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Ingo was bleeding.
His little body was crumpled right below the stairs, curled into a little ball and sobbing his eyes out. Crimson was dripping from his chest, falling like raindrops onto his hands clutching the wound. Bruises darkened around his dark gray hair, staining his pale skin with dark blues and purples.
Emmet laughed at first. Of course he did, that’s what brothers do. Seeing your counterpart fall down the little steps you used every day to get up to your bedroom was quite funny at first, especially since he made such a shocked face. Plus, Ingo had always been a crybaby. Falling down a bit of stairs couldn’t hurt that bad, right? It was nothing more than a little scare, Emmet thought. Nothing more than when he used to jump out and scare his brother on halloween, surprising him so hard tears fell down his face.
That was until Emmet saw the blood. Streaks of red against his brother’s white t shirt, dripping down to his pristine blue jeans he decided to wear to school today. A normal Ingo would never let his clothes get like that. A normal Ingo wouldn’t even be bleeding. That was Emmet’s job. The younger twin stared in horror at his injured brother, watching the sinkhole in his stomach grow deeper with each passing moment. He could feel terrified prickles at his own eyes, trying to prevent the sobbing that would start with any more fear.
Of course this had to happen on a day mom wasn’t home. Of course this was the one time the woman had to leave early for work, demanding the twins to make their way to school and giving them her number to call if anything went awry. Emmet wanted to call mom. He really did. But he was too scared to move, thinking the stairs that mutilated his brother were going to come for him next. Not only that, but he wanted to help his brother. He wanted to hug him tight and tell him that he would be better soon, that the doctors were going to fix him and that he would be okay for the rest of his life.
But he couldn’t.
Instead Emmet felt tears fall down his face, 5th grade body trembling as the sobbing started to come in waterfalls. The little boy was forced to his knees, crying over what he thought would soon be his older brother’s dead body.
Then, a hand touched his face. It was soft and warm, slick with blood and shaking. Emmet jumped as he felt his brother wipe away his tears, the touch shocking him out of his scared stupor. His brother was alive. For now, at least.
“Don’t be scared,” Ingo muttered, bruised smile gracing his face like the sun after a heavy rainstorm, “Don’t cry, please. It’ll be okay.”
Emmet looked down at the shaky voice talking to him, seeing for the first time up close the state his brother was in. soft, caring eyes dilated, body stained with that cruel red that took so many things from his life.
Emmet remembered the first time he saw it. He remembered spotting a small, pink deerling on the side of the road, sleeping on its side. It was only as he snuck over to pet it that he realized it was stained by the dark red of death, face stuck in a position of fear the same as when the car had slammed into it. The poor boy had been terrified to go outside for the rest of the week, having to stay home from school from a feigned disease.
In that moment, Emmet knew one thing. He wouldn’t let his brother be taken like that deerling.
Emmet pulled Ingo close, feeling the warmth of his blood against his skin. “I’m gonna keep you safe. You’re not gonna die. Not ever. You’re always gonna be with me, and you’re always gonna be safe.”
Ingo laughed, a choking feeling of blood rising through his throat. “Only if you promise to not die and be safe with me.”
Then he was gone, consciousness disappearing in Emmet’s arms.
Eventually Ingo did get help. Thankfully their mother called the school, and upon realizing the two weren’t there she sped home and discovered the violent scene. Everything else was nothing but a blur, the only things the tormented child remembered being quite a bit of crying and the strange beep on the endless machines that his brother was connected to. He remembered the endless nights in the hospital, watching the sun come up as he beat Pokemon Ranger for the 5th time in a row. He remembered Ingo helping him with the thing he couldn’t quite beat, the two’s weak laughter echoing through the cold halls of the hospital. The one thing he recalled the most, though, was a weak little litwick wandering into their room, slowly feeding on Ingo until he decided that he was going to be its new trainer. Although ungodly jealous that Ingo actually got a pokemon instead of him, both of them were able to bond with the creature, forming a friendship that could only be described as something out of a movie.
It was somewhat odd to see the same pokemon standing in front of him, ready to attack on the command of his brother.
It had been six months since the two had seen each other, and Emmet was a walking disaster. At least, he looked like one. Hair falling down to his shoulders, eyes red and bloodshot, wrinkled white button up barely fastened as it lay loose on his torso. If Emmet was honest, he didn’t care. The world knew of him as a monster already, why not look the part? At least the paparazzi wouldn’t bother him then, the sad ghost of a man who died too long ago to remember.
He could see the pure panic in his old brother’s eyes, bright grays darkening into a stormy sky as he looked at his face mirrored onto another man. His company of Volo, Chandelure, and Emmet’s own joltik were standing at the ready despite their leader’s protests, prepared to disarm the man if need be.
Emmet grinned. Good.
What he was going to do to Ingo needed as much defense as it could get.