Litwick.
Ingo had already talked himself out of and back into this course of action multiple times, so he knew how difficult it would be to stick to his convictions-- the last thing he wanted was an audience to convince, too. That was why he waited until it was time for Tynamo’s daily charging session, took Litwick’s pokeball, and sneaked out to the shallow portion of the greenbelt nearby. It wasn’t where Litwick had come from, but everyone had heard stories about forests infested with will-o-wisps ready to lead an unsuspecting hiker off the beaten path, so he could do worse. He walked far enough that the waning daylight dimmed even further, but not so far that he was left without any trace of natural light to lead him home.
He turned the pokeball over in his hands, practicing the words in his head one more time, then drew a bracing breath and released its occupant.
“Alright, sock Grookey, what’s going through that fluff-filled head this time?”
He looked away, keeping Litwick in his periphery, but unable to look her in the face. “You can go, if you would prefer.”
“...what?”
“You can leave. I don’t want to keep you confined if I’m only making you miserable; it’s not fair to you.” The pokeball had automatically clicked shut again, but he toyed with the latch, popping it open for when he’d need it.
He heard Litwick scoff, “Oh great, you’ve hit your emo phase, huh? Nothing like a soggy cracker to snack on.”
“Then you can find someone else.” He said, keeping his eyes trained on the lowest limb of a nearby tree, imagining how its rough bark would feel if he were to reach out and touch it. Cold. Hard. A far cry from malleable wax. “No one’s stopping you any longer.”
He could only imagine that she was rolling her eyes-- maybe her flame flickered in irritation. They may not have spent long enough together to become friends, but he’d learned to read her, and he wasn’t sure he’d lose that knowledge once it became irrelevant.
“Yeah, yeah, read it a hundred times.” She drawled, rolling her eyes. Her nubby little arms raised into the air, waving in an exaggerated shooing motion, “’Get out of here, I don’t want you anymore!’ Have anything more original?”
Of course. Of course Emmet got the fairy tale meeting, and now he was living out some novel fishing for a Clawitzer Prize. He swallowed hard, trying to banish the thought; it wasn’t about him-- none of it was. He could be jealous of his brother and Tynamo, and he could be upset about how badly his short-lived partnership with Litwick had gone, but for their sake, he should keep it to himself. His feelings weren't their responsibility, only his own.
Any and all of the words he’d practiced failed, and all he could do was wave a hand, certain that if he spoke up now, his voice would betray him.
“Are you serious?” Litwick asked, surprise quickly morphing into anger, “Well screw you, too, muppet boy! Do you really think you can do any better? Good luck!”
“I know! How can I possibly miss it when every Pokemon whose path I cross turns up its nose?” On some level, Ingo was mortified that his restraint had failed him, but he was too distraught to let higher thought dictate his feelings. What was it they could all sense that chased them away? What was the deficiency in the core of his being? What was so terrible that no one could look past it? He was so afraid that he was going to be left alone someday, unwanted by anyone new and cast aside by those who had no choice but to tolerate him. In spite of his brother’s reassurances, he felt certain there would come a day where he’d reach out to find that no one was there.
He couldn’t think of anything else to follow that, and Litwick was still simmering in outrage. Dashing a hand across his eyes, Ingo returned his attention to the pokeball and inverted it, holding it by either side to bend its hinge backwards, past the point of repair.
“Wait.” Litwick said, and he felt his own frustration bubble up.
“Why can’t you make one thing easy?” He demanded, a sob working its way into being. He was trying to live up to his own ideals with all of his might-- to ensure that Litwick was able to find her highest state of self, even if this was the only way he could help-- but it was so much harder than everyone made it out to be. Was that the problem? His ideals were so flimsy, so hard for the person who held them to maintain, that no one could align with them?
Ingo didn’t know what he expected anymore. He’d thought Emmet would tell him he was being ridiculous when they'd had their heart to heart, but he hadn’t-- in this situation, though, he couldn’t imagine that Litwick would turn around with an apology, and he wasn’t even sure that he’d be able to believe it was genuine, that she wasn’t saying it to shut him up.
“I don’t get you.” She said, and he could have tossed his hands up in dismay. If nothing else, he supposed they’d come to the understanding that they didn’t understand one another-- and just in time.
As she continued on, however, he went very still, listening carefully.
“It feels like you should be something else, but I can’t tell what. Why are you only half baked?” She asked. It was weaker than it would normally be-- a light fizzling instead of a pointed burn.
That felt like it should have hurt more; it was practically confirmation that he was lacking something intrinsic to the human condition, but Litwick’s bafflement made it fumble the landing. Maybe… maybe it was normal? He’d watched Emmet mature a great deal in the time since partnering up with Tynamo, so there could still be hope for him-- though it did seem like something of a Pokemon-or-the-egg situation. He needed a partner to help him grow, but he needed to grow if he was going to find a partner.
Ingo didn’t realize it in the moment, but his hands relaxed a bit, and one fell to his side, abandoning the pokeball all together; some of Litwick’s tension eased, unnoticed, and she molded back into her preferred shape.
“Maybe... we can make a deal, eh? Mutual aid or whatever you want to call it; we, uh-- we try to train each other.”
For the first time since they’d started this conversation, he looked at her in full. Her flames were low, but still spitting, and he’d never seen that combination before; the dim fire meant that she was upset, and the sputtering was indicative of agitation. Something in the recesses of his mind-- the part that wrung its hands, so utterly convinced that he was a terrible brother and friend-- whispered ‘guilt’, but he wasn’t about to go making any decisive statements. That seemed presumptuous at best.
He took a moment to think her words over, and realized that he couldn’t argue with that. Wasn’t it precisely what he’d wanted, all along? To help Litwick evolve into the best version of herself, and to grow as a person?
Was this what it meant to find someone whose ideals matched his own?
Slowly, he inclined his head, and used both hands to fold the pokeball back together.
---
Litwick never could have imagined that she’d find herself in this situation.
She didn’t see herself as a Pokemon who would ever take a trainer. Something deep inside of her rankled at the indignity of being captured, and so she’d taken it… poorly when she wound up stuck inside a pokeball. She was a literal free spirit, unable to be contained, and not some everyday Pokemon who would allow themselves to be domesticated.
And-- and if she had deigned to attach herself to a human, it would be someone she’d deemed worthy: a savant, someone who understood their partners and knew exactly the footing they stood on together. She wouldn’t tolerate any incompetence, any disrespect; she knew her worth and she wouldn’t compromise.
Muppet kid was… a kid. He’d slapped her in the face with the realization that she wasn’t the heavyweight she’d believed herself to be, and so he’d needed to be taken down several pegs, too. She saw how he looked at his brother and the flying fish that chased after his heels like a needy Lillipup, and being turned into that was an insult she wouldn’t suffer. She hated that he tried to humor her-- that he thought her so far beneath him that she could be humored-- and so she’d lashed out.
She’d never thought she’d be someone’s partner.
She definitely hadn’t thought she’d be someone’s failed partner.
Before she’d migrated to the Celestial Tower, Litwick had spent some time in a nice library; there had been a woman who’d frequented it, reading aloud for the empty archive, and it had sparked a curiosity in her. She’d mostly read cheesy romances because they were hilarious, but there had been a few instances where she’d branched out-- and one of those times, it had been to browse through a book on literary criticism. At the time, she’d thought it encompassed her own snarky commentary, and finding that it was something else entirely had turned her off of it, but it came to mind now.
The exact words escaped her, but it had stated that if criticism caused a writer to give up their craft, then it had failed at its job; the worst thing a critic could do was snuff the desire to create.
Litwick was beginning to realize that she’d done just that, metaphorically speaking, at least.
Even if she didn’t like how he went about it, the ki... Ingo had been trying, and in recent weeks, she’d taken that for granted. She hadn’t given it a second thought when he stopped refuting her mild insults or answering her sass with a subtle sarcasm of his own.
He thought she truly didn’t like him-- and she’d thought she didn’t like him, but now, faced with the prospect of being released into the wild, she had to reevaluate her feelings.
She guessed he was… sweet, but dull, in the way of someone who hadn’t figured out who they were, yet. Somehow, she just expected more from him, and she wasn’t sure why-- there was a smokiness he lacked, the steel of willpower honed to a razor’s edge, and of burning want, the drive to reach an undefined goal. It was frustrating to know it should have been there, but just wasn’t for some reason.
His soul was flatter than ever, now, albeit with a melancholic tinge that felt more like what she’d expected. Litwick realized she didn’t like it any better and-- worse-- that there was no one but herself to blame for its current state.
As things stood, she had been a bad partner. In those daydreams where she allowed herself to have a trainer, they were a master of their craft, someone whose orders in battle were confident and without flaw, who saw her worth and respected her for her power and wit-- but Litwick… had to be able to prove herself worth that ideal, in turn. That was why she’d been so mad at Ingo at first; he’d unwittingly shown that she wasn’t that noble and mighty Pokemon who wouldn’t settle. She’d been captured by a shocked 12 year old whose first instinct had been to catch the ghost snacking on his brother.
If trainers shared their ideals with the Pokemon they trained, using those ambitions to help them grow bigger and better, then couldn’t it go both ways? She already knew what she thought her kid was capable of-- all she had to do was train him back, help in grow into it.
“Maybe... we can make a deal, eh? Mutual aid or whatever you want to call it; we, uh-- we try to train each other.”
Finally, Ingo looked at her, and she hadn’t realized until that moment just how much his refusal to do so had grated on her-- not in the sense that it was disrespectful, which she might have guessed even five minutes ago, but because he couldn’t look her in the eye. For the first time since her spike of white-hot realization, Litwick considered what he’d been trying to do here. He was offering to let her go, yes, but only ever on her terms: ‘you can go if you would prefer,’ ‘it’s not fair to you,’ ‘no one’s stopping you.’ Not once had he implied that this was something he’d wanted and, in fact, the miserable allegation that she was only making things harder on him suggested the opposite
The internal tension holding her wax firm ebbed as he lowered his head into a tiny nod, sealing the deal by tucking her pokeball back into its intended shape. More than anything that came before it, that was the moment Litwick realized that she was at peace with this decision; if she so chose, she could move in another direction with her life, but she would always wonder what might have been.
“That’s an acceptable course of action.” Ingo said, voice hushed in a way she vaguely remembered hadn’t heard before.
“Deal’s a deal, then.” She said, and inched forward, waiting to see if he was about to recall her. He didn’t, and she moved closer, until she was standing just a foot away.
As she moved nearer, he knelt down onto her level, and considered her as she came to a complete stop. After a moment’s deliberation, he held a hand out so she could use it to get up. “You’re welcome to board as our conductor.”
Her first instinct was to brush his comment off with a snide remark, but after the conversation they’d just had, deliberately softened it. Now that they’d reached a new understanding, she thought they could go back to roasting one another within the week, but it would be kind to give it a grace period for the evening.
She took the offer. His hands were gentle as he lifted her, putting her in the mind of rough but discerning fingers running across a chin she didn’t have, and pleasant though it was, she cut it short by climbing onto his shoulder.
“Sounds good. Where’s this train headed, anyway?”
“Tonight, we’re returning to home station.” He said, and then gave her a subtle look, inclining his head, “But tomorrow… we’ll start to run toward our next highest state, together.”