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He’d tried half a dozen different approaches, from preparing an extra portion of whatever he made, trying vegetarian recipes, to outright offering to get old favorite foods and, when that initially failed, turning his back just in case that was the hangup. Nothing worked. It would be incredibly insensitive to treat Ingo like a Pokemon, so he didn’t-- but if he happened to leave an extra few berries or a pokepuff where only a hovering worm might access them, that was quite the coincidence.

He had neglected to consider that Eelektross was perfectly capable of inserting himself into those criteria, and found the eel stuck not three hours into this experiment, unable to retract its limbs the way certain cryptic Pokemon could. Once his starter was un-wedged and pouting beneath the kitchen table, he’d been able to ascertain that nothing had actually been pilfered, and left the small bounty in order to see what might happen.

‘What happened’ was that, ten minutes later, Eelektross’s sorry whimpering died down-- due, primarily, to the fact that he was inhaling a hondew berry. Coincidentally, that had been one of the fruits he’d been going after in the first place. Funny, that.

Next to him, half-folded over the back of a chair with his head pillowed on two spectral arms, was Ingo, looking remarkably smug for someone whose features couldn’t emote. His eyes flickered over the instant Emmet drew even with the doorway, and he didn’t even bother trying to hide his snickering.

Emmet pinched the bridge of his nose, “Perhaps I should have seen that coming. Why wouldn’t you spoil the Pokemon if given the opportunity?”

He allowed himself another second’s worth of exasperation, sighing before crossing the room and craning up to retrieve the un-gifted snacks. Immediately, he was made aware of a presence behind him, but didn’t think anything of it until a substantially smaller Frightrail darted up, past his hands, and scooped the treats away. For half a second, he was reminded intensely of the tunnels, and how poorly every attempt at catching up to Ingo had gone.

Emmet spent the other half second considering that there was only one reason his twin might be making off with the snacks, if he had no intention of eating them. Even though he knew how this went, historically, he took off, chasing after the tail that disappeared around the corner.

There was a flutter of movement as Chandelure hastily vacated the premises, phasing through the wall to get out of his path. In the moment, it made sense. In about sixty seconds, however, he’d rethink that. For now, he was too busy grasping at the miniaturized body that kept thrashing just out of reach.

Ahead of him, there was a pleased whistle as Ingo caught sight of Galvantula and dived beneath the safe harbor of her body. As Emmet closed the gap between them, his brother nudged the pilfered cheri, tantalizing, under her pedipalps and coiled around the remaining berry. She blinked at her human with all six eyes, ran her fuzzy limbs over the offering, and then settled in, protecting his traitor of a sibling like a Togekiss brooding over its nest.

“I am beginning to think I may be outnumbered.” Emmet said flatly, trying to tamp down on any amusement that might come across in his expression.

Galvantula, mouth full, made a thick clicking sound. It almost drowned out the muted chuffing beneath her, and the lone human in the room had to bite back a groan as Crustle started scuttling nearer.

“No.” He said, placing a hand on its stone shell in an attempt to still it, “We are not playing this game any more. Everyone has already received a berry. It would be verrry unfair for some pokemon to get seconds while others do not.”

There was a thoughtful silence, and then a louder, more declarative kssshhhh. Across the room, Durant tilted its head and Garbodor clapped her hands together.

Emmet wasn’t one to oppose a union, but he got the distinct feeling they were working to undermine him.

A blunt, purple snout poked out from Galvantula’s underbelly, pushing the remaining oran berry within reach of Crustle’s pincers. As if to distract him from the blatant display of rebellion-- or perhaps just prevent him from confiscating the berry in time-- Ingo emerged from his hiding place, shaking himself back to normal size, and coiled around Emmet’s shoulders. When he crowded his muzzle in, Emmet pushed him away, exasperated.

“I do not want to hear it from you.”

Ingo hissed a low noise, exaggeratedly pitiful, and let his head flop down. Emmet tried not to let his expression break, unwilling to cede the moral high ground for that.

The sound did, however, garner a reaction.

Just as quickly as she’d fled the scene, Chandelure popped back through the wall, floating around her ex-human’s face and tapping worriedly with one wrought iron limb. Startled by the fuss, Ingo lost his grip on Emmet; though his sounds were as incomprehensible as ever, the tone made it clear he was trying to allay her concerns.

It wasn’t terribly surprising-- she’d been hovering over him this entire time, in both senses of the word. Honestly, Emmet was more puzzled by the fact that she hadn’t gotten in on the act sooner, eager to play along. He would have expected her to put herself into his path, a gleeful ghostly roadblock giving Ingo a few more seconds to dole out treats.

Then Emmet caught sight of the half-devoured pokepuff in her grasp, and it made more sense.

He was so busy trying to dismantle whatever snack distribution system his brother had established that he completely forgot why he’d had them out in the first place.

---

After a few days, Emmet decided ‘to hell with it’ and addressed the matter directly. He’d tried subtlety for Ingo’s sake, but when it came down to it, this was also for his brother’s well being.

The ghost had taken to looping around his neck, riding wherever Emmet conducted them without complaint, dozing all the while. Lethargy was a sign of malnutrition in nearly every species Emmet could list, and he couldn’t bear the thought that Ingo might be unwell so soon after they’d found one another again. Swords of Justice, it had been three weeks without so much as a nip at a berry; there had to be something wrong. Emmet just needed to understand what the problem was, and then he would fix it.

Gingerly, he gathered up the metal body basking against the warmth of his skin, and ran a pointer finger over the miniaturized head. Ingo blinked his way into an eventual awareness and let out a sleepy huff of greeting, body rearing back so as to look up at Emmet. The drowsy contentedness dimmed as he processed the look on his twin’s face.

“I need you to explain what’s wrong.” Emmet said, voice soft, but with a blunt edge, “It will be difficult with the language barrier. But I need to understand.”

Ingo tilted his head, eyes narrowed into tiny, puzzled slits, but nodded for him to go on.

“You refuse to eat. Why?”

His brother looked away, and it was enough to tell Emmet that he was uncomfortable with the line of questioning, but, unfortunately, he couldn’t let this slide.

“You are not herbivorous. Despite your teeth, you do not seem to be a carnivore. Do your dietary requirements align with any other Pokemon’s?”

Slowly, Ingo inclined his head, still looking determinedly away. His irises ticked up as Chandelure chimed somewhere nearby.

Emmet took a breath, ready to try listing feasible options, but was stopped when his passenger disembarked; silently cutting through the air, Ingo led the way to the living room and idled for just a moment next to the TV, at which point he manifested his foremost set of arms and plucked a Joltik out from behind it. The bug squirmed, whining ineffectually, and he released it in short order, but promptly looked to Emmet, gauging whether or not he was following.

He… supposed he understood the point, thus far. Joltik didn’t subsist entirely on electricity, though; their stolen snacks fueled their firepower, but their bodies still required a proper diet.

As if to counter this point, specifically, Ingo reached up to knock lightly on the plating just behind his steam vents. There was a comically high clanking sound and, with a frustrated huff, he shook himself back to his standard size before demonstrating again. The tinny clunk clunk wasn’t exactly news, but Emmet suspected it was only half of the point-- the other half being the hollowness of the tone.

“You… do not have the ability to process such foods?” He hazarded, to an emphatic nod, “So you consume electricity like the Joltik? Did you frequent the subway lines in order to feed from the third rail?”

There was a telling hesitation, and Ingo bobbed his head-- neither a yes nor a no-- but there was no further pantomime inbound. Whatever the full track may have entailed, he seemed content to stall where they were.

Emmet frowned, dissatisfied, but decided he would accept it for now. It meant he didn’t have to preoccupy himself trying to coax his twin into eating like a rehabilitated wild pokemon.

“Regardless of the specifics, I ask that you refuel verrrry soon. Your lack of energy does not mean anything good.”

Ingo spent a long few seconds watching him, searching his expression, and eventually punctuated the conversation with a single, concise nod.

For something as ostensibly harmless as siphoning off a static charge, he certainly didn’t look happy about it.

---

“You seemed verrrry low energy today.” Emmet said one say after work, months later, “I would ask that you recharge soon.”

Ingo gave a low whistle into the collar of his coat, slightly deafening at current size, and with an audible reluctance, conceded. “I will when I’m able; it may… take some time, however.”

They’d had this conversation over and over, both with and without words, and-- though Ingo had never stated things plainly-- they were more or less on the same page. Possibly even the same paragraph.

The first time he’d seemed noticeably sluggish, he’d sidled up alongside Chandelure and whistled something humans couldn’t comprehend. Chandelure had understood, though, and lit up at whatever he’d said-- not a happy glow, per se, but intrigued, invested. Emmet hadn’t given it too much thought at the time, save the mental note that they were conspiring again, but their absence later in the day had been conspicuous. So, too, had been the dramatic shift in vigor upon their return.

That little fact alone spoke entire volumes.

Emmet should have known; he’d been helping care for Litwick, then Lampent, then Chandelure for the greater portion of his life. Their reputation wasn’t for nothing. The vast majority of ghosts, in fact, subsisted on a non-corporeal diet-- he just hadn’t ever thought to apply the logic to Ingo, too.

His brother was just so solid. Not like the wobbly form of the fear-grazing Misdreavus or liquid mirage of Jellicent-- but, again, Emmet had a similarly solid example, and had been naive to dismiss the thought. Chandelure was composed of glass and iron around the soul-consuming flame; Cofagrigus consumed precious ores to add to their forms, when they weren’t busy sucking the life out of a person trapped within.

Tangible ghosts were no foreign concept to Unova, and sliding steel plates weren’t so far from wrought iron or sculpted gold.

Emmet understood, and so he’d stopped pushing for answers. It was clear that Ingo didn’t exactly relish the circumstance, even if he’d had centuries to cope with his form’s needs; he knew how to conduct the active cars, and so long as he got what he needed by the end of the commute, that was usually enough.

Today, however, it wasn’t. Ingo hadn’t just been ‘low energy’, he’d been utterly limp around Emmet’s neck for a good portion of the work day. Emmet’s concern from months prior reared right back up: he needed to know how to help. Not just so he could assist before things got to this point again, but also so he knew how to act in case of an emergency.

“Is it fear or life force?” He asked without preamble, startling his brother into a more wakeful state.

“...vital force.” Ingo said reluctantly, “By technicality, it’s electricity.”

For a second, Emmet didn’t follow the justification, and then realized, oh, the Joltik. Whatever. He didn’t care right now, save to acknowledge the fact that of course his twin had been playing semantics, even without words.

“In what quantities?” He attempted to make it sound casual-- or at least to convey that it was a practical question and not accusation-- but vocal range had never been his strong suit, and Ingo still flinched.

The response was an immediate, “Non-fatal.”

“Good to know. I still need to understand what you require.”

A chuffing sigh sounded, far louder than it had any right to be, but it was mostly because Ingo was still angled to rest his head in the crook of Emmet’s neck. A slightly-larger-than-usual-- if sparse-- cloud of violet steam dissipated as it sounded.

“I’m able to… skim any quantity I need. It’s simple logic: the less I take, the less my-- ah-- target is affected, but I need to find another to make up the difference.”

Emmet hummed and braced a shoe on the bottom edge of his desk, propelling the both of them backwards on the rolling chair. “Understood. What other qualities factor in? Age? Temperament?”

While it took a moment to get a response, the silence was one of consideration rather than shame-- and, in no small part, the fact that he ducked his head so as not to be jostled loose by the spin Emmet pushed the chair into.

“The greatest variable seems to be emotional state.” Ingo eventually said, “The specific feeling doesn’t matter too terribly much, just the amount of energy being expended; it’s easier to draw from the excess without causing any noticeable disturbance.”

Mindful of the snout tucked along his jaw, Emmet nodded, wondering if he could talk Ingo into taking a detour to… convince their upstairs neighbors to calm down; they seemed to have restless energy to spare, and no amount of civil discussion could resolve the matter. It probably wasn’t within his brother’s comfort zone, but the thought was a cathartic one.

Though he, himself, had been the one to kickstart the chair ride, he dragged a heel along the carpet to force it to a halt. “So logically you would want emotional prey.”

There was a hiss of protest to his left, and he blew out a sigh.

“I am not judging you. Humans have always had prey. You should know that better than I do. Chandelure also feeds off of humans and we do not love her any less for it.”

“I understand that fact-- it just never gets any easier to hear.”

Fair enough. Ingo may have embraced his new quote-unquote living situation, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d learned through the lens of humanity. Perhaps it was easier to deal with when it was a hypothetical and not a lived reality-- or maybe Emmet was just coping preemptively.

Well. No use dwelling on that right now.

“The Battle Subway should be ideal, then. There are no shortage of excited challengers. It would be easy to steal a snack.”

“It would be easy.” Ingo agreed, and there was so clearly a ‘but’ following the concession, “However, I’m not going to leech that enthusiasm away from them. We both know how much dedication it takes to make it so far, and I won’t rob them of a joy they’ve rightfully earned.”

“Okay.” Emmet said, refusing to give up on the concept entirely, “Just the sore losers, then.”

Ingo went quiet. That meant Emmet had been onto something.

Excited, he clapped once, “Unruly passengers are neatly dealt with. You receive a steady source of energy. Yep! That would be a verrrry mutually beneficial arrangement! Does it sound agreeable to you?”

“It’s… certainly worth a trial run.”

“Would you like to board the pink line this evening? I’m relatively certain we could find someone causing a disturbance.” He sprung up from the chair as he spoke, nesting it back into place before turning to leave.

“It’s Castelia city. Of course someone would be causing a disturbance.” Ingo said flatly, and Emmet barked a laugh, caught out. “There’s no need to go out of the way. I’ll be perfectly fine until tomorrow, and if the-- ah-- gentleman who’s been making noise about a rematch maintains his pace, we should be able to test this idea without delay.”

Emmet could accept that. He was still concerned by how listless his brother had been throughout the day, but now they had a system to test. It was amazing how much it helped, understanding exactly what was going on.

For one thing, it meant he could make his own plans, irregardless of Ingo’s approval.

The odds of anyone-- even a returning challenger-- making it to the end of Super Doubles before early afternoon were slim to none. Far too long to go on an empty chassis.

In the meantime, Emmet was off to pick a fight. The Neils had so much enthusiasm for stomping around at obscene hours that surely they had the energy to spare.