For some time, the only thing Emmet could think was that it was drafty. Either he’d forgotten an open window somewhere– which was a huge safety violation, unbefitting of a Subway Boss– or Chandelure had smuggled herself into his bedroom.

Eventually, he mustered the willpower to crack his eyes open, and realized that neither of these was true.

He had no worldly idea where he was. It was dark and cold, and, when he tilted his head back, there was a distressingly large hole in the wall behind him.

…he didn’t have the brainpower to deal with this right now. Emmet closed his eyes, laced his fingers with the hand pressed against his, and breathed, focusing on the crisp, undisturbed air.

That last point came to an abrupt halt as the hand he was holding squeezed back.

It was around then that Emmet realized he could remember his deal with Arceus. While the jury was out on where he’d been flung through time and space, he knew who he was, he knew what he’d been doing prior to this, and he knew–

With a burst of energy he hadn’t possessed seventeen seconds ago, he flung himself upright, dragging his dazed twin along with him. Unwilling to lose the point of contact between them, he bit his glove’s pointer finger and tugged it loose, dropping it without a second thought. He needed to make sure– needed to be sure.

Ingo seemed to tune into reality around the time the second hand– still gloved in Emmet’s haste– found the other side of his face and, belatedly, Emmet realized how much of an invasion this was. He’d gone into this knowing that most texts focused on The Warden Ingo’s battle prowess, bond with Lady Sneasler, and amnesia, in that order. He was about to draw away, to content himself with the [contact] he’d already stolen, when his brother’s eyes lit up and he moved to mirror the gesture.

It wasn’t enough, and, within seconds, Emmet found himself bundled into Ingo’s arms. He gleefully returned it, curling one gloved fist and one bare into the tattered fabric under his hands.

“What happened, Emmet?” Ingo said into the space between Emmet’s neck and his collar; it was muffled, quieter than it should have been, but the content was so much more important than that. “Who hurt you?”

“Fuck if I know!” He said brightly, so [happy] he could have– oh. No, he was crying, wasn’t he? Didn’t matter! Didn’t matter! The only person around to see was Ingo– Ingo was here!– and he was allowed.

Ingo gave a halfhearted objection, which turned into a sympathetic noise by the end of the sentence. With a deep, shuddering breath, he emerged from where he’d been stifling his own [emotions idk].

Emmet wasted no time in bumping their heads together, “You remembered my name.”

“I remember your name.”

[…]

He knew they ought to get going– Arceus only knew where or when they might be, and the state of the room around them was a bad omen– but he couldn’t let go. Not just yet. With fortuitous timing, Ingo settled his head on Emmet’s shoulder, which was all the excuse Emmet needed.

He followed suit, resting against his brother, and finally– finally– let go of the [idk] he’d been holding onto since [w/e], basking in how right this felt. Even after all this time, they were still a perfect match.

[…]

There was a tingle of ozone in the air. That was an incredibly blatant clue that they needed to get going, before the Pokemon it was attached to decided to make an appearance. He opened his eyes and made to pull back, intending to give voice to the thought, but didn’t make it much further than that first step.

A large black wing was obstructing most of his vision. What little it wasn’t taking up was, instead, occupied by something white and feathered.

…he was [relatively] certain, based on the relative positions, that that was where his hand was supposed to be. He flexed his fingers. Four claws obliged him, scratching harmlessly against the dark plating beneath them.

“I know. We have an obligation to find whatever is burning and ensure that it’s extinguished.” Ingo sighed. The carapace Emmet was leaning against rumbled in time with his words.

The pressure on his shoulder lifted. It was followed by a [idk], “Uh…?” and a feeling not unlike fingers carding through his hair, but along the back of his neck.

“Emmet?”

“I am Emmet,” He said, half on instinct and half as a grounding mechanism, “I… am aware.”

[…]

It was odd that neither of them had noticed sooner. Even more odd that Ingo’s weight had still felt perfect in his arms… wings? Both? Emmet lifted, and then dropped one of the appendages in question. He was going to go with ‘both’.

[…]

Ingo was far too close to the hole in the wall. Without being able to voice why, exactly, it made him uneasy, Emmet cut between them and tried to herd his brother away from it. Apart from the mildly puzzled look, Ingo didn’t argue.

[…]

So, of course, that was when Iris tore into the room, in full champion regalia.

“What the–”

—

One of the Unovan Elite Four and Champion’s duties– added just before Alder retired– was to monitor activity in the Plasma compound. It had never been a problem before– the worst that happened was a trainer got turned around, ended up in that one partially-exposed hallway and subsequently had to be collected– but there was a first time for everything.

Usually, it was safe enough for a single staff member to delve down and retrieve whoever had gotten lost, but the seismic sensors suggested it was something big; though they could be a bit trigger happy, this seemed beyond the scope of a false alarm.

Iris didn’t know why, but there was something exciting about the prospect, so off she went, along with Marshal, to investigate.

It wasn’t that she hoped Team Plasma was trying to make a resurgence– more that Iris knew what the old castle was like, and thought that maybe, just maybe, a dragon might have taken up residence.

(She wasn’t that far from the truth, but she wasn’t very close, either.)

They split up at the hallway, Marshal taking the lower path and Iris following to upper floor, once she verified that there wasn’t anything amiss in the creepy little kid’s room. Beyond, you know. The obvious.

As she reached the landing there was a [sound] from the central [hall/room], and she sped up, rounding the corner with a velocity that sent her skirts flying a completely different direction. Dim though the old castle was, this room was lit well– if [weird, but it starts with im?]– enough, due to embers and sparks at the far side.

For a second, she was certain she’d been right. A Pokemon was living here!

Then she realized what, exactly, she was looking at, and two things happened: she dropped one hand to Hydreigon’s pokeball, and [tag], “What the fuck?”

Reshiram and Zekrom’s heads shot up. In unison, with her brothers’ voices, they shouted, “Language!”

There was a beat of silence. While Reshiram continued to stare at Iris, Zekrom’s attention defaulted to its counterpart, to whom it [grumbled] something incomprehensible. Reshiram tossed its head and gave a petulant hiss; Zekrom rumbled something that was either thunder or laughter in response.

Iris had no idea if they were being friendly with one another or about to start fighting. It was behavior like nothing she’d seen in her dragons, and she didn’t dare let go of Hydreigon’s pokeball until she’d narrowed it down. And– and they were making noises like regular Pokemon now, but what about before? What was that about?!

The pair were at the far end of the room, at least, giving her plenty of space to work with, and she slowly crept the tiniest bit closer. They kept an eye on her, but something about her presence seemed to introduce an energy that hadn’t been there before; Reshiram lunged at its counterpart, and Iris flung Hydreigon into the fray on instinct. She was frantically trying to figure out which dragon’s side she was supposed to be on when she realized that it didn’t seem to be an attack at all, and that Zekrom had easily caught it under the wings.

Hydreigon hovered uncertainly, waiting for Iris to give her a command. The other two dragons stared until, finally, Reshiram said, “That is verrrry rude. I do not sic Haxorus on you when you [w/e].”

[…]

Fears all but evaporated, Iris hefted her skirt’s train and dashed over, skidding to a halt far closer than was wise. She raised a hand and looked up, silently asking permission.

Emmet sighed. “If you must.”

Quickly, so as not to press her luck or make him uncomfortable, Iris ruffled the nearest bit of fur in reach. It was thick, and also longer than she’d expected. Her hand disappeared up to the wrist before she pulled it back.

She was unaware of Zekrom watching over his wing until it said, conversationally, “You’re… Iris, aren’t you?”

The question immediately perked Emmet up, and he barked something Iris couldn’t understand to Zekrom, knocking their heads together affectionately.

If the gears hadn’t been turning before, they definitely were now. Her brothers were identical in all but mannerisms, voices included. Zekrom spoke with Emmet’s voice, but also didn’t, because Emmet didn’t talk like that. Reshiram and Zekrom were, famously, a matched set, and if Emmet was Reshiram– if he’d been acting so familiar with Zekrom…

“I– yeah, I am.” She squeaked, and ducked Emmet’s wing to draw nearer to the subject of her attention, “…Ingo?”

“Yes?”

“Holy shit.” Iris breathed, repeating the gesture she’d offered Emmet and, in addition to the go-ahead, was offered an armored hand. Her eyes gleamed and she took the opportunity, running her own hands over every inch of his wrist plating.

“You’re a horrible influence.” He said over her head, “I hope you realize that.”

[…]

She looped her arms around the arm in a makeshift hug, resting her head against it.

“You’re here,” / “Emmet really did it. He really brought you home.”

[…]

“Be gentle.” Emmet said, failing spectacularly at heeding his own advice, “A bastard of a Pokemon decided to play with his mind.”

“Why do I even bother?” Ingo said in the background, sounding more amused than put upon.

[…]

“What happened?”

“Made a deal with Arceus.” Emmet said cheerfully.

After a brief hesitation to [consider that], Ingo added, “I did the same.”

“I was speaking for both of us.” / “I am well aware of what you did.”