IDEALS. pt.1 - mind.
Ingo had been torn away from his home not once, but twice.
He wanted to return, one day. That was his end goal. His terminus. But he wanted it to be along his own terms. He was certain he would see them all again. That he could not have been so lost within time, that wherever he did end up - there was always going to be a choice. An option. He did not like parting ways. He did not want to live with a foot in two worlds.
To forget one in favour of the other.
I am unable to update to ao3, currently, however this fic’s first 4 chapters are accessible there. Ingo has been returned from his unexpected time in Hisui, found by Clay just outside route six by Driftveil city. Sorry, I don’t know how to format fics onto Tumblr.
Warning for mentions of death & previous injury.
1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5
> 9,308 words. Enjoy !
Waking to his head throbbing was something Ingo was getting tired of. Migraine after migraine, enough already. He groans quietly, as bleary eyes blink open, & Ingo places a hand against whatever his head was pressed against. Odd. That wasn’t his pillow.
A hand reaches to his side blindly, trying to get a grasp on his surroundings. His fingers were met with rough fabric. His nose scrunched up at the sensation, drawing it back against his chest. Ingo waves the hand weakly, trying to shake away the awful tingling sensation in his fingertips. Awful texture, he thinks as he raises his head from the side of the chair.
A sharp, pain rippled through his right half, surging to the base of his skull before he could sit fully up.
Wincing, he clenches his teeth. Two fingers gently press to the pain source expecting to find blood. Ingo blinks once or twice, pulling his hand away to find it was drenched in mud & rainwater. Seeping into the fabric of both his clothes, & the chair it seemed. A hand raises to his head, pushing back his hair & hat. Oh good, he still had that. It was hard to tell if the weight on his head was from the headache brewing in both of his temples, or the rainwater drenching his sideburns, but as it turns out, he had still managed to cling to his precious cap. Ingo pushes his hair from his face, noting the rain & mud had made the silver strands a dull shade of brown. His tattered hat sagged against the fabric of the chair he was seated in as he leaned into it, exhausted. It was like a chill crept into his bones, & rattled them to their core. He shivers as he pulls the collar of his jacket to his chin. It didn't do much to cure the wet or cold of his attire, but the comfort of the familiarity was enough to settle his jostled nerves.
Where was he? Eyes drag themselves from their unfocused gaze on the floor to take sight of his surroundings. The warmth of a fire was a sensation he had not realized he was accompanied by, shivering from his drenched clothes. He must not have been here long, if his clothing had not dried despite the warmth that felt rather encompassing now that he was awake. A pokemon dozed lazily by the flames, silver & red, with a large steel skull & claws. Oh. Hello there. He recognizes this one, though he's not sure from where.
“I know you.” He murmurs, keeping his voice low so as to not stir the creature. He had learned over the years to keep his tone down, as to not disrupt the local fauna, even if it strained him to do so. It felt odd, to say he recognized such an unfamiliar creature. Their little head peeked up from their claws, churring quietly. He gives them a tiny wave.
A voice from the other room reverted him back into silence. A man’s voice. His words were met in response to a woman's. Ingo sits up, only slightly, as his curious gaze draws his attention to where the voice came from. He recognizes both voices, though to hear the man’s in a whisper felt odd.
A large man was leaning against a countertop, his wrist raised to an odd device. Ingo eyes couldn't decide where to focus at first. The small machine reminded him of Rei’s own odd contraption. It glowed faintly, the other room not as well illuminated by the fire. But what really caught his attention was the familiar hat, perched atop the man's head. It almost hid the worried furrow of his brow, the man's mouth pulled into a long scowl as he spoke.
Oh.
He remembers now. Ingo squeezes his eyes shut as his frame slumped back against the armchair, defeatedly.
Ingo had always known that Lian's cap was familiar. That he must have seen it, somewhere in his past.
No matter far in the future that might have laid before him.
That thought always dwindled into a hope that the young boy must have gone on to become a fine gentleman. That he would grow to come to pass it onto someone he would come to know, or that Lian himself had crossed his paths again, one day. Grown, but still Lian.
This man was not Lian, he knew that much at least.
He had told him his name, before Ingo had rather unceremoniously collapsed into the mud. His features were similar to Lian’s, but he did not recognize him as the Warden himself.
The thought of the young boy, who he had seen come out of his shell from a timid child, becoming a father was a bit of a dizzying concept.
Just a few hours ago, Lian was eleven. Now? Ingo had no clue.
He had played a part in raising him, the young boy had taken to him as an older brother. A guardian for the playful, curious adventurer without a family. Aiding Lian complete his training to become a Warden at just seven years old. He was even present when Lian bestowed the heir with his black augerite, naming him the Lord of the Woods, guardian of the Pearl Clan.
The boy seemed to cling to his side from that point on, under the guise that they were alike in more ways than many would want to agree on.
Neither made eye contact, neither were very keen on touch. Certain textures upset them, & many times thoughts did not come as easily as they might have liked. Both unabashedly loud without recognizing it.
Between Ingo's cry of "All aboard", then his smaller, echo behind him, the two Wardens were a terror on the Pearl Settlement, when they were home. Away from their duties alongside their respective Noble.
Everybody & nobody felt it in them to tell the duo to can it. They weren't around often, perhaps regarded as a little scary, & notably the Clan's most controversial Wardens.
But Wardens they were, no one could take that from them.
They both could go on for hours about their favourite things, such as rocks & gems for Lian. He always seemed to have his hands on some mineral, clutching it like it was the most precious cargo that man could make. And to him, it was. Ingo would treasure the stones just as dearly, knowing how important the topic was to the boy. Always ready to tell you with his whole chest what he had unearthed, to spill every crumb of knowledge he held, as if he would burst out of his seat otherwise. The young boys his factual ramblings did not stop nor end at minerals. Chatter about the axe wielding Noble who loved to gnaw on branches like a teething Lillipup, who was fearsome, yet was as inexperienced as the Warden himself, was ceaseless. Ingo couldn't begin on all of the little facts he knew about the creatures now, from the hours of working alongside the young boy.
His hands never sat still, always talking with them as he went on about his favourite topics. 'Fluttering', as the two came to call the motions they made when they had gotten excited, though Ingo was far more reserved to do so himself. He felt embarrassed when others saw, even if it was something that came so naturally to his excitement.
Ingo would much rather people find him to be agreeable, than to be himself, unfortunately. Never would he encourage Lian not to be true to himself, it was important. But Ingo found it easier, slotting himself into an idealised version of himself. Someone who was less intimidating. Fitting in when, or if, he could.
Never would he understand how his expressions needed to convey his emotions, his voice & motions did that well enough, didn't it? He wasn't a stiff man, he knew he expressed himself in many other ways. Even if his expressions were a little stilted, or he knew words that only Laventon had translations for.
Absent-mindedly, Ingo twists his Warden's brace around his wrist. Where was she, now? Was she still scouring for him, wondering where he had gone off to? What was he doing last, before he woke up here? That much seemed blurry, like a muddled haze of smog over what he did remember. It wasn't like his other memories.
This one felt accessible, but out of reach, if only for now.
The man in the other room, undoubtedly Lian’s kin, was still preoccupied. Ingo was fine with that.
He had found him lost & unaware of his surroundings in an unfamiliar field. Tired, & unsure where he had even come from. Wondering how far he had gone from his post, & how he had become uncoupled from his Noble. Collapsing prior to arriving to his current situation, unable to withstand his own weight, he thought with a twinge of embarrassment.
I must have been carried, he thought, knowing he certainly hadn’t walked here himself. Even now his body ached, not knowing if he was even able to stand if he needed to. It was a little embarrassing to think that this was now a common occurrence. Finding himself in sticky situations, & needing others to bail him out.
Two times is a coincidence, three times is a pattern, part of his mind rang out. Those were not his words. Ingo blinks a few times, wondering where he had heard that before.
It wasn’t a common occurrence if it happened four years ago, anyhow. He was fully capable of tending to himself & fending for him, & that he did.
Ingo could hear the man, & the woman speaking, saying something about a concussion. That wasn’t a thought that came to mind, though maybe that would explain his lack of recollection to his departure from Lady Sneasler.
Ingo knew he remembered this man, especially as they had begun to talk prior to arriving at their current station.
Perhaps not as fondly as those who evaded his mind, or his dreams within sleep but something was anything.
Someone who Ingo had met a chance amount of times, but left enough of an impact for his mind to cling to the memories, even faint. Something about his accent & composure clicked something in the back of his mind, though he assumes that came with being able to see & speak to him, physically.
Names are less tangible than sights, or sounds. Calaba always advised that his senses were more reliable to his memory, than trying to dredge them up unwillingly.
An accent is certainly a sound, he muses. It was one that seemed to be hammering away at his mind like an icepick. He places a hand to his head. What did he remember about him?
Ingo remembers the man’s face from when he was small.
When his name & voice felt wrong. Flames twirling softly at his side. A gentle chime & whistle, that danced alongside the lavender glow.
Someone at his side, lamenting about a battle lost, crying into their hands. The man had been kneeling beside the other person, placing something to his knee with a worried expression.
The fireplace crackles & pops.
Ingo remembers the man's face, when he was much older. Much taller, where he no longer towered over him. Ingo was the taller one then, alongside figures who were a blur, fuzzy figments that did not make coherent sense. Muddled faces, like paintings that hadn't been finished. He could make out eyes, lips, a nose. But none of them felt real. They just felt generic, like his mind tried to supply some kind of features onto faces he could not begin to comprehend.
Some were pokemon. Some human.
Standing in places he does not recall, that seemed to meld together in an amalgamation of places with no distinct beginning nor end. Walls that did not belong to their floors, with stairways & tunnels that attached themselves to places they did not go.
All memories that came together for a moment, as if he had come to some grand conclusion that managed to skirt around the forefront of his mind before plateauing into nothing.
He bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut, reminding himself to breathe. Just breathe.
Taking a long, shaking breath — Ingo exhales. It's something.
The voices caught his attention again, upon hearing his name. “Ingo’s asleep. I don’t wunna wake him till he’s up on his own accord.”
That was kind of him. Though he was plenty awake, he really didn’t know if he was prepared to speak anytime soon. Ingo withdrew the hand at his skull, ignoring the dull throbbing that stemmed from between his temples. His entire right side ached, but his head was his most valuable asset, despite itself. And it seemed it ached the most. He would rather it not be out of commission. More than it is, at least.
“Okay. Okay, fine. You’re going to tell Emmet, right?”
That was the name Clay had mistakenly called him when he had first encountered him. He feels like that wasn’t the first time that mistake has happened. Ingo recognized the woman’s voice, too.
Was she family? A sister? He’d always wanted to know if he had siblings, though Lian certainly counted as one if you asked them both. Rei had specifically appointed him as their Uncle Ingo, so an uncle to them he would stay. It would make sense that the man - who had been nothing but kind thus far him - would reach out to his family. It was a lot of faith to put into someone he had just met, but he had entrusted the Pearl Clan to his safety - he was no stranger to other’s hospitality. Even if he often worried about running it thin.
It was all so familiar, yet out of reach. It hurt his head more than any physical force did. He had no reason not to trust this man.
He was a friend.
He is a friend.
Ingo doesn't know him.
You know him. You didn't know the Pearl Clan, but they took you in. He clearly knows you. Ingo took another deep breath, letting it shudder through his chest. He pulls his jacket closer to him, ignoring the new hole his cracked knuckles found in the fabric.
The man's name slips his mind, despite being told, but his voice - his face, it was all very painfully familiar. That word kept throwing itself around. Familiar, familiar. He just wanted to know.
Ingo gnaws on the inside of his cheek. He could always just ask. No, he had assumed Ingo was still unconscious. Ingo was in fact very, very exhausted. He felt as though he could fall back asleep at any moment, collapsing into a heap of his own limbs. They would do well to rest off the drumming within them, & to clear his head. But Ingo did not want to fall asleep on his host , again, despite how much his body urged him to do so. It would be rude of him, even if he was pushing down every instinct that told him it was time to rest. To just let sleep wash over him like a wave. It was not the first time he had been offered hospitality in a place that was foreign to him, though then he had far less control of how or when he fell in or out of consciousness. He hadn’t woken for three days, after his initial encounter with Lord Ursaluna & the two Wardens who had found him.
Ingo pulls a hand to his face, using his clean sleeve to wipe away any excess mud that still clung to his cheeks. Ingo seethes – biting his lip as the rough cloth dragged across his eye. Hesitantly, he pressed two fingers to it, feeling the puffy, swollen skin. Ingo grimaced, realizing it had not been mud in his eyes, but rather an injury. That would explain the ringing between his ears. He closed his eyes a moment, feeling dread dredge itself up in his stomach.
Something very, very wrong has happened for him to be here. But he was so tired. He felt as though his whole body would fall apart at the slightest breeze. He didn't want to think about the bad things, right now.
Silver eyes lazily drew themselves to the fireplace & mantle in front of him, needing to focus on something. Eyes were drawn to the sight of some carefully placed photos across the top. He noted a man, a woman, miscellaneous people who did not look like family, though most were likely family. Children, unfamiliar pokemon. Familiar pokemon. That was a Scyther, & that was a Rhydon.
Ingo's hands restlessly focus on twisting themselves in his hair.
Lian's hat, a very prominent feature in the back of his mind, had been in most of the photos. The hat was passed from parent to child, within Lian's family. The discrepancy in ages made his eyes crinkle at the sight, delighted to see the tradition carried onto Lian's child. He noted trophies, inscribed with a language he had all but forgotten the written form of. Stones that were placed within displays of various types. Ingo smiled softly. Yes, he was certainly Lian's child.
The sound of voices subdued with a quiet goodbye from the man, & a far more agitated dismissal from the woman. His eyes drifted to the kitchen, the man's head hung low as the conversation ended. His cap hung in his face, shrouding his eyes.
Ingo didn't know what to expect.
There was a cold silence, like a car had come screeching to a halt.
They would both speak in their own time, he supposed. Water still dripped from the thin strands of his hair. Ingo ignored that in favour of twisting his fingers through it in a comforting motion, finding it easier to focus when he had something to busy his hands. His hair was never this long before he had arrived in Hisui. At least, he thought so.
Zisu had been the one to braid it for him, after a scolding on how easy it was to catch a hold of in a conflict. "At least now it wouldn't fall in your eyes", was said with a tut-tut.
She had even advised him to disembark the comfort of his jacket, though that was met with a firm “No.” from Ingo.
He had gotten the same warning from Gaeric in the past, both were quick to show him how easily one could grab all of the stray ends, the pieces that flared out. Even when buttoned shut, all the jutting pieces were so easy to grasp. Maybe he should have listened, back then. At least then it wouldn't be shredded. Then his last scrap of both of his homes would have lasted longer.
One day he was going to lose the article, & that was the day Ingo would never forgive himself.
Until then he held it close, ignoring the mud that caked on it, having stained the sun bleached reds a darker tone.
Clay - his name was Clay - turned to him, pushing up off the counter he'd been standing at. Ingo inhales a shaky breath, fingers stilling in his hair.
"Yer awake." He says. Ingo nods. "That's good."
Clay steps into the room, seating himself in a wooden chair beside the fire across from him. He sits, hunched, with his elbows to his knees, silent. There was contemplation on his face, but Ingo did not meet his eye.
It was easier to let his own gaze drift away, than to look him in the eye. To watch the dancing flames of the fireplace, or the pokemon who did not stir at their trainer's presence. Only nestling their steelhead further into their claws. It was very endearing. He knew this pokemon. He had seen its likes before, but not in Hisui. From before, he realizes.
Was it a ground type? He remembers flying dirt – thumping, drumming, stomping. The sound was like a loud press. Sounds were easier. Ingo hated so, so many sounds. They stayed in his mind longer than faces, or places. Was it digging? Is that what he remembered? They looked to be a ground-steel type, at the very least.
"Ingo." The sudden sound of his name causes Ingo to jump. The other man's tone was warm, if a little tired. There was a small chuckle from him, noticing Ingo's small jolt. His accent sounded off with the words he spoke.
Ingo looks up, curiously. His eyes settled on Clay’s mouth.
"There ya are." He says, tipping his hat back & out of his brow. Ingo hummed in response. He did the same with his own cap, pushing himself up into a seated position. It was only polite, despite his body's protests. His feet settled firmly on the floor now, not dangling half dead as he awaited the other to address him. Ingo winced at the sharp pain in his right side, gritting his teeth, half wondering if this would be enough to put him out of commission for days.
Clay's hands stretch out in a calming gesture, "Take it easy now, we don't wanna strain nothin' more."
"I will be okay." Ingo said, putting his hands on either of his legs. Clay didn't look like he believed that.
Ingo's mouth twitched, twinging as he forced a smile, trying to be reassuring.
It was in an instant Clay's entire expression dropped. Did he do something wrong? Usually that made others feel better – even if it was a deceitful look. He slowly dropped the smile, letting his mouth rest comfortably.
Clay leans back now, nodding his head. "How y'feelin?"
"I have been better." Ingo replies, honestly. "I believe I have suffered no substantial damage, however."
A hum resounded from his companion as he leaned back, crossing his arms. "How's yer head?"
"That has not worked in nearly four years." It was a joke, but truthful. Clay just snorts. Ingo falters a moment, before adding, "I have a considerable headache, but I do not believe there is cause for alarm."
"One second." Clay says, standing up as he steps back into his kitchen. Ingo watches him, curiously as he opens a large, metal box. It reminded him of the odd cabinet that Rei had bought from the Gingko Guild. It was odd when their Rotom flashed into the machine, but he vaguely remembers seeing something like it before. They had become an ice-type – Oh!
A low rumble came from the machine as Clay held a rag underneath a compartment, dispercing ice into it. That made sense. Yes. Calaba had done as such for his migraines in the past. Gaeric had jokingly told him to nap on top of an Avalugg if it got too bad, once.
"So." Said Clay, back still turned as he pulled the rag shut with a band, twisting it around the fabric. "Y’know how long you’ve been gone, that’s a start.”
“Yes, four years, give or take a few months.” Clay returns, offering the pack to Ingo. He takes it gratefully, pressing it to his eye, gently. Ingo sighed into it, ignoring the chill that ran into his wet hands. Clay settles himself into a crouch in front of the fire, running his hands together to get rid of the condensation before lifting a log from beside it.
“That better?” He asks, looking over his shoulder.
Ingo nodded his head, feeling the drumming in his skull melt into a dull hum behind his eye. “Much, thank you.”
Clay grumbles something as he stokes the fire, gently prodding the pokemon beside it with the back of his hand. The steel type looked up at him with sleepy eyes, before grumbling back as they pushed themself to their feet, waddling over to Ingo. They place their head into Ingo’s lap, staring up at him with big eyes. A crackly chuckle escaped him as he pet the side of his cheek, “Hello there.” He says, the mole leaning into his lap with a sleepy chitter. “I see you are very tired. Have you chosen me as your sleeper car?”
A long, tired yawn meets him in response.
“He’s not used to me gettin’ home so late. I was caught up at the gym cause of some troublemaker’s Zweilous not returnin’ after usin’ outrage.”
Ingo understood maybe half of those words. “I see.” He says, feigning understanding. Fingers gently course through the pokemon’s soft, downy fur. “Clay,” He begins.
“Yea?” He stands up, dusting wood dust off his pant-legs, though it seemed to cling to his wet clothing like juvenile Joltik. Clay doesn’t yet settle himself into his seat, opting to lean into the side of the fireplace with crossed arms.
“Did I have a partner, like this one, once?” He asks, gently scritching underneath the mole’s chin.
There’s a moment of silence from Clay, before he slowly nods his head. “Yea, you had an Excadrill. Told me that y’wanted to train one after facin’ off against big guy there. You were uh," there's a chuff of a laugh from Clay, "You were a feisty little fireball as a young man. Literally, too! That Lampent of yours it uh… It sure packed a bunch for such a little guy. You & yer brother always seemed like champion material." His face softened as he spoke, perhaps realizing the gravity of this whole situation. “You… Do remember yer brother, at least, right?”
Ingo’s hand froze. He blinks a few times, feeling the grip on the pack in his hand tremble. “No, I don’t, I’m afraid.”
Clay was silent.
Brother. Ingo had a brother.
Ingo blinks a few more times, his chin twitching as he swallows hard.
When he first remembered someone who mirrored himself, he had thought it was some sheer illusion of chance - like seeing one's reflection & feeling disoriented from the thought. That perhaps Ingo had been someone entirely different in his past, someone who had been forgotten alongside his memories. Someone who was livelier, who smiled & found nothing but delight in his victories. Competitive to no end, but spoke in quieter tones, & clipped phrases. Always the type to congratulate & excite at his opponents victories & his own. That bore his face, his attire.
He always thought the other man had been himself. A him that he had never known & had lost. That wasn't him.
It was someone he knew. It was someone he had forgotten.
Was he part of a pair, uncoupled & left behind? It was an option that had only crossed his mind once, when laying his eyes upon a pair of Growlithe. Identical in height, voice, & fur patterns, the only two of their litter. All Growlithe worked in pairs, if one was without the other - they found themself out of service. Always howling to find each other, & barking in excitement when they reunited. Tackling the other when they were brought together again.
They fought together. Lived together. Ate together.
They did not function one, without the other.
He had spent days with the duo, alongside Palina, when she had first lost Lord Arcanine. When Ingo had left his own station to help ease the burden, alongside Lady Sneasler who had lost her fellow Noble. The pair were not the Lord's own, they were wild. But wild as they were, the two settled themselves on Ingo's lap, finding themselves drifting off under the warmth of his jacket. Palina told him he had a knack for earning the endearment of otherwise rowdy rock types. She had told him the brothers had not allowed her to stroke their heads, let alone see them asleep. The brothers. That word had sat in his stomach like a rock, & sent him into silence.
He wasn’t sure why that had struck such a cord with him that day. Now? Now he knew. He wished he could tell his past self why it caused such a deep sadness in his chest. It had kept him up that night.
Ingo needed to stay calm. He really did.
“Ingo?” There was a quiet, sad hum in response. “We’re gonna fix this, y’hear?”
Slowly, his head nods on instinct. Excadrill nuzzles into his leg comfortingly. “Thank you. That is comforting.” He shifts the ice pack against his eye, pressing it to the right side of his head. The stars that danced at the edges of his vision had slowly begun to fizzle out as the ice sapped the pain right out of his skull. “I have been lost without a proper track for some time. Happy as I was, something has been missing. I am glad to find my place again, as sad as I am to depart those who have shown me nothing but their kindness.”
Letting his voice betray him right now was not an option, even if he wanted to sulk into silence.
"You…" Clay starts quietly, slowly. His voice is a drawl. He pauses, shaking his head. "I know yer tired, I know. But can y’tell me what you remember?” There's a long hesitation from Ingo.
He could see Clay's dismay with the long face he drew, his arms folded now. Ingo drew in a breath, his free hand clutching at the tattered edges of his jacket. Holding the scraps of fabric tight, gnarling them between his knuckles. "I do not remember… Much of before I arrived at my prior station." He starts, ignoring his throbbing eye, now that the ice was to his temple. He wasn't going to make a fuss if he didn’t have to. "I recall you, vaguely. Your partner, certainly. I recall …”
Clay leans back, nodding. “That's good t'hear, keep goin."
"I do not know what to say…" Ingo felt restless. He was very, very tired, but restless. That seemed to be a common issue. The gears inside his head chugged far faster than his body could react, & it left him without being able to form a proper thought.
"Tell me where y’uh -" he gestures to the garment he was wearing, & Ingo looks down reflexively. His tunic was horribly stained brown, splattered with mud that set in from the rain. "Tell me about that."
"Where do I even begin?”
"Tell me how you got yerself acquainted, how 'bout somethin' like that?" Clay smiled, watching Ingo's expression. Ingo thinks long, & hard. The strain must have been obvious, he could hear Clay telling him not to push himself if he couldn't.
"I had… Stumbled, I had been exploring, for what reason I do not know. It had been dark - This much I remember. I had… Something alongside me. It glowed with a light that has become a fond staple of my dreams. Its flames were not what lured me to another light, however. This light was golden. Brilliant." The more he spoke, the more he pieced it together. Slowly. One by one. It was spilling out of his mouth, piece by piece even if he hung on some of his words. He didn't even know what he was saying.
"Its glow was lavender. Warm, & comforting." His throat felt tight. "The cave face had split open, though it was I who decided to wander within, separating me from the other. We became uncoupled." He murmurs, not realizing he had been wringing his hands. "I had found myself somewhere odd. It was not like the cave I had departed from. It was... Brighter. Naturally so. Snowing heavily. In such a way, I could not see far before myself. Not even my own hands. It was very cold, and I was very alone. I had fallen into a snowbank. I do not think I had realized I had been put out of commission, however as I pressed on, my arm did not conduct itself the way one's should."
"You haven't told me about the folks who kept y'safe."
Ingo was quiet, brows furrowed. He could feel himself swallow on reflex, making sure to keep his mind on track. No detours. Tell him what you remember. It feels good to speak about it, after so long of pushing down the memories in favour of making new ones in their path. Set on making a new home, if he was never to return to his own.
It also took so much out of him to even remember, he was exhausted. Fingers clutch the ice pack closer to his head. "I had been found, though my arm had snapped in the incident. I hadn't been capable of seeing myself through to manage repairs, & I was lost within a blizzard." The next thought still made the hair on his neck stand on end. "Help had come to me. Had I not been found, I would have ultimately perished in the snow. For this I am grateful."
Lord Ursaluna, he recalls. The Noble had the eldest, his own Warden & youngest of the Pearl Clan’s Wardens atop his back.
When blizzards hit the Icelands it was in the Clan’s best interest to send Lord Ursaluna, & Lady Sneasler, with their respective Wardens, to scour the snow as search parties. Sneasler had no Warden when Ingo had arrived to the Clan. Her own Warden had died in the same manner Ingo had been found, a year prior. Sneasler did not choose another until his arrival, taking to him like a fish to water.
Calaba had found him, with Lian clinging to her side for dear life. The little Warden had to become acquainted with the Lord, as he would need to be capable to find black augerite for his Lord's heirs one day. He remembers the image fondly, though at the time it had been nothing but a blur of hazy memories.
"A woman, Warden Calaba & a child, young Warden Lian, had been my rescuers." Lord Ursaluna had caught the scent of Ingo from his own blood. That arm did not heal for nearly a year. Even now he suffers pain on occasion when placing too much stress on the limb.
"I was taken from the storm, though those memories are foggy at best. I was given care for my injuries. The rest is… history." He waves his free hand dismissively.
Day by day life was a sea of thoughts that disinterested him as nothing seemed to change. It was monotonous, his mind blurred them together as time passed. Clay watched him move his scarred hand with an emotion Ingo could not put his finger on. Was he inspecting him for an injury that had since healed?
Clay had gone to stand at this point, pressing his palms into his thighs as he did. "You said, uh. Lian, yea?"
"Yes, that was his name. He is the Warden to Lord Kleavor, of the Woods. The youngest of us."
"Us." Came a whisper, & he felt a gaze cast on the band he bore across his wrist from over Clay's shoulder. Ingo drew his wrist back, pulling his torn sleeve down, but there was not enough fabric to hide it.
"Right. Right." Clay took something from his mantle, a frame, he thinks though he couldn’t be certain. The man gazes at it fondly for a moment, before he turns to offer it to Ingo from an outstretched hand. "See, I - typically this story'd sound a little outta my league. But what with the stories I've heard in all my years, I can't help but think yer tellin' the truth."
Ingo leans forward, taking the frame, gently, as though not to drop it. He looked at Clay a moment, before the other nodded his head to the small square now sitting between his hands. Ingo looked down, casting a glance between the three people pictured in it. An older gentleman, with greying hair & a smile that seemed to reach both ears. A younger woman, with the same dark hair as Clay himself, with the hat he recalled Lian regarding as his family's heirloom. Then a young man, wedged between the two of them - teeth showing, one missing, a giddy grin on his face with both arms perched in the air victoriously. An odd pokeball in his grasp.
Lian? He certainly reminded him of Lian.
Although it would have had to have been prior to his father's death. No, no he recalls Lian did not have a mother, nor a grandfather. It had only been the two of them, & Lian's uncle. Ingo looked up at Clay blankly, hoping he would help show him what he had been trying to convey. A quiet sigh of resignation escaped him, & he gently nudged Excadrill elsewhere. Clay stands beside him, & places a finger on the boy's face,
"That's me. I'd just gone & caught my first pokémon, he's a real dear friend to me to this day." He nods his head to Excadrill, plopping himself back down before the fire. His finger moves, placing it on the woman. "That there's my mama, she's since passed. I'm not gettin' much younger these days."
Clay then landed his finger atop the man, "That there is my grandpap, his name was Lian.” Ingo was silent. Allowing Clay the room to speak. “He moved to Unova sometime ago, 1928 I believe, after the loss of a loved one."
Lian was a grandfather?
"See, he moved from Sinnoh, though that name's a recent change accordin' to him, in the grand scheme - I'd always known my family never always lived here, but things happen in life." Clay knelt down on one knee, feeling the trembling of Ingo's hands on the frame. He places his hands on top of his. "I'm real sorry I didn't get to the point, but I had to know ya weren't just jabberin' some nonsense. I'm gonna make sure you get home, but I gotta know the deal before I can go findin' you help, y'hear? It's a lot to digest, this isn't my first rodeo with tragedy. I'm just sorry it had t'be you. I've got connections to some people who'd be real keen to help y'though."
“What… What year is it?” Ingo asks hoarsely.
Clay was silent, staring at Ingo for a long, hard second before blinking a few times & looking down. “It’s uh. It’s 2018.”
What?
Everyone he knew is dead.
Everyone he'd never known was in reach of him, again.
If it's been long enough for Lian, an eleven year old, to be long past. To have a daughter, then a grandson as old as Clay, then what of the others? What came of them? Ingo blinks several times, tears welling in his eyes. His chest felt tight, as it rose & fell in harsh repetitions. He hadn't gotten to say goodbye - he had been… Where was he, when they never saw him again?
Had they thought he had been lost within the Highlands, unable to call out to his Noble? Some snack for some hungry Luxray mother's kits?
Lost within a blizzard, cold & alone? Unable to be found within the white powder, that never thawed. Not all the way. Did Ursaluna scour for him? Finding a trail that lead to nowhere? Did Sneasler know where he went? Or did she, too, suffer the loss of another Warden.
Did they think he disregarded his post, & wandered off into the night like a traitor?
Ingo let the photo drop into his lap, wrenching his hands away from Clay's touch. Don't touch me. His forearm pressed against his weeping eyes. His mouth twinged, gripping the fabric of his tunic. Tears stained his tattered jacket as a shuddered weep escaped him. I didn't say goodbye. All of their kindness, just to never get a goodbye.
How could he?
“That can’t be right.” He bit down a sob. “That can’t be right.” Ingo felt sick to his stomach
What about the Nobles? Of Lady Sneasler, & having now no Warden? What burden did he leave on the Pearl Clan? His other Wardens?
Palina who had found comfort in the man's otherwise eccentric self – she was never the type to uphold the status quo. She already had to mourn her late Lord, & had her hands full with the new. Iscan, who taught him to fish along the coast. Who Ingo tried time & time again showed him the inherent kindness of the ghosts of Deadwood Haunt, who were lost in an odd world just as him. Were Palina & Iscan happy, eventually? Did they, too, go on to have a family? Family he could meet, & shake hands with? That would never know the place he took in their lives?
Were they ever happy?
Gaeric who had taught him all that he knew about defending himself - although, perhaps, was a little too content to toss the smaller man around until he learned how to fight back. Who had shown him the gentleness of even the fiercest of the Iceland's creatures. Who kept Ingo's secrets, & who told him his in return. They were close, despite what anyone might suggest.
Calaba… he could grieve, another day. For he knew, & she, too, her time amongst them had been growing short. That was a life he had already come to terms with, & knew she would not want him to mourn. She was at peace with it. She had been the least keen to Ingo's arrival, yet was the one who had ensured his survival. He had nothing but lasting respect for her, as he had earned hers.
Did Rei ever find their way home?
And what of Lady Irida? Who had shown him nothing but her kindness & gratitude, who had welcomed him where others did not, & helped fill the empty hole that once sat within his chest. Who gave him a place amongst the Clan that gave him the space he desired. Who aided him when he, too, was under scrutiny of those of the Galaxy Team by sheer existence. Who saw the good in him, when others couldn't understand. His heart hurt. It was so, so much. He didn't even want to list off every little thing that the young leader had done for him. She had done so much for him, & he repaid her by disappearing?
Ingo had been torn away from his home not once, but twice.
He wanted to return, one day. That was his end goal. His terminus. But he wanted it to be along his own terms. He was certain he would see them all again. That he could not have been so lost within time, that wherever he did end up - there was always going to be a choice. An option. He did not like parting ways. He did not want to live with a foot in two worlds.
To forget one in favour of the other.
Ingo couldn't help the strangled sob that shuddered his shoulders, escaping him as he doubled over himself. He felt small. He felt very small. Warm tears streamed down his face, drenching his chin, & wracking his shoulders. He could hardly hear Clay as he spoke, trying to comfort him. His ears rang. What did he know?
A hand patted Ingo's shoulder gently, with a thick hum of recognition. Ingo inhaled sharply, feeling every part of his face twinge. Please do not touch the conductor!
He pulled his shoulder away. "I – Please don't. Sorry." The words hardly escaped his throat, weak & strained. His skin was crawling. Burning. His throat twinged, holding back the broken gasps that threatened to escape it. "I'm sorry."
"I won't, I apologize.” Clay says, seating himself beside him atop a stool beside him. He can hear him sigh softly, as he doesn't make eye contact with Ingo. He appreciated that. "It's gunna be, ok, y'hear? You're gunna be okay." He sounded so certain. How does he know?
Clay hums again as Ingo thumbed away his tears, staring up at the older gentleman situated beside him. He knew something he didn't. Ingo hiccups quietly, rattling his chest & shoulders. Clay offers a small cloth from his pocket in response. "You're gonna be okay. I promise."
Ingo took it gently, closing his eyes as he wiped them dry. "How are you so sure?" His right eye twinged uncomfortably.
"Runs in the family." Clay murmurs, perching his feet up on the lower bar of the stool, resting his hands together.
Ingo frowns, but nods. “I understand.” It was a quiet statement as he met Clay’s eyes. “I do.”
Clay offers an arm. Ingo stares, deciding his own tolerance to touch in the moment. He remembers being held when he was upset before. But only when it was welcome. Ingo, against his better judgement, leaned into the other man.
His eyes blinked shut, ignoring the tears that agitated his eye. Clay pulled him in, letting Ingo rest himself against his chest. There was silence from both men. Clay rubs the shoulder he held him by in a soft circle. It reminded him of when someone else in his life held him, when he was small. He felt very small. “You remind me of my Uncle.” He whispers, despite himself. Clay chuckles.
“That so?” Ingo hums quietly, not quite remembering enough to say one way or another. “The similarities stop & end there, son.” Ingo couldn't help but swallow his own emotions, if only for now. Even if something in the back of his head nagged, wondering many more times was this going to happen.
He was going to be okay. He had to be.
“Thank you.” He says, forehead pressed against Clay’s shoulder. “For everything.”
[ ♡ ]
Ingo had nothing left in his tank it seemed. Exhaustion had taken it's toll on him.
Despite years of being missing, he still couldn't help but interject his favourite thing into his life.
Trains, always trains. That was a good thing. A good sign he could recover. It was a pity. Amnesia was no joke. It looked like it was draining on him hard. All of his memories. Good & bad. Gone. Even the ones of a person he spent just about every moment of his time with. He'd be keeping this quiet, as much as he could. Clay had told Elesa to hold off on telling Emmet, to give it a day for Ingo to recoup. He was going to contact Drayden first, then see where he wanted to go from there. Though if Ingo was still holding himself the way he was when he woke up he'd be finding himself in a hospital.
The man had outright collapsed when he first found him, scuffed up to high Heavens.
It was scary to see him like that. Haunted, almost. His coat in rags, drenched from the downpour. Eyes all glassy. His hair was so long, even braided it met his waist. He'd even gone & grown some facial hair besides his sideburns, which was an odd look on him.
And he looked tired. Heavens did he look tired. A kind of tiredness many people should be fortunate they never see in their lives.
Clay had to wonder if he'd seen a ghost at first, but the way Ingo’s eyes lit up at the sight of another person. It was enough to tell him that he was well with the living.
Asking him where he might find himself, stating that he'd been ‘placed off track & needed to be rerouted home’. At first he'd thought that Ingo had been kidnapped - just like everyone else suspected. It ran in the family to know when someone's gone for good. But this time was different. It'd made his skin crawl to see how ghastly Ingo looked, yet his voice hadn't seemed to fail him in all these years. Still lively as ever, despite the expression. He supposed Ingo always had a bit of a disgruntled look to him, even when he was delighted. His face seemed free of permanent blemishes, besides a small knick to his lip - but when he gestured with his hands, he saw nothing but healed wounds. Calluses, even a nasty burn he had to assume was the wrong end of a thunderbolt. The black eye would heal.
Clay had been standing at the door, like a guard as he got in touch with just about anyone he could think of.
His eyes drifted to where the man slept, having moved him to his guest bedroom for the night after he'd cried himself empty. He'd been so exhausted he could hardly sit up, so when he began crying he just… Collapsed. Crumpled up under his own weight, & passed out in his arms. He was so light when he carried him to a proper bed, but he was certain that was a constant before he disappeared. Both of the twins were thin & gangly.
Clay had comforted him until he drifted off. He wasn't the touchy, feely type. Neither was Ingo. Especially not for folks he hardly knows. But Ingo was distressed, about so many things he couldn't even voice his worries. His voice left him after some time, petering out into a quiet whisper until it was no more. He'd let the younger man rest himself against his chest, & let it all out until he had nothing more. Until the tears went stale, & his chest stopped its abrupt rise & fall. Setting into a slowt & steady rhythm. Ingo, now, looked the most content he'd seen him in hours. Exhausted, but content. His head laid to the side, arms tucked around a pillow. He had held it less fiercely than when he'd first pulled the covers over him. It felt like he was clinging to the pillow like life support. Now he looked as though he felt safer, drifted off into a hopefully pleasant dream.
His jacket was dangling from the foot of the bed, the dirty garment was the most harrowing item on him. Clay had pulled it from his shoulders before putting him to bed, it was drenched in mud, & he didn't want Ingo to wake up sick.
And the uniform… He recognized the insignia the instant he'd found Ingo. When he stepped close enough for his aging eyes to make out the spiral. The gnaw in his mind to wonder just how a man like him got ahold of such items. But the longer he spoke, it was more & more apparent. He spoke of people Lian had known, but of people Clay had never, & would never get the pleasure of meeting. That was fine. He supposed. The past is in the past, & his grandfather didn't want to look back.
Clay remembers being small, curled up in his grandfather’s lap, asking questions & gaining answers in response. Stories of a man who appeared within the mountains, with no memory of who he was & where he came from. That he spoke in odd phrases, & lived amongst the Pearl Clan for some years. Found in a blizzard, comatosed for three days. A chill ran up his spine. The man became a Warden when Lian had, to an extinct variant of Sneasel & treated him like family. Said he disappeared as mysteriously as he came. That it wasn't an isolated incident, that four years after Ingo had come to Sinnoh, a boy had fallen from the sky. Without a trace of his memory, but an affinity for pokemon. He disappeared after some months, & the mysterious Warden with him, just a week later, during a search for the boy.
It all lined up. And Clay felt sick.
He had, unknowingly, known this entire time where the Champion of Sinnoh & the missing Subway Boss had been. He just hadn't put the pieces together because he had all but forgotten the stories until today.
A text rang out on his phone - rather than the clunky Xtransceiver he'd been gifted a few years back by Burgh. Keep in touch, he said, get a phone, Clay replied. He looks at the notification, as he drudged through his pile of contacts, noting it was from Elesa.
> am i supposed to just keep this to myself clay??
No, he supposed that wasn't fair. He had put a lot on her just to calm his own mind of the obvious. It should have been obvious. It was just a few hours, he hopes.
[ Clay - Sent at 2:01AM ]
> I will tell Drayden, Emmet & Iris tomorrow. I needed to know I wasn’t crazy, not before I got their hopes up.
He sent the message, then went back to scouring his contacts, ceaselessly full of numbers he probably should clear. Of other regions Gym Leaders, Elite Four. Colleagues, co-workers, employees. He had a few of the adult champion's numbers as well. Although he looks at the small name Hilda with a faint emptiness in his chest. He really hoped that kid was alright. At least her family got a note, but she never even came back when N showed his face again. He hopes deep down she comes home just like the Sinnoh champion had, just a week ago.
Clay looks over his shoulder at Ingo hearing a small noise. The younger man's pokémon had found its way out of its ball, kneading itself against his side. A Gliscor. It had its head atop Ingo's stomach, small legs & large incisors curled against his side like a kitten. Its wings pinned to its back, tail dangling off the mattress. Always smiling, it seemed. Even when the creature slept. Clay smiled with a soft snort at the sight, glad that Ingo had someone else looking out for him, too.
A glowing eye peered open, sending a mean look Clay's way. Not asleep. Understood. He looks back down at his phone as it buzzes softly.
[ Elesa (Work) - Sent at 2:02AM ]
> so youre just letting me sit with it instead
Clay sighs, ignoring the message as he finds Cynthia's number in the list, first.
He was, as bad as it felt.
What time was it there? It was late for himself, what would that make it over there? His phone rings for a time, unanswered. Right, she probably had better things to be doing. Clay waits, listening to the phone ring as he waited. No answer. That's fine. He's some random gym leader from Unova, she's met maybe… three times, offhandedly. It didn't bother him too much.
[ Clay - Sent at 2:03AM ]
> I'm real sorry. I didn't want to be alone in knowing either.
[ Elesa (Work) - Sent at 2:03AM ]
> he's my brother too. you were better off picking i dont know. lenora. at least she knew him but didnt Know him.
[ Clay - Sent at 2:03AM ]
> I'm sorry. It'll just be a couple of hours. I promise. I’m not going to wake up Drayden in the middle of a storm. Ingo needs to sleep, he’s exhausted.
[ Elesa (Work) - Sent at 2:04AM]
> youre right but im still going to kill you when i see you next
Clay snorts, though his typing was cut off by the appearance of a ringing screen, phone buzzing in his palms. He nearly dropped the thing out of surprise. Fuck. Okay. Sorry, Elesa. Cynthia was calling back. His hair stood on end as a low snarl erupted from the Gliscor behind him. Ingo stirred slightly at the noise, grumbling something incoherent. Clay knew better than to stick around.
"Goin, goin. Sorry." He said, keeping an eye on the large pokemon as he stepped away while placing a hand over the speaker. It felt like the bat was still staring daggers into his back.
"Hello?" He says, answering at last. Please don't be busy. Don’t be frustrated with him. Bite the bullet, Clay.
"Hello, this is Cynthia. This is Gym Leader Clay of the Unova region, correct?" She sounded very awake. He felt much better about the call immediately.
"It is." He replies, nudging the guest door to a crack as he steps out into his living room. Sandslash was curiously sniffing the chair Ingo had been seated in, as if to ask where their guest was. "I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time - it isn't late there, is it?"