Chapter Text

“Emmet?”

“Ingo.”

“Where is Nimbasa?”

It starts like this.

It’s a rather cold, slightly miserable winter’s day. 

Ingo had already been dragged out of bed by Emmet after a rather pathetic attempt to try and cocoon himself amongst his bedding, desperately seeking warmth. Alas, after the third failed attempt, Emmet had then turned Ingo’s dear partners against him,  and so his traitorous sentient IKEA lamp wannabe (that he loved very much) and his sentient rubbish pile Debbie (whom he also loved very much) had double teamed him in the most upsetting way (forceful ejection from bed). He'd shed a tear at the graceful teamwork, if it wasn't being used against him.

Then, not long after his cruel removal, Ingo had stumbled onto his Deerling-strong legs, feet tip-toeing against the icy floor as he tried to fish out his glasses from within the blessed confines of his pillows, only to grasp a rather rotund, squeaky Joltik. 

Who then shocked him. With Thunderbolt.

Ow.

So Ingo stumbled backwards, only for one of his unfortunate feet to make contact with a spare Lego brick that had been cast off from his attempts at creating a functional mini Lego Gear Station.

“A.”

After suffering through the Dragon’s divine ordeals (waking up early and facing the Lego), Ingo finally stumbles out of the bathroom, half-tied tie hanging down the back of his ridiculous crumpled shirt.

Emmet, on the other hand, seems to be in pristine condition. His gaze flickers across Ingo’s dishevelled form, and the edges of his lips twitch in amusement. “You’re verrrrry late, Ingo.” Emmet draws out the ‘r’ with vigour. “Verrrrrrrrry, verrrrrrrrrrry late. And! You look terrible.” He points at the shrivelled excuse for a shirt. “Iron.”

Ingo simply deflates with a sigh, a strange train whistle-like noise that wouldn’t be out of place on the railways. “Emmet I advise you to be quiet before I switch tracks to Rude Station.” 

Emmet takes that as a challenge.

“Do it, b- .” 

Ingo eventually retreats to his bedroom once more as he attempts to herd some of their wayward Pokémon. It’s not going so well, as Archeops has taken to screaming its frustrations towards the mirror for no particular reason at all. 

It’s been ten minutes.

Ingo finds himself massaging his temples, desperately praying for salvation. Or earplugs. 

Maybe both. 

“Ingo. Ingo. Ingo. We need to go now, Ingo. There’s no coffee left and I need coffee or else I will explode. Right now. Right here. Yup.” 

“Emmet, humans can’t learn explosion.”

“Do you want to test that theory out?”

Emmet gets a grand total of five steps out of the door before he slips on the nearest patch of ice and lands with a wet, meaty and rather dirty slap. His white coat doesn’t stand a chance. Absolutely obliterated. Game. 

Ingo sighs, before pulling out a spare from his bag. This is the third coat lost to the ground this week, and then tenth one in total (four more lost to coffee experiments, one lost to an overly excited Ninetails’ furniture-related curse and the final one taken by the Joltik horde as a sacrifice.)

At least it’s bleachable. He’ll just add it to the bleach pile later.

(He will not. Not if Arceus has anything to say about it.)

A fresh coat later, the twins finally manage to nip into their favourite coffee shop, purposely ignoring the ‘banned people’ list in hopes that if they don’t acknowledge it, then no one else will.

For the whole ten minutes they stand waiting, no one does notice it. Or cares too. It’s too early in the morning anyway to think about Emmet’s serial coffee-related crimes. 

Today, it seems that the counter is being managed by some bright-eyed new hire, if the cheery smile and eyes twinkling with life are anything to go by.

That innocence will not last for long.

“Your caffeine, hand it over. I am Emmet. I work in public services.” Alright. So does everyone else. “I need enough to fight Arceus in order to get through the day. Once you’re done overloading the caffeine, I want twenty pumps of caramel, another twenty of espresso and then as much whipped cream as humanly possible. Then double it.” If Emmet’s heart doesn’t explode by noon, then he’ll be back for round two.

With a strained smile, Emmet tips his cap, then the poor, poor newbie. It’s the least he can do.

Only Ingo decides to cut in. “ Emmet .” His tone, rumbling and too-soft, is one of warning. Ah. Emmet had forgotten the most vital part of the order!

“I would also like a large hot chocolate with cream and sprinkles. Please .”

Ingo nods, pleased. “Thank you.” 

“Mornin’ Bosses!”

“Good morning Jackie.”

“Hiya Jackie!”

The station, like always, is nigh-empty at this hour. It’s a few hours before opening time, which thankfully means there is no one normal around to witness Emmet’s great caffeinated horror disappear in one terrible gulp, nor judge him for it. This drink stays between the employees of Gear Station and Arceus.

Jackie sends a small, somewhat-smirky smile towards the duo as they drop down from their spot amongst the tops carved pillars without a single sound, before marching towards the duo with an energy that Ingo has yet to have been able to describe. Is it bravado? Power? Possession?

He’s not sure. 

Ingo tries not to dwell on it. Best to not question life more than necessary.

“Have you managed to complete all of your safety checks, then?” 

“Yep, all the checks have been completed. Cloud should be finished with her line in a minute, Ramses is on the way from the northern lines. Isadore is lecturing Furze near the southern entrance. Cameron is sobbing like a wet kitten on the Green line.” They nonchalantly scroll through their tablet, pointing to each coloured dot on the map. “So, we’ll be set before opening time.”

“Good, good. Sounds like Emmet and I just need to check through last night’s reports, and we should be ready.” Ingo motions to his twin, and Emmet grins in realisation, leaning forwards, arming raised behind him. ”Now then, full steam ahead!” 

The twins Naruto run away.

Jackie can almost hear the music rumbling in their head. Scratch that, they can hear the music actually rumbling, as the speakers crackle to life and ninja chants echo through the halls.

It seems that the Station has a sense of humour today.

Paper work is not fun.

It’s the antithesis of fun, actually.

After what seemed to be the hundredth report (it was only the tenth), Emmet decides to send a half-hearted prayer to whatever deity is up there. It’s only a childish wish for some entertainment, maybe a bit of enrichment to get those neurons activated, so there’s little thought put into it.

Only, moments after sending that little wish up to the heavens, the station begins to rumble.

“Oh FU-.”

HAHA. GET EEBIED, BOBOLYNE. HOW DOST THOU CARE FOR THESE APPLES?

“Emmet, I think we’re not in Unova anymore.” Ingo announces, after a good five minutes of staring outside into the very much not Unovan landscape. There’s no lights, nor skyscrapers, or mind-numbing advertisements littering the landscape. “Or underground, for that matter.” He adds, as he makes for one of the door handles, suddenly nervous.

For the first time in what feels like decades, Ingo finds himself surrounded by nature and trees. There’s sunlight shining through the grand doors, and dear old Jackie seems as though they’re threatening to crumble to dust from a vitamin D overdose. Ingo briefly backs up to shade his co-worker slightly, lest they’re forced to touch grass.

Emmet on the other hand, seems to be on the verge of a high-related breakdown as he quivers on the floor with a pallid countenance. The mutters seem to grow in strength with each passing second, and by the time Ingo spares him a second glance, Emmet has clasped his hands together in reverence. He’s praying. Impressive. 

Ingo dreads the remaining reactions.

Isadore faints.

No one has seen Cameron since the incident happened, the twins assume he’s still crying on the Green line train.

Cloud takes a single look outside, then decides to retreat into the comfort of the staff room. She’s already done, and only a grand total of an hour has passed. “I hate this. I hate that. I need a drink.” Ramses empathetically bobs his head along with what feels like the start of Cloud’s villain arc. “That’s not Unova. That’s not my city.” 

“Yep.”

“I was going on vacation tomorrow. I was going to go to Alola with my wife. Alolan beaches and my wife. I was so excited.” Cloud had been counting the days down with a little calendar near the drinks machine in the office. Now the sight of coloured paper and energetic pen scribbles mocks her. “Bikini.” She whimpers. 

“ Yup .”

“And we’re in a mountain. In the middle of nowhere. The station somehow has been removed from Unova and now it’s literally been plopped into another region.” 

“Yep.”

With that last gasp, Cloud suddenly goes eerily still. She curves her head upwards, meeting Ramses with a steely look in her eyes. “Ramses.”

He gulps. “Yup?”

“I am going to kill Arceus.” 

“O-oh.”

Furze, surprisingly, is fine. 

He’s still got trains. That’s all that matters.