…but Palkia beyond, what he wouldn’t give to face his reflection without the sense that something was deeply, deeply wrong.

There was a flash of yellow in the water’s surface. He hastily stepped away from the lake’s edge, searching for whatever had been lurking behind him; it would be odd for an Electabuzz to make it so far down the mountain, but not impossible. His search turned up very little beyond Lady Sneasler, perking up in interest from her clifftop perch.

Reflection, reflection… Singsonged a voice, almost wonderingly, A wish to face a reflection. Ooh, Jirachi has an idea!

There was so much wrong with what was going on. First of all, there wasn’t meant to be anyone else out here in the Highlands, save for Melli– not even Akari had been through, though that was a blanket statement where she was concerned. Second, Ingo was certain, without a trace of a doubt, that he hadn’t said anything aloud. It was less due to conviction and more down to a matter of fact: when he stopped paying attention to the way he moderated his voice, he was loud, and here at the waterfall’s source, it would have echoed back to him.

Third was a small Pokemon that poked its face into his, and he barely reminded himself that stepping back would plunge him right into the lake. Sudden movement at the corner of his vision suggested that Lady Sneasler had noticed the interloper.

Jirachi has two ideas! It chimed, and Ingo was briefly derailed by the reminder that some Pokemon could speak, after a fashion– Pokemon like Palkia or Dialga. But did that then imply…? Face a reflection or face your reflection~?

Hmm. Both! Jirachi likes both! / Have fun, human~!

—

It would be inaccurate to say that Ingo woke up when he’d never lost consciousness; it was just that awareness had taken leave of his senses until that moment.

—

He gave Emmet a long look and then turned to the satchel, a not insubstantial portion of his body disappearing into the bag as he rifled through it to the bottom. When he emerged, it was with a rough-hewn book awkwardly in hand. Before turning his attention to Emmet, he very deliberately flipped through it and dragged a claw down one page in particular, tearing it from the rest in a surprisingly neat line; it was only then that he handed the book over.

He gave the torn page several sharp folds, and then curled his claws around it.

The implications there were bad, to say the least. Emmet tried not to dwell on that, and forced himself to examine the book he’d been handed; its covers showed evidence of water damage, albeit in drips and drops, like it had been left out in the rain at one point, but, save for a few minor nicks and the tear he’d just witnessed, it seemed largely intact. With the implicit go-ahead, he flipped it open and immediately recognized his brother’s handwriting.

- I am recovering in the Pearl Clan’s settlement in the Alabaster Icelands.

- The woman looking after me is Warden Calaba, attendant to Lord Ursaluna.

- I was recovered by the Diamond Clan’s Warden [idk], while he surveyed the Icelands with Lord Braviary.

- They do not know what I was doing out in a blizzard, nor are they familiar with me.

- This is, apparently, not the first time I’ve asked these questions. I’ve been instructed to record any information I might want later to ‘save us all some time’.

The list went on for several more bullet points, recording names, roles and cultural terms, but it was the first few and the last that held Emmet’s attention. It confirmed that Ingo hadn’t spent the past [timeframe] as a Sneasel– that he hadn’t been in Unova at all. He’d been in a tundra with no idea how he’d gotten there, suffering short term memory loss and–

- I am certain of two things: I’ve lost something important , and my name is Ingo.

–and almost completely amnesiac.

Emmet spent some time staring at the concluding line. The last statement was neatly bisected, an inkblot punctuating the two clauses as if the pen had spent some time idling there, uncertain whether or not to continue. Its presence suggested that Ingo hadn’t been sure he would remember his own name.

He snapped the journal shut, unable to continue looking at the mark, and [looked] to the Sneasel that was his brother. Ingo tilted his head back at him, a questioning frown on his face, clawed hands empty.

“I see.” He said slowly, filing that last point away for later, “You’re telling me that your memory loss is unrelated to our current predicament.”

There was a sharp nod.

In one sense, it was a relief; it meant that this, at least, was a purely human ailment, and not a byproduct of a human mind being [transferred] into the body of a Pokemon. Perhaps it couldn’t be reversed in the truest sense of the word, but it could be treated and lived with. However, it also meant that something else had happened to his brother, on top of having been stolen away and then returned as a Sneasel. And finally, it meant…

“You do not know me.”

The statement was met with silence, and then a burst of [vehement] chattering. Ingo clambered onto Emmet’s lap and craned up for the book; Emmet didn’t fight him, watching as he flipped halfway through, and then back, several pages from the latest entry. It seemed he’d found whatever he was looking for when he tapped a claw to the paper, insistently holding it up for Emmet to inspect.

It’s a shame that the Hisuian people have yet to warm up to c ompetitive battling. Lady Irida and Lord Adaman participate on occasion, and sometimes we’re joined by my fellow Wardens, but the training grounds are often left to Miss Akari and myself.

I worry that her passion for battling has been overridden by the desire to assist me, as though the reward for a [battle] well fought isn’t the experience, but whether or not I have something new to say. I’ve told her my heart remembers what my mind cannot, but I f ear it’s fallen on deaf ears. I t m ay have been irresponsible to share [] with her on the tail of our c ommute through Wayward Cave.

P erhaps I’m projecting onto her. Our [enthusiasm] for Pokemon is something I also shared with the man who looks like me; were we in the same station, I know I wouldn’t have hesitated to confide in him. Regardless, I have conducted myself inappropriately. I will endeavor to do better.

As he read, a weight pressed itself against Emmet’s side; he curled an arm around it absentmindedly, distracted by the journal’s shift from empirical facts to a more conventional [journal].

“It seems you were on the correct track.” He eventually said, voice soft, “Allow me to assist. I am–”

He cut off early, the final statement echoed by the mewing of a Sneasel, and though the words were incomprehensible, the intonation was exactly in accordance with Emmet’s script. When Emmet shifted to study him, Ingo took it as an invitation to bump his head up against his twin’s. In this instance, there was no trace of [question] in the eyes that peered right back at Emmet.

“–glad.” He concluded feebly. It didn’t stay that way for long, though. “I am verrrry glad to learn that.”

Ingo’s eyes narrowed fondly, and the minor din of purring started back up.

Loathe to lose the contact they’d established, but unable to continue sitting still, Emmet scooped him up and started toward [wherever]. “And your Pokemon? I did not see any mention of them.”

A reluctant trill worked its way through the [purr]

—

His brother watched with intense eyes and, as soon as the bandage had been laid smooth over the scratch, gave a sharp nod. It was odd that Ingo didn’t linger to ensure that everything was returned to its proper place, but the incident had clearly bothered him, so Emmet didn’t give it much more thought as he cleaned up; he heard the clumsy rattling of clawed hands going through something and laughed to himself, wondering what now.

Once the bathroom had been restored to its [proper] order, he followed the sound. It led him to their store of Pokemon grooming supplies. Ingo had zeroed in on Excadrill’s in particular, a pair of claw trimmers abandoned at his feet while he fumbled with a heavy duty file.

Unbothered by the [threat] those claws posed, Emmet reached directly over and pinched the file between two fingers, stilling it. Ingo blinked at his bandaged hand, then up at him.

“That is a verrrrry bad idea.” He said, easing the file free from his twin’s grip. The clippers didn’t warrant any further action. “I will do my utmost not to come uncoupled from you again. So long as we are together, I will protect you. If we are not, you need to be able to defend yourself.”

Ingo made a vague noise of dissent, but didn’t argue further.

“You are still worried.” / “I have an idea.”

Half an hour later found them at a grooming supply shop, idling in front of claw caps.

While, in Emmet’s humble opinion, it was leagues better than shearing the offending claws off, it still posed a considerable challenge. There were Sneasel in Unova, but they weren’t a terribly frequent sight, especially so far from the Giant Chasm. As such, there wasn’t a high demand for specifically molded soft claws.

He was trying to decide if Krookodile or Zoroark would be easier to adapt when someone called his name from the store’s entryway. The shape draped over his shoulder– an extremely visible lump in the jacket it was hidden beneath– froze. This momentary lapse in maintaining his balance meant that Ingo began to slip forward and, immediately, Emmet reached up to steady him. There was a muffled chirp and the press of a cold nose in response.

[…]

Her eyes instantly fell upon his passenger, and she broke out into a smile.

“Hi there, cutie,” She said, offering a hand for inspection. When it went unsniffed, she drew it back, [unbothered], “Aw, shy are we?”

Emmet tried not to laugh. He failed. It did, however, come out less as a recognizable [laugh] and more of a gleeful choking sound.

[…]

“That is Elesa.” He said softly into the collar of his jacket, “She is a dear friend of ours. I believe we would benefit from her assistance. May I inform her of our current circumstance?”

One ear flicked at the redistribution of fabric and, after a second to consider it, Ingo nodded.

Emmet turned to her again, clapping his hands to signify the turn in the conversation, “If you are available, I would like to speak to you.”

“Yeah, I’ve got time.” / “What’s up?”

“This conversation is best had in private.” He said; his attention wandered to the racks of claw grooming supplies, so he missed the look of understanding, and then sympathy that passed over Elesa’s face. “If you would allow me just a minute to make a selection.”

Elesa humored the distraction, looping around his other side, “Soft claws? She’s not a battler, then?”

“Ideally, he is not.” Emmet said, gentle enough in his correction but, beneath the coat, Ingo’s perch was tense to the point of vibration. Ingo contented himself with a sharp, irritated huff into his brother’s collar.

Elesa hummed, shot a sideways look to the small amount of visible fur, and said, “If it were me, I’d go for the Zoroark fit. It won’t be perfect, but it’s probably the closest they’ve got here.”

—

“I heard you had a lead…” She hazarded.

Emmet barked a laugh. “In a manner of speaking. Yes.”

“This is a very special Sneasel. His coloration is not simply a genetic quirk. Blood work suggests that he is a regional variant that has long since died out.” / “It also [suggests] that he only became a Sneasel relatively recently.”

“…you cannot be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”

[…]

She was distracted by the Sneasel, who’d turned away from its careful sorting of the soft claw supplies to pat Emmet’s knee with the flat of its paw. It wasn’t a bid for attention– almost the opposite, really. It chirped something to the tune of ‘now, now’ and, after a second to feel out the situation, returned to the neat piles of supplies in front of it, ears perked as it listened in.

It was a disturbingly human reaction, and Elesa’s voice died in her throat as it ignored the glue in favor of fitting a loose cap over its claw. When she turned back, Emmet looked incredibly smug.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the Sneasel flexing its clawed fingers, sliding the casing off, and frowning at it intently.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” She sighed, and, without moving to address it or raising her voice, asked, “Ingo?”

The Sneasel’s plumed ear twitched, and it looked up at her, trilling inquisitively. Emmet’s triumphant– if fragile– grin widened.

[…]

“Well shit.” Elesa said, and flopped down to Ingo’s level. She absentmindedly picked one of the claw caps up and turned it over in her hands. He watched, loathe to lose track of anything.

While she processed, Emmet found his own spot and helped with his brother’s task. The end result looked a little like someone [action] while trying to keep a thimble on each finger, and Ingo huffed in annoyance, casting a contemplative look in the glue’s direction. Emmet silently reached over and pocketed the tube.

There was only so much she could ask that they could answer– Emmet for lack of information, Ingo for lack of human words– so she settled on, “I mean, it’s better than worrying that you were somewhere out there, hurt, but this kind of blows.”

Ingo gave a short, “Snea,” of agreement, flexed his hand the wrong way, and watched a claw cap fall to the ground.

That much, at least, Elesa had the emotional capacity to handle right now.

“Okay, that? Not gonna work. Not if you’re relying on friction to keep them on.” She paused, mentally backpedaling, “Why are you trying to put covers on his claws? It’s one thing to apply them to a house Pokemon, but a Pokemon with human sensibilities? Seems unnecessary.”

Elesa hesitated, snorted, and added, “Maybe if it was you Emmet, but not Ingo.”

“I am Emmet.” The man in question said, holding up the tube with a menacing air, “And you should be verrrry careful with your words.”

“Please. I’m wearing eyelash glue stronger than that.” She scoffed. “Seriously, though, seems like a lot of effort for something so [unnecessary].”

“I agree.” / “My brother does not. The Sneasel subspecies he’s become is a poison type. He’s verrrry concerned about it. This was our compromise.”

Elesa hummed, glancing over in case Ingo had any input, but he seemed content to let them carry the conversation while he tried again to make the soft claws work. Her attention dropped to her Xtransceiver as she tapped letters out into a search engine.

“They’ve got some Sneasel claw caps in Opelucid.” She said, eyes flickering up to gauge the purple hooks at the end of her friend’s hands, “Standard Sneasel, but I don’t think the variation is going to make that much difference. The shape is the important thing here.”

[…]

Elesa returned [timeframe] later with a bag hanging from either arm– one from the groomer’s shop and one from a local takeaway restaurant.

“I looked up what Sneasel can eat on the way back,” She announced, setting both on the kitchen table, “So the veggie stir fry should be safe. I dunno if it’ll appeal to a non-human palate, but I guess we’ll find out.”

“That is a verrrry good question. I keep catching him sneaking cheri berries when he thinks my back is turned.” Emmet said, nodding to the fruit bowl that had been repositioned well out of Sneasel range. Ingo rolled his eyes, but avoided making eye contact.

“Makes sense, they’re kinda spicy.” It seemed like there was going to be more to the thought, but she stopped cold, waving a [wondering] finger in Ingo’s general direction, “Wait, do you have a nature now? Or did you have one before? Do we have natures?”

[…]

Elesa set the claw kit down, fiddling with something else– a different brand bag wrapped tightly around its contents– and eventually unfurled it. A clacking sound came from inside, and Ingo felt his ears twitch.

“C’mere,” She said, holding a hand out for one of his and, carefully, he extended it. Turning it this way and that, she hummed, “A little dark, but we can work with this.”

Emmet sent her a curious look over the packaging he’d taken upon himself to disassemble, “I fail to see what that has to do with anything.”

—

“We’ve been informed that he’s a nervous purrer. Do not be surprised.”

Elesa had just enough time to ask herself what that was supposed to mean before she found herself with a face full of lavender fur.

[…]

Ingo’s face was buried in the thick collar of her jacket, but the rumble was still deafening.

“He’s got a purr like a freight train.” She said, projecting her voice after the first word was drowned out, “And now that I say that out loud, I realize I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

—-

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. The purple shape that was his brother leaned forward, [curious].

“Not to focus on the negative, Emmet, but that seems… incorrect.”

Without waiting for the world to focus any further, Emmet pounced, pitching the both of them over.

There was a surprised yelp that swiftly turned into laughter, and he felt the plastic tips of the claw caps along his spine as Ingo hugged him back. On some level, he was aware that the words that exploded out of him were accompanied by a deep rumbling in his chest, but he had a highest priority right now, and it couldn’t be changed.

“I missed you.” / “I didn’t know it was possible to miss a person so much. You– you did not meet me to walk home. And then you did not return home. The security cameras were worthless and nobody knew where you’d gone.”

He knew the statement wouldn’t be met with an answer– knew that Ingo was just as deep in the dark as he was, in this regard. What Ingo did do was pull Emmet that last bit closer and tuck his brother’s head beneath his chin.

“I didn’t know much,” He finally said, the words somehow soft, even as he roared a purr, “But I did know that I’d lost something very, very important. I’m so sorry, Emmet.”

[…]

“I am still getting to the bottom of this.” He announced, somewhat less [enthusiastically] than he’d intended, given the constant lull of his brother’s voice, “Just not right now.”

—

There was no answering shout. When she tried again, she heard a “Sel?” which confirmed that someone was home, at least. After the past [timeframe], she couldn’t imagine that Emmet would have left his brother alone– not on top of the year Ingo had spent missing– so the solitary [voice] immediately rang the alarm bells.

Without an ounce of hesitation, she dug into her bag for the keys and let the three of them in.

As the tableau in front of her registered, she inhaled deeply and, with the breath out, [cursed], “Oh goddamnit.”

The two Sneasels, curled into a complicated knot on the couch, blinked up at her. Neither had the decency to stop purring.

[…]

She could make an educated guess who was who; the features were different than she was used to, but translated well enough. Still, she didn’t want to risk taking her frustration out on the wrong twin just because she caught him at a bad moment.

“Which one of you is Emmet?”

They looked to one another and, in a coordinated attempt to drive her up the wall, schooled their features in the other’s [resting] expression. Elesa sighed and picked up the Sneasel with the exaggerated frown by the scruff. There was an outraged squawk from the ground, and plastic-dulled claws tugged at [?]. Dawn chose that moment to pass by, snagging the second Sneasel around the waist and hefting him up, too.

Elesa didn’t miss the way he attempted to lunge forward and catch his brother’s hand, and tried not to let the prickle of guilt [bother] her. Instead, she locked eyes with the Sneasel in her own grasp, who had eased into an unrepentant grin.

“What the fuck, man?”

—

[Bonus post-story tangent]

Before he could be entirely sure what was going on, he was hauled up off of his feet by a pair of deft claws. Emmet made an outraged sound behind him, materializing at his side with a Pokeball at the ready.

The offender leaned in and sniffed delicately.

“Ward-kit, you smell strange.” She grumbled [fondly], and only then deigned to turn her attention elsewhere, “And you found your nestmate. Cute.”

In his haste to settle the budding conflict, Ingo flung a hand out, seizing Emmet by the collar, and [choked], “Lady Sneasler.”

She harrumphed a laugh and repeated, “Ward-kitten.”

It was bizarre to understand her on a fundamental level now, after he’d spent so long interpreting her [idk] and chirps. He recognized the sounds as her [call] for him, but the meaning behind it was… new.

Beside him, Emmet relaxed fractionally. His hand was still clutching Eelektross’s Pokeball, but the frenetic energy had largely dissipated, and Ingo felt secure enough to release the hold on his jacket.

“Welcome to Gear Station, Lady Sneasler.” / “I will warn you that manhandling the staff is strictly prohibited. Please release my brother. Immediately.”

Sneasler snorted, but seemed inclined to keep the peace, and set Ingo back down.