Work Text:
The distance from Unova to Sinnoh was much longer than the usual train ride Emmet was accustomed to, but Volo’s guidance was the only lead he had, albeit dubious. He half expected Volo to “accidentally” push him off before boarding or lead him into a dark alleyway and just murder him there, leaving the police to wonder why the body of a prolific Unovan trainer ended up in an entirely different region. Yet, wondrously, he didn’t take the opportunity to stab him in the back or rob him, just stood there smiling away as if he was watching everything happen like it was his own personal sitcom.
Emmet really hated Volo.
“Here we are,” he said pleasantly, letting go of the handrail and making his way towards the door. Emmet said nothing as he followed, but the questions were obvious. Why Sinnoh? Why did he take me this far out? What could this possibly have to do with Ingo’s disappearance? Instead, all he said was “For your sake, this had better not be a waste of time.”
Volo laughed like he’d just heard a joke. “Patience, my dear friend! We’re almost there.”
Emmet clenched his jaw, resolutely holding back all the retorts and insults that sprung to mind. I am not your friend. I am Emmet. All I need is to find Ingo, and then I will never speak to you again.
A library. Why was Volo walking into a library? It was late and practically empty, the dark of the night through the windows outside just barely disturbed by the lighting. “There are books in Unova,” Emmet said stiffly.
“Yes, but not usually Sinnoh history books,” Volo chided, weaving through multiple shelves and skimming the titles, tapping a few with his fingers as he passed, his every move as elegant and liquid as if he had been here a hundred times before.
“I do not follow.” Emmet’s patience wore thin, but he held his tongue.
“You will. Ah! Here we go.” Volo grabbed the spine of a particularly thick book, worn by age despite its protective plastic coat, and leafed through the pages. When he spotted the page he was looking for, he smiled like he was greeting an old friend for the first time in years. “See for yourself.” He carefully turned it around, fingers splayed across the page so Emmet could see the photo at the center.
Emmet felt like he’d been thrown off a cliff. All of a sudden his head was spinning, he couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers, his stomach dropped. It was Ingo.
It was Ingo.
He looked older, more exhausted, he had facial hair (that in lighter circumstances Emmet knew he would have relentlessly teased him for), his clothes were ragged and faded–but it was him. It was impossible. Emmet had spoken to him a few months ago, why was he in a Sinnoh history book ?
This was wrong. This was all wrong. “What are you playing at,” he choked out, but it didn’t sound like a question. “What have you done.”
“Done? I helped you find your brother. Just like we agreed.”
Emmet is on dry land, but he feels like he is drowning, he can even hear the water roaring in his ears, muffling the rest of the world. “ This was not our agreement. ” His legs are shaky. He can barely form a sentence. Tears are pouring down his face but he doesn’t remember when they started. “How. How. What happened to him. ”
“You haven’t been watching the news?” Volo is acting far too calm, and it’s making Emmet want to grab him until he feels his bones snap. “Those Ultra Wormholes and spacetime distortions have been appearing in more places outside Alola as of late. Didn’t you hear about Grimsley? Oh, but he wasn’t displaced in time, was he? Just space. How interesting.”
Interesting. His brother being gone in an instant without him being able to even breathe was interesting. “Liar,” he breathed. “Liar. Liar.” The words on the page Volo was pointing at swam and swirled in his vision, thick with tears. Warden Ingo of the Pearl Clan. What the hell was a warden? What fucking clan? Ingo is his brother and he belongs here. Home. This is wrong. Everything is wrong.
“How would I even fake something like that?” Volo scoffed. “I’m not a conman, remember? I’m an honest salesman.” When he smiled this time, there was a flash of something inhuman in his eyes. “ If you really don’t believe me, I could show you his grave .”
Something inside Emmet snapped and splintered into pieces. He grabbed Volo by the collar, ramming him into the shelf, unable to register how precariously it shook when he did. “ A trick, ” he choked out. “ Always with you it is a trick– ”
The ocean grew louder. His legs went weak. He loosened his grip and stumbled to the nearest trash can and threw up. His hands on the metal edges were the only thing keeping him from crumpling to a heap on the floor. He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream until his voice gave out. He wanted to run into the subway tracks and feel the wheels grinding against his bones. He wanted Ingo. He wanted his big brother.
The only thing he could hear against his own thunderous heartbeat was Volo’s laughter. “How vile,” he said with mock disapproval. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
Emmet was sobbing now, his body rocking with every inhale. “ I nev–eer wanted th–his, ” was all that escaped his throat.
He wished Volo had murdered him. He wished he’d just left. He wished for all the world that this wasn’t happening and he was going to wake up and tell Ingo he had a nightmare again, and he would let him sleep in his bed like when they were kids and he thought a munna was going to fly in through the window and eat his dreams but not if Ingo was there because Ingo was strong–
Ingo. Ingo. Ingo. Ingo. Waves of despair shook him to his core. The mere thought of Ingo growing old and dying, of living an entire life without him, of being without him, he was alone and he was scared and Emmet couldn’t save him he’d just accepted his fate and died died died all alone–the mere thought made bile rise in the back of his throat again. He almost considered bashing his head into the wall just so he wouldn’t have to think anymore, but one tiny little thing held him back. One singular strand of hope amidst the sea of horror and agony.
“I have to ss–save him,” he gasped. “I have. To save him.”
“Now who’s breaking the agreement?” Volo asked. “I’m afraid this is where we part ways. I’ve given you the answer you were looking for. Our business is concluded.”
“ No. ” Burning rage gave him the strength he needed to whirl around and grab Volo again. “ You will help me find him. ”
“Is that a fact?” Volo ever so slightly tilted the edge of his cap upwards, letting his finger drift down to Emmet’s lips. “And why would I do that? You haven’t exactly been the pinnacle of hospitality. What reason would I have to waste more of my precious time helping you chase after a legend?”
“The others,” Emmet could only breathe in gasps, his voice husky and ragged. “The others. Will not believe me. They will tell me to m–move on.” Move on. Just accept it. The thought of doing so made him want to rip the stars to shreds. He could see their faces already, Elesa’s worried expression, the Striaton triplets asking if he’d gotten enough sleep (of course he hadn’t), because he was Emmet, stupid silly Emmet who kept getting into trouble, stupid Emmet who was too dumb to do anything without his brother, delusional crazy Emmet who talked to loud and cared too much and couldn’t live on his own, and now Ingo was dead because of him, Ingo was dead because he gave up and accepted his fate and stopped existing.
The next words were ones he knew he had to use, but it had never been so hard. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said them. Why was he saying them to Volo , of all people, the lying, stealing bastard who never revealed his true intentions? He repeated them over and over in his head like a script, trying to find the courage to speak.
“I need. Help.” he choked. “Please help me.” His hands on Volo’s shoulders were trembling like mad, every syllable steeped in desperation. He hung his head, unable to look him in the eyes. “ Please .”
Volo had never heard him sound so afraid.
Well, now this was a problem. Volo hadn’t been feeling very well at all as of late, but this was going a bit too far. This is what he wanted. This was his moment. He was in control, he was the mastermind, he had all the power, he should be laughing and mocking the weak pathetic man who thought he had any leverage, prove that this whole time he’d been the puppeteer and Emmet the hapless doll. He should say no, Emmet, I will not help you, all I wanted this whole time was to see the look on your face, have a good lonely rest of your life, it’s been hilarious. Yet there was a strange nagging feeling in his chest, like it was tugging at an invisible wire, refusing to let go.
Why wasn’t it fun anymore? Why didn’t he like seeing Emmet beg for mercy? If this had happened when they’d first met, he’d be overjoyed. Why was everything so different now ? He frowned a little, contemplating. He couldn’t identify the feeling, but it was similar to the way he’d felt when Togepi evolved, maybe the way he’d felt when he rescued Riolu from a pack of frenzied Machokes and it kept following him despite how much he shooed it away. Seeing Emmet like this didn’t make him want to laugh, it made him want to stare, to touch, to console, to watch–no, this wasn’t right at all.
Huh. He realized. I feel sad.
How very odd.
“Very well,” he said finally, smoothing over his strange mixture of emotions with his usual silvery dealmaking tone. “If only to see what Arceus makes of your attempts to bend their laws. It will be…entertaining, in the least.”
Emmet flinched like he’d been struck, looking up at him with those stupid shiny silver eyes, full of disbelief and wonder and–whatever else, Volo didn’t have time to catch, because he pulled him into a far-too-tight embrace, so tight that he could feel how quickly his heart was beating. He wasn’t breathing in gasps anymore, it was more like sighs. Sighs of relief; almost weak laughs. His shoulders finally un-tensed as he held Volo’s coat like a lifeboat.
“Th–” he was crying too hard to form complete sentences. Idiot. (Why was thinking that not fun anymore, either?) “Thank–you. Thank you...”
Volo really had forgotten how warm other people were. It was like cradling a flame; Emmet’s body against his. His chest felt like a glass being filled to the brim with warm coffee– what does that even mean? Do I have a fever or something? Why was he paying attention to every little shift in Emmet's arms as he hugged him, every choppy rise and fall in his chest, how happy he sounded, even though he wasn't saying anything at all? Why did it make him feel like he was soaring?
The man before him was so soft. So vulnerable. So human. So why didn't he see it as a weakness?
It was then that he truly and fully settled on the decision to stay. He had to figure out what about Emmet was making him feel so strange, had to study it like his late protege would study her Pokemon. He had to know. I have to know.
What makes you so special?