Archive of Our Own ^beta

Emmet sighs and closes the door, releasing the Pokemon he took with him to Gear Station today. They each give him a quick nuzzle or chirp of greeting (or in Eelektross’ case, a hug that feels more like a loving attempt to strangle him) before running off to do Important Pokemon Business. Galvantula takes a moment longer, as usual, to fret over him, tugging at his rain-spattered pant leg with a concerned chitter until he stoops to give her soft, staticky fur a few pets. She nips his gloved hand with a loving spark of static, then finally skitters off into the apartment.

Emmet straightens, removing his hat and coat and hanging them on their designated hooks. The empty spot at their side sends a quick jab of pain through his chest, as it has every day for the past three years, four months and six days. Emmet thinks not for the first time about the saying that grief is supposed to dull with time. His certainly hasn’t.

Still, he ignores it and toes off his shoes, making sure to line them up neatly. Then he removes his gloves and peels off his socks with a grimace, rolling up the ends of his pants. Tries to put himself in working order before heading into the kitchen to start dinner for their Pokemon.

He works on autopilot, gathering fresh vegetables and berries from the fridge and counter, as well as a gravy mix and different packets of pokechow. He hesitates when he reaches for the ghost-type mix, wondering if Chandelure will actually leave her pokeball tonight to eat. It’s a good thing ghost types don’t need to eat as often as most Pokemon, because Emmet does not know how to convince Chandelure to do so more than once a week, releasing her from her ball and pleading with tears in his eyes and a crack in his voice for her to please just eat a little.

Ingo would not want to see his beloved partner so distraught, vibrant purple flames dulled to a pale, sickly lavender and every cry a haunting chime of grief. But Emmet does not know how to perform the proper maintenance for her when he is barely holding on himself.

Emmet swallows hard, ignoring a jab of guilt when he puts the ghost type food back in its spot. He just…does not think he can deal with that tonight.

It had been a long day at the station.

Then again, most days are long anymore. Emmet can’t ever remember feeling the hours drag and grate like they do nowadays, not before his brother disappeared. Vanished into the darkness of the tunnels like a ghost, leaving even his beloved Pokemon behind.

Emmet uses his arm to scrub at his eyes, trying to stay focused before he burns himself on the stove, where the gravy to soften the pokefood sits bubbling. Safety first. He reaches for the knife and cutting board, pulling some of the vegetables and berries closer.

He tries not to think about Ingo, when he can. It’s impossible to not, when his grief sits in an Ingo-shaped space at his side at all times, reminding him that his brother is gone gone gone every hour of every day, but he tries not to consciously dwell on it, when possible.

That’s all he did the first year. Desperately tried to think about where his brother was, what had happened to him, if he was safe.

If he was alive.

He chops into a nanab berry a bit too hard, almost cutting into his finger. Whoops. Emmet realigns and takes measured breaths as he continues to work. Somewhere in the apartment, Haxorus bellows out a warning to one of the other Pokemon who is causing trouble. Probably Durant.

No, Emmet puts a lot of his energy each day into trying not to think about Ingo. About if he was taken by someone. If someone hurt him. If a ghost Pokemon somehow spirited him away to his doom even under Chandelure’s watchful eye.

(The police and the tabloids questioned Emmet for weeks after Ingo's disappearance, as if he knew what happened to his brother. As if Emmet could be the reason he is gone, when Elesa and their Pokemon are the only reason Emmet is even still alive.

Emmet still has a video saved on his phone of Elesa punching a reporter square in the face. They had asked Emmet point-blank if he'd killed his brother, making his smile fall in shock, and Elesa had very quickly put them in their place. Putting the video on loop and watching Elesa nearly break the reporter’s nose cheers him up sometimes.)

The tabloids are dumb. They also suggested that Ingo might have gotten sick of his strange, overbearing brother and left him behind, and while Emmet does not fault that logic alone—

(Emmet has always been too much for most people, too obsessed with Pokemon and battling and trains and whatever else grabbed his interest, too unsettling with his ever-present smile and monotone voice, his ever-moving hands and blunt words.)

—but his brother would have taken his Pokemon with him if he had left willingly. Chandelure at the very least. It’s silly to think otherwise.

So Emmet knows his brother disappeared unwillingly. And if Emmet thinks about that too hard he spirals again, so he tries not to. Instead, he finishes mixing the gravy into the batches of Pokemon food alongside the freshly cut berries and veggies, adding some seasoning and dividing them up into their proper portions in different bowls.

Maybe he should have turned on the television. At least for background noise.

Still, Emmet finally gets dinner prepared, putting the dishes in their rightful spots: Durant can’t be too close to Crustle or he steals his food, and Haxorus and Garbodor need to eat in different rooms entirely due to their size alone.

Then he calls out to his and Ingo’s team. “All aboard!”

Something clatters to the floor in a different room, followed by Haxorus’ warning growl and Durant’s skittering feet. Everyone else’s footsteps sound throughout the apartment as the Pokemon cry out happily, barreling into the kitchen like excited lillipups and diving right in. Emmet’s smile feels less strained as he watches them eat, making contented noises. At least he can keep them healthy and happy.

Well. Most of them.

Emmet sighs and turns to dig through the fridge for something for him to eat. Elesa always brings food—usually takeout or a frozen pre-made meal—with her when she stays over, and on the nights when she doesn’t, Emmet is never prepared. He eventually grabs leftover Kalosian from the night before, putting it in the microwave to heat it up. When it’s lukewarm, he eats it without really tasting, forcing himself through the process of chewing each bite and swallowing with more effort than he should have to.

Emmet rinses his fork and places it carefully in the dishwasher. Then he collects the Pokemon bowls as well, washing them out and putting them into the sink to soak.

Emmet should shower, but even that sounds like too much effort tonight. Instead, he goes to his room, refusing to glance at his brother’s closed door across the hall, and changes into a comfortable pair of sweats and a t-shirt, both soft enough not to rub the wrong way against his skin.

The room is dark in the dim evening light. Emmet should turn on a lamp and get some paperwork done. Or read, or…something.

But instead he just flops into bed, staring up at the ceiling. It never used to feel like a chore, trying to make it through each day. At least working—

(Overworking, Elesa’s voice chimes in his head)

—at Gear Station distracts him well enough.

Maybe he should just go to bed. Tomorrow would start sooner then.

Emmet’s Xtransceiver, discarded atop his blankets, lights up. A message. He has most notifications silenced, so he picks it up, expecting to see Elesa’s name on the screen. Instead, it’s a text from an unfamiliar string of numbers, and a video attachment. Emmet unlocks the Xtransceiver and clicks into the video without reading the accompanying text, almost hearing his brother scolding him for opening a strange video from someone he doesn’t know.

He ignores the imaginary scolding. Ignores the twinge of pain in his chest as well.

Emmet presses play, brow furrowing as a chaotic scene starts to play. It’s clearly filmed on a phone, the camera shaky and whipping around an early morning sky before settling on what looks to be the midst of a small trainer campground in the mountains. There are people yelling, panicked and running, and Emmet catches a few glimpses of Pokemon in defensive postures, shooting off attacks or helping injured humans away from the site.

A moment later the cause of all the chaos becomes apparent with a ground-shaking roar, far more wild than any Pokemon cry Emmet has ever heard before. It chills something in him as he sits up, focusing more fully.

A moment later a blur of silver—absolutely huge, big and fast and powerful as a subway train—barrels through the corner of the frame, demolishing a tent that thankfully appears empty. The camera jolts as the holder of the camera yells out something in a language Emmet doesn’t understand, but recognizes. Sinnohan?

A moment later the blur of silver returns: a steelix, he thinks. It barrels with a gaping maw for a downed hiker. Emmet is just about to wonder what sick person sent him a video of someone dying to a wild Pokemon attack when a blur of purple slams into the steelix like a comet. The steelix is hammered into the ground, crashing to a stop in the dirt, tail flailing and taking out another tent in the process.

Everything slows just enough for Emmet to confirm that the aggressive Pokemon is indeed a steelix. The largest, most terrifying steelix he has ever seen. He didn’t even know they could get that big.

A small mountain of blue vines—a tangrowth?—bustles over to the downed hiker, scooping the man up before retreating offscreen again.

Meanwhile, the steelix struggles to right itself, roaring loud enough to shake the screen—or maybe that’s just the filmmaker trembling—while the purple blur hops to the ground, crouched low, tail lashing as it watches with sharp golden eyes. A gliscor.

The steelix snaps at the gliscor with boulder-heavy teeth, and it’s only when the gliscor hops back that Emmet notices a person at the flying type’s side, not running but instead standing tense and ready, far too close to the fight.

Emmet’s heart skips a beat. The posture is unfamiliar, but for a moment he almost thinks...

No. No. He’s been through this before. A long, dark coat and hat does not equal Ingo. Emmet snuffs out the hope as soon as it arrives, a sour feeling settling in his stomach, making the noodles he ate earlier want to come back up. He considers closing the video, no longer able to focus on anything but that brief moment of thinking Ingo Ingo Ingo—

But he has nothing better to do, right? Might as well see how this plays out.

The steelix rises again, rumbling unhappily before lunging. The man barks an order to the gliscor, who leaps out of the way to climb onto the steelix’s back, digging in with its claws.

Emmet can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the man in black as he rolls, lightning-quick, out of the way of the steelix’s flailing tail, chopping his hand through the air—

Ingo Ingo Ingo

—as he shouts another command. The scene is slightly quieter now, and Emmet finds himself straining to hear the man’s voice through the tinny speakers.

He knows it is not Ingo. Can’t be Ingo. And yet Emmet can’t help continuing to watch with something like desperation.

The tangrowth from before returns, slamming its hands into the ground so vines and roots shoot out at the steelix, snaring its struggling form.

A moment later, a new person runs onscreen from behind the cameraman. It’s a girl, a teenager, her red scarf fluttering as she sprints right at the rampaging steelix. Emmet holds his breath as she rolls under its flailing tail. A heartbeat later a strange, tall bird Pokemon, autumn colored, follows her. It leaps and slams a leg down on the steelix’s head, sending its heavy skull crashing back to the dirt.

The ground shakes. The man behind the camera says something that is clearly a curse, camera fumbling for a moment before refocusing on the fight.

The girl yells something to the man in black (not Ingo) and chucks a pouch to him. He catches it without looking, then runs around to the steelix’s head, and Emmet’s hand tightens around his Xtransceiver. What is he doing? Why are these two getting so involved in this fight? One of the first things trainers are taught is to stay back from battles—especially ones as dangerous as this.

The steelix roars and swings its head around to track the man, flailing to try and throw off the Pokemon pummeling attacks along its spine. The girl is creeping around to the back of the steelix, tracking its every movement and casually ducking under a tail heavy enough to snap her in half.

The man in black keeps the steelix’s attention on him, throwing something small and green near its face that seems to stun the creature, however little. He throws another and another, and the steelix winces at each hit, growing more and more tense until finally the steelix roars. The force of it is enough to send the man skidding back a few feet, arms up in front of his face. Chunks of the ground around the man suddenly flash and shift. Emmet recognizes the move the instant he sees it, clenching his jaw.

Stealth rock.

Stones shoot up around the man, one of them slicing through his coat and sending him stumbling back a foot, clutching his side. Emmet bites his lip, free hand anxiously drumming on his thigh. This man has to be okay. He has to.

(He is not Ingo, but there is enough of a resemblance that Emmet will have a very bad rest of the week if this man is killed onscreen.)

The girl shouts, voice an octave higher with panic, and launches something at the steelix’s back. It connects, and the giant creature glows with the telltale light of a pokeball capture. The massive bulk of the steelix vanishes into the tiny ball, dropping to the dirt.

The girl doesn’t even wait to see if the steelix stays in, sprinting over to the man now crouched on the ground. Luckily, the ball rocks once, twice, before stilling with a little shimmer of sparks.

A tense silence falls over the ravaged campsite, save for the girl chattering worriedly at the man, a hand on his back. Emmet sees a few heads of humans and Pokemon peering over the rubble and ruined tents, still cautious. The gliscor, tangrowth and bird Pokemon—some kind of decidueye? A shiny, maybe?—move to their trainers’ sides.

The man behind the camera breathes a sigh of relief. He runs in the direction of the man and girl, and a blurring view of dirt and sky fills the screen.

Voices slowly start piping up as soon as it registers that the danger has passed. Some are crying and others are calling out to one another, probably asking if everyone is all right. The trills and growls of frightened Pokemon, both wild and caught, sound off alongside the humans. Emmet waits with baited breath.

Finally, the camera slows to a stop and refocuses again, finding the man and girl. There are a few other trainers crowded around them. Emmet pays them no mind, a chilling numbness rolling over his skin, giving him goosebumps as he sees the man in black close up.

Ingo. That is Ingo.

The man is waving off the other people and standing with the girl supporting him under his shoulder. She’s asking him questions with a concerned glance at his side, where his hand is pressed to his ribs. Red is blooming against the pale pink sweatshirt under his coat. Ingo’s coat. It’s tattered and worn and lighter than it used to be, sun-bleached, and the ratty hat atop the man’s head is no better.

But Emmet can hardly focus on that, instead staring at the man’s face. Silver hair and a flash of pale eyes, mouth twisted into a pained grimace.

Distantly, Emmet registers that he isn’t breathing. That he’s gripping his Xtransceiver hard enough for it to creak and bite into his hand. That tears are blurring his vision and trailing hot down his cheeks.

It can’t be Ingo. Ingo is gone. Has been gone for three years and four months and six days, vanished without a trace. He’s just seeing things he wants to see, again, working himself into another panic attack.

A sudden spark against his knuckles has Emmet jumping, looking down to find his galvantula watching him with static dancing over her fur. She chitters worriedly.

Emmet tries to take a breath to say something, to reassure her, and instead sobs. He drops the phone and scoops his beloved Pokemon into his lap, burying one hand into her silky fur and pressing the other into his eyes as he cries and gasps, hot and shaky and on the edge of puking.

Ingo. That was Ingo.

But it can’t be Ingo. Why would Ingo be involved with a random Pokemon attack in some mountain range in Sinnoh? With a gliscor? It is someone else.

But why would someone send Emmet the video, if not for his link to Ingo? That is the only reason so many people have his number nowadays, connections through Elesa and Iris that have promised to keep an eye out for Ingo and let Emmet know if they see anything. That’s what this is: a well-meaning “Ingo spotting.”

And still, despite knowing it will only hurt him more, Emmet fumbles to grab the Xtransceiver again. He’s shaking so hard that it takes a solid minute of petting his galvantula to calm himself enough to reopen the video. This time, he reads the text that accompanies it:

Yo this is Volkner

I should probably vet this through Elesa first but my friend sent me this video from this morning and I think you should watch it

Then another message, ten minutes later.

Im sorry if im wrong

Ill send it to Elesa too

Emmet clicks open the video again. It looks like it ended shortly after Emmet checked out, so he rewinds it back to when the cameraman approaches the man in black.

When the man reappears on-screen, he still looks like Ingo. Emmet pauses the video. Stares wordlessly at the screen. Tries to debunk it, tries to find something that can definitively disprove this man as his brother.

Can’t.

He lets it play until the man is looking away, seen from a different angle, and pauses again. The hair is longer, scruffier, the beard completely new. The cheekbones are more prominent, the face thinner. But those are all things that can change on a person.

Emmet scrolls farther, almost desperate to find something that will dismiss this man, something to kill the hope rising in his chest and shoot it down before it grows large enough to take root.

He pauses the video once more when the man is glancing directly at the camera. The breath is punched out of Emmet’s lungs, and his shaking returns full-force. It’s not exactly the face that Emmet has been looking at for the past three years, seen only through framed photos and wanted posters. It’s older. Exhausted and gaunt.

He looks exactly like Emmet as he is now.

Emmet keens, dropping his phone to curl around his galvantula and wail into her fur. This isn’t fair, the world can’t keep dangling his brother in front of his face, acting like he will ever reunite with him and then ripping him away all over again, gashing open the scars anew. Eventually Emmet will bleed himself dry.

Galvantula coos, and Emmet’s door creaks open as Archeops pokes his head into the dark room with a worried chirp, letting the harsh light from the hallway spill inside. The little fossil Pokemon scrambles over and crawls onto the bed, hooking his wings around Emmet’s shoulders like a comforting hug.

Emmet sniffs back tears and snot—he is going to have a terrible headache—and moves to grab his phone again. He doesn’t know how many times he watches the end of the video, desperately drinking in the sight of a man who looks so much like his brother, before a distant pounding on the front door of their—his apartment makes him jump.

Emmet blinks, slow, and stares at the wall in the direction of the front door, as if he could see through it like a luxray. He wonders if whoever that is will go away if he doesn’t answer.

A moment later, he hears the distant rattle of keys in the lock and the front door slamming open with a frantic, “Emmet!”

Elesa. Good, Elesa will be able to snap him out of his delusions. She always does.

He hears her running through the apartment, and then his bedroom door is slammed open, flooding the room with light and hurting his tired eyes. He winces.

“Em,” Elesa pants, her hair a disheveled mess. She’s in her zebstrika PJs and a pair of ratty old sneakers that squeak against the hard floor. Her face is covered in sweat and tears, without a stroke of makeup on.

Did she run here? Elesa would never leave the house in her casual wear unless—

Unless.

Emmet tries to squash the hope that balloons in his chest. He stares at her, his own face puffy and wet, hoping the question comes through without him having to say it.

“You—saw the—video?” Elesa gasps, stumbling to Emmet’s side and flopping down on the bed to grip his arm tight. Painfully tight. She looks how he feels, full of barely contained hope that's only held at bay by bone-deep fear.

“He…looks like Ingo,” Emmet says, faintly.

Elesa, to his shock, wells up with fresh tears and nods, wiping at her eyes. “Y-Yeah. He does. Do you think..?”

Emmet frowns at Elesa, shaking his head. “I always think it’s Ingo. You are supposed to tell me it's not!”

Elesa winces. Her grip tightens, hard enough to leave bruises. “I…I can’t say that, Em. This time, I-I don’t know. It could be a ditto or something, but...”

Emmet sobs, hating that his one foolproof safety net is suddenly not so safe. He buries his face in Elesa’s shoulder to cry and snot all over her designer pajamas. “T-That is it. It’s just a ditto.”

Before Elesa can answer, Galvantula lets out a small, offended hiss. Emmet glances down to see her clicking her mandibles, annoyed, at Emmet’s phone.

It’s lit up. Vibrating with a call.

Emmet, dazed, stares at the unknown caller on his phone screen. It's a different set of numbers than Volkner’s. Elesa turns to stare at it too. For one ring, two. Normally, he would just ignore it. But after that video…

In a haze, Emmet picks up the phone and answers, putting it on speakerphone.

“I am Emmet.” His voice sounds like it just went through the garbage disposal.

“Ah, yes, hello!“ a bright voice answers, speaking Unovan with a slight Sinnoh accent. “This is Kayo, with Eterna Hospital. In Sinnoh.”

Elesa claps a hand over her mouth. Emmet feels like he is in a strange dream. He blinks.

“We had a patient come in earlier today after a Pokemon attack on Mount Coronet. Well, two patients, but—well, we don’t have official identification for either of them, but we have an employee who moved here from Nimbasa a year ago and we think—we think one of the patients is your brother.”

Elesa curls into herself, a sob escaping as her shoulders shake. Emmet puts a hand on her back instinctively, long since used to taking turns falling apart. He opens his mouth, but can’t seem to make a sound. This is all a dream anyways, so hopefully he is not being too impolite.

“Normally we wouldn’t call someone without confirmed identification, but Mary looked like she saw a ghost the moment she saw him and she swears on her mother’s life that that’s him. He’s suffering from memory loss, but he says his name is Ingo and—“

“Memory loss?” Emmet croaks, latching onto that detail.

Because out of everything happening right now, somehow that is the only thing that makes sense. If Ingo is alive, the only explanation as to why Emmet hasn’t heard from him in over three years is that he is either being held captive somewhere, or doesn’t even know to contact him.

As horrifying as that thought is.

“Yes,” Kayo answers, nerves audible in her voice. “He remembers…very little about himself. But the girl he came in with confirms that his name is Ingo and that both of them have been, ah…missing, for quite some time, although she wouldn’t say where they were.”

Elesa rips the phone from Emmet’s hand, clutching it like a lifeline. “I-Is he all right? Ingo. Is he hurt?”

The woman on the phone hesitates, and Emmet’s chest tightens.

“He has a fresh injury from the attack, but nothing too serious. Everything else has long since healed.”

Everything else? That is...a concerning statement.

“Can we see him?” Elesa chokes, voice raw and desperate. “Please. You said Eterna Hospital, right? In Sinnoh?”

“Yes! Yes. His injury should be a fairly simple procedure, so he’ll likely be ready for discharge in a day or two. Due to his memory loss we can keep him here a bit longer for observation, for his own safety. If you can get to the hospital, we can release him to you.”

It’s at this point that Emmet feels himself drift. He’s glad that Elesa is here, because he can’t handle this phone call right now.

Ingo is…alive?

Ingo is maybe alive. Emmet won’t truly believe it until he sees Ingo with his own eyes. Until he can talk to his brother in-person. He doesn’t want to risk it again, hoping so desperately that this lead will finally bring his brother home, but at the same time he knows he can’t not follow it.

Not if it could lead him to Ingo.

Elesa finishes the phone call, and for a moment they just stare at each other, crying silently. Dull with shock.

“Em,” She finally rasps. “This…it might really be him.”

Emmet swallows hard and shakes his head. “We do not know that. We cannot—”

“We’ll find out,” Elesa interrupts, leaning forward to pull Emmet into a bone-crushing hug. He gratefully squeezes her in return, Galvantula making a noise of protest at being smushed between them before escaping.

Emmet doesn’t know how long they stay like that, tangled up in a hug too tight to breathe through, shuddering and crying. It’s fully night by time Emmet pulls away, exhausted and hollow. His eyes feel sore. His heart aches.

Every time he is forced to think about Ingo, he is forced to relive the emotions of his loss. He misses his brother very, very much.

Emmet doesn’t even realize that Elesa has pulled out her own phone to tap at the screen until she locks it again, giving a decisive nod. “Plane tickets are booked.”

Emmet blinks at her. “Plane tickets?”

“One-way trip to Sinnoh, bright and early,” Elesa confirms. She’s wiping at her eyes, smoothing down her hair and entering Business Mode. Emmet knows it makes her feel better in upsetting situations, to take control and do something. He’s grateful for that right now, considering he feels too tired to even move. “We’ll get you packed, set an alarm so we can get some sleep, then in the morning we’ll swing around my place on the way to the airport.”

To the airport. To fly to Sinnoh. To see—

To see a man who looks like his brother.

It feels better to think of him that way. So if they are wrong (when they are wrong), it will hurt less. To not think of him as Ingo.

Still, Emmet nods, feeling a bit disconnected from his body, and goes on autopilot to text the second-in-command at Gear Station and tell them he will be taking tomorrow and the rest of the weekend off.

He has more than enough vacation days saved up, after all.

It’s short notice, but his second replies enthusiastically and tells him to have a nice weekend. Emmet knows they worry about him getting enough rest.

When Emmet looks up again, Elesa is already halfway through packing his suitcase, plucking shirts and pants and boxers from his drawers and closet. He would be embarrassed by her casually folding and arranging his clothes like his mother if the two of them hadn’t crossed that line of dignity long ago, back on their own Pokemon journeys. She has seen him and Ingo at their absolute worst. Emmet especially, over the past three years.

He is also just grateful that he doesn’t have to get up and do it himself. He’s exhausted all of a sudden, his mind is drifting, and his limbs feel too heavy to lift. He trusts her to pick out enough outfits that he likes for the trip.

Then suddenly, he is packed. His galvantula, archeops and eelektross’ poke balls are sitting atop his suitcase and waiting to be clipped to his belt in the morning. Elesa is putting his toothbrush in his hand and urging him to brush, using the spare she keeps at their apartment for herself. And then they are both in Emmet’s bed, Galvantula curled up in the crook of Emmet’s knee as Elesa snuggles up next to him, taking his hand.

The contact is like a shock to his system. Warm. Slowly, Emmet feels himself touch ground again. Just a bit. He blinks at his friend. “Thank you.”

“'Course, Em,” Elesa says, yawning. She looks at him through exhausted, half-lidded eyes. “You okay?”

Emmet nods, and knows that neither of them believe it. Still, Elesa wraps an arm around his side and urges him to sleep.

It takes him over an hour to get there, physically and emotionally drained and yet still unable to drop off. He keeps dancing between thoughts of Ingo, of seeing his brother again, and desperately trying to block those thoughts before they can even appear.

Finally, he sleeps.

Elesa was not exaggerating about the time. Her alarm goes off at the crack of dawn, and she rolls out of bed with a groan to silence it. Then, she rips the blankets off Emmet. He whines as Galvantula hisses.

“C’mon, Em. Sinnoh awaits.”

And suddenly, Emmet remembers. His chest feels like it caves in, a dark pit opening up where his heart should be. It hurts and makes him feel a little nauseous.

Right. They are going to see the man who looks like his brother. But who is almost definitely not his brother.

Still, Emmet nods and drags himself out of bed and to the bathroom to get ready. The sooner they get going, the sooner they can get this over with and try to pull the shattered pieces of themselves back together again.

(How many times can they do it before they’re broken beyond repair?)

By time the two of them leave the apartment, Emmet is reluctantly nibbling at a bagel that Elesa had shoved into his hands. He isn’t in the mood to eat and hates the feeling of the food sitting heavy in his gut, but he tries to finish at least half of it. His rolling suitcase is pulled behind him as they make their way down the busy city street to Elesa’s apartment.

He isn’t feeling anything like optimistic, but he’s…

Well, he’s trying not to think about it. Or about how Elesa had grabbed Chandelure’s always-occupied pokeball off his dresser before they left.

(She's never brought Chandelure on a lead before. Why is Emmet the more skeptical one this time around?)

Elesa changes and packs up at her place in record time, and somehow manages to call a driver to take them to the airport in the process. She even looks like her usual flawless self by time they leave, full makeup and all.

Within an hour, they’re on a plane and taking off.

Emmet shifts uncomfortably in his seat, grateful that Elesa took the window seat. While he isn’t deathly afraid of heights or flying, he also isn’t…fond of it. He would rather imagine they’re in a nice, cozy land vehicle instead. Like a train, or a subway, or even a bus.

To distract himself, Emmet pulls out his phone and immediately opens the video from last night. He peeks at Elesa out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge if he’s about to be scolded, but Elesa just sighs and scoots down in her seat to rest her head on Emmet’s shoulder, looking at the screen as well.

“This is a bad idea,” she mumbles. But she doesn’t stop him.

Emmet takes that as permission, passing her one of his earbuds and settling in, trying to brace his heart to watch the video again from the beginning.

They’re only twenty seconds in when Elesa murmurs, “That is the most terrifying Pokemon I’ve ever seen.”

“It is verrrrry big,” Emmet agrees. “And verrrrry aggressive.”

The purple blur of the gliscor shoots onscreen, slamming the steelix into the ground. It’s only once the man in black appears that Emmet squints. Where did he even come from? He pauses. Rewinds a few seconds. Plays it again, frame by frame.

Sure enough, Emmet realizes that there is a barely-visible smudge of black riding atop the gliscor as it dunks the steelix into the earth.

Elesa takes a sharp breath. “If that is Ingo, I’m going to kill him.”

“He clearly needs a reintroduction to the basics of battling safety,” Emmet agrees, a worried furrow forming in his brow as he watches the man in black stand in the middle of the fray, tense and ready but far too close to a Pokemon willing and able to kill him.

He watches the man roll out of the way of the steelix with practiced ease, and something in his gut twists.

“Ingo does not know how to dodge like that,” Emmet says, not sure if he’s hoping for a counter-argument or not.

“He didn’t three years ago,” Elesa says, voice soft. “But a lot can change in three years, Em.”

Emmet supposes that is true. His entire life changed in an instant, the night Ingo never arrived home. Emmet does not bring up his next two points against this man possibly being Ingo, since he imagines Elesa’s previous comment applies to both.

One: Ingo does not have a gliscor. But he would not go long without any Pokemon, and he did not have his team with him when he disappeared. It makes sense he would catch more.

Two: Ingo also did not have a teenager at his side, looking far too concerned about his well-being to be a stranger, and that really is one of the biggest points against this “Ingo.” But that too could have changed.

Whoever this man is, both Emmet and Elesa wince when they see him antagonizing the steelix to keep it distracted from the girl, moments later rewarded with a stealth rock to the side. In this moment more than any of the others, Emmet hopes this man is not Ingo. The nurse at the hospital didn’t seem too concerned about his injury, but…if this is Ingo, he knows he will watch this again in the future and have nightmares about that moment. Imagine the rock shooting a few inches farther back, lodging itself into the man’s heart instead of just grazing his torso.

Emmet shakes his free hand out, flinging the horrible thoughts off like water, before paying attention to the screen again as the man in black is shown closer up. This time, Elesa pauses it.

Both of them stare at the face that looks so, so much like Ingo.

“It has to be him,” Elesa whispers, voice cracking. “Look at him, Em.”

Emmet swallows, blinking back tears. “I will not believe it until I see him in-person.”

Elesa sighs, but nods her head, settling against him again.

They watch the video at least five more times before Elesa suggests they put it away.

Emmet gets an hour or two of fitful sleep on the plane, and as soon as they land they call a car to take them to the hotel to drop off their luggage and Pokemon. Not even stopping to eat, they call one more car to take them to the hospital where the man in black is staying.

Each step along the journey, Emmet feels his anxiety grow. His hands are sweating buckets under his gloves and that sensation is worse than any texture that could rub him the wrong way, so he takes his gloves off, tucking them into his pocket so he can drum his fingers against his knees.

He doesn’t know why he is so nervous. He knows it won’t be Ingo. It is never Ingo. Maybe his body is just bracing for the fresh wave of heartbreak.

Eventually, Elesa reaches over and takes Emmet’s hand, giving him a squeeze. Emmet thinks it is as much for her comfort as his own. He can see how nervous she is by how she looks out the window and tugs idly at her hair extensions.

When they arrive at the hospital, Elesa marches them up to the front desk, explaining who they are and what they’re doing there. The nurse on duty timidly says something in another language—Sinnohan—and gestures for them to wait before bustling off. She returns a moment later with a different woman in tow, who greets them with a beaming smile and perfect Unovan.

“Hi! I’m Mary. Kayo said she mentioned me last night? I’m so glad you’re here. I know this whole thing kind of breaks the usual protocol, but I rode the subway for years in ‘Basa and I would recognize Subway Master Ingo pretty much anywhere. Especially after, well.” She gives Emmet a sympathetic look.

Distantly, Emmet thinks this woman does seem a bit familiar. If Ingo were here he would likely strike up an excited conversation about crossing tracks with an old passenger. But Emmet is here instead, so he simply holds his strained smile and sends Elesa a glance, quietly begging her to take over. He just wants to get this over with. Prove that this man is not his brother so they can go back to the hotel to lick their wounds in peace.

Elesa steps in, giving the woman a tired smile. “Thank you so much for calling us. The other nurse said he’s not hurt too badly?”

“Yes! Yes, he’s fine—or, well, he will be. His injury from yesterday is all stitched up and he’s already had a few rounds of heal pulse treatment.” For the first time, Mary’s upbeat demeanor falters. “But, uh…he is acting a bit different. I know I only saw him when he was at work, but I think his lack of memories is making him a bit…tense.”

“Tense? Try unruly,” another nurse mutters as she swings by the front desk to grab a clipboard. Mary gives her back a glare as she walks away.

Unruly? Emmet doesn’t think Ingo has ever been called unruly in their life. That is more of Emmet’s thing.

“He was sedated while we stitched him up,” Mary explains. “He only woke up a short while ago, and he tried to leave the hospital after that. He seemed…a bit panicked. We have an espurr in the room with him right now, making sure he stays put. We tried explaining that he can’t leave yet and that we called you to the hospital, but he doesn’t seem to trust us.”

Emmet blinks, thrown. Why would this man not trust a hospital?

Ingo would.

“We’ll deal with that when we get to it,” Elesa says, clearly anxious to just see the man. “Did you check to see if he’s, you know. Actually human?”

“Oh! Absolutely, especially once we realized who we might have on our hands. We had three different Pokemon check him out, just to make sure that he isn’t a ditto or some kind of illusion,” the nurse assures, giving them another beaming smile. “He’s definitely human.”

Something in Elesa unwinds at that, her whole posture drooping with relief as she plants her hands on the desk and blinks hard. “Good. Good. Thank you.”

That is not enough for Emmet.

“I am Emmet. I want to see him myself.”

Mary nods, but looks troubled. She bites her lip and glances at Elesa. “I’m sorry to say this, but we’re restricting visitation to one person at a time, at least for now. Doctor’s orders, unless Ingo requests otherwise. He’s clearly stressed and we don’t want to overwhelm him.”

Emmet stares, trying to process what that means.

Elesa hisses a frustrated breath through her teeth. “Seriously? Fine. But Emmet’s going first.”

Oh. Elesa cannot come with him? He turns to Mary. “But Elesa is our sister.”

Maybe not in blood, or legally, but in everything that matters.

Mary winces. “I’m sorry. Trust me, I would let you both go up if I could. If your meeting with Ingo goes well and he approves another visitor, you can come back and grab miss Elesa as well.”

Emmet isn’t the best with expressions, but even he can see that Mary is genuinely upset about having to split them up. Despite that, for a moment Emmet wants to argue, furious that after everything Elesa did to get them here, worrying just as much as Emmet that this is Ingo, that this isn’t Ingo, some stupid rules are keeping her from meeting with the man in black.

Elesa missed Ingo nearly as much as Emmet did.

Before Emmet can get fired up, Elesa’s hand lands on his arm. When he looks at her, she’s holding back tears. “Em, it’s all right. Just—can you go see if it’s him? Please? I need to know.”

All of Emmet’s fury leaves in a rush, leaving only cold trepidation behind. He swallows, staring at her and trying to impart how afraid he is to do this alone.

Elesa squeezes his arm, giving him a slightly-forced grin. “You can do it, Em. C’mon. Go get your brother.”

Emmet’s smile wobbles. “You do not know it is him.”

“And we won’t know unless you go check. Just make sure you come get me if it is him, okay?”

Emmet takes a deep breath and nods, reaching up to squeeze Elesa’s hand. “Right. Yes. I will do that.”

Mary gestures Elesa over to the waiting room chairs, and then turns to lead Emmet into the hospital halls proper. Emmet follows, his limbs stiff and his heart pounding faster and faster with each step. He glances nervously at the open doors and beeping machines that they pass. The whole place is chilly, smelling of antiseptic.

When they are in the elevator, Emmet anxiously curls and uncurls his hands. Mary glances at him with what is probably supposed to be a soothing smile, but otherwise doesn’t say anything else, which Emmet is glad for.

Then, too soon and not soon enough, they are in front of a half-open door: room 903. Mary leaves him with another encouraging smile and instructions to grab a nurse if he needs anything.

And then Emmet is alone. He stares at the door, trying to listen for anything other than the pulse roaring in his ears.

How many times has he had a nightmare just like this? How many times has he had a dream just like this? Imagined a happy reunion filling him with joy only for it to be ripped away as he woke?

Emmet cannot handle this being another dream, so he pinches his thigh, hard enough to leave a bruise. He winces, then glances around as the hospital remains.

Real, then.

A man awaits him, just a doorway away. A man who looks like his brother. And yet Emmet is rooted to the spot, filled with equal parts dread and hope. He’d tried so hard not to get his hopes up on the way here. So, so hard.

And yet here he is, hoping anyways.