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Ingo was looking right into the terrifying eyes of his brother.
Or, well, what used to be his brother. After a large series of disagreements and fights the two had split, Emmet firing Ingo from their longtime home of the battle subway and forcing him out of what used to be their dream. 6 months had passed since then, Ingo scraping a living by working at the coffee shop with the one person he considered to surprisingly be his best friend, Volo. Although odd, Ingo now considered Volo more of a brother than Emmet now, comforting him more than Emmet ever had in the past few months. Volo understood. He knew what it was like to be thrown into a strange world, forced to make due with the cruel hand you had been dealt and adjust to whatever society expected of you.
Emmet wasn't as informed. He treated Ingo like the ground under his boots when he realized he couldn't remember almost anything about the world he had just returned to, becoming almost as much as a stressful black hole Ingo was. He had tried to help in the beginning, of course he did. Maybe he just got sick of the new thing placed in front of him. Emmet did that a lot.
Still, no matter how tired Emmet got at the sad husk that Ingo still called a man, he didn't expect him to be pointing a gun at his head in broad daylight.
The older brother could feel his own heartbeat blaring in his ears as his thoughts raced, thumping like a drum in his head to the music of his brain going one thousand miles per hour.
Thump.
Ingo saw Emmet cock the gun, Volo ready at his side to stand in the way. All of his old and new companions were set at his side, ready to defend their friend if Emmet were to shoot.
Was Emmet going to shoot? He couldn't tell based on his expression alone, his face had that usual calm unreadability about it. A technique he had taken from Ingo so long ago, to try and convince their mother that he was a perfectly good child.
Thump.
Ingo wasn't going to die, right? Arceus couldn't be so cruel to cut his life short, especially by his own brother. It was really only then that Ingo started to think about what would happen after his life was done, either taken or finished from natural causes. Would it really be that bad of a fate? He would get to see his family again. His mom, his dad, maybe even Emmet if he regretted his decision enough. Either that or he would get absorbed into Chandelure, lost as a soul that wandered the mortal plane. Even if that had happened Ingo would still get to be with Volo, never growing old together as they did all of the things each other planned to do before everything was all over.
How would the public react, though? Would they be as sad that their beloved subway master was dead as that he was missing? Would their spirits still be as filled with hope as they were to entertain the fact that Ingo would return someday, or would they completely lose their joy realizing that they'd never see him moving again? Ingo knew of quite a few fans that would be devastated to see him go, maybe even causing a few families to lose their own children.
Thump.
Ingo felt Volo grip his hand. How would he react to Ingos sudden passing away? Would he be sad? Disappointed? Happy, even, that the strange old man was out of his way? Although that wasn't the most probable outcome, Ingo didn't know to be surprised or not if it happened. Even though he was a master manipulator, Ingo wanted to believe Volo had changed. He needed to believe Volo had changed. Ingo didn't know how much his heart could take if his best friend for half of a year revealed himself to be just another cruel, cold-hearted evil genius, having manipulated Ingo to do his bidding.
Either way, Ingo knew that if he died, Volo would murder Emmet in cold blood if he didn't do it himself. It was getting harder and harder for him to control his rage at Ingos little tales of him and Emmet, somehow finding something wrong with each and every one of them. By the way he talked about Emmet, he knew he wanted to get revenge for the pain he put him through. He would be arrested, surely. Both of them would if Emmet wasn't dead by the time the Unova Police got there.
Thump.
Ingo saw his pokemon shake as they readied themselves to jump in the way. What would happen if Emmet accidentally pulled the trigger on a pokemon? He knew that none of them would be abandoned if Ingo died, taken in by Emmet or Elesa if his heart didn't continue beating. Yet still, what if one of his pokemon got shot instead of him? Ingo would never forgive himself if little joltik or his old best friend chandelure were dead at his hands, taking their place in the underworld for him. If he was honest, Ingo would much rather die than carry the worth of a friend on his hands. Even if their sacrifice was loyal.
Would his pokemon miss him if he died? Would they even remember him? His creatures hadn't seen him in so long. He knew they were loyal to him, but was being commanded by their twin brother probably didn't make much of a difference. While ingo didn't doubt his pokemon in the intelligence department, they must've gotten used to him being gone for so long. What about his pokemon in Hisui as well? To them he was already dead, lost to a world that only their ancestors got to see. Everyone except for Volo must have been miserable when he left. Was it really worth sacrificing them for a home he was soon going to die to?
Thump.
Then, finally, Ingo looked at Emmet. The man was… crying. Ingo almost doubled back in surprise as he saw tears run down his face, thick as rivers and as constant as a waterfall. All Ingo could do was watch the man sob as he held the weapon out, face twisted in a crooked smile.
Ingo remembered that smile. It was the smile that Emmet had when he was a kid, before he was forced into uniformity when they were barely adults. He had always liked Emmets natural smile, one full of truth and mischief and trouble he was always known for as a child. It was a stark contrast to Ingos usual straight laced behavior, one he had always admired as a child. In truth, Ingo knew both of the brothers had been jealous of each other. Their mothers constant comparisons between the two hadn't helped either, always hearing "why can't you be more like your brother" repeated as they fought in the battle subway. Ingo couldn't say that he wasn't at least a little bit glad she had died. It had always bothered him to hear those comparisons either in person or deep in his subconscious.
Ingo watched his brothers tears fall, a strange feeling overcoming him. Ingo wanted to help the man that was about to shoot him. There was something bothering his brother, and Ingo wanted to make sure it went away. The only thing allowed to bother Emmet was Ingo's little teasings he dealt out on the occasion. There was a deep part of Ingo that had to assist his brother, no matter the cost. He needed help, and Ingo was the only person who could give it.
Thump.
Ingo automatically knew what he had to do. As his heartbeat faded from his ears and his hand slipped out of Volo's, Ingo could feel nothing but a soft smile on his face and the still undying love of his brother. He approached the man as Emmet's hands shook, gun in them still pointing down at Ingo with his every move. Ingo closed his eyes. He didn't need to know about that now. All he knew was that his brother needed help from him. He needed to make sure he was okay. Ingo buried his face into Emmets chest, wrapping his arms around his brother.
"It's alright. Please don't cry. Everything will ne okay."
Ingo was completely content when the gunshot rang out, the sharp pain in his side slipping him into unconsciousness.
▪︎▪︎▪︎
"How are you doing?"
Volo was perched near Ingo's hospital bed, gently brushing the lavender plants with his fingers. It had nearly been a week since Ingo had been shot and Ingo had been bedridden for nearly all of it, barely able to sit up for the first few days and in great pain the next. Still, the trainer remained diligent as he healed his wounds, following the nurses directions and trying as hard as he could to remain in contact with his friends. Thankfully, Volo had visited him every day, trying his hardest to keep his friend company.
"I am doing much better today, thank you Volo." Ingo smiled, placing one of the lavender buds in his short hair.
"I'm glad. I'm not too sure what I would do without you," Volo sighed, looking put into the distance. "I couldn't be happier that your brother missed."
Ah. Missed. According to the doctors, Emmet had missed his heart by quite the mile, instead shooting the left side of his stomach. If he was honest, Ingo wasn't sure Emmet missed on accident. Maybe something in the scared, anger driven brain of his really wanted to save his brother, despite all of the pain the two had caused each other.
"I am as well. I am very fortunate to live." Ingo mused, Volo resting his head on his shoulder. He was doing that a lot lately, and while Ingo didn't really mind, he had been noticing a rise in affection in Volo's part. Maybe he just missed him?
A soft, cherry voice broke him out of his thoughts, a nurse poking her head through the doorframe. "Ingo! You have a new visitor!"
Ingo nodded, gently nudging Volo off of him. "Go ahead."
A small, rail thin frame stumbled into the room, soft grey hair pulled back into a small ponytail. Wire frames of glasses surrounded their eyes, color of a cloudy day after a heavy rainstorm. A big "UNOVA SUBWAY" sweater was layered over a pair of black jeans, small green bracelet symbolizing rehabilitation poking out from his soft blue shirt. Ingo recognized that smile immediately, a mix of sheepishness and pure guilt.
"Hello, brother."