#also to assuage any fears no I do not intend to kill the twins off

[outoutdamnspark]

Welcome to the Shatterdome

Part of my Echos in the Deep Submas/Pacific Rim crossover - written for @antidotesprout​ because they drew THIS AMAZING SKETCH of the twins in jaeger pilot suits~

{I originally posted this as a reply on the sketch post itself, but uhhhhhh tumblr mobile kept eating it. Or not letting me take it out of my drafts. So if you managed to see it before, no you didn’t. 😭}

Reader Insert Character momentarily introduced near the end; this au will be polyamorous Emmet x Reader x Ingo  - no blankshipping!

CW: none.

(There is a moment of platonic brotherly hand-holding. Shippers DNI.)

===

“Raleigh, this is Hercules Hansen, an old friend from the Mark-1 glory days.”

Herc reaches out to shake Raleigh’s hand, grip firm and voice warm as he says, “I know you, mate, we rode together before.”

“We did, sir,” Raleigh agrees. He returns the handshake with quiet respect, a faint, nostalgic smile creeping up his face. “Six years ago, my brother and I. It was a three-jaeger-team drop.”

“That’s right; Manila.” The older ranger’s face falls. “I’m sorry about your brother…”

Raleigh looks down and away; the smile fades, eyes no longer focusing, and he can almost feel the echoes of electric pain sizzling along the circuitry scars covering his shoulder and side. “…Thank you, sir,” he murmurs, and unlike so many other times he’s had to say it, this one, he means.

Herc nods, mercifully knowing when to let a conversation thread die.

It’s as if the universe knows they all need a shift in mood, somehow, because the silence only rings for a moment before there comes a distraction in the form of a flash of white in the corner of Raleigh’s eye.

Herc must see it, too, because he turns to look and the smile returns - this time, in amusement.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he chuckles. “Small fucking world.”

From the side there approaches a towheaded man in a pale grey shirt under a short white jacket; he strides towards them unnervingly fast, taking too-long strides and swinging his arms beside himself as if to further quicken his pace. His face is split into a wide, nearly uncanny grin.

He stops abruptly just a bit too close to the trio, and looks from Pentecost, to Herc, and then finally to Raleigh with a gaze so pale a blue that his eyes look almost white.

“Ah, Mr. Trewyn,” Pentecost says with a nod. “Good to see you made it.”

“Marshal Pentecost,” he says by way of greeting, his voice oddly monotone. His grin stretches further, crinkling at his eyes.

Pentecost, not surprisingly, seems utterly unfazed by the man’s strange mannerisms. He simply makes a half gesture with one hand, tilting his head in acknowledgement.

“Gentlemen, this is Emmet Trewyn, San Diego. He and his brother Ingo held the California coastline six consecutive times. 0% civilian casualty rate.” He glances over at Raleigh. “Other than you, Mr. Becket, they make up the last of the Mark-3 pilots.”

Emmet brings his hands up to hover in front of his chest, pressing his fingertips together and splaying them out wide. “I am Emmet,” he intones. “You are Hercules Hansen and Raleigh Becket. I remember you from Manila. Verrrrry fun battle, yep.”

“Fun’s a word for it, sure,” Herc says, laughter in his voice. “Good to see you again.”

Raleigh lets out a quiet, amused huff of his own. “Spectre Arachne, right?” He holds out a hand for Emmet to shake. “I didn’t actually get to meet you face-to-face. Better late than never, huh?”

Emmet eyes Raleigh’s hand warily, leaning back a bit. “Spectre Arachne, yep. That was us.”

He does not move to return the gesture, so Raleigh lets his hand fall limply to his side.

“Holy shit, you’re Herc Hansen!”

The group is spared any further awkwardness from Emmet’s touch-aversion as yet another person comes bounding up to them - this time a girl, probably somewhere in her early teens, with blue-black hair beneath a black newsboy cap that’s just a little bit too large for her head. She slides to a stop next to Emmet, bright red scarf trailing behind her, and grins up at Herc with stars in her eyes as she bounces on her heels in excitement. “Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh!“

Herc grins right back, holding out his hand, which the girl takes with gusto. “Always a pleasure to meet a fan, little lady.”

The girl absolutely beams. “I saw the news coverage of Sydney the other day! Striker Eureka was so cool!” She pulls back as the handshake ends and brings both her hands up near her chest, happily flapping out the excess energy.

Emmet, on the other hand, stands pouting behind her. He tilts his head at the girl and bends slightly at the waist to try and catch her eye as he gives her what is unquestionably a kicked puppy look. “I am Emmet. I am also a ranger. Why do you not think I am cool?”

She doesn’t even bother looking back at him, just rolls her eyes skyward in the way only a teenager can do. “You’re too much of a dork to be cool, Uncle Em,“ she scoffs.

(Raleigh very nearly doesn’t suppress his sniggering in time.)

Emmet lets out a scandalized gasp, pale eyes shooting wide. “Rude!” he accuses, throwing his hands up incredulously. “Rude niece! Disowned!”

Pentecost ignores Emmet almost entirely, sparing him only an unamused glance before turning away to leave the man to his dramatics. 

“Miss Akari here,” Pentecost says with a subtle kind of pride, “is the final part of our research division; youngest kaiju expert in the field.” He gives the girl - Akari - a quick, pleased nod.

Herc lets out a low whistle. “Expert, huh? That’s impressive,” he says, tone nothing but encouraging.

Akari flushes and ducks her face into her scarf, bashful despite the elation in her eyes - like she’s reminding herself it’s okay to accept the praise. “A-ah, well, you know, it’s ah…” she starts, laughing nervously. “See, every new kaiju that comes through has been different, right? New attacks, new defenses; it’s almost like they’ve been evolving, or-or maybe learning from the ones that we’ve successfully killed. Adapting. But that doesn’t make any sense? Cuz, like, evolution takes aaaaages, and the kaiju just… take a single generation!”

She tugs her scarf down, stimming excitedly with the soft fabric, bunching it up in her hands and twisting it around her fingers.

(Behind her, out of her line of sight, Emmet contradicts his own earlier actions and watches his niece with a proud, proud smile.)

“Newt thinks they’re all clones, but I feel like that can’t be right, either - at least, not like, natural clones, because then we wouldn’t have such drastic physical differences, and especially not so soon,” Akari continues. She looks between the three men that aren’t her uncle with eyes that shine with all the passion of a hyperfixation. “So it’s gotta be something else, maybe - or if it’s not then maybe there’s a pattern of some kind! - so I’ve been working with Dr. Gotltlieb to try and make a predictive model on what traits we might see in upcoming specimens. That way, we might be able to keep from getting blindsided anymore and find a way adjust our own battle strategies and out-evolve them!”

She pauses for breath - and then stills. Akari seems to realize that she’s just been babbling, because she quickly tenses, hands fidgeting with her scarf, and ducks her head to hide beneath the shadow of her too-big cap. “I, uh, yeah.” She clears her throat. “And-and then, you know… stop them for good.”

(Emmet silently reaches out and pats her shoulder comfortingly.)

Unwilling to let Akari feel ashamed for something so genuinely impressive, Raleigh looks over to Pentecost with a crooked smile. “Oh I like her.”

Pentecost simply hums in agreement; Akari flushes even redder under her hat.

Doing as Herc had done before him, Raleigh reaches out his hand, careful to keep it in her line of sight since she’s still looking down. “Nice to meet you, Akari; I’m Raleigh.”

Akari’s head snaps up so fast Raleigh’s sure he hears a click. She stares at him, mouth dropping open in first confusion, then realization, and then glee. “Raleigh, like… Raleigh Becket?” she gasps, awestruck. “Like, the Raleigh Becket?”

Raleigh chuckles. “Only one I know of,” he jokes.

She squeals. With more strength than her slim frame should be able to contain, she grips his hand with both of her own and vigorously shakes it, all the while looking up at him with open delight. “Ohmygosh, you’re actually Raleigh Becket!”

Hand still clutched in hers, he leans down slightly so that he’s a bit more at her much-shorter level; the girl is tiny compared to the four grown men around her.

He tilts his head in Emmet’s direction, seeing the other man tilt his own in curiosity at the gesture. “Take it easy on your uncle, yeah?” Raleigh stage-whispers to Akari in faux conspiracy, smile creeping just a little wider. “Arachne had our backs like a badass when we all dropped together in Manila.”

Akari’s eyes somehow get bigger.

Emmet, close enough to hear Raleigh’s poor excuse for a secret, lets out a triumphant - though monotone - “SEE?!” which Akari completely ignores.

“You guys fought together!?”

Delighted, disbelieving, she whirls around to the side, opposite the group, back in the direction she and Emmet had come from, and calls, “Dad! Dad, why didn’t you tell me you rode with Gipsy fucking Danger?!”

For a third time, everyone looks up to see yet another person making their way over.

It’s another man, dressed in a charcoal grey turtleneck under a long black duster jacket. He looks almost identical to Emmet, save for a few minute differences, and Raleigh can only assume this must be Spectre Arachne’s second pilot; he feels the pang of long-worn sorrow as he remembers that they’re a pair of brothers.

The man - presumably Ingo - has the same tow-colored hair, with the same angular sideburns framing his face. His hair is slightly longer, though, and looks to be pulled low and back. His gait is also much slower than Emmet’s had been, steeped in weariness, and his shoulders hunch where Emmet’s do not.

Most notably, in contrast to his brother’s openly-cheery expressions, Ingo’s face is pulled into a stern, heavy frown - almost to the point of scowling.

As he gets closer, Raleigh can see that the man’s right eye is tightly closed, and for a moment he wonders if it’s blind, or possibly missing - especially once he’s near enough for Raleigh to see the telltale lines crossing his skin.

Two angry red circuitry scars - the same as the ones that decorate Raleigh’s left side - crackle lengthwise from the man’s hairline and down his right temple to just past the cheekbone. A third deviates from the others to cut a path down through his eyebrow, though thankfully only clips the outer corner of his eye on its way to join the rest, and not directly through the center.

Ingo steps up next to Akari with a quiet, affectionate, “language, little one,” and plucks the hat from her head, fitting it over his own. He tugs the brim down until his right eye is bathed in shadow before slowly blinking the eye open. It’s intact save for the faint pink line down the outer corner where the scars line up, missing the pale iris by far too small a margin. His pupil takes an unnaturally long time to adjust, and Raleigh realizes that, while Ingo likely still has sight, there is definitely some nerve damage left behind.

Ingo looks up from where he’s ruffling Akari’s hair and gives them all a polite nod. “Good evening, Marshal!” he says brightly. “And to you as well, gentlemen!” It’s strange to hear such a warm greeting coupled with such a dire looking expression, but with the way his eyes crinkle happily and the corners of his lips curl haltingly upward in a faint smile, Raleigh guesses there’s probably some sort of partial facial paralysis there, as well.

Pentecost acknowledges Ingo with a cordial, “Good to see you still in one piece, Ingo.”

The man, now indeed confirmed to be Ingo, appears to take amusement in that, because the creases of his eyes grow deeper as he replies, “Such as it is.”

Before Herc and Raleigh can get out a greeting of their own, Akari grabs her father by the hem of his coat and tugs on it excitedly. “Daaaaaad!” she play-whines. “You know famous people and you kept it to yourself?”

Emmet mutters a huffy, “We’re famous, too…” but once again, is mostly ignored.

Ingo blinks down at his daughter in silent confusion, brows creasing together so tightly that the thin slivers of his near-white irises seem to glow in the shadow of his hat.

He looks back up at the people around him. The faint, cat-like smile he’d apparently struggled to create a moment ago disappears, replaced instead by what looks to be a true frown. It pulls the rest of his face down with it, leaving him looking uncomfortably distressed as he shifts his gaze from Raleigh to Herc and then back again, not a hint of recognition in his eyes. “I… do?” he says, quiet and lost.

Ingo turns to face his brother, who, in perfect sync also turns to look at him. They stay that way for a moment, locking eyes, not saying a word as some sort of silent communication passes between them.

Raleigh recognizes it, is sure Herc and Pentecost do, as well. It’s something all pilots with a soul-deep drift compatibility are wont to do: a mental sifting back and forth of the shared memories they’ve left inside one another’s heads. He used to do it sometimes with Yancy without even realizing it.

(It still hurts sometimes, even with years behind him, to feel that emptiness where his brother once was when Raleigh unconsciously tries to reach for him during his lowest points.)

In unison, the Trewyn brothers blink.

“…Manilla,” Emmet finally murmurs in a perfect, robotic monotone.

Ingo blinks a second time. “Ma-? OH!” 

It’s like the light finally reignites behind Ingo’s eyes, because he whirls back around to face the group again with another feline smile - this one actually tugging enough at his lips to expose the tiniest glint of teeth. “Gipsy Danger and Striker Eureka, yes!”

Ingo straightens up a bit more, his spine audibly cracking as he rolls his shoulders back. He reaches up with the hand not resting on his daughter’s shoulder to grip the bill of his cap, tipping it in proper greeting. “Forgive me,” he says, face as apologetic as he can make it. “Please do not take my lapse in memory as a slight against you,” he says, tone expressing what his face cannot. “I sustained a head injury during my and Emmet’s final mission together.” He appears to wince. “My memory has been… hm. Unreliable, these past few years as a result.”

He lowers his hand from his cap to his temple, brushing his fingers gently over the scars; the moment his hand is at his side again, Emmet wordlessly snatches it up in one of his own and grips it so hard his knuckles turn white. Akari presses herself into her father’s other side.

“No offense taken, mate,” Herc - ever tactful - says kindly, pointedly not acknowledging the rest of the Trewyn family’s sudden anxiety. “Better a little banged up than the alternative, ey?”

Raleigh nods in agreement.

He’s about to tell Ingo that, to be fair, this is their first in-person meeting and not just through voices over a comm, but before he can, Pentecost speaks up and any further discussion is quickly laid flat.

“Sorry to cut this short, everyone, but we still have a schedule to keep.”

He leans to the side a bit, ducking his head to gently catch Akari’s attention. It works, as the girl lifts her face from her scarf and looks up at him.

“Miss Akari,” he says. “Shall we?”

She pauses, then nods. Leaning more heavily against her father and giving a final, soft nuzzle into his coat, she straightens up and steps away.

Ingo, in turn, gives her shoulder a brief squeeze before letting her go.

She maneuvers her way around Herc to join Pentecost at his side, while the marshal turns to look at where Mako stands a short distance away, Herc’s dog Max at her feet, speaking with another person Raleigh doesn’t yet know.

“Miss Mori,” the marshal calls, and both she and her companion, who is dressed in what looks to be a set of black mechanic’s garb, immediately look up.

Mako steps quickly over to the group; the second person follows more slowly, keeping several paces behind.

Raleigh watches their approach, absently waving farewell to Herc as the older man says his goodbyes and takes his leave, Max trotting happily beside him. He hears Ingo begin to do the same, wishing his daughter luck with her presentation, but Pentecost actually stops him before Ingo can finish.

“Just a moment if you would, Ingo, Emmet.”

Mako stops in front of Raleigh, and from over her shoulder, Raleigh spots the second person make their way to Pentecost’s other side, facing the Trewyn bothers.

“I’ll show you to your jaeger now,” Mako says quietly.

Raleigh holds up a hand, asks her to excuse him for a moment. He pivots to catch up to Pentecost before he can get too far away, hearing the tail end of the marshal introducing the new person to Emmet and Ingo but unfortunately not in time to hear the person’s name.

“… is Miss Mori’s right hand in the Mark-3 restoration program. You have them to thank for your presence here.”

“Marshal!” Raleigh calls, catching Pentecost’s attention, as well as a raised brow.

Just as Raleigh catches up, Pentecost looks back over at the person beside him - Mako’s ‘right hand,’ evidently - and dismisses them with a quick, “If you’d be so kind.”

(Akari seems to take this as her cue to leave as well, speeding off in a separate direction to parts unknown.)

The person whose name Raleigh doesn’t know eyes him warily for a moment, but gives the marshal a sharp nod of acquiescence and steps away, closer to the brothers. “Follow me, please,” they say quietly, motioning for Ingo and Emmet to do so. “Your jaeger is this way…”

Raleigh waits for the three of them to depart before giving Pentecost his undivided focus.

“You still haven’t told me what I’m doing here…”