Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Location: ???

Time: ???

   It’s dark. He can’t see anything around him and his body feels weightless. Like he’s drifting through empty space.

   Is this death? The last thing Ingo remembers is running in the snow. There was blood and pain and everything was so cold. Ingo must have died out there. Maybe it was that cold that took him. Or could it have been the blood loss? Either way, his body must not have been found in time and the hands of death dragged him away.

   Ingo feels like he should be sad. He should be begging whatever entity can hear him for another chance. He should want to be alive again.

   Ingo isn’t done. There’s still something he has to do. Something he has to find.

   All he feels is numb.

   There’s nothing out there that will listen to him. If there was, it would have saved him before he died. And maybe, if they were kind, Ingo wouldn’t have found himself in the snow in the first place.

   But it wasn’t so and Ingo is dead.

   “You’re not dead. Not yet anyway.” Comes an echoing voice on his left. Ingo looks over and there’s a white figure beside him. It’s glowing — so bright that Ingo can’t make out anything beyond its vaguely human shape and the smile spread across its face. That smile… Ingo knew it before, didn’t he? It was familiar. Something he would see every day.

   Seeing it now fills Ingo with a wave of calm. He knows that smile, he’s certain. Which means whoever this being is, Ingo trusts them. Maybe it’s wrong to do that. To give his trust out so blindly to a faceless figure in this strange empty space. It’s foolish, but Ingo is doing it anyway.

   The figure in white would never hurt him. Somehow, he is sure of that much. 

   “Ingo? Are you listening?” It tilts its head; curious. He’s not sure how he knows that is what the tilt means, but he knows in his heart that it’s true. 

   “What?” His voice echoes around the darkness, bouncing off of invisible walls surrounding him. 

   “I said you’re not dead. You can’t be! You still haven’t found me, after all.” The figure steps closer, walking around him to stand face to face with Ingo. Its smile fades into something softer. Fond. “You promised you’d always find me no matter what, remember?”

   He did? Ingo doesn’t… no, he does remember that. There’s an echo in his mind — his own voice stating words he feels he’d said a very long time ago: ‘I’ll always find you. No matter what! I promise.’ Ingo did say that. When he was young, he’d promised. What kind of br-… what kind of person would he be if he broke that promise now? “I did say that… I remember now.”

   The figure seems happy now, flapping their hands a little. “Verrry good, Ingo! You’ve remembered something. You’re one step closer to your destination. Now all you have to do is find me.”

   Ingo huffs. The figure makes it sound so easy. “I do not know where to look.”

   A beat, then the figure hums a little. It appears to be thinking. “Hmm… tricky, indeed. I am not sure where I am either. But I’m not worried. You will find me again, I’m sure of it.”

   Ingo looks down at his feet. How can the figure be so sure? How can they have faith in Ingo where he lacks faith in himself? It’s impossible. Ingo can’t find something if he doesn’t know where it is or even who it is. Right? There’s no way he’ll be able to do it. No matter how badly Ingo wants to.

   “I know that look,” they say, interrupting his train of thought. Ingo looks up and they’re closer now. So close he can almost make out a face. It… it looks like his own. “You’re doubting yourself. You alllways do that. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Ingo. A train always makes it back to the proper station. I know you will too. Until then, I will be waiting for you and I promise I will never give up hope. Even if you do.” With that, the figure reaches out and hugs Ingo. There’s a warmth in its embrace that has tears building in his eyes. Ingo misses them more than anything. He wants to go home to them, but will he really make it? 

   If they are so certain he will make it back… well, then Ingo is inclined to believe them. He will find them again. He will return home. He will. 

   He wraps his arms around the figure, burying his face into their shoulder. A hand runs through his hair as the edges of Ingo’s vision start to blur. What’s happening? Ingo feels lightheaded all of a sudden…

  The figure turns their head and plants a kiss on his temple. “I love you, Ingo. I’ll see you verrry soon.”

   “I-“

   Ingo can’t get another word out before the world around him fades away.

Location: Pearl Clan Medical Tent

Time: One Day Later 

   His head is spinning. Perhaps in the most literal sense it ever has… well, that’s not quite right. Ingo feels like he’s spinning is probably more accurate. Like he’s on a rotating platform that’s being pushed in circles. The darkness on the back of his eyelids swirls and loops in the strangest way too; as if it has a life of its own. He’s never felt quite so dizzy before. It’s honestly making him feel nauseous.

   What happened? One moment he was in the dark with that smiling figure and now… well, now Ingo has no idea where he is. 

   Maybe he should try and figure that out?

   Beyond the dizziness, the first thing Ingo registers when he comes to is heat. Thank Arceus. It radiates from his left, warming his tired body. Ingo has never felt more grateful to be warm. He must be inside somewhere then.

   A soft crackling is what he processes next, working through the fuzziness in his ears. It’s a steady sound that’s only broken by the occasional pop. Ingo tilts his head towards it and color blooms over the back of his eyelids; a gentle sway, dancing with the rhythmic crackle. It helps combat some of the rolling darkness, which Ingo is also grateful for. The flickers remind Ingo of something… his eyelids flutter before he peels them open, gaze focusing in on the fire in front of him. Vibrant oranges and deep yellows flutter over the burning logs, smoke curling up and away. He remembers fire. But it wasn’t like the one in the fireplace… it was colder. And not orange. What other color would fire be? There’s a pang in his temple that dissuades Ingo from chasing after that train of thought. It’s already left the station.

   He rolls his shoulders, wincing as the movement causes a weird shift in his left one. It feels tighter than normal and Ingo hates that sensation very much. He tries to move it again, but the feeling doesn’t go away. If anything, Ingo only feels more stiff. Like he’s trying to force his way through molasses. Even the smallest of movements takes a great amount of effort. How irksome. 

   Wait… wasn’t he injured? Ingo remembers being in pain before. And he was covered in blood. His shoulder was completely destroyed, wasn’t it? Then how can he move it now? Why doesn’t he feel any pain where he’d been hit? Ingo brings his hand up from where it had been lying limp on the… bed(?) beneath him, feeling around his stomach where he remembers being hit. Ingo learns two things from that. One, the injury is gone and in its place is a patch of raised skin. No scabbing, or bandages, or any lasting damage at all. Two, Ingo is not wearing a shirt. He tugs the blanket that’s draped over him closer. Where did his shirt go?

   He looks around the area of the fireplace, not having the energy to try to get up and search. Thankfully, he finds his clothes in a neat pile nearby. Ingo lets himself relax. His clothes are fine. Well, most of them anyway. Ingo’s coat is a little torn, but otherwise fine and his hat is much the same. His shirt… it’s no longer white. It’s torn to shreds and absolutely soaked in enough blood to turn it almost entirely red.

   Okay. So, Ingo wasn’t imagining the injuries then. He just doesn’t have them now. Great. That’s not concerning at all… he’s too tired to worry about that at the moment. Ingo is not bleeding or in pain. Just a little nauseous. That’s a good thing, right? 

   Ingo drags in a breath. It doesn’t sting anymore. For a moment, he just focuses on the rise and fall of his chest; on the way air fills his lungs and then escapes in a soft hiss. Ingo never would have thought it would be such a privilege to simply breathe for a moment. But here he is, thankful to be breathing in warm air. He could almost cry from sheer relief. 

   From what he’s gathered, this place is much safer than where he was before. Ingo has no idea exactly where here is, but he enjoys this kind of quiet. The soft sizzling of the fire beside him is far more welcoming than the howling of the icy wind from before. It’s almost jarring to find himself in such a position after running for his life just-... actually, how long ago was that? It felt like it was only moments ago to Ingo, but that can’t be the case. Can it? With the way his injury is completely healed, Ingo must have been out for a very long time. There’s no way such a wound can heal in just the blink of an eye. How long had he been unconscious, then? Ingo doesn’t know, but just thinking about it makes him feel sick. He’s about tired of not knowing things. 

   Getting upset about it won’t help him though. So, he focuses on trying to examine his surroundings more.

   He doesn’t have the energy to really move much, but he can still see a lot from his position. Ingo lets his gaze wander up from the fireplace towards the ceiling. If it could even be called a ceiling. The material looks more like a kind of tarp. It doesn’t seem like something that would be found in a normal building… not that he really remembers what a normal building is supposed to look like. He doesn’t dwell on that. Ingo’s eyes follow the creases to the middle of the room, where it meets in a sort of point. It appears like it's attached to a wooden pole that runs straight through the center of the room. A tent of sorts then.

   What a strange place this is. He’s not sure what to make of it. It’s less dangerous than the icy hills he woke up in, but Ingo isn’t sure if he’s really out of danger… a part of him just wants to ignore all the questions running through his mind and go back to sleep. The other desperately wants answers. In the end, Ingo’s restlessness wins out. Exhausted as he is, maybe if he gets up and explores his surroundings, it might make more sense? That seems logical.

   So, with great effort, Ingo attempts to prop himself up. He only gets about halfway there before he’s pushed back down by a massive, clawed paw. Ingo’s breath catches in his throat and his gaze snaps up to find a creature hovering over him now, looking… sleepy? It blinks down at him, seemingly having just woken up from a nap. Well that is certainly the oddest Sneasel Ingo has ever seen… what is a Sneasel? Ingo tries to move again, which only upsets the strange Pokémon.

   “Sneas!” Lady Sneasler shakes her head at him. While she’s relieved he’s awake, doesn’t he know better than to move around when pinned under a Pokémon? Clearly not! This human has no sense of self preservation at all, does he? He’s trapped under a powerful Pokémon such as herself that could easily tear him apart and he’s still trying to move? No wonder he ended up bleeding out and frozen in the Wastes… 

   Ingo decides to stop trying to move now. It’s clear that the Pokémon doesn’t want him to move, and the last thing he wants to do is upset it. That got him into a lot of trouble last time. So, he settles back down on the… soft thing beneath him. He’s still not really sure what it's called.

   “My apologies! I did not mean to upset you!” The Pokémon flinches at the volume of his voice, and so does Ingo. Goodness! Has he always been that loud? He has a feeling that the answer is yes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ingo can hear a voice laughing at his plight. It’s not a malicious voice though and the thought of it… hurts, oddly enough. Could that be the voice of the figure he saw in his… dream? If that really was a dream. It must have been if he’s awake now. 

   He shakes that thought away for the time being, then Ingo gives the Pokémon a look he hopes will convey an apology. It just shakes its head and makes a scoffing sound. Ingo does not know this Pokémon very well, but he interrupts its huffing as forgiveness. “Apologies again…” A silence falls over the tent now. Ingo isn’t sure what to say. Which feels rather odd… Ingo has a feeling that he often talks a lot.

   With nothing better to do, he observes the Pokémon. It's interesting for sure; light blue fur, a long feather coming from its ear, sharp purple claws. This must be a poison type of some kind. That shade of purple is often a very telltale sign of poison. Could it have another typing too? Maybe steel… no, doesn’t really look like a steel type. Dark? That feels right, but wrong at the same time. It doesn’t look like a dark type, but Ingo can’t shake the feeling that it should be a dark type. How strange.

   This man has a staring problem. Lady Sneasler is used to being gawked at by humans, but his gaze is far more intense than a gaze of fear. Maybe it's because his eyes are so bright? Sometimes humans with blue eyes wig her out for that reason. Either way, she doesn’t like his staring. So, she does what she would for any human who tests her patience and growls at him. Lady Sneasler may have saved him from the snow… and worried over him for hours, but she won’t tolerate disrespect!

   Most humans back down when she growls, some even going so far as to run away from her. Ingo seems… unfazed. He just blinks at her, eyes wide with a weird sort of sparkle to them. It looks almost like a smile? But he’s still frowning. Weird. She goes to growl again, only to fall short when the man’s hand comes up to her ear. What is he doing? Who does he think he is, putting his hands on a noble?! She snarls, baring her teeth at him. Biting is not something she typically resorts to, but how dare he!! 

   “Bravo! What an intimidating growl. You’re quite a magnificent Pokémon. I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with your species, but you are incredibly fascinating. Are you a poison type?” Ingo knows he’s rambling, but he can’t help it. He scratches a spot just behind the Pokémon’s ear. It looks startled for a moment before melting into his hand. The Pokémon’s fur is quite soft despite its rough appearance. Ingo is pleasantly surprised. “Yes, you must be. Look at those sharp claws! Such a lovely purple color. A tell-tale sign of powerful poison, my friend. You seem like a formidable battler. Very impressive indeed.” 

   Oh… perhaps he’s not so bad after all. Lady Sneasler has never been pet before, but she finds she quite likes it. Normally she would have poisoned anyone who dared touch her, but this human is Arceus’s chosen… and Lady Sneasler is just so happy she’s actually getting to meet him. She can make exceptions for him and him alone. So far, Ingo has exceeded her expectations. He’s a bit odd and definitely rather loud, but she’s glad he survived… Lady Sneasler can pretend to be annoyed by him all she wants, but she truly is relieved. 

   She didn’t fail him and she didn’t fail Arceus either. Lady Sneasler feels as if a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

   Ingo is relieved that the Pokémon seems to have calmed down now. This is how he remembers Pokémon behaving. It was upset before, but relatively easy to calm down. Perhaps the other one was just a one time thing? Ingo can only hope that’s the case. He doesn’t want to run into anything like that ever again if he can help it. Though maybe if he does, Ingo will know better than to not start running immediately. He’s learned his lesson. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Ingo,” he says.

   The Pokémon makes an almost yipping sound in response. He will take that as a good sign. Hopefully he will be able to make a friend of it. Ingo would prefer not to get attacked again. This Pokémon’s claws would make for a very nasty end… especially if Ingo is right about it being a poison type. 

   He’s drawn out of his thoughts by the feeling of weight settling over his chest. Looking down, Ingo finds the Pokémon has draped itself over his body. Its head is now resting on the blanket over his chest and its arms are carefully resting across his stomach. The Pokémon seems to be avoiding touching Ingo with its claws, which Ingo is grateful for. He doesn’t really want to be poisoned right now. Its warmth is welcome though.

   Alongside the fire, the Pokémon’s warmth banishes the light chill in the room. Ingo finds himself wrapping his arms around it, still petting its head. It seems to like that, if the purring it's letting out is any indicator. “Oh? Making yourself comfortable, I see? Welcome aboard, then. I do not mind. You’re very comfortable and your fur is quite soft. Bravo,” Ingo finds himself saying. The Pokémon just nuzzles into his hands in response, which tickles a little. He resists the urge to shy away from it though. 

   It’s nice… but Ingo can’t bring himself to fully relax. The reality of this situation has been in the back of his mind since he woke up and he can’t continue to ignore it forever.

   Ingo is in an unknown place with no memory of how he got here — no memories at all for that matter. All Ingo knows is his name. And even then, can he be sure about that?

   What if he is just making it up? He’d have no way of knowing. Beyond that, Ingo had been given a mission before he woke up in the snow. He can barely remember all of what he’d been told now, but he remembers he must ‘seek out all Pokémon’. What does that even entail? And what happens if Ingo can’t complete that task? Ingo has a feeling it will be really bad; like there’s a lot riding on his success. There’s a lot of unspoken pressure on him to get this done and Ingo isn’t sure he’ll even be able to do it. He… nearly died out there, didn't he?

   It’s a truth Ingo has been trying not to think about, but right now he has nothing else to distract himself with. He almost died. That injury should have been fatal, but it wasn’t. How is Ingo even still alive? He shouldn’t be. He should have bled out in the snow or frozen to death. Any normal human wouldn’t have made it. He should be dead… his chest hurts and he can feel his hands start to tremble. Ingo wants to cry. He’s not cut out for this. He should be… somewhere else. Somewhere kinder. He just can’t remember where that is, which only makes him feel more upset. Why doesn’t he know anything?

   “Snea snaw?” The Pokémon chitters at him and he can see it lifting its head to look at him out of the corner of his eye. It looks worried. Ingo can’t bring himself to try to reassure it. He just continues to stare into the flames. Ingo can’t breathe. 

   Lady Sneasler isn’t sure what to do. She’d been nearly asleep when she noticed Ingo’s heart rate start to rise. Now that she’s looking at him, she can see he looks really pale and almost panicked. Lady Sneasler isn’t sure how to help him, but it's clear he needs it. What’s causing him to act this way? He is safe in the medical tent and warm and healed. Ingo should be fine, so why isn’t he? Lady Sneasler knows so little about humans. Even her previous warden was a mystery to her and he spent more time with her than any other human. The man only came to visit her to leave offerings or to sometimes help with whatever troubles befell her in the Highlands, but that was it.

   So how is she supposed to help Ingo? She could ask Arceus for help again… no. Lady Sneasler doesn’t want to depend on them for everything. She’ll figure out how to help Ingo on her own. 

   She lifts herself up from his chest and leans towards his face. His gaze is somewhat distant. Like he’s not really seeing anything in front of him. Lady Sneasler huffs, attempting to get his attention to no avail. She’s not going to get his attention that way. Time for a new plan. Lady Sneasler leans down and licks Ingo’s forehead, trying to snap him out of whatever state he’s found himself in. That seems to help more, as Ingo blinks in response. One of his hands comes up to weakly try to push her away. Lady Sneasler keeps at it. Licking is working! She settles back down onto his chest, drawing a soft grunt from the human, before moving to lick his cheek. 

   The pressure on his chest and the stickiness of the Pokémon’s tongue pulls Ingo out of his head. His vision slowly stops spinning and his breathing begins to settle. Ingo looks up at the Pokémon. “... okay. Okay, okay. I am alright. You can stop licking me now. You’re getting my face all sticky.” It takes a second for the Pokémon to stop, but eventually it does. “Thank you. I apologize for my brief derailment. I was getting lost on the tracks in my head.”

   Lady Sneasler tilts her head at Ingo. She’s not really sure what ‘tracks’ are, but she understands the sentiment regardless. “Snease! Snee.” The noble grins at him, then curls up over him once more. She’s just glad she could be helpful.