Archive of Our Own ^beta

There was a slight creak as the door was opened. The light from behind the two men spilled onto the floor and cast twin shadows. Beyond the little frame of light, the apartment was dark. Still. Quiet in a way that it absolutely should not have been.

And then the spell was broken by a switch being flipped, illuminating the whole room.

Ingo stepped over the threshold. He felt he should know this place. He knew it felt… off, empty, and should’ve contained more pokemon. But that wasn’t a memory, per se. Or at least, it didn’t feel that way to Ingo.

“Here. Sit,” Emmet said, following him inside and closing the door. “I know that was a rough trip for you. You do not like flying.”

“Feels empty,” was all Ingo could mumble, collapsing into the couch, pressing his face into a pillow as he tried not to become overwhelmed. It smelled like something familiar that his mind couldn't quite cling to.

“I will let the pokemon out after we get to talk a little bit,” Emmet promised, walking into the kitchen. “Would you like some water?”

“Yes please,” came Ingo’s muffled reply. He remained there, eyes squeezed shut, until there was a gentle tap at his shoulder blade. Spine cracking as he sat up, Ingo accepted the glass of water. As he drank it, his eyes wandered to the walls and the photos framed upon it. He quickly looked away; he wanted to focus on other things at the moment.

“What do you want to talk about?” he questioned immediately after he set his now empty glass aside. “We did talk, in the hotel. Quite at length, I explained everything I could about Hisui to you then.”

Emmet had sat down next to him, leaning back against the pillows on the arm of the couch, arms around his own bent knees. He was looking at Ingo expectantly.

It hit Ingo that, in a way, the two of them still managed to match. In the year and a half they'd been apart, they'd both grown to have a perpetually weary look in their eyes. The bags underneath them were identical.

“I know there is more to it. Not to your disappearance. To how you feel.”

Emmet was right, Ingo thought with a mental sigh. He got the feeling that, where Ingo was concerned, Emmet was usually right.  

“I… It's complicated,” he began. “Jumbled up feelings affected by memories I cannot access… like they are on the far side of the tracks, just out of reach on the opposite platform. If I could only get to them, I could…” He trailed off.

“Are you held back because of the third rail? Or are… you not taking a risk because you fear that a train will come right as you do?”

Emmet had continued the metaphor, squeezing his legs to his chest a little tighter.

“I am not afraid of what I will find.” Ingo shook his head. “I want to remember it all. Good, bad, or otherwise.”

With a nod, Emmet fell silent, prompting him to continue.

“I… will come back to that,” Ingo decided. “I would like to just….” The man trailed off again, pulling his hat down over his eyes in annoyance as he thought. After a moment, he pushed the brim back up.

“I… know that this was even harder on you than it was on me. While I went unwillingly, I still left my station without warning and you had no idea why. None at all. I left you to wonder, and search, and go through all of this. Alone.”

“I had Elesa,” Emmet said, uncharacteristically soft, as if he didn't want to spook his brother. He knew his time to respond would come after. For now, he just wanted to listen to Ingo (and hold close in his mind that voice he had thought he'd lost).

Ingo dipped his head in acknowledgement. “You did, yes. I am… so glad for that. Every conductor needs an engineer. No one deserves to be alone.”

Ingo thought back to his time on the outskirts of the Pearl Clan, before they had trusted him, staying in his tent they had given him and taking the food left by the door because no matter how distrustful of this stranger they were, they didn't want him to starve. He hadn't even had a pokemon, then.

No one deserves to be alone.

Emmet smiled, small but genuine.

“I must've inadvertently put you through utter hell, Emmet. I just have to promise that I won't leave again, but I cannot. The first time was so sudden, and I am scared it could happen again.” Ingo swallowed sharply, shutting his mouth. There were tears in his eyes, and if he didn't want to derail completely, he'd have to perform a track change immediately.

But this really, really needed to be said.

“Don’t tell me that I’m wrong. I never thought I would leave Hisui. I wanted to find my way home, but with no memories… It’s like I gave up. I just…” Ingo’s hands were shaking. His voice was dimming, losing its volume with every word as he hunched into himself, wrapping his arms around his torso and digging his fingers into his upper arms.

“Please. Please forgive me.” A mere whisper.

A beat. And then a second pair of arms encircled him, holding him tight, a solid weight pressed to the top of his head. Emmet’s voice came from that general vicinity as he spoke. “I am Emmet. There is nothing that needs to be forgiven. You did not mean to leave. It was not your intent to cause me upset, nor disrupt the Battle Subway. Or any of the other consequences. It is the fault of the one who caused your disappearance. Not you. And my pain? The fact that the Singles Line is still closed?”

Emmet took a moment to pull back and meet the pair of eyes that mirrored his own. “That just means you are important. You help run the Battle Subway. You fight on the Singles Line. And,” Emmet stated, bonking his forehead lightly to Ingo’s. “You are my twin brother. We were apart for a year and a half. Of course I missed you. Of course it hurt. But. You are home now and that is all that matters.”

All Ingo could offer at that was a desperate sort of chuckle and an addition to the pressure between their two foreheads.

“I… remember this. At least this sort of feeling. Of family. Of constantly having someone by my side. That someone was you.” It was strange, how Ingo’s memories returned. Even before he’d recalled Emmet’s name he had been willing to lay his life down for him. Even before he had laid eyes on the man in white in the rift, he’d felt that gut punch of emotion. His body remembered what the mind did not. After a moment, he leaned back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling.

He’d have to face those pictures on the walls eventually.

It was simply… Unnerving, Ingo supposed, to imagine all of the people who now knew him better than he knew himself. Those faces he would see, friend, family, foe, fan… All of them would have more knowledge of his past than Ingo himself.

The man had lived in a hostile environment for over a year. He’d learned to always have his guard up, even around people at first. He’d become friends with most of the Pearl Clan eventually, but at first… The coldness of the world he’d found himself in had seemed stark. And he did not just mean the snow.

Would certain people he knew use his amnesia against him? 

He did not want to continue down those tracks. And…Ingo finally supposed that the way to set fears once and for all to rest was to face them head on. This time, though, much like a multi battle, he’d have Emmet beside him to help out.

The singular way to reclaim what was missing only from his own world but not the one around him was to learn.

To learn all over again.

“Emmet?” Ingo asked, exactly at the same time his twin spoke. “Oh! I’m sorry, you can speak first.” He reached up to lower the brim of his hat in shame before he caught himself. He had no reason to be ashamed or worried about his loud voice here.

Emmet blinked. “Your leg is verrry restless. I can tell you are thinking hard. Would you like to continue talking about it? Or are these thoughts their own private car?”

It hit Ingo again just how much Emmet must be restraining himself. Emmet… Emmet was a fair bit nosy, if he remembered correctly. He wasn’t the most tactful man on the planet, though once he figured out what genuinely bothered a person he was sure to remember it.

He’d fallen apart when they had finally gotten back to their hotel room. By some absolute miracle, they’d managed to not attract the attention of the authorities. Apparently they stayed far away from the rifts at this point. There was still the issue of the crashed rental car, and they’d had a LONG walk to the nearest road, but… They’d finally gotten back to where Emmet and… what was her name had been staying.

Ah, right, Elesa. That was her name, yes. She’d been impressed with how well Emmet was holding up. She’d cried into his shoulder exactly as he had done to Emmet, painted nails catching in the worn thin fabric of his coat.

But after they had parted ways, each to their own hotel room, Emmet had fallen to his knees, shaking even worse than he had been when Ingo had first laid eyes on him again. His breath had caught in his chest as Emmet’s breathing had turned into rapid gasping, as the other man just began to cry, biting one of his own knuckles to keep from screaming where other hotel guests could hear.

All of those feelings, everything that had been ripped open when Emmet had seen that coat in the museum, the emotions that he’d dammed in order to be productive and find his brother were finally, finally coming out.

And this time, Ingo had been with him to navigate those feelings. He’d sat on the floor, one hand on Emmet’s shoulder, not saying a word and letting his brother finally, FINALLY get that catharsis he’d been denied for so long.

It was strange, watching a man who was both stranger and mirror in a state such as that.

“I would like to begin trying to remember,” Ingo said aloud, then rested his gaze on the first picture frame that came into view. It was actually not a picture at all but the headline page of a newspaper. It was dated more than four years ago and showed… Himself and Emmet, Ingo realized as he squinted at it. It was the headline showing they’d become the new Subway Masters.

As he looked, a small and random memory came back to Ingo. He knew that somewhere in the apartment there was a second copy of this announcement, hidden away for safekeeping. The man could not say where it was located, but he knew without a doubt it existed.

Emmet followed his gaze. “That was a good day,” he offered up. “We had never been happier at that point.” Ingo did not need his memories to know that Emmet’s happiest day had become the one that occurred less than a week ago, way out in a grassland in Hisu…..Sinnoh.

Ingo stood up, moving closer to inspect the picture. His younger self was smiling that unique smile with his mouth quirked at the edges. The one someone in Hisui had told him made him look like a Zoroark. He looked happy.

“We came up with the Battle Subway, you know,” Emmet continued, joining him at his side. “It was all our design.” The pride in his voice was not something Ingo remembered enough to share, but he felt he would in time. “Some people said we couldn’t do it, but we did.” He wrapped an arm around Ingo’s shoulders. “Together.”

“I want to see it again,” said Ingo, leaning into Emmet. “I still don’t recall what a train looks like.”

“A travesty,” Emmet sighed. “I don’t know if it’s better to show you a picture now. Or to wait for a bigger reveal in person.”

Ingo huffed a laugh, eyes drifting to the next picture. This one was of Elesa and the two of them, posing in what looked like a city center. He and Emmet were doing their signature mirrored pose, what had Emmet called it? Point recall? Whatever it was, the two of them were standing far enough apart in the photo for Elesa to reside in between, arms draped over both their shoulders. 

Everyone in the photo appeared excited and itching to go off on some adventure.

“When was this taken?”

“About three and a half years ago. The city government had just given us the news that we were allowed to create the Battle Subway. The three of us went out for a night to celebrate.” Emmet’s eyes glittered as he grinned happily. “It was fun as hell.”

Ingo’s mouth twitched as he said, “Language!”

Emmet looked delighted, then feigned being angry. “Why is THAT one of the few things you recall?”

“Call it sibling intuition.” Reaching over, he gave Emmet’s head a weak noogie, unable to get the angle right due to their half-hugging position. The other man instantly wriggled away, swatting at Ingo’s hand.

“Nooo none of that! We are having a touching moment!”

“Exactly. I am touching your hair.”

“No. Bad!” 

Both of them needed a laugh so, so badly, so it came readily, Emmet loud and Ingo louder. It took them a good minute and a half to compose themselves once more, and when they finally stopped laughing they straightened up and fixed rumpled shirts.

“Even with amnesia you still manage to be the brother I remember,” Emmet said affectionately. “And that means that if you were wearing your hat I would smack it off your head.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

Squinting his eyes in happiness, Ingo turned to face the wall again. A photo slightly up and to the right of the one he'd just been inspecting caught his eye. A man with an impressive beard stared back, alongside a girl with equally as impressive pigtails.

“Drayden and Iris?” Ingo questioned. Emmet nodded. “I want to see them again soon.”

“Good. Because they want to see you as well,” Emmet said with a soft smile. “You seem to be retaining new memories just fine.”

The first night Ingo had been back in the correct timeline, Emmet and Elesa had explained all they could to him, using pictures on their xtrancievers. He'd been inundated but he seemed to recall a normal amount of what they'd said.

Drayden was their uncle, a blood relative who had taken them in as young children and who was Opelucid City’s Gym Leader. Iris was their adopted younger sister and the Champion of Unova. Love of battling ran in the family, it seemed. Ingo didn’t remember much about the two of them, but he could feel that more would come to light once he laid eyes on them. Much as he had with Emmet.

“Seeing the cars of my old life linked together so neatly is helping,” Ingo admitted. “Although it’s still hard to remember people unless I see them in person.”

“Well then we will fix that soon!” Emmet declared, gesturing with his pointer finger. “We now have a track to move down! We will point your cab towards victory!”

“I can’t wait to travel it together,” Ingo replied with a nod, emphasizing that last word. Something then caught his eye as he glanced back at the pictures. A frame with a crack spiderwebbing across the glass. It wasn't enough to make the contents beneath illegible. Memorial for Lost Subway Master to be held in Gear Station read the headline, stark and bold. Ingo’s own face, saluting, stared back at him from beneath the words. There were a few flowers, crumpled, pressed between the paper and the glass.

“The depot agents put that on.” Emmet had followed Ingo’s gaze, fingers on Ingo’s shoulder tightening a fraction. “It was…. it was verrry nice.” His twin was obviously picking his words carefully.

“People made a memorial too. Under the sign for the Singles Line. Some people knew you’d return. Others thought…” Emmet couldn’t bear to finish that sentence, swallowing suddenly before continuing. “But everyone agreed. Everyone knew you well enough to know. You would not just leave us all.”

Ingo was hit by another wave of emotion, pangs of they all understand me better than I understand me ghosting over his mind. 

“I ran the subway all by myself,” Emmet continued, a bit of pride slipping into his voice despite the even tone. “Some parts of it had to be closed. Some people wanted to close it all. To stop the Battle Subway. But I saved it. I did.”

And the unspoken question hung in the air: are you proud of me? 

Ingo turned to face Emmet, placing his own hand over the one still clutching at the fabric on his shoulder. “Emmet.”

“I am Emmet.”

“Did you get enough rest? Did you eat enough food? That… Our jobs are meant to build upon one another. We work together to make sure things run smoothly, and even with parts closed, running both the Battle and Transit Subways… Emmet, how did you not burn out your engine?” Ingo did not give his brother a chance to reply before adding, “I am immensely happy that the Battle Subway lives on, and that you juggled all of those responsibilities beautifully. But you should not have had to.”

(There was an echo of his mind, comforting a crying Rei, telling him that he had done nothing to deserve getting banished, and that whoever had put all of this onto a child would have him to answer to.)

The dam holding back more of Emmet’s tears broke; Ingo just glimpsed his brother’s watery silver eyes before he found himself in another hug, which he instantly returned. That was the nice thing about having a twin. If they hugged each other while standing, they fit together perfectly, the exact height to tuck their chins over each other’s shoulders.

“It was hard,” Emmet admitted, voice harsh through the lump in his throat. “Especially at first. Things got better. But it took a long time. And… It was a lot of work. Too much work. But work was the only thing that made me feel normal. Battling. Conducting. Interacting with passengers. I felt like me.”

Ingo stroked his brother’s hair as Emmet talked over his shoulder, feeling a deep sadness in his chest. “I understand.” And then… “It’s… Hard to feel like yourself when you’ve experienced an unintended track change. I am… Struggling,” he confessed. This caused Emmet to pull back a bit, just enough to look at him. “You know about the amnesia. But… It is another hardship when everyone around you knows you better than you know yourself. From you to the very bones of this city, there is more knowledge of Ingo… I do not even remember my own last name.”

Ingo shuddered, once, as if to either shake loose the memory or shed some unpleasant feeling.

“Grey. It is Grey,” Emmet said, smile slightly lopsided, sad but ever patient. “You are Ingo Nobori Grey. I am Emmet Kudari Grey.” Then, added as a humorous afterthought, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Ingo snorted, eyes squinting for a moment before he swatted Emmet’s shoulder. “You’re terrible.”

“Got you to laugh, though.”

“... this is true,” Ingo conceded. For the thousandly, perhaps even millionth time, he wondered how he could’ve forgotten this feeling of companionship and brotherhood. He couldn’t imagine ever being without it, but he had a feeling past Ingo would’ve said the same thing.

He could never take it for granted again, if he ever had.

The two stayed like that, slowly walking through the house with Emmet narrating the photos on the walls, until they ran out of pictures to peruse. It had been over an hour, and now Emmet was looking hunched, rubbing his back gently.

“Are you alright?” Ingo asked in concern. Had Emmet injured his back as well, while Ingo was away?

“I think catapulting myself through a rift has resulted in some soreness,” Emmet admitted, smile a bit wobbly as he stretched. “I landed on my feet. No injuries at the time. But the plane ride seems to have reminded my spine that I jammed it pretty hard.”

“You should rest. Back injuries are nothing to be messed with.” He spoke from experience, but Emmet didn’t need to know that right now.

“I think that is wise,” Emmet agreed. “Please look around more while I sleep. Write down any questions you have.”

“I will. I will let out Lady Sneasler as well; I promised her I’d do so as soon as I could. We can move forwards with our plan to introduce our teams to my Hisuian team tomorrow morning.”

“Safety procedures must be followed,” Emmet agreed.

While Ingo was desperate to introduce the two teams, everyone involved agreed that it would be wise to do so slowly in a controlled environment. A hotel room in Sinnoh was not that, so the teams had taken turns being free. Nor was their apartment while they both were running on fumes.

Lady Sneasler had only agreed to be caught because she had needed to be to board the plane. Ingo had explained it to her, glad not for the first time that she understood human speech, and she had begrudgingly agreed. He’d needed to ask permission all over again when the trio had discovered a single kit in the pack on her back.

So far, she seemed to be loving the modern world, surprisingly enough. The buildings and sights fascinated her, and she was an extremely adaptable individual. Emmet thought it was verrry funny that she would chirp and bark and ‘talk’ to Ingo, gesturing at various things in the hotel room. Ingo always nodded along, partially understanding and partially pretending.

“I will see you in the morning,” Emmet said, taking a moment to just lean lightly against Ingo before he headed into one of the two bedrooms with open doors and climbed into bed without even changing. Ingo didn’t blame him; it was approaching 2 AM. For him, however, it only felt like about three in the afternoon, even with all the excitement. So he was not tired.

The man’s heart felt tired, though, from grieving his lost memories. He had a feeling that this was to be his new normal for a while. Perhaps, although it would bring pain in another way, he could sit and rest with memories he did have.

When they had reappeared in Sinnoh, Emmet and Elesa and of course Ingo had told no one. However, somehow, a person from a museum had found where they were staying. Something about an anonymous tip. (Who would do that? Ingo had no idea.) Apparently, certain things in the museum had changed, along with the appearances of letters. Letters all addressed to one Warden Ingo, apparently.

Now, he pulled the bundle of delicate, aged paper out of his bag where he’d tucked them into the tourist shirt Emmet had bought him. Usually museums didn’t give up their artifacts so easily, but never before had they possessed letters addressed to a specific individual who was still alive.

“Lady Sneasler,” Ingo murmured, tossing out the pokeball. She appeared with a flash of light, then shook herself, feather whipping around. “We have arrived at our home station. My apologies that it took a while to release you.” He sat back onto the sofa, leaning on a pillow. “Please conduct yourself carefully, but otherwise feel free to explore as you wish.”

“Snee,” she said, electing in the moment to sit next to him on the couch and lean against him, a warm purring weight.

Ingo simply smiled at her with his eyes. He took comfort in the fact that she was there; Ingo had already had his breakdown and realization that the moment he stepped through the rift with Emmet, all of his friends from Hisui had ceased to live. He’d known it, deep down, but hadn’t internalized it until he was in the hotel with Elesa and Emmet. Unlike his brother he’d not been able to keep his cries silent. However no one had complained; perhaps everyone who had heard the sound could sense the anguish behind it.

But Ingo had made his peace, after a bit. He would remember them all, and would not go looking up answers about what had become of them in the end. He didn’t think he’d be able to cope with learning all of that, at least not all at once.

It still hurt, of course, when he thought about it. (He tried not to.) Unlike most, however, the man had gotten to say his goodbyes when everyone was in their prime, healthy and happy and whole. He had not had to go through the pain of losing them in person. 

To a time traveler, this sort of thing was inevitable.

The first letter Ingo opened was from Melli, surprisingly. Ingo hadn’t been sure that the other warden had even tolerated him, much less liked him enough to write him a letter. Of course, a letter didn’t actually mean much, Ingo thought as he opened it. He’d have to read the contents first.

Warden Ingo of the Pearl Clan,

I, the great Melli, am leaving you this note to find in the future, because everyone else is doing it and I feel that I should as well.

At that Ingo huffed a laugh, making sure to be as quiet as he could. Of course Melli was still… Melli, even in letter form.

… Actually, no one in my time will ever read this, so I SUPPOSE I can write a little more plainly.

I know that at first, we didn’t like each other at all. I’m sorry about calling your hair ugly and impossible that one time but seriously how does it work, why is it like that. I really wish you would have told me because I always wanted to know but never got around to asking. I must’ve forgotten.

Over time though. Maybe I did begin to enjoy your company a little. You were loud, and every day, every Sinnoh-blessed DAY I swore when you woke me up with your shouting I’d steal your hat and chuck it into the Mirelands. But when we were actually in the same place, you were a fabulous listener. I know what I say is interesting, but a lot of people in my clan can’t seem to grasp that. You did, and I appreciated it a lot. You had good taste, at least in company. I will not say anything about your clothes because I’m trying to be truthful and polite at the same time.

I think sometimes I annoyed you. It was a bit hard to tell for… reasons, but thank you anyways. For listening. You were nice company too, especially after you learned to not shout when I was right next to you. Before that it felt hazardous to hang out with you because the Highlands are a dangerous place. It wasn’t your fault. I always thought your strange poses were dramatic and interesting. You probably have found out who you were, but if I had to guess maybe it involved performing. I respect a flair for the dramatic in a person. 

Towards the end, I know things became especially rocky. I… was wrong. You won’t get that in writing twice, so read it multiple times if you want me to say it again. Lord Electrode was in pain, and I tried to prevent you from helping with that kid. I actually put both of you in real danger, and I’m sorry.

This was a lot easier to say on paper than it would’ve been in person. I hope you actually read this.

Thank you, Warden Ingo, for making the Highlands a little less dull, and for doing your job well.

~Warden Melli of the Diamond Clan

Funny, Ingo hadn’t expected to get choked up over Melli’s letter, of all things. But the man’s genuine words had gotten to him. Ancients help him when he decided to open Irida’s…

He sniffed, swiping under an eye quickly, even if there was no one around who he cared seeing him like this. It was habit, at this point.

“Errrrrrrrr,” purred Sneasler, pressing just a bit closer. Ingo, ever gentle, set the letter with the faded words on the coffee table before turning to press his face into her fur. A light sound rumbled in his own throat for a little bit, then died. Lady Sneasler hooked her large but dextrous claws around Ingo’s back, hugging him as she’d done before.

He could’ve fallen asleep like that, had he been anything other than emotionally exhausted. But all too soon he let his Ward go, leaning back into the cushions. Lady Sneasler squinted contently at him, as if trying to reassure him, and licked his forehead.

“Thank you, my Lady,” he said, looking up at her. She churred, relaxing onto her own pillow.

The next letter Ingo pulled out was from Akari, surprisingly. The boisterous young girl had come along when Rei visited him sometimes, and he and Akari had gotten along well. He’d given her some pointers about taking care of her pikachu, which had improved their trainer-pokemon bond significantly. She loved to tease and joke with Rei, a bit like a sister, and had been great at making Ingo laugh. 

“That guy freaks you out?” Akari had said one time to someone in Jubilife Village, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at Ingo as the Warden and two teens arrived back. “You should hear him laugh, he sounds like a happy Arcanine. He’s really not scary at all.” Ingo had hid behind his collar a bit with the attention suddenly on him. He’d smiled, his carefully practiced but difficult smile he’d learned specifically for the people of Hisui. The other person had smiled back, obviously relieved.

Now Ingo smiled in his own more comfortable way as he read the girl’s excited words.

Hi Warden Ingo!

Writing you a letter is so weird because you were JUST here. We’re all gonna miss you a lot, but I’m really happy you get to go home. We would’ve been glad to keep you here with us in Hisui! But you had a family to go back to! I can’t believe you had a twin brother this whole time… You two are twins, right? You two looked EXACTLY the same in the rift. When you said you barely remembered a man who looked like you, you really meant it, huh?

I hope you and your smiley brother are happy in the future, doing whatever it is you do. And that Lady Sneasler is having all sorts of adventures!

Ingo stopped reading for a moment to say the last bit aloud to Lady Sneasler, who chirped gently and nuzzled his hair. She certainly would be having adventures soon.

I miss you and Rei. I miss you kicking both our butts in battles single-handedly. I hope Rei is okay back home too… If by some miracle of almighty Sinnoh you two live in the same time period, can you check up on him please? I know I’ll never know if you do or not but… Please?

I’m gonna keep working for Professor Laventon and working on my bond with Pikachu! He and I keep working on getting stronger. We’ll keep battling alive, I promise that. 

I hope the future is nice. Don’t forget about all of us!

~Akari

The girl had doodled a very good sketch of her pikachu next to her signature. Ingo had to try very hard not to cry while hunched over the letter that was also a historical artifact. He made a mental vow to search up Rei as soon as he could, to see if the boy had made it home if he indeed had been born yet and wasn’t 50 at this point.

The next several hours were spent poring over the letters. There were so many; Ingo had received letters from both clans and the Galaxy Team alike. Laventon had written him a very kind, very detailed one. The man had gone on an impassioned tangent about what pokemon Ingo might encounter in his home region. That had caused Ingo to smile, reminded of himself when something he was extremely invested in came up.

(He recalled that there was a word for this, but he could not remember what said word was.)

Zisu had lauded him for being so fun to battle, and Captain Cyllene had praised his work ethic. All of his fellow Wardens had too, Pearl and Diamond Clans alike. Some were long, some were short, and Adaman’s letter read like someone trying desperately to be formal but coming off as stiff and somewhat comical. The Diamond Clan leader had dropped the pretense at the end and written plainly, a fact Ingo appreciated even if the rest of the letter had made him laugh.

And then only Irida’s was left.

Ingo had left this letter until last for a reason. He feared that if he’d started with it, he wouldn’t have been able to continue with the others, whether because he’d become overwhelmed or it would be hard to read through the tears in his eyes he was unsure.

When Ingo had first shown up in Hisui, no one had wanted anything to do with him. Unfortunately, it was a harsh world. Outsiders were not trusted, as Ingo and eventually Rei had learned firsthand. The Pearl Clan had been the ones who had found Ingo, cold and confused. But aside from giving him a tent, he’d been left to fend for himself at first.

His second night in Hisui, some food had been delivered outside his tent. Up to that point, he’d had nothing to eat. Later on, Irida had confessed that she had been the first to leave him a meal. She hadn’t seen him leave, and the thought of a stranger starving to death less than 100 feet from a settlement hadn’t sat well with her.

It had taken a little time for others to warm up to him, especially when Sneasler had chosen him as a Warden only two months into his time in Hisui, but Irida was always the first to defend him. She often invited him to the main camp for tea when he was in the area, and they enjoyed talking about whatever was relevant at the time.

Ingo was pretty sure she saw him as an older brother, even if she never said so.

Warden Ingo,

When you first arrived in Hisui, entirely by accident, I know you were surprised by the world you found yourself in. Some of this makes sense, knowing that you’re from the future, but other parts of it still confound me.

How is the future so caring? Do we all really learn to get along, does the world support us through sharing instead of protecting our own?

In my time talking to you, I’ve guessed that you command respect where you’re from. You know how to lead, it’s written in your soul. Every bit of advice you gave me, everything that you pulled from a place you can’t even remember, was valuable wisdom. I know I am young for a clan leader. Like I mentioned briefly, it was not a happy reason that I took up the position when I was only 22.

My father was killed in an incident involving a rampaging alpha and a rockslide. I apologize that I won’t elaborate more than that; I’m sure you understand. I was thrust into this role way, way earlier than I was ready for, and I’ve been doing my best for the past three years. 

… I don’t know what I can say here that I didn’t already tell you. You were so easy to talk to, like family. Again, you were so much warmer and more open to us all than we were to you at first, and that… Honestly breaks my heart a little. I’m glad we came around. And I’m glad I was the first to extend my hand.

You were a friend to all, Warden Ingo. People and pokemon alike, regardless of clan or origin, and we all should take that example and follow it. I know that I will do my best to let a bit of that shine into the Pearl Clan.

If the future is as bright and kind as you are, then we will all see a world where we can sit back, relax, and exist without fear.

Goodbye Ingo, Warden of Lady Sneasler. My friend. Be well, never forget us, and live.

~Clan Leader Irida

That last line seemed to reverberate through his very bones.

Somehow, some way, now that Ingo had read through each and every last letter, he felt better. As if something about completing the task had reset his mind, had soothed some wound deep inside that had been bleeding more and more until the last word was internalized. 

Spending time with the people who knew the version of him that Ingo himself knew had been healing, he realized.

At the same time there was a sense of closure, like he was more ready to tread down those tracks into the dark. Before, when he’d first found himself back in this apartment, it had been him setting down the tunnel alone, not even a flashlight for assistance.

Now, though, there were headlights at his back, illuminating the way.

“My Lady,” he said, ruffling the fur of her forearm. “I am going to refamiliarize myself with my quarters. You can remain here if you’d prefer.”

The pokemon’s response was to prop up her feet on the coffee table and mimic Ingo’s snores, the ones he only made when he was bone tired. 

“I get it, I get it!” he said with a chuckle, tucking his arms behind his back and walking towards what he guessed to be his room.

The man passed Emmet’s open door as he did. He could see his brother curled up under a red and black comforter; the colors were similar to Ingo’s own coat, though the red was a bit brighter. By the time he opened the door to his own room and saw his naked bed, he realized that Emmet had his comforter.

Judging by the thin layer of dust on his bed, Emmet had had it for some time.

With his heart breaking a little more all over again, Ingo looked around the darkened space. Like the rest of the house, there were lots of pictures on the wall. Most were photos, but some appeared to be drawings, little doodles from children or truly terrible sketches done by his brother of various pokemon. He had a desk with papers scattered all over it, also coated in dust.

Walking over, he picked up a crisply folded page, holding it up. A ray of the sunrise peeking through his window hit it, and allowed him to read as he unfolded it. Proposed scheduling changes to the Green Line he read, then set it down again. Was the Green Line something he should know?

He felt so.

His gaze fell upon a drawer that wasn’t quite closed, stuffed with more paper that blocked it. Cocking his head, he drew it open. Letters, more letters, and some folded up bits of paper and miscellany greeted him. Atop it all was a crumpled ball; that was the first thing he smoothed out, and was immediately shown his own face. It was a missing poster, complete with information about him and Emmet’s phone number. So he had been 28 when he’d gone missing. That is not the age the man was expecting, not at all.

Looking over at the letters, a not insignificant amount of dread settled in the pit of Ingo’s stomach. But he had to know.

There were notes from all kinds of people in that drawer. People who wanted Ingo to return safely, children who were fans of the Subway Masters, and travelers from far and wide. Ingo wondered where Emmet had even gotten these letters from. None of those that had envelopes had an address on them.

A few dried flowers rested in the bottom of the drawer as well, white and faded blue. A burned out candle. An origami poppy made of paper so wrinkled it looked like it had lived in a pocket for years, only the words ‘sorry’ and ‘return’ legible on two paper petals.

The lump in Ingo’s throat grew until he felt like he was going to choke on it. The city had missed him. From what he was reading, it had missed him with a desperate ache, lesser for the loss of him.

And that, while upsetting, was the last piece of the puzzle Ingo needed to finally, finally accept this place as home. Maybe he still could not recall everything. Maybe it was so different from Hisui that it made his head spin.

But Nimbasa loved him. It needed him. And that was familiar, that sense of having a purpose. Being needed, being cared about by a group of people, some of whom he hardly even knew.

And that. That felt like home.

He felt himself smiling in his own special way, blinking hard on tears that threatened to fall again. His eyes were sore, they needed a break. But…. there were a few more wrinkled letters, not placed into the drawer with any care. These were bent, pressed into the bottom with some force. One of them, concerningly, had a bloody smear in the corner.

It took some finagling to get them out; they’d conformed to the bottom of the drawer. But when he did, and he wrangled the first letter out of its envelope, he knew why they’d been shoved away with such abandon.

I know what you did, it began, written in a heavy hand in black ink. You murdered him. He’s dead and stuffed away in some tunnel somewhere. He was never found because who knows the tunnels better than the two of you? Or now, the one of you. Just what you wanted, right? You wanted to run the show. You wanted to win. Well, you won, just like you said you would.

The city loves you, mourns with you, not knowing it’s a sham. You wanted the attention that your more socially-inclined brother always got. He was the one with more admirers, with more fame.

From the first line, Ingo’s brows had creased and he’d adopted the hunched posture brought about by his time in the Highlands. He gripped the paper in two shaking hands, adding to the creases.

One day, the whole world will know that you killed him, you freak. Your own twin brother. How could you. And then to pretend like you miss him… It’s abhorrent. But I. I know the truth.

And one day everyone will. We will all know that you killed Subway Master Ingo.

Ingo did not mean to slam the page down on the desk as if it had bitten him, but he did. The dried brown smudge on the envelope looked up at him from the worn wood, taunting him. Once upon a time, he remembered suddenly, Emmet had bitten his fingernails when he’d been on the verge of panic attacks. This was certainly panic-worthy.

The next two notes from the bottom of the drawer weren’t even removed from their envelopes. Ingo only had to peer inside, holding them open with a long finger, to see the accusatory words before he felt like he was going to vomit.

All the man could remember was a time when he was seven years old, sitting underneath a tree, shying away from the gazes of his peers. From their accusations about his inability to smile, about his propensity to shout everything he said. About how annoying they found it.

But then there had been Emmet, standing in front of him, defending him, always, always there. Ingo hadn’t always been the front runner in popularity. But Emmet consistently gave up his chances at having a bunch of friends just to stick up for Ingo. And he’d never said, or even implied, that he was bitter about it. Sure, they’d had plenty of fights, some more serious and most less so, but Emmet had never used that against him. As soon as they’d become teens neither of them were seen as ‘cool’ and it was never a problem.

He was glad that these memories had fallen back into his head at this moment.

Random people were accusing his little brother of murder. His murder. This–

“Ingo?” came a sleepy voice from the doorway, full of confusion. Ingo jerked, twisting to look over his shoulder. He could see a pair of faintly glowing silver eyes that belonged to his brother, and knew how he himself must look, hunched over the desk, white-knuckled, scowling, eyes flaring. “What is the matter?”

It only took another second for him to see what Ingo was holding and redden a little. Emmet’s hand twitched like he longed to shield his eyes with the brim of his hat. “A-ah. Those.”

“They’re wrong,” Ingo said quickly, immediately, standing up straight and cramming the letters back into the drawer with the same gentleness they’d been given originally. The nice letters remained stacked on the desk. “I mean, it is obvious that they’re wrong about me being murdered. But beyond that, they are wrong about you. They are WRONG. I know you, Emmet. They are so far lost down the wrong tracks that they are in another region entirely.”

Emmet smiled a little, but Ingo could tell it was a little sad. “I am Emmet. I was interviewed by several news outlets.” The man held up a hand the moment Ingo opened his mouth. “No one there accused me of harming you. Not the police nor the media. They were verrrry kind. They just wished for your safe return. But they did acknowledge the conspiracy theories. Called them ‘evil rumors.’ And do you know what I said?”

Ingo shook his head.

Emmet moved to sit on the dusty bed, prompting Ingo to sit next to him. “I said this. ‘Ingo is the older twin. He was born five minutes before me. But as young children I protected him. Our peers were unkind because he cannot smile. He was teased. Children can be verrry cruel. But I stood up for him. Always. Without fail. What I said, what I did. It was always the same.’” Ingo nodded at that. “‘He stuck up for me too. Some days I was not able to talk. People tried to make me. Ingo always was there to make sure they stayed behind the yellow line.’” He couldn’t recall, but Ingo knew that it was true. Of course he would do that. Of course. 

“‘We went on our journey to become pokemon trainers together’” Emmet continued, quoting himself. “‘We had debated going separately. Because we were thirteen and wanted to prove we were no longer children.’” Emmet laughed, then, a broken noise from deep within his chest. “‘We lasted a day before we missed each other too much. As adults we spent more time apart. But as kids, it turned out being apart was hard.’”

“I do not remember that, but it sounds about right,” Ingo said, nodding gravely. 

“It is right,” Emmet confirmed. “We look out for another. We do not harm each other.”

“Aside from the occasional prank,” Ingo conceded, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

“Like when I shock you with joltiks,” said Emmet with a nod.

“I will try not to remember those instances.”

“I will remember them for the both of us. Because they are verrry funny.”

“Oh I’m sure to you.”

And the sullen spell was broken as the sun began to rise. “Can we go to the cafe down the street for a meal?” Emmet offered. “Breakfast for me and dinner for you?”

“That sounds wonderful,” Ingo agreed, getting up and stretching. Each twin remained in their respective rooms as they got ready, putting on fresh clothes. Passing by a slumbering Lady Sneasler on the couch, Ingo found Emmet waiting by the door. His signature white hat was perched on his head, and in his hands he held a matching one in black.

Ingo looked at the brand new hat, a bright echo of the one sitting on the coffee table that was full of rips and tears. His eyes brightened a fraction as he took the offered cap, looking at it and the shiny emblem that adorned it.

“I will keep my old hat. As a reminder,” Ingo said haltingly. “I do not wish to forget. But I want to also be the me that I was.” And he set the cap on his head happily, eyes squinting. “Also, it feels good to have clothes that are not falling apart.”

Emmet just laughed as they opened the door, crowding into the narrow hallway that led to the staircase spiraling down.

“Oh?” Ingo heard Emmet say from behind him, and he halted at the top of the stairs. He turned, watching his brother pluck a sticky note from their door.

“‘Ingo is home. We can’t believe it,’” Emmet read, holding the note up to catch the weak fluorescent light. “‘We are so happy to hear you two talking late at night again. It’s like a constant in the world has been restored. Welcome home, Sub. Mas. Ingo, and we can’t wait to see you on the Singles Line!’”

Emmet held out the note to Ingo. It was signed ‘from your downstairs neighbors.’

Ingo couldn’t help it. He smiled, looking up at Emmet, eyes alight as he pocketed the note. As the two of them headed down, he knew, without any doubts this time.

He was home.