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Their earliest memories were of them and her, the three of them going to get ice cream, riding trains, and going for walks in the forest on her days off. Even now, the twins both look back on these memories fondly. How she would look at them with a blissful expression in her eyes, though no one else could see it. How she would speak to them as if they had hung the stars in the very sky, with very few words. She never needed many sentences to tell you how she felt. How she would listen to them ramble and play for hours and hours and never grow tired. How she would tuck them in at night, kiss their wounds better, and provide the best hugs.
Their mother. Subway Boss Jenny.
Ingo in particular remembered how often she would provide him with the definitions of big words and show him how to use them appropriately in sentences. How she would encourage him to say things on his mind, how she loved how loud and there he was. Her jokes that she would never lose her baby in a crowd, because he always would make himself known. How she taught him to navigate life with the hypomimia he showed from a young age.
Emmet had more memories of her teaching the two of them sign language for his bad days. Of her telling him how to show others he was happy without his voice. How she would play quiet games with them and say that her baby would be the best at charades on family game nights. How she would encourage his and Ingo’s odd movements and tics, showing them to do silly dances and learn how to be young people.
How she taught them about trains for the first time. How she encouraged their shared interest and even indulged in it, taking them to work with her sometimes and for their sixth birthday, getting them matching caps like hers. Wearing her own cap with them in public at their insistence, with a laugh. How she taught them about her Pokemon partners. How she would show them interesting things she found, would buy them small gifts on her way home from work, and take them to their favorite places in Unova.
How she had helped them gain their partners. How she had taken the boys to Chargestone Cave and shown them different species and taught them how to throw a Pokeball. How Ingo had found a young Kink and Emmet had befriended a Joltik. How proud she was of them and took them and their new partners to a Poffin shop and taught them how to identify their new friend’s favorite flavors. How she did not judge their awkward naming scheme for their partners. How she helped supply train terminology for them to use, eventually settling on Gear the Klink and Station the Joltik. How her eyes had shown as she’d watched them play with their new partners.
How she battled. On days they joined her, she would allow them to sit in the back of the car and watch her. She would tell them about battling and show them how to command Pokemon, their matching set of young, wide silver eyes alight with pure excitement. How she would stand and point, her favorite calls, how she would command both Depot Agents and Pokemon alike to keep the Subway running smoothly. How she’d told them that they were her Little Conductors and if they wanted, they would make the best conductors ever.
How her Pokemon cared for them if she was not home. There was always a Haxorus at home, and it stayed there. It was given to her by their Uncle as an egg, but it did not battle much. Instead, it much preferred watching over the boys before their schooling began, electing to ensure the two stayed out of trouble. And the Excadrill, that would watch them on days she did not take it with her. It would help them dig trenches in the woods behind their small house, Haxorus supervising as the boys pretended to be trains.
Both remembered her death in excruciating detail. How the young passenger had not paid attention and had crossed the yellow line. How she had wailed and screamed as the rumbling of the train approached, but there was no way for the child to get back up on time. The commanding nature of her voice as she ordered her two Little Conductors to stay put, do not cross the yellow line, and that she loved them. The determination in her stormy gray eyes as she’d turned away from her boys, her babies, for the last time. How their dear mother, stone-faced and tight-lipped, but the most kind and caring figure the two had ever known, had jumped down without hesitation. How her sky-blue uniform fluttered behind her as she nimbly leaped over the tracks as she’d swiftly run down the tunnel, searching for the source of the screams.
How there had been a loud screech of metal and a long, wailing honk front the tunnel not two minutes later. How it had been deafening, both boys slamming their hands over their ears as they huddled together, tears in their terrified eyes. How they had waited. And waited.
How the Subway had gone silent. How the depot agent had been forced to drag them from the platform. How they’d seen the cameras as they’d passed and there was red, so much red. How the child had been found, hastily stashed behind a pole, but a body was never found. How it had been crumpled and smeared like a wet paper towel down twenty paces of pitch-black tunnel. How they’d clung to each other and said nothing, silent tears slipping down their faces as they processed what this meant, their tiny minds still reeling from the sudden development. How they’d listened to adults talk and talk and talk. How neither of them made a sound, even as others tried to get them to say something, anything, or take a drink, please won’t they take a drink? Their mother would not want them to be thirsty.
How they’d been picked up by their Uncle Drayden, their mother’s younger brother. How they’d taken a different way to Opelucid, as neither had the heart to ride the train so soon after. How he’d simply taken them and held them and said nothing as he cried. How the twins had sobbed into his shoulders, finally letting out the noises they had held back. How Emmet’s voice had gone hoarse with the screaming and Ingo’s had closed up some time ago with the hiccups.
How her funeral was well-attended. How she had been a local celebrity, and most people in the city had come. How there had been no body, and thus they had buried an empty casket. How the boys had left early, unable to take it any longer. How everyone had told them that they were ‘so sorry’ and ‘hoped they were okay’ but they weren’t. They were not okay. How could they be?
How they had run away that day, down into the Subway tunnels. It was closed in observance of her funeral. How they had run and run, without stopping. How they had collapsed in a sobbing heap in the corner of some random tunnel, lost and confused. How they had cried and wailed into each other, screaming for their mother.
How a small light had approached them. How a small voice had come to them, illuminating the pitch black and asked them, “Lit?” How the pair had looked up and seen a tiny Pokemon, a little thing that their mother had described to them before. How she had mentioned that she’d always wanted one.
Litwick. And with it, a little floating white Pokemon, Tynamo.
How it had approached the boys, looking between them with silvery eyes. How it had offered them something from its small hands. “Lit?” How it waddled up to them and gestured to them. “Lit.” How they had stood up and looked at each other, then at the Pokemon before them. How they had taken the object, forcing a new wave of tears to their eyes. How Tynamo had squealed and rubbed against Emmet’s shoulder. How the Litwick had begun moving down the tunnel, gesturing to them again. How they had followed it, hand in hand, with only the two Pokemon leading them on.
How they reemerged at the low-lit entrance to the platform. How the two had helped each other up, wiping the tears off their faces. How Ingo had gently lifted the Litwick onto his shoulder, his eyes lingering for a moment longer than necessary. How it had nodded and settled there.
How they had looked down at the object the Litwick had given them, stained with dirt and rust, but still recognizable. A sky-blue cap, similar to the ones the boys wore, with the Gear Station logo on the front. How the twins had looked at each other. How Emmet held the cap gently in one hand and Ingo’s hand in the other and they left the station, immediately met by a frantic Uncle Drayden. How Drayden had noticed the cap, but said nothing. How he had also noticed the Litwick, but did not comment. How he had a knowing look in his eyes as he’d looked between the two. How they mentioned its name was Janney.
How the years had passed for the two. How Ingo’s voice returned to him, more booming and commanding than ever. How Emmet’s smile returned to him, the stinging of the wound slowly healing with time. How they had helped their uncle to heal, as well. How the three of them had learned to function and exist together.
How the boys had grown better at battling. How they threw everything they had into trains and Pokemon. How they knew what their mother would have wanted, and they wanted themselves more than anything. How Drayden had offered them an egg, the child of the Haxorus their mother had. How they had hatched and raised it alongside their other Pokemon. How they found a Drilbur in Chargestone Cave, the same place their mother had helped them find their first Pokemon. How they worked tirelessly for hours, days, weeks, months, years.
How they grew up. How they purposefully styled their matching hair to be reminiscent of their mother’s side bangs, with the sideburns they possessed. How they studied everything about train safety that they could. How they challenged themselves and others daily.
How they met their best friend, Elesa, after two years of residing with their Uncle. How she had taken in interest in the two of them and their odd way of working with each other. How she had taken a special interest in their electric Pokemon
How they worked their way up. How they had filled out the application and gone in-person to turn it in, as young adults. How they had prepared with Drayden for this day. How Elesa had stood outside the building, wishing them luck. How they had prepared meticulously for this day, tying each other’s ties and fixing each other’s hair.
How they had walked into the station for the first time since that day. How it had looked exactly the same. How they had walked in and had met with the temporary owner. How he had commented how similar they looked to their mother. How he had been kind to them and offered them a starter job immediately.
How they had spent their first excited days as Depot Agents. How they had worked their way up the ranks quickly, racking up a win streak with their Pokemon by their sides. How their Chandelure in particular seemed so happy to be in the Subway.
How they had gotten promoted to Boss rank within three years. How they had been given the task of assigning their matching uniforms and they had done the most obvious decision. How they had used their mother’s coat, but with differing black and white stripes instead of blue. How they made sure to keep her favorite blue integrated in the stripe on their right arms and the ties around their neck. How Elesa had given them new caps to replace the old, beat-up, sunbleached ones that their mother had given them twenty years prior. How they each had carefully placed their respective old cap on a hook on either side of their bedroom doorframe.
How they had set up a Double Battles Line. How they had excelled in every aspect of the job. How others compared their performance to their mother’s. How they upheld safety rules above all else and had installed new safety features, no matter the cost. How they cleaned and upheld the Subway over anything else in their lives. How they had eventually inherited the Subway itself.
How the day had come. How there had been a report of a lost child in the Subway tunnels while the lines were running. How the twins had come running, their coats fluttering behind them as they nimbly hopped down the platform and took off running down the familiar tunnel. How they followed the sorrowed crying down turns and twists, with Chandelure lighting the way. How the rumbling under their feet noted the sound of a train coming.
How they had found the small child, no older than six, cowering in a corner. How Ingo had darted forward and grabbed them and tossed them to Emmet, screaming at them to run. How Emmet had turned and, with his cargo, bolted out of the Subway, trusting Ingo to follow. How the horn reverberated in his head, his lungs, his very being. How he could feel it approaching and hear the horrible screeching, how it was not slowing fast enough, wondering if Ingo was okay behind him, there was no way, Ingo was gone, there was no way-
How something had careened into him like a bullet, knocking him to the side, just inside a maintenance tunnel. How it hit just as the train had careened past him, still blaring a horn. How the child in his arms was shaking silently.
How it passed, and the silence after. How he had paid there for a minute, a heavy weight over him, how afraid he had been to open his eyes and look up. How he was afraid of what he’d find. How he was afraid of a world without Ingo.
How something had groaned above him, rolling off him and asking him if he was alright. How Emmet had sat up and looked wildly into Ingo’s tired eyes. How he had flung himself around his older brother, terrified and relieved.
How Ingo had explained that Chandelure had grabbed him and thrown the both of them into this offshoot. How they had looked upon the Pokemon, who had crashed into a wall with the force of the impact, and they had carefully recalled her to her ball. How they had emerged, limping, from the tunnel, child in hand, and the parents had come forward, tearfully collecting their child and thanking the two over and over.
How they had trudged to the nearest Pokemon center and informed them of the incident. How the nurse had said that there was only so much they could do on their own. How it was uncertain if she would heal.
How they sat with their beloved Pokemon. Their beloved mother. How they told her stories by her side. How they laughed and joked with each other wetly. How they told her they loved her.
How she had chimed at them. How she had gotten better. How the news had called it a ‘miracle’ that the Subway Bosses had survived the same accident that had claimed their mother twenty years prior. How they had never told anyone about the incident, for that was their memory to keep to themselves.
How they now sat on the couch at home, Chandelure keeping them company with their other Pokemon. How Ingo passed an old photo of the two of them that Drayden had sent. How Emmet laughed at their goofy faces. How Ingo showed the phone to Chandelure and she chimed, nuzzling into their faces, making them both laugh.
They patted Chandelure’s glass body, Ingo frowning intensely and Emmet smiling widely. They leaned against her, allowing her fire to warm them as they turned on an old show their mother had shown them when they were small about trains. They both closed their eyes, holding hands, and drifted off to sleep. Chandelure chimed three times.
I love you.