Submas Secret Santa Fic: The Grieving Ghost
A Secret Santa gift for @ingo-ingoing-ingone! A spin-off fic (I wrote it as a sequel but I don't want to presume lul) of his Ghost Emmet AU! If you haven't read it, I wholeheartedly recommend you do so!
Summary: Even through death, a brother can grieve. Even through grief, a brother can hope.
Word Count: 2564
Read below or on AO3! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!
As Ingo grew older, it became a game for Emmet to mirror his appearance. In life, they were identical twins by phenotype, but they each had things that they shared and things that made them separate - Ingo was severe in expression, facial or otherwise, while Emmet was often more relaxed, with an easy-going smile or lowered shoulders; Ingo kept his hair cropped short, in either an Ivy League or a crew depending on the season, yet Emmet enjoyed a bit of length to his, enough to feel the wind pass through as a train rushes by; Emmet wore light layers, often a button up over a simple tee that he could open on warmer days, compared to Ingo, who hates wearing layers and often kept to just polos. Even in death, the two kept the mirroring up, with Emmet emphasizing his laugh lines to contrast the creases on Ingo's forehead, and growing a curled mustache to match Ingo's goatee.
He lost that though, the day he lost Ingo. It was sudden, having his brother on the walkie, chatting about how Isadore was on a hot streak on the Singles train, and then he was gone in the time it took Emmet to reply. Worry had set in, yes, but everyone knew that the twins used older walkies than most Depot Agents, so the battery could've easily just died. It took another 20 minutes for someone to make it past Isadore, and for a challenger to find that Ingo had… Disappeared. His Pokemon were resting on the healing machine, the walkie was sitting on the bench, like he had it beside him while dozing. The cameras were off, which isn't abnormal as they only need to be on during battles for Versus Recorders and liability reasons.
The atmosphere around Gear Station immediately shifted, lights seeming to dim and the temperature dropping and staying frigid through the summer months, worsening in the fall and winter. Over the decades, Emmet had become a known fixture in the Station, popping in and out of existence, helping to care for people on the night shift when trains and staff were running at limited capacity. He was a ghost, yes, something to fear on paper, but he was Emmet, and the constant exposure had reminded people that he was the same person he had been in life, eccentricities and all. He'd become safe. A normal part of life, in fact.
People had forgotten that ghosts grow more powerful with time.
Gear Station never closed, the Agents never let it get to that point, but it did become wrong for a time. Blood dripping from the walls' invisible wounds. Screams heard from empty hallways, calling for names that no one recognized. Apparitions asking people to guide or follow them. Ghost Pokemon began to slowly congregate in the tunnels, simply phasing through the trains as they roared through. Emmet was a ghost, an incredibly powerful one. One who had become so heavily intertwined with Gear Station to wrest control from it's resident specter, and warp its image to reflect his inner turmoil.
People began to wonder if a ghost could really grieve. They're dead, after all, so what human emotion do they have left? Those people often find themselves lost within the Station until their trains have departed, and then shunted out a side entrance and unable to re-enter. Those that questioned if Emmet dragged his brother away with him into the afterlife would disappear for days, only to return to the lobby starving, panicked, fearful of ever returning to the Station.
People no longer questioned if Emmet was grieving the loss of his brother.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Emmet?" Emmet jolts to attention as Furze taps him on the shoulder, purposely avoiding the patch of spectral blood staining his coat. "You still here? You've been more… Out of it than normal." Emmet would laugh if he could muster the will, settling to just nod in answer. "Good, good." Furze sets a cup of coffee in front of the ghost of his boss, and sits down across the table from him.
Oh, guess I made it to the break room, Emmet thinks to himself as he shakily picks up the cup. He inhales the scented steam of the coffee, barely there to the senses of a dead man, before taking a drink, the scalding heat not effecting the ectoplasm that forms his mouth. "I thought you would've been more of a mess, sir," Furze eventually says after a few moments of silence. "Not to say that you aren't," he quickly adds with a nervous chuckle. "But from how Jackie can get on a bad week, I thought that the Station would have, y'know…"
"Been turned into something inhospitable," Jackie says, phasing in next to Furze and leaning against his chair, looming over his head and spooking the other Agent. Emmet squints his eyes briefly as a sign of a smile, and takes another long drink. "And while I can't really blame you, Master Emmet, you have been making a mess of the place." Emmet winces slightly at the accusation, true as it was. In response, the room's temperature plummets for a moment before returning to normal.
"But that's the thing," Furze says, pulling it back on track. "You seem… More put together than I thought you'd be." Sighing, he leans back, Jackie stepping away to sit in the last chair at the table. "When you died, Master Ingo was devastated. He wouldn't leave the control room for a week, and after that, he wouldn't leave the Station until everyone but the night janitors were left. He seemed consumed with grief, and determined to prevent anyone else from being hurt, but…"
"You're still stable," Jackie says smoothly, leaning forward onto the table, placing their chin on their hands to prop themselves up. "You haven't come close to dissipating, you haven't killed anyone in madness, and you still come into work. You're grieving, but it's a normal person's grief. I know you are capable of more."
"Jackie," Furze hisses, trying to cut them off, though Emmet puts up a hand to stop either of them from continuing.
"I am Emmet," he starts, swallowing the mouthful of blood that had manifested as he spoke for the first time that day. He takes a moment to make sure there isn't anything else pooling in his throat before speaking. "I could do more, yes. I could turn off the electricity through the entire system. I could create a snowstorm inside. I could even prevent people from entering at all. But that isn't what Ingo would want. It will not bring Ingo back, and he'd be upset when he does come back."
While Jackie sighs and looks away, Furze's eyebrows furrow. "Sir, as much as I want to hold out hope, he's been gone for 3 months. Are you sure he'll co-"
"Undoubtedly," Emmet quickly says, cutting off Furze. "I confirmed it with Chandelure. His soul did not depart." Emmet taps a finger against the tabletop before glancing at Jackie. "You can confirm. He simply disappeared. His soul never departed."
There was a tense air between the two spirits - Jackie was far older than Emmet, having haunted this land before the trains were ever planned to be installed. And one of the major rules is, even if they fade in or out in front of people, or make a scare to get a rise from a coworker, you never acknowledge Jackie's afterlife. But they also are an honorable specter, and Emmet is their boss, their Master. So, after a moment, the stalemate ends with Jackie sighing and nodding. "Yes, Master. His soul never made the trip. And we'd know if it had remained."
Emmet simply nods, closing his eyes and still tapping his finger. "We had planned for his death. He is getting older, after all. 50 isn't decrepit, but it is approaching retirement age, as Ramses has shown." He pauses for a moment, a single drop of blood forming at the corner of his eye and slowly rolling down his cheek. "The plan… the plan was to choose successors. If he got to retire, then I would remain here until it was time for him to pass on. Then we take the tracks together, as a two car train."
"Even though you'd never get to leave the Station?" Furze asks, quirking an eyebrow. "You get miserable whenever he takes his yearly vacation. You'd want that full time?"
Emmet shrugs, a weary smile on his face as he shakes his head. "I never said I'd be happy with him being retired and being unable to be with him. But he is his own person, and he would still have a life." He holds the pose for a moment before slumping forward, the room dimming as he does so. "But now we don't know if he is living a life he enjoys."
Furze and Jackie look at each other with slightly nervous expressions, and nod before Jackie speaks up. "Yeah, we don't know. But you and I can confirm he didn't die, so…" They get up, and place a hand on Emmet's shoulder, right on the wet bloodstain that Furze had avoided earlier with a wet squelch. "Don't give up that hope. We'll see him again."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Master Emmet!" The voice that crackles over the old walkie-talkie belongs to Baketmut, Ramses' granddaughter who had started on the Subway earlier that year. While most staff have been upgraded to a new communication system, the newer members were still given some of the functional walkie-talkies, as a way to always be able to reliably contact someone like Subway Master Emmet or Subway Master Isadore. "Furze says he needs you down in the Singles Line tunnel, north of Gear Station!"
That grabs Emmet's attention swiftly. That tunnel had been closed for a in-person inspection, as early that morning before the trains had become active, they had spotted a wild Pokemon on one of the cameras. Furze and Baketmut were given the task to check it out, and remove the Pokemon if they found it. Unclipping the walkie from his belt, he lifts it up. "I am Emmet. Did they find the Pokemon?"
"No, Master Emmet, sir," Furze answers, having grabbed the walkie while Emmet replied. "It's a person, probably the Pokémon's trainer. But they asked to speak to the Subway Master in-person. Should we meet you in the office, or?"
"I am Emmet," the ghost says as he stands from his desk, unconsciously making the motion of grabbing his coat off of a hook as it materializes in his hand. "I am on my way. What is the closest access door?"
"B7," was the reply, and Emmet sets the walkie on the charger on his desk before fading away. One of his favorite perks after these long decades of service in undeath is the lack of need for travel during urgent scenarios. No need to rush to the teleporter if he's working on paperwork and needed for a challenger, or to sprint across the Station if his lunch time nap extended longer than expected. Since the Station is his haunt, and the tunnels the Station's arteries and veins, every spot inside was but a step away.
And so Emmet finds himself at B7, and opens the door, stepping out into the tunnel. Leaping over the third rail (safety first, even if you're already dead!), he sets out on the tracks, in the direction of the flashlight that Furze was shining his direction.
"Over here, Master Emmet!" Baketmut calls out, waving her hand in the air as she bounces up on the balls of her feet. After Furze places a hand on her shoulder, though, she calms down, and Emmet can more clearly see who was with them. A teenage girl, wearing a navy blue outfit of some form with a while headdress and raven dark hair.
Emmet quickly approaches the group, and tips his hat. "I am Emmet. You wanted me?"
The teenager's eyes widened a little before blinking a few times. "Wow. You got here really fast," she says, almost in awe. "Also, you do look a lot like him." That pulls Emmet's and Furze's attention, both men looking at her with a questioning look, and she puts her hands up quickly. "Oh, right, sorry! I, um, came here with someone else! I wanted to make sure he got home safe before I went home."
Emmet feels something akin to his heart skipping a beat, maybe just a twinge of the false muscles in his chest. But he doesn't want to think about what she could mean. "I am Emmet," he says to get his mind on track while running his fingers along his mustache. "Who is this friend. And where is he?"
"叔父さん (1)," she says in Kantonian, oddly enough, "is this way." She beckons the two towards a connecter tunnel to the Super Single's line, used as a way to quickly access it from Gear Station on foot. "His Gliscor got out and was flying around, so he's trying to soothe it."
"And it was a Gliscor that they caught on camera," Furze says softly to Emmet as the girl leads them onward. Emmet simply nods, his eyes narrowing as he scans the area. Baketmut follows the girl closely, while he and Furze stood a little further back. As the two girls turned the corner, Baketmut stops, and looks back at Furze and Emmet with a panicked look. Emmet took that as the cue to rush forward, momentarily going intangible to move faster, wisps of smoke coming off of him as he stops next to Baketmut.
Sitting against the wall with his hat slightly askew, Ingo was gently scratching a massive Gliscor under it's jaw, softly crooning to it in Kantonian. At a sudden shift in temperature, as well as the Gliscor grumbling at Emmet's sudden appearance, he turns. "Gliscor, there is no need to grum-"
Two sets of glowing eyes meet for the first time in six years. Emmet could tell that, wherever his brother had been, time had not been kind to him, with his face weathered and creased in a way that implied plenty of sun exposure, far more than either twin had endured since childhood. His beard was still there, a little longer and styled even more to a point, and Emmet couldn't help but feel glad that he had kept the curled mustache all these years. And while Emmet was surprised to see his hair grown out, what truly surprised him was the small smile that races onto Ingo's face as he quickly stands up and rushes him with a hug.
As the lights around the group flare and the temperature warms to that of a clear spring day, Emmet keeps himself solid with all of his will to wrap his arms around his brother once more, tears falling cleanly from both of them. He can hear Furze step away, speaking into his communicator, but all that matters is his brother is home. He was right all those years ago.
People had once asked if a ghost could grieve; they found the answer to that fairly quickly. But for some, could a ghost feel joy was a question that had stuck around. And now, the answer was known as a resounding yes.
(1) "Oji-san", or "Uncle/Old Man". Commonly used by teens and kids to refer to middle age men they know.
