Work Text:
Emmet swears there is a second mouth in his stomach.
A spoon, which warps the reflection of lips— plump and throbbing from Emmet’s nervous scratching— scrapes against a plate. What little food he could swallow down does not make him full. If anything , it makes him hungrier than before. There’s something in him— he thinks— something that makes him feel a hollowness so constant, so resolute, that it burns at the walls in his stomach— burns at the walls of his heart, burns at the very tip of his nose. Emmet is a burning man, and he is melting. Because to melt would mean he wouldn’t have to face the meaning behind all that emptiness — the very emptiness that creaked over stairs dusted with cobwebs, walking to memories he could not, would not visit in years.
Yes, surely there was a second mouth in his stomach. There were teeth, not sharp, but meaty, chewing Holes through his abdomen, not that different from the Swiss cheese Ingo would put on all his sandwiches. He was being swallowed from the inside out. But it wouldn’t stop there, Emmet was sure. That second mouth, whatever it was, it was verrrrry greedy. And often he wondered, if it was REALLY there like he claimed it was, what that said about him.
Emmet spit back up orange juice into his glass. His throat grew closed, walls pulsing and pushing against each other like each side was a tectonic plate, merging to be divergent from one another. He smiled anyway. Because no matter what happened, Emmet would smile. If not for himself, for his faithful passengers that had been so kind as to not mention the eye bags that hung like overstuffed bean bags under his eyes, or the condition of his chin, which was slowly starting to gather white scruff at the pudge between his jaw and neck. He took care of himself — for the most part — but there were some things he was clumsy about. There were some things he was purposefully clumsy about, because if he were to fix them, he would be reminded of the face he lost eleven months ago.
Emmet made to get up from the table. He lowered his plate to the ground as an offering for Durant, who graciously lapped up the heap of eggs and bacon Emmet had left behind. He watched, smile unmoving, even as he looked to his phone and saw the date.
It was the day before Christmas Eve.
In the past, Ingo and him would hop on a boat— since there were no train stations there— to the next town over, where they would visit the Casteliacone, praised by locals and tourists alike. Emmet would order one of their various hot drinks, because god knows it was way too cold to eat any ice cream , but Ingo always ordered something cold— something wayyyy too creamy— every single time.
“One Butter pecan for me, and a hot chocolate for my brother. Please and thank you!” He’d say.
Emmet always thought the tradition was weird. Ice cream in the winter? When Elesa heard about it she almost fell over their counter, barely able to contain her own laughter. At the time, he was very vocal about how silly he found the whole thing. Back then, he agreed with Elesa’s reaction to the fullest. But now…
Emmet would do anything to get that tradition back.
This would be the first winter without ice cream. The first winter without a cone filled with butter pecan tilted his direction, a voice cooing at him to “just try a bite! I promise you brother, it’s really quite tasty.” The first winter without ingo .
Emmet thought he really, realllyyyy could not do that. That’s why, he thought, it was veryyyy important he put his mind on the right track straight away!
It was time to focus on going full steam ahead. It was time to put his plan, after months and months of forethought and sleepless nights, into motion.
Emmet walked into Gear Station the next day with a smile rising to flush his cheeks.
Of course, this wasn’t unusual for him. Infact, that’s exactly how he walked in EVERY morning. Even on the morning of Ingo’s disappearance. He had a reputation to uphold, no matter what.
But in the same vein, he knew he had to find his brother, no matter what. Which is why he swings an arm around a pole, turning himself to the train car door, hopping in on his tippy toes. No one thinks this is weird. This is just everyday Emmet to them.
But little do they know, there’s something brewing within him. Something strange, something … veryyyy wrong. It should scare him. Maybe eleven months prior to this moment, it would have. But it doesn’t, for whatever reason. He likes to believe it’s Ingo giving him strength to go on, wherever he is.
It’s around 10 minutes after noon when he finally reaches Anville. One deep breath later, he feels like his lungs are filled with mud and rocks. But the rocks are warm, and the mud has been crafted by loving hand through the grandparents of this town. Emmet has always liked the scent, even if it was nothing like the city he lived in. Even if ingo, in an attempt to still retain his politeness, would try and subtly bury his nose in his cutaway shirt collar.
He moves forward, walking past both strangers and fans. He ignores the gasps of children as they recognize his white hat and coat, and the gossip of the older generation, who still don’t believe he’s a hundred percent innocent in the disappearance of his twin brother. He turns his head to the water, pretending to not listen.
At last, he reaches a little grove And surrounded by rotten bushes and old brick houses. It smells like something swollen with meat has been left to decompose in the sun, but Emmet moves forward yet again.
In the back, at the base of an old tree, stands a young boy. His back is turned towards Emmet. The boy looks like he is studying the leaves, chewed up and spit out by caterpie, no less. Emmet does not waste time making an introduction.
“I am Emmet, a subway boss. Kenji’s train arrives here at 12:30 on Saturday and not a minute before. You are Kenji, correct? ”
Kenji turns around, a bright blue clashing against Emmet’s cold gray. His mouth twists into a smile; a sparkle of recognition twinkles in the corner of each eye.
“Emmet.”, he shoves both hands in his pockets, rocking back and forward on his heels, “wow. It’s really you, huh?”
Emmet nods and Kenji takes a step forward.
“Ingo?”
Emmet takes a step forward. He watches as skin, as fragile as ever, opens up against a rail. It bleeds, it leaches, it consumes everything around it.
Red, red, and more red.
Yet, ingo doesn’t let go. And Emmet doesn’t want him to, either.
Emmet stills. Kenji takes another step forward, eyes traveling from his forehead’s forest of wrinkles, to his cheeks— quite hallow— to the lines that form his jaw. His smile grows, “oh wow I’m.. such a big fan! I didn’t think I’d meet you anytime soon like this, I…”
he takes a deep breath. “ok. Um, I have the pokeball here…”, Kenji also stiffens, “and if you don’t mind me asking, your trade request was kind of .. a little weird? Sorry but.. I’m just curious. what use would you have with a Pokémon like… this?”
“Emmet!”
Ingo yells, thrashing against the all consuming waves, pitch black and vicious, that gnaw at his clothes. He is ripped from shoulder to knee, and he is ripped from Emmet’s grasp. No matter how tightly he thought he was holding onto Ingo’s hands— it apparently wasn’t enough.
Ingo sinks into the ground, an arm raised up as if to reach for the heavens, the sky, Emmet , anything ! Anything it could grab hold of, but Emmet did not reach him in time. He could only look down into the hole his brother fell into, eyes partially blinded by a sun that provided him no warmth.
And then, nothing . The hole closed up almost as quickly as it had come. But Emmet saw into it, even if it was for just a split second. He was quite sure he knew what it was.
“…Time Travel.”, Kenji says. Emmet blinks, pulled away from winds blown by memories that knocked over talls trees, towered over town homes. Emmet felt like he could destroy the world with his second mouth. Emmet felt like it didn’t matter if he did.
“That’s why you want a Celebi?”
Emmet nodded. Kenji turns away, teeth dragging against the back of his bottom lip.
“I mean, not that I don’t respect you Emmet, infact, oh man, I’m a really big fan! But ..”, he turns to look at the pokeball in his hand, “time travel.. there’s so much we don’t know about it, especially when it comes to Pokémon. It could be super duper unsafe. I mean like, you’re an Unova treasure. If anything happened to you..”
Kenji shakes his head, discontent. Emmet tilts his head, confused. What was he getting at?
“I don’t feel like giving this Pokémon to you would be the best idea…”, Kenji looks away, “I’m sorry Emmet, but if this related to Subway Boss Ingo in any way—“
Emmet extends a hand holding a briefcase.
“Unfortunately for you, I feel like that is not the destination you will find yourself reaching.” He thrusts it into Kenji’s chest, hoping a proper show of force would help him sell this idea he’s made in his desperation. “You accepted my trade request, yes? Then it is only fair you trade with me. That’s how a trade works, afterall! It would be awfully rude to derail a trade made on a promise such as ours, hmmmm?”
Emmet and Kenji are a world apart, yet, Emmet’s nose touches the brown line of Kenji. His eyes are like a winter, a snow storm’s flurries intruding upon the blues of Kenji’s waters, which are easily subdued, easily persuaded. Kenji’s fluffy sky clouds stand no chance against Emmet, who is a man that can only see the poisoned rain water that drags those clouds back down to earth.
“Y-yea I guess you’re right!”, Kenji quickly takes hold of the suitcase, tossing the pokeball to Emmet as if it suddenly caught fire. He scratches the back of his head, “well uh, nice trading with ya! When Ingo comes back, I hope you guys will multi battle my team.”
Emmet smiles, a motion that feels like moving mountains. “Yes of course”, he confirms, looking to the fresh pokeball in his hands, “when Ingo comes back”
It was rainy tonight.
Emmet’s back sunk into leather, hands stroking along Galvantula’s drenched coat. He had let Galvantula go outside to stretch her legs when it started to pour down rain. His shoes were muddy, dirt starting to wedge itself in the shoe glue he had to put between his outer sole and heel years ago. Galvantula tried to lick it clean, but Emmet softly pushed her away by the knuckles— not wanting her to get sick.
They both sat in the living room, the outside looking about as miserable as Emmet had felt a few days before. But now, with this new Pokémon he’d acquired through Kenji.. he felt right as rain.
Come train or shine, this was going to happen tonight . Emmet softly nudged at Gal’s back, hoping she’d get the hint and move before he got up from the chair. She scurried away with legs — unsynchronized in a way Ingo and him never were, even now— leading her to the kitchen. Emmet could feel himself smile. She was always hungry, that one. I bet she would be veryyyy happy if Ingo was here to prepare her his all-famous eggs. And soon, Emmet thought, he would be.
Emmet tossed the pokeball in his hand. It bounced from the floor, rolling into a closed door when it finally landed. He watched with great interest as something fluttered, both frantic and elegant by nature, out of the pokeball.
Emmet felt his legs grow itchy. He looked down, noticing how vines started to force its way past rotten wood. It pulsed like a heart, new to life, against his ankles. He grinned.
“Celebi”
It chirps in response.
“I have a task for you”
It feels like Emmet has grown feathers.
Above the skyline, Emmet can barely see the Gear Station. From behind wisps, jostled loose from bigger clouds, Emmet can make out his and Ingo’s House— lathered in white shingles and a black roof.
He turns to Celebi. With its green feathers flowing against the current, it chirps again. Emmet brings out a paper, neatly folded into fours, from his pocket.
“This is my brother, Ingo” He presents the paper before Celebi, using both hands to keep it from flying away, “I fear he is stuck in the past. I’ve heard from a few friends of mine that you might be just the little rail setter I need. Do you think you can help me find him?”
The Celebi, once busy drifting from cloud to cloud, hovers in place. It blinks, thinking, and then nods. Emmet smiles. “Good! Good. Then on your say — all board !”
It feels like they’ve been drifting between space for millennia. Realistically, looking at his watch, Emmet knows it’s only been a few minutes. Still, that doesn’t stop him from picking at his skin, touched by periods not his own, tainted by sights he was never met to see. Yet, he keeps on searching, because he’s not only a subway boss, but a brother. The want to hope feels familial, the want to hope feels right. He believes the want to hope is all he has left, outside of his work title.
Finally, Celebi stops. It’s feathers bristle as if it was jabbed into by an electric wire.
“Celebi?” Emmet goes to move closer, but Celebi panic only grows. He takes a step back.
It’s face looks like an onion: layers expired and core bitter to the tongue. It’s eyes scrunch up, and it’s mouth forms a frown that Emmet almost recognizes as matrimonial. Then, sparks fly. Not from Celebi, no, but the world around them. Trees dissolve into glitter, clouds thawing out into water. Everything was collapsing, including Emmet. He felt himself gain weight. Gravity taking hold, his hands reaching for anything, anything at all to hold onto. The trees felt like sand under his grip, the clouds softening the blow, but ultimately doing nothing to stop it. There was nothing he could do to bring himself back up again.
Emmet was falling.
Ingo was gone.
No matter what Emmet did, does, or will do, it will never be enough.
No matter how tightly he thought he was holding onto Ingo’s hands— it apparently wasn’t enough.
Could he hope to be enough?
No.
The second mouth was speaking.
He gave up everything. His sleep and his dreams, both packed tightly into a little Padfolio briefcase. The money he worked so hard for, to expand the subway, was gone. But at the time, he thought it would be worth it. He would give anything to have his brother back.
But he was never coming back home.
Emmet let out a scream. One that would wake up the neighbors— if he had any. He was alone, with his Pokémon, in his white and black house. In the outskirts of Nimbasa City there was peace. Too much peace. So much peace that all Emmet wanted to do was crush it, level it down to bite sized pieces, to feed his second mouth.
He had never been angrier. Though he wanted to point fingers, stomp his feet against a floor that should be home to four feet— not two— to yell, to cry— he knew Celebi was blameless in how this all turned out for him. Apparently the time period Ingo inhabited was already “claimed”, whatever that meant, by another, more powerful pokemon. It was sealed right up by something very, veryyyyy powerful. Something so powerful, that there was no hope of him, with his mortal bones, weak and fragile in the face of a god, getting anything out. Thus, there was no hope of bringing Ingo back home.
His fist smashed into a vase. Shards flung every which direction, cutting at his hat, cloak, pants— anything it could touch. Blood soaked his glove. Emmet shifted, the scratchy material buffering against his hand, open and raw. The cotton absorbed what it could and leaked out what it couldn’t. Blood fell to the floor, and Emmet, with it.
The pads of his palms made quick work of the soft tissue surrounding his eyes. His hands worked in a circular motion— up and down up and down. He let out a shaky breath.
He hears gears clicking by his desk. Emmet turns towards the noise. Klinklang jiggles tenderly at Emmet. He smiles, splinters in the floor pulling open the seams on his pants.
“My apologies Klinklang.. did I scare you?” He scratches at it’s core, smile growing as he hears a metallic purr. Klinklang jiggles once more, turning towards his open laptop. Emmet’s eyes grow sore the longer he looks at the emails he left open. Metal, cold and sturdy, prods against his cheek. He smiles, shifting himself into an upright position to close out his emails.
He was furious when he got home. So much so that he sent every single one of his informants a longgggg, detailed email about how poorly everything went. He wasn’t sure what his goal was when he sent them out. He just needed an outlet, he thinks. No matter the reason— one replied back. Emmet clicks on the email with unsteady hands.
—————
Re: ▽ Regarding Cerebi
Subject: Space Distortions…
His public image was one that encompassed order.
To work at 6:30, a coffee at 7:00, and bathroom breaks at 8:01, 10:02, and 2:15. On weekends he’d wake up at 8:00 and go for a run with Ingo, chandelure bouncing from one brother to the other.
This was his schedule, day in and day out. Ingo’s disappearance may have thrown off this schedule a bit, but Emmet did his best to stay true to it. The rules he both followed and enforced on others in his subway were important, were they not?
Emmet had never broken a rule. Not until today, at least.
“Bring this over here, will you?” He hears voices— muffled from behind the bushes— whisper to each other. Whatever they’re talking about, Emmet guesses, must be extremelyyyy confidential. There are two women, both dressed in head to toe black, with their hands cupped around their mouths and their cars parked inwards, as if to close themselves off from the rest of the world. But Emmet knows that they are protecting something, and that something is exactly what he came here for. He wriggles out of the bushes, pushing a leaf that caught in his mouth under his tongue. The two women startle at his sudden appearance, fingers flumping with the latches on their respective guns. It takes a moment or two before the woman on the left’s shoulders slump; her guard lowers as she recognizes Emmet.
“You’re… Emmet, right?” He nods. She sighs, looking to put her weapon back in its original satchel, and walks up to Emmet.
“Do you have it?”, she asks. Emmet nods. He hands over a small bag that bobs up and down between her fingers. She takes it, brushing off the other woman as she leads him to the coastline, where yesterday’s rain had banked up soil and rock.
“We had some strong readings around this area yesterday”, She starts to say, “so we decided to check it out this morning. That’s when your friend contacted me saying you’d like a closer look” The woman looks down at her hand, prodding at the coin bag with all five fingers. “I have no idea why you would want near that thing. Worse than that, I have no idea why you would pay so much TO see it. We don’t know too much about where it goes, or what it does yet. But we do know that whatever goes in, never comes back”, she looks to Emmet, “are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes, well” He licks his lips, looking over a sea as dark as the sky above it. “Ah, my apologies. It’s a lot to explain and I don’t have the time to wait. We must be boarding soon!”
That was a lie. In reality, the answer was actually rather simple.
He had to get back home.
But she wouldn’t understand. No one else would. No one else has experienced the loss he has. No one else. No one.
But she doesn’t press on— which Emmet is veryyyy grateful for— and she leads him further down the beach. After a few minutes of nothing but sand and sky, he sees it.
A dome consumes the surrounding waters. It’s colors remind him of an aurora— the only way he can describe what he sees is completely, and utterly out of this world. To anyone else, this would be dangerous. It felt dangerous to him, too. But he can’t find it in himself to care anymore. He is absolutely vulnerable— desperate— before the dome.
This is my last chance.
He takes a step forward, and then another. He reaches out, feeling the way the field passes like dry water over him.
“Hey Emmet?”
He turns.
“Merry Christmas”
He smiles. For the first time in what seems like a decade, it feels genuine.
“And to you as well. Thank you for riding with me until the very end.”
If Emmet could not bring Ingo to him, Emmet would bring himself to Ingo.
COLD.
Cold, cold, cold.
Emmet gets up with a huff. It seems like his gloves do little to protect him from the snow beneath him. He spits out some ice, which has began to melt against his teeth, and brushes himself off. He sits upright, looking from left to right and then back to left again.
Where was he?
He hears a Pokémon growl carry over the mountain. He turns to the noise, pupils dilating with interest upon seeing a Pokémon not quite from his time.
Though, this wasn’t really his time anymore, was it?
Eyes lock, and soon, the Pokémon comes barreling down the side of the mountain; it’s claws dig up grass the snow had covered with a heavy frost. Emmet throws up both his arms for cover, preparing for impact.
But it never comes.
Emmet goes to peek; Light rolls over and warms his fingers. He sees a figure tower above the skyline, waiting. Listening. Emmet removes his arms to see it in full.
The Pokémon leaps at the chance to lap up both of his cheeks.
“A-Ah excuse me!—“
It stops. Its pupils thin and Emmet makes a small mental note that it kind of looks like a common house cat. A huge, purple house cat.
It brings itself to its knees, resting its paws on its thighs. It chirps, looking from Emmet’s hat, coat, shoes. It throws up an eyebrow— or the closest thing it has to an eyebrow— and pauses once more. Emmet watched as its eyes slip close— he guesses it’s thinking about something. He just has no idea what it could be. It scratches at its chin with its claws.
Then, suddenly, he is in those large claws. He feels the air being knocked out of him as he is lifted up, and then once again, nestled into an unfamiliar place. But this place doesn’t have snow. He feels at it’s walls— which he barely fits into— and realizes it’s a wicker basket.
What’s a Pokémon doing with a human sized wicker basket?
Before he has the time to think about how truly bizarre that is, the cat-like pokemon is racing against the wind; Emmet almost loses his hat with every bump against the back of the basket.
It seems like a lifetime has passed before the Pokémon stops. Emmet pulls his head to his hands, maybe if I don’t look down, the nausea will get better… He tries to count his poke balls, both his and Ingo’s team, to quell it.
He hears scratching against the lid, and then— light . Sweet, beautiful clouds gather like cotton candy against the sky, while the sun begins its descent from behind the hills. Emmet thinks if he was just a little bit closer, he would be able to taste the flavor— But he’s not. Sweat is beginning to collect on his lower brow, despite it being below freezing temperatures outside of the basket. He pokes his head out, chasing for that all familiar winter breeze.
He does not find it. Bodies surround him to offer looks of sympathy, to crush him with looks of suspicion. Women and men in brightly colored kimonos prodded into his space with their noses and fingers. It took the simple action of a raised hand— coming from a woman in pink— to silence them. She parted the crowd like pepper to dishwashing liquid.
“Sorry if we scared you!”, she speaks, her voice sounds like fresh fudge, “Are you alright? Thank Almighty Sinnoh Lady Snealser found you and brought you here before the storm!”
Emmet climbs out of the basket and stares at the people surrounding him. The clothing here resembled the kind of fashion you’d find in a history book— tucked away as a small fun fact at the corner of the page. He smiled.
He did it. He was sure he had made it to the past. But if he was here now, that means he had to begin his search for Ingo right away.
Emmet bows and goes to move past the woman in pink; She lets out a huff as their shoulders brush past each other. He goes to open the door, and that, right then, is when he hears it—
“Lady Snealser?”
He freezes. Not because of the cold, but because of who he sees standing only a few feet in front of him.
‘Lady Snealser’ as they called her, flew herself out from the doorway. Despite her more feline appearance, the way she ran forward— with a tongue loose and a horse-like gallop— reminded him more of an excitable puppy than anything else.
The Pokémon pounced into Ingo— his BROTHER, he found him, at last!— and with a curious eye, watched their reunion unfold. But Emmet, as Emmet does, was impatient for his own reunion to happen. He walked up, letting his arms be eaten up by the freezing cold.
“Ingo!”
The figure, with its forehead touching the soft fur of Lady Snealser, stiffened. He watched as hands, which once gripped onto both ears, fall limp to his sides. Ingo’s head rose, his eyes widening upon making eye contact with Emmet. He sucked in a breath.
There was a flash of lighting in the sky. Ingo fell with it.
Emmet felt his heart pound against his rib cage. It felt like dying, it felt like fire. He felt like a burning man, but instead of melting, the cold kept him solid. He felt impassioned— more than had in eleven months. He rushed towards Ingo’s side, grabbing at his shoulders with desperate hands and pleading eyes.
“Ingo, brother, it’s me—“, tears tumbled into his open mouth, “Emmet! I’m finally here. I’m here, Ingo. I’m home.”
Ingo coughed. Emmet saw a wildness in his eyes as he grabbed onto Emmet— fingers fisting into the side seam that tied his pants together. He coughed again and Emmet brought a hand to the back of his head, cradling him closer. His face was soaked with water from both the snow and his eyes. He felt like a mess, a mess which he never allowed himself to be before, but a mess he wouldn’t give up for anything. There wasn’t a thing in this world, from either the past or future, that he would take in place of this moment.
“The man in white...”, Ingo mumbled. He looked up, sharing Emmet’s tears. “Emmet!”
He laughed. It was maniac, fleeting in the face of a winter draft. Emmet pulled Ingo to his feet. Opposed to how he remembered Ingo, this new Ingo was hunched over, with frayed ends on his coat and hat. But it was his brother, nonetheless, and his brother was crying with him, crying for him, as he latched both arms onto Emmet’s sides.
He returned the hug, his grip so tight that it left wrinkles in its wake. Ingo was hugging back the same and Emmet couldn’t have felt more alive.
Finally, there was peace, and his second mouth was not here to destroy it. It was peace made by him, for him, for ingo.
His heart filled as Ingo took a step back, gifting him one of his cat-like smiles. So much had changed about Ingo, but yet, there was so much that was the same. New or old, it was Ingo. New or old, Emmet would follow his brother wherever he went. They would never separate again.
Wherever Ingo would fly, swim, run, or walk— home would soon follow.
Emmet watches Ingo warm his palms up on Chandelure’s flames; the fire crackles softly in the hearth of her tiny body.
“You’re right on track for Christmas, dear brother”, Ingo rambles, “though, I suppose that doesn’t matter all that much. The people here in Hisui don’t really celebrate Christmas. That particular holiday hasn’t taken the train to Japan just yet, I think.”
Emmet tilts his head. Both hands sit cupping a mug that Ingo apparently made a few months back with the woman in pink— who he now knows as Irida. “There’s no Christmas in Hisui?”
Ingo shakes his head. Emmet leans forward with a smile, “then we have something wonderful to teach them, do we not?”
Ingo looks down to think while Emmet tugs at his cheeks, still in disbelief that this, after 11 months, is his brother. He no longer has to treat missing posters like a family photo book. His brother is right beside him, as he should be. And he, Emmet, stands next to his brother just as strong, as he should be.
“I have a gift for you”, Emmet says, pulling something from his pocket. Ingo watches attentively, eyes widening as his brother brings out a small piece of paper folded into fours. He hands it to Ingo and Ingo takes it, unfolding it with slowed joints.
He takes a deep breath in through his nostrils, “a recipe for butter pecan ice cream…” Ingo looks up to his brother with tears in his eyes. They’re happy tears, but Emmet goes to wipe them with his handkerchief anyways.
“Merry Christmas, Ingo”
Both smile.
“Merry Christmas, Emmet”