Work Text:
Ingo lay on the couch, claws idly picking at the fabric in boredom and ruminated on his life now. His re-entrance to Unova had been quite tumultuous, but it had now calmed down into something of a routine. Ingo liked routine. Unfortunately, the routine had changed. Emmet ran out his clock and was needed back at the Battle Subway. The new routine was somewhat boring to the young sneasel. It was nice to relax with his pokémon, and talking with them was novel, but he couldn’t help but feel restless. A young sneasel’s body often felt restful and restless in equal amplitude, hence the intense nap after an intense session of climbing on all the furniture and tussling with the Joltik that wandered around the house.
The nap was over, though, and he had to find something to do while he waited for Emmet to get back. He didn’t feel like playing with the Joltik, and Chandelure was still asleep, having taken a nap at the same time he did. Maybe he could go exploring.
Ingo’s memories were steadily returning, but there were gaps that remained. Ingo had slowly been rectifying this, with the help of Emmet, his pokémon, and Emmet’s pokémon, but he wasn’t rushing things. He had been gone for so long that recollection would trigger an intense sadness as he realized he had left things so abruptly. Early on, he had wandered into the office where his and Emmet’s computers were set up. His side was unnaturally clean, and Emmet’s unnaturally messy. What a bad brother he was, abandoning his twin to all the paperwork of the Battle Subway. The emotions were too much for his little body, and he broke down crying. Thankfully Chandelure and Emmet were nearby and could soothe his aching conscious. He vowed not to explore the house without them nearby in case something happened.
The problem was, he was just so bored. He was bored, and he knew exactly where he wanted to explore, too. The laundry room had a door that faced the hallway, and a second door on the other side that faced a room he hadn’t been in yet. His memory of the room floated above him like a feather toy, close enough to be tempting, but jerked back at the last second when he reached for them.
Ingo decided he had deliberated enough. He had to see what was in that room, and he couldn’t wait for Emmet.
The first hurdle was the doorknob. Doors were somewhat of a challenge for Ingo. His sneasel claws were not made for human ergonomics, and this manifested in being ineffective at turning doorknobs among other things. He had taken to jamming things in the door to keep them from latching, something Emmet decided was a good idea. This door didn’t have that, so he would have to open it himself.
Getting on top of the washing machine wasn’t too much trouble. His body was small and his legs were strong, and he was easily able to jump on top with only a bit of scrambling for purchase with his claws. He made the mistake of trying to jump onto the dryer only once—an avalanche of freshly washed and folded clothes he didn’t see were his reward for that endeavor. Speaking of which, he carefully climbed over the current stack of clean clothes to get to the door.
Perched on the counter, Ingo was as close as possible to the doorknob. Now came the tricky part of rolling the doorknob with his arms while pulling it open. The latch was sprung harder than any of the other doors he had opened. After some attempts, he managed to hold it in the unlatched state, and he began to pull the door open. He tried to, at least. The door was significantly heavier than any of the other doors in the house, and when he finally did get it open slightly, it immediately shut. A word flashed in his head: fire door. This door was made to be heavy and automatically swing shut.
Armed with this knowledge, Ingo redoubled his efforts. He managed to slip a claw into the gap faster than the door could shut, and with herculean strength for a sneasel kit, he pulled the door open far enough that he lost his balance and fell onto the floor. The door, no longer propelled open by the precocious pokémon, began to swing shut on him.
His little sneasel brain interpreted this as a ferocious predator charging right at him, and in a panic he rolled the rest of the way into the mystery room before he could attempt to lodge something to keep it open. The door clicked shut, and Ingo was alone in the new room.
A window to his left was the only source of illumination, but it was enough. Sneasels could see well in the dark, so Ingo wasn’t bothered by the dim light of late afternoon filtering into the room. Even from his short vantage point, he could tell this room was not like any other room in the house. There were two large tables, one under the window and one across from it. They looked hand-made, judging from the skinny wooden legs supporting them and the wires hanging down from the table surface—their role an unknown. On the far wall, there were trains. Not real ones, just small ones. But there were a lot of them! He gave up counting after 15. On the other walls there were pictures, some framed and some unframed.
Ingo winced and clutched at his head as his memories of this room returned to him. This was the layout room! This is where he and Emmet had set up their model train layouts and worked on their trains. Ingo’s layout was on the right, and Emmet’s was on the left. As with many things, Ingo and Emmet were opposites. The twins had built their layouts separately, both in accordance to their desires. Emmet was enthralled by his Lionel trains and was mesmerized as they chugged around his layout, sometimes at breakneck speed. Ingo on the other hand preferred the slower, more methodical approach of realistic operations.
Having recoupled to his memories, he set about turning on his layout. A panel of three light switches controlled the power to the room lights and each layout. He had to jump onto the workbench to do it, but he managed to get them flipped on.
From his new perspective standing on the workbench, he could appreciate his layout. His N-scale empire was fully operational, even if he had not yet finished decorating it. It was a reasonable representation of the Marias Pass, featuring a long, twisted mainline, tunnels, a large yard, and several industries for switching. There was an unexplainable majesty to the Rocky Mountains that Ingo fell in love with, and over the years he had realized this love through his layout.
A green locomotive with white stripes caught Ingo’s eye. It was coupled to a mixed manifest of freight cars, sitting idle right next to the grain elevator. He couldn’t reminisce any further, or the morning local would be late getting into Whitefish.
Ingo hopped down from the workbench and set about getting onto the chair. Both he and Emmet had rolling stools, perfect for moving around on the bare concrete of the room. With some difficulty, he seated himself in the driver’s seat.
With a closer vantage point, Ingo could see the reflection of the lights on the rails. They were far too shiny to have been collecting dust the whole time he was gone. Did his brother keep his layout clean while he was gone?
Located in front of him was the train’s controller. He carefully pushed its soft rubber buttons to put in the locomotive’s number—7010—so he could begin driving it. The buttons were small and his claws were large, so they were somewhat cumbersome to use. Fortunately, he managed it without too much trouble, and the locomotive was ready to drive.
Although the locomotive was equipped with an expensive on-board sound system which he would normally leverage to create a truly authentic operating experience, Ingo felt he should use the controller’s buttons as little as possible to prevent damaging them. That meant he couldn’t honk the horn or ring the bell as he should when moving the train forward or backwards. He did turn on the light though; he only had to push that button once.
With the simulated prime mover all fired up and the headlights shining bright for safety, Ingo put the controller into forward and slowly advanced the throttle. The engine spooled up, and before too long the train was rolling. It did not go too far, though, or he would not have access to the grain elevator switch. Ingo brought the train to a controlled stop just short, right where he had installed a magnet to uncouple the train.
With the locomotive uncoupled from the rest of the train, he drove it forward past the switch and stopped it. Reaching down, he groped around the local control panel until he managed to find the toggle switch that would let him into the industry. A whirr of an electric motor to bend the iron and it was ready.
The grain elevator had two tracks: a storage track where empty cars would be collected, and a loading track where empty cars would be loaded. The job of the morning local was to take the loaded cars away and spot the empties under the loading chute for pick up the next day. That’s exactly how he would do it now—the loaded cars would be coupled to the train sitting on the mainline, and then he would go back and shuffle the empties into position. Flicking the controller into reverse, he gently throttled up the locomotive and watched as it approached the switch. As it began departing the mainline, though, it jolted slightly and came to a dead stop, the sound cutting out at the same time. The locomotive had derailed on the switch frog.
Derailments were nothing new to Ingo. Model trains were only so reliable, and it was a common fact of model railroading that the trains had to be put back on the rails every so often. That didn’t stop it from being frustrating.
Although he was being careful in reaching out to put it back on the rails, he forgot exactly how large his claws were. The locomotive made a slight thump as it rolled onto its side as a claw bumped into it. Standing up on his stool, he reached down with both claws to try and grab hold of the toppled engine.
Although the locomotive was now upright and almost on the rails, ‘almost’ didn’t quite work when it came to trains. He tried to nudge the wheels onto the rails, but only succeeded in knocking it over the other direction. He again tried to drop it onto the rails using both arms, but again failed to get the wheels seated properly. This time, he noticed that one of his claws had accidentally pulled at the tiny railings, and it was hanging off the model. The part was in danger of breaking if he drove the train while it was hanging like this. He had to put it back on.
Emmet was glad to be back home. Although he was reinvigorated after his short vacation that resulted in him reuniting with his brother, the time on the Battle Subway was time away from his brother, at least until they found some way to handle him at work. There wasn’t a good place for a young sneasel to be while he was at work, but he had some ideas on how to change that so Ingo could at least be with him during the day.
Hanging his hat up on the hat rack, he couldn’t help but smile to see his brother’s hat up there with his. Despite its weather-worn and tattered appearance, it was a powerful symbol. Even if things weren’t great now, they were OK, which was a far cry better than last month when he was fretting over his job and his life and Elesa and the station agents were fretting over his sanity. With Ingo at his side, he could get through anything. He was about to shake off his white coat when he heard the distress call coming from somewhere in the house.
“SNEE!”
It was Ingo. Emmet shouted in alarm, and raced into the house. He looked all over the family room, but didn’t see his brother anywhere. Tearing into the kitchen, there was still no sign of his tiny brother. There was Chandelure, though.
“Chandelure, where is Ingo?” He asked in a panic. Chandelure would know. The lamp pokémon spun around then sped off toward the laundry room with Emmet following. He stopped in front of the door for only a moment to fling it open. There was Ingo, sitting on the workbench.
“Ingo, are you OK?” Emmet asked as he strode toward his tiny brother. Ingo had, as best as Emmet could tell, a frustrated look on his face, his normal frown turned into a deep scowl. Reaching Ingo, he could see around the sneasel and the object of his frustration. One of Ingo’s diesel locomotives was mangled and in pieces in front of him. One of the railings had fallen off and another was twisted beyond repair, and one of the trucks had been totally separated. Purple stains marred the green paint where Ingo had accidentally scratched the model, poison from the stress response wicking into the tiniest gouges. “Hmm, yes. I see the problem,” Emmet said.
His sneasel brother froze up initially on being picked up, but went limp when he realized what was happening. After depositing him on the stool, Emmet walked over to his wall of trains and picked up one in easy reach. Ingo only watched impassively. With ease borne from experience, Emmet had one truck sitting on the rails and then the other in a quick movement. He collected a few cars from the wall and connected them to the locomotive.
After making sure the layout was turned on, Emmet pushed the controller over toward Ingo. Ingo stared at it for a moment before tentatively reaching out and pushing forward on the lever. The train he had just put on the tracks started slowly at first, growling as it was asked to go before it warmed up all the way, but before too long it was navigating the layout with ease. It drove over bridges and through tunnels and past the station. To Emmet’s surprise, Ingo even blew the horn a few times.
“I know it’s not the same, brother,” Emmet said, and put a hand around his twin, “But I think you’ll find some enjoyment in it!”
If he wasn’t mistaken, he could see the ghost of a smile on Ingo’s face.