Chapter Text
Emmet and Ingo. Ingo and Emmet. They had always been a two-car train, coupled together with no sign of separating. They had always reached for one another, crawling together to explore this strange world they had been born into. You could never have one without the other.
These so-called ‘teachers’ had no idea what they were talking about.
“I’m afraid it’s school policy,” they told the family of four, using a big word the twins had yet to learn. That was verrrry rude, in Emmet’s opinion. Mom and Dad said they were here to learn. “It helps promote social interaction with other students and limits the likelihood of codependency developing later in life.”
Five year old Emmet, annoyed by the big words of the rude teacher, ever so eloquently stuck his tongue out at them. Mom had used that big word last time he did it at the rude lady at the grocery store.
The teacher chuckled at Emmet and stuck their own tongue out at him. Emmet gasped and pointed, looking at his brother sat next to him on his dad’s lap. He couldn’t believe it! An adult stuck their tongue out at him! A child! His mom giggled from above him. Emmet could feel the laughter against his back. He liked it, but he liked seeing Mom smile more. She didn’t smile like Emmet did. Only the corners of her mouth curled up. Emmet loved her smile. It was special and pretty, just like Mom.
“They will still be able to see each other during break,” the teacher continued. Emmet was confused. Wasn’t breaking stuff bad? “and potentially during lunch, depending on which classes they are put in.”
Emmet felt his mom shift beneath him and turned back. She and Dad were doing that look they did. It was the look that either meant ice cream or timeout. Emmet looked over at his brother who just shrugged. They weren’t learning! Emmet didn’t like it. He wasn’t home where he had his blanket or his train or even his hat. Emmet didn’t get why he and Ingo couldn’t wear their hats! He didn’t like the way the room kept messing with his hair, ruffling it wrong, wrong, wrong. Why did they even have to be here? They were just sitting here, bored, because the rude teacher was using big words they didn’t know!
He did like the sound of lunch though. Emmet was hungry. Verrrry hungry. Could they go home and eat?
“Shhh,” Mom shushed Emmet, running her hand through his hair, ruffling it the right way. “We’re almost done, little Tracks.”
If Mom said that, it must be true! Mom didn’t lie, unlike Dad. Dad lied about getting sweets last week and about not having to brush their teeth if they took a bath the week before. Emmet gave his dad a dirty look. The man shivered. Emmet smiled. He could be very scary when he wanted to and he wanted to a lot. People called Ingo scary, but Emmet didn’t think he was. How could he when his brother loved talking about battles and Pokémon and trains just like him! The other kids were dumb. Their loss. He and Ingo were the two car train that ran the climbing frame! No one could use it unless they beat their conkers! Crying to their parents that Ingo and Emmet were too serious was dumb.
A game wasn’t fun if it wasn’t serious!
Other kids were weird. They wanted to play with balls or dolls or action figures, never with trains. They said trains were for little kids, but they were all little kids? It was verrrry dumb, but Emmet wasn’t supposed to say that to their faces. Mom says he shouldn’t lie, but she also says he shouldn’t say everything he thinks, because people don’t always like the truth. Ingo was good at that, using pretty words to make people like the truth more, but Emmet wasn’t.
The boy squirmed slightly in his mom’s lap. His clothes were starting to itch. Emmet didn’t like that. He wanted to go back to their room and talk Dad into more snacks. This adult wasn’t Mom or Dad or Ingo and Emmet wanted to leave. He wanted their room and their toys and his hat. This was dumb and he didn’t even know why they were here.
And then Mom pushed him off her lap and stood up, Dad copying her with Ingo. His brother watched their parents shake the lady’s hand and talk to her, before approaching the lady and holding out his own hand for a shake. The lady crouched down and shook Ingo’s hand, smiling as she said goodbye.
“Are you going to say goodbye, Emmet?” Mom asked.
Emmet shook his head. Why would he say goodbye?
His mom chuckled and waved at the lady. “Sorry about him.”
The lady waved her off. “Don’t worry. Kids are often shy around new experiences.”
Emmet scowled, although Mom would call it a pout. “Not shy.”
“Sure, sweetheart.” His mom patted his head gently and took his hand. “Ready to go?”
The boy nodded his head hard enough he felt dizzy. He turned and dragged Mom out of the room and after Dad and Ingo. They had a head start because of Mom’s silly questions! Yes, he was ready to go! He never wanted to be here, but noooo. Mom had to drag them here and talk to the weird lady whilst he had to sit. He didn’t learn! Other than him and Ingo and different ‘classes’? Emmet didn’t know what that meant. Ingo and Emmet? Different? Yep! Ingo was loud, Emmet was quiet. Ingo used verrrry pretty words, Emmet didn’t. Ingo didn’t smile much, but Emmet did! Because he was happy! A lot! That didn’t mean Ingo wasn’t happy a lot too- he was! But he didn’t smile like Emmet did and that was okay. His brother didn’t do everything Emmet did and Emmet didn’t do everything Ingo did.
But different ‘classes’? Emmet didn’t know what ‘classes’ were, but he heard different rooms. He didn’t like that. Why would they need different rooms? That was so silly. Emmet liked their room. Ingo’s half had the dark bed covers or the missing half of the train set they shared or the glowing stars Ingo had their dad help him stick on the ceiling. He didn’t want it to go.
Mom squeezed Emmet’s hand and he looked up at her. She smiled down at him, that curl at the edges of her mouth calming something in Emmet he didn’t know had gotten upset. Her hand found his hair and he leaned into it.
“You’ll be alright, Emmet. You’re too stubborn for difficulty to win.
Emmet trusted Mom and he trusted whatever she was saying. He didn’t know what stubborn meant, but if Mom was saying it, it had to be right. Emmet just leant into her side, soaking in the touch and warmth. He loved his mom.
Little Emmet was right. School was stupid and dumb and dull and Ingo wasn’t even in his classes to make things less dull! Big boy Emmet, seven years old and counting, had seen this all himself and, like always, he was punished. Emmet wasn’t a bad kid! He just told the teacher she was wrong about the Psychic Ghost type matchup! She was the one who told him to sit down and listen quietly, which Emmet wasn’t going to do.
“Didn’t your mom teach you manners?”
His mom taught him to speak up when he knew something was wrong, not that he needed her to tell him that. Just because he was the only one to tell her she was wrong and teaching something wrong, he got punished? It was dumb. Why did his only good class have to be taught by such a mean teacher! Pokémon class was fascinating to Emmet. Different moves, different status effects, different abilities; it all mixed into such an exciting battle! And when Emmet heard there were more types of battle than single battles? He couldn’t believe it!
Emmet’s face hit the desk as he let out a quiet groan. He and Ingo were going to watch the Tag Team Tournament tonight. It was the final and they had been looking forward to it, making up poses. They were trying to get them right, so they did them at the same time! What was better than battling trainers with his brother? Nothing! That’s what!
Someday, that would be them up there. Their combinations would be unmatched and they’d arrive at the station known as Victory! And then they would continue to train! Trains didn’t stop at a station and never move, so Emmet would continue down his tracks and grow, just like Ingo. He’d eat all his vegetables and grow big and strong like Dad said! And if Dad was lying, Emmet would grow big and strong anyway and show him!
Emmet glanced up at the clock. The minute hand finally ticked forward. Emmet burrowed his head in his arms and grumbled. Stupid clock. Stupid detention. Stupid teacher. He should be at home, watching the Tournament with Ingo and then put on their cartoon, Thomas, until dinner. Emmet should not be here, because of some mean teacher that probably believed the planet was flat or that trains were fuelled by dinosaur bones.
“Emmet.” The teacher at the front of the room called. “I need to see you doing some work, young man.”
Emmet rolled his eyes, but sat up, hunched over his desk as he stared down at the notebook in front of him. He picked up his pencil. There were a lot of letters in it and he was supposed to be writing them over and over and over again. Dull. So what if it helped him in the long run? Emmet was seven. He wanted to go home and watch TV and play with his trains. But he couldn’t and Ingo was going to give him a lecture and it was all the meany teacher’s fault!
Emmet’s pencil slipped from where he was scribbling a hole through the paper, a giant line striking across his train doodle in the corner. He stared at it, the way the childish scribble had been divided in half by his anger. Heat rose to his eyes and Emmet blinked it away, keeping his breathing even. It was a childish scribble, yes, but it was his childish scribble that he put a lot of time and effort in and now he had gone and messed it all up!
Still, Emmet refused to cry. He could fix it, right? He made the mess so all he had to do was tidy it up, like Dad showed him. Erase there and rub it out here- redraw that part-
There. It was messier than before and some parts of the pencil were darker than others, but the train was in one piece again and that was all Emmet cared about. He was the very strong kid that fixed all this damage! Repaired the mechanical beast! No other kid could stand up to his power!
Emmet couldn’t wait to tell Ingo about it. They always ran the wooden train at the park now!
Emmet started to doodle again; him and Ingo riding the wooden train that was secretly a real train and meeting lots and lots of Pokémon friends, perfecting their combination until they won that tournament. At least, that’s what Emmet thought the doodle showed. But he was seven years old and drawing two stick figures (one smiling and one frowning, with their hats, of course!) on a train with what could be a Lillipup or a Pidove, depending on the angle if you squinted, waving at him.
And then he scribbled over that drawing in what was supposed to be explosions from a battle. An explosion he made and a mess he wanted that absolutely showed his thought process off perfectly.
“-mmet?” A hand settled on his shoulder.
Emmet jerked away, glaring at the teacher, who lifted his hands away. He was frowning at Emmet, a deep one that pulled at his face, so Emmet continued to glare. He didn’t like to frown like Ingo could, but Emmet could dim his smile until it was probably a very neutral expression that he had been told was very scary. Add in the glare and Emmet was pretty sure this teacher would leave him alone. He was done with teachers today.
Instead, the teacher decided to talk to Emmet. “Emmet.” Emmet glared harder, but the teacher continued on as if he wasn’t. Dummy. “You need to collect your things and go to the front desk. Your uncle is here to pick you up.”
Uncle? His only uncle was Mom’s brother and he didn’t live anywhere nearby, so what was he doing here? Emmet had never even met him and only ever talked to him over the phone during the holidays. He was a very busy man, after all, and couldn’t just travel all the way from his home. It was very far. That’s why they weren’t able to visit. The trains only went to Nimbasa and that was already so far away, but Emmet didn’t mind. It meant a long train ride! Emmet was never going to complain about that!
“Come along, Emmet.”
Right. Teacher. Mystery uncle. What was he even doing here? Emmet supposed it didn’t matter. If it got him back home sooner, Emmet wasn’t going to complain. He hoped Mom had thought to record their show. If they missed it, he would never hear the end of it from Ingo.
Emmet gathered his stuff, shoving his book into his bag and following the teacher. The minute hand of the clock ticked forward as he left the room and began the walk to the front desk. Emmet watched the teacher walk, mimicking her much larger stride with large steps, his arms swinging by his side. Their shoes clicked against the ground in unison, a little tune only Emmet was paying any attention to.
And then the teacher stopped and Emmet looked up.
The man staring back at him was, bigger than Dad by a lot, but not much taller than Mom. His hair was the same grey as Mom’s, the hair colour he and Ingo got from her, but was sprinkled with white. Emmet thought he looked tired and old, like Dad before he went to dye his hair every few months. He didn’t have Mom’s dark, nearly black eyes, either.
He was also glaring down at Emmet. Emmet glared back. Don’t look down at him! He was seven years old! That was basically ten years old, old enough to travel in most other regions. He was practically an adult!
The man sighed and knelt down. “Hello Emmet. I am your Uncle Drayden. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”
Emmet tilted his head to the side. What was this man going on about?
“I am here to take you to the hospital,” Drayden held out his hand with its palm up for some reason. “Your parents are already there waiting for us.”
Emmet narrowed his eyes at his uncle. Why was he here? Why weren’t Mom and Dad picking him up? His uncle was always super busy and, for some reason, he was here. He never picked Emmet up- they had never even met before! What was going on? Where were Mom and Dad?
“Emmet!”
Dad sprinted down the hallway, wrapping his arms around Emmet and squeezing him. It was uncomfortable, tight, and his dad was pressing his face into Emmet’s shoulder that was slowly getting damp. The boy squirmed, wriggling in his dad’s grip, until the older man gave him one last squeeze and released him. Emmet took a couple steps back, removing his now slightly damp jacket and staring pointedly at the wet patch on his shoulder.
His dad sniffed and chuckled, but it didn’t sound happy. “Sorry, Emmet.”
Emmet looked up at the man. His eyes looked red and painful, like when Dad’s allergies got bad, but it wasn’t allergy season. And his cheeks looked wet, like Emmet’s shoulder was now. Was Dad crying? Dad didn’t cry with tears. He laughed and fell to the ground sobbing loudly at the unfairness of it all. Tears were for Emmet and Ingo to use until Dad caved and gave them extra TV time as long as they didn’t tell Mom.
They didn’t look right on Dad.
“Eastin…” Emmet glanced back at his uncle. The man was watching his dad, standing right behind Emmet, his arms crossed.
“I-I know.” Dad sighed, rubbing his hand down his face. “It’s… I just-“ he sighed again. He was starting to sound like Mom. “Emmet.” Dad was smiling at him. He didn’t look happy though. His eyes were still puffy and his cheeks were still wet. He held out his hand. “Let’s go. Ingo and Mom are waiting for you.”
Ingo? Ingo was here too? He grabbed Dad’s hand and let him lead him down the hallway. If Ingo was here, maybe they could play while Mom and Dad and Uncle did their boring adult stuff. Or maybe there would be a TV and they could watch their shows, like when they were waiting for their eye tests or to get new shoes. Maybe they could save this dumb day and have fun despite the mean teacher unfairly putting Emmet in detention.
Emmet glanced over his shoulder. Uncle was chatting with a lady with a clipboard. He did a lot of talking, like with the man behind the desk Emmet couldn’t see over or the man sat next to them when they were waiting in those super uncomfortable seats. Emmet didn’t get why. They weren’t even talking about fun stuff like Pokémon or trains or battles! Why talk if you’re not talking about something fun? Maybe Ingo would understand. Ingo liked using his words more than Emmet.
Maybe that was why the people in the hallways were watching them pass; they just didn’t like to talk nonsense either.
Eventually, Dad stopped, pulling Emmet to a stop too. He glanced up at his dad, watching the man take a deep breath in and shake his body. Emmet copied, shaking his arms and head just like his dad. Dad glanced at him, giving him that not happy smile again.
“Emmet.” Dad squeezed his hand and waited until he stopped shaking his body. “You need to be quiet, alright? Ingo needs his rest.”
Emmet nodded. If Ingo was tired, he could rest. They’d had a long day at school and Ingo was always quiet when Emmet needed to rest. It made perfect sense!
Dad smiled that smile again and turned back to the door with a big sigh. He pushed the handle down and opened it, releasing Emmet’s hand so he could walk into the room. It was dark in the small room, the curtains drawn despite it still being light outs-
“Ingo!”
Emmet was by his brother’s side within moments. He might have been seven, but Emmet knew bandages meant Ingo was hurt- and there were a lot of bandages. His dad grabbed him, preventing him from climbing onto the bed and dislodging the beeping machines that Emmet hated the sound of already, but it only gave him a perfect view of his brother’s face.
Bruising, all over his face. Split lip, a black eye, all visible skin blotchy and discoloured. Drowning in those white sheets, Ingo’s injuries stood out all the more, specks of red easy to pick out.
“I-Ingo-“ Emmet reached out. His dad slowly sat in a chair and secured him in his lap, close enough to allow him to reach out and grab at his brother’s limp hand. There was blood and dirt under his fingernails, his knuckles bloody and bruised from his attempts to defend himself.
It all painted a picture that even at seven years old Emmet could understand. Ingo had gotten hurt bad and Emmet hadn’t been there. He’d been in detention, because he couldn’t just shut up and Ingo had been alone and hurting.
Ingo’s hand squeezed Emmet’s.
“Ingo!” He stared into the exhausted eyes of his brother. Ingo just smiled, wincing as it pulled at his barely scabbed over split lip, and blinked slowly, as though he was about to drop off back to sleep. Emmet smiled back, swallowing back the screams he wanted to share with the world over how unfair this was. “I’m okay. Go back to sleep.”
Ingo did not look convinced, but the reminder of sleep seemed to be enough to drag him back under.
Emmet resisted the urge to shake his brother awake, like he always did before crawling into bed with him after a scary dream. This wasn’t a bad dream Emmet could wake up from; he could count all of his fingers. Emmet couldn’t climb onto the bed, but he was able to cling to Ingo’s hand and tug it off the scratchy sheets beneath it.
“Ingo doesn’t like scratchy sheets.” Emmet whispered to the room. He didn’t need to look to know his parents’ silent conversation had stopped and they were both looking at him.
Dad’s arms squeezed Emmet momentarily. “I’ll bring them with me when I come back.”
“Come back?” That didn’t make any sense. Why would Dad leave?
“We need to go home eventually, Emmet.” What? No! “Those are the hospital rules.”
“No!” Emmet protested, wriggling in his dad’s arms. “Ingo can’t be alone! He can’t!”
“And he won’t be.” Mom was in front of him, crouched down to be at his height, cupping his cheeks tenderly in her hands. “I will be staying.”
Emmet sniffled, rubbing at his eyes that were weirdly sore. “B-but-“
Mom readjusted Emmet’s hat on his head. She has gotten him and Ingo matching ones for their fourth birthday, just after their first train ride. Emmet and Ingo might never be able to wear them at school, but they always had them safely secured in their bags until they left school grounds.
“You need to go home and sleep, Tracks. And your brother needs you to go home and get his favourite blanket. Ingo is okay, Emmet. He is okay.”
Emmet glanced over to the bed. Mom was wrong. Ingo was hurt- that wasn’t okay- but she had a point. Who else could be trusted to pick Ingo’s favourite blanket? He had loads of super soft blankets and pillows, but only Emmet knew their rankings and half of their names. Ingo had entrusted him with that knowledge.
“Why is Ingo hurt?” Because no one had told him anything. He hadn’t even known Ingo was hurt until he stepped in the room. Emmet’s voice was quieter than he had ever heard it before, almost drowned out by his own sniffling.
Mom looked over his head, clearly having a silent conversation with Dad. Emmet usually liked quiet conversations, especially with Ingo. They sometimes tried to guess what Mom and Dad were silently saying.
“He…” Mom met his eyes again. “Remember when we told you to stay out of the caves? Like the long grass?” Emmet nodded. Never encroach on a Pokémon’s territory when you were without a Pokémon of your own. It never ended well. “Well… Ingo went inside one…”
Emmet didn’t understand. Ingo knew better than that. He stared at Mom, but she didn’t say anything more. Emmet wasn’t happy with that, but Ingo would tell him later. He always did.
Emmet tucked himself into his dad’s side, staring at the passing scenery. He much preferred the train scenery, but it didn’t feel right to take a train without his brother, so Emmet was glad that Uncle decided he was going to take them home. Even if Uncle’s music taste was verrrry bad. At least he put the volume on low.
“Drayden.” Dad broke the quiet. Uncle hummed in acknowledgement, keeping his eyes on the road. Good. That was basic safety procedure. “Why didn’t you warn him?”
Uncle momentarily glanced at his mirror, before turning his attention back to the road. “I didn’t think it was my place.”
Dad’s grip tightened, but Emmet didn’t mind right now. It kept him in the car, not back in the hospital with Ingo sleeping and the beep beep beep- “You could have told me you didn’t tell him.”
Dad wasn’t happy. He and Mom sometimes whispered like that when they didn’t want Ingo and Emmet to hear why they were upset.
“I would have thought you would have asked.”
“So it’s my fault now-“
“Rhiathan would have asked-“
“No.” That was Dad’s ‘no more arguments unless you want to go to bed without dessert’ voice. “She wouldn’t have. Because she no longer really knows you, Drayden.”
“…I call every week.”
“We know what is going on in your life. That doesn’t mean we know you anymore. The boys don’t even remember you.”
And then the quiet returned to the car. Emmet didn’t really get what that was all about, but he didn’t like the fact Mom doesn’t really know Uncle, her own brother. He can’t imagine only talking to Ingo once a week! That seemed really sad.
Emmet would have to visit him every day until he got out of the hospital then! That way they would never talk only once a week and Ingo could always be Emmet’s best friend and he could be Ingo’s!