Work Text:
Spud, Clay's Palpitoad, really was a good fella. All his pokemon were. They always knew what to do when he wasn't feeling his best, and they could all tell exactly when he started to drop.
That's exactly what led him here. Cuddled up to Spud with his softest jammies and fluffiest socks on, swamped in the biggest blanket he owned, and trying to stop sniffling so much while the water-type hummed in his arms.
Clay wasn't sure what he was doing wrong. Normally, snuggling his pokemon like this was enough, and even when it wasn't, the soother in his mouth would calm him down surer than a pick on shale.
But no matter how much he cuddled or how nice Spud hummed for him, there was still something missing. He didn't know what. Even Damascus, his trusty Excadrill he'd had since forever, couldn't seem to figure it out.
Dama was trying to play peekaboo with him (usually a good distraction), but again, it just wasn't working for some reason. It made him want to cry. He wanted to cry and fuss and whine because he didn't know what was wrong or how to fix it.
Thankfully, both of them were distracted by a noise from the hallway, a sound like an electric guitar that could only be his Krokorok, Altamira. The reptile had been going back and forth offering him different toys, trying to find one that would help. None had worked.
This time, though, the sound was accompanied by a sort of digital chime that made Dama chitter with annoyance. It was enough to catch Clay's attention, at least. Enough to distract him.
Emmet had been having a good day, but also a verrrrrrry boring one. Less rude passengers than normal, which was good! Everything running on schedule, exactly as planned. Also good, but… also boring.
The fact that it was a slow day didn't help. It was a Wednesday, which meant closing the battle lines a bit earlier than usual and using that extra time for paperwork. Normal, for the most part.
Except it meant Ingo got to go home early because he'd kept on top of his paperwork all week, leaving Emmet alone in their office. And he'd left with a look that Emmet just knew meant that Ingo would be eating the last of their cookies before he got home (mean of him).
So overall, par for the course (he would eat Ingo's pudding later in revenge). Everything was running smoothly. Normal. Expected. Predictable. Boring.
What was not normal, he decided as his phone went off, was Clay texting him during work hours.
Clay (Very Nice):
Dbal
2 myxgf
….Amend that last statement. What was not normal was Clay texting him gibberish during work hours.
Emmet:
What
Clay (Very Nice):
Krokork
Clsy safe
Dball
Okay.
Safety check.
Clay had taught his Krokorok how to use the phone for emergencies. Clay's Krokorok was verrrry bad at spelling most words. But, he knew how to spell the important ones, like 'safe' and 'hurt'.
So Clay's Krokorok was texting him, but Clay wasn't hurt. But if it was… Altamira was the name, right? If it was Altamira texting him and not Clay, then that meant that for whatever reason, Clay couldn't text him himself. Which meant this was important.
Which… did not help Emmet decipher the rest of the texts. What on earth was '2 myxgf' supposed to mean?
Before he could ask, though, a video call request took over the screen. On answering, he was met with an extremely (hilariously) foreshortened view of a Krokorok snout.
"Altamira! I am Emmet. Where's Clay?"
The gator on the other end buzzed at him, and the camera wobbled as he waddled down a hall. Well… it looked like a hallway. Emmet couldn't be entirely sure. It was a verrrry bad angle.
Angry chittering filled the background, and then- oh! Birds-eye-view was a much better camera angle, but now it seemed the camera was being held above Altamira's head, out of reach of the upset Excadrill trying to get to it.
"Damascus?" Emmet was officially confused. If the situation was enough for Clay's Krokorok to contact him, then usually Damascus would be practically glued to his trainer's side. But here, he mostly just looked annoyed at Altamira.
But where Damascus was, Clay was always soon to follow. Sure enough, the cowboy came wandering over to see what was happening and-
Oh.
Oh.
Ohhhhhh that made sense .
"Damaaaaaa." Clay whined.
Immediately, Dama turned around to chirrup worriedly at him, but Clay shuffled closer and sat down on the floor anyways.
Dama was normally always with him when he felt like a tyke, but… but Dama just left him! He still had Spud (was still holding him), but still! Dama was different .
But today wasn't a normal day, and Clay already felt like crying again because 'not-normal' was quickly coming to mean 'not-good'. He didn't feel good because something was wrong, but he didn't know what! He didn't like it at all.
In front of him, Mira gave a soft little coo before nuzzling against the side of his head, and placed something in his hand.
"Clay?"
Seeing the smiling Subway Boss on the phone, Clay gave another small whine. He didn't want Emmet to see him this small, but he didn't think he could be any bigger, even as pretend.
"Easy now, little passenger, you're alright." Em said, in a soothing voice that made Clay wanna melt. "Do you think you can tell me how old you are right now?"
Mm… he had to take a moment to think about it, but eventually he held up a single reluctant finger, feeling much more timid about it than usual. Em hummed with sympathy.
"You are verrrrry small then, yes? Will you be alright on your own?"
A distressed sound escaped Clay without him meaning to. He didn't want Em to go! If Em hung up then he'd be all lonely and everything would be wrong again!
"Hey, look at me Clay. Deep breath for me, can you do that, little one? Big breath innnn…" Em started to take a big breath, and slowly, Clay copied him.
"...and out. Theeerrrrre we go." Em gave him a proud smile. "Now I know it's hard, but I'd like you to try verrrrrrry very hard to use your words for me, okay bud? Can you tell me what's wrong?"
Clay really really didn't wanna. All his big kid words felt far away and hard to reach, and he didn't know if he could even string together a full sentence.
But Em was patient. He let him spend time trying to find his words, even though it took a few minutes.
"Um…" Clay looked down at Spud, who gave him an encouraging hum. "Dunno wha's wrong…"
When he looked back up at the phone, Em was still smiling patiently at him, waiting for him to finish.
Uncertain, but desperate for something , he continued, "C-Come help? P'ease?"
It didn't take long for Emmet to get there, not when he knew Clay had dropped that far alone and unsupervised. (Yes, Clay's team had done a wonderful job, but they didn't count.)
Emmet was a responsible adult (right then, at least), and definitely was not all too happy to leave his paperwork behind for this.
Or maybe he was. But even in that (definitely hypothetical) scenario, any relief that he got from leaving work early was overshadowed by urgency. Again: small, unsupervised, alone. Verrrrrrry important.
After a quick stop at home to grab some essential baby supplies (and to steal the last cookie out of Ingo's hand right as he was about to eat it (total win)), he made it to Clay's house in record time!
A quick knock on the door (because he wasn't at 'spare key' levels of friendship yet) was all it took for Altamira to let him in, and Emmet tipped his hat to him.
"Thank you, Altamira! If you could please conduct me to the kitchen, that would be verrry helpful."
The pokemon didn't even greet him before dragging him inside by the hand. Which, rude , first of all. But second, and more importantly, it meant that Clay's team was particularly worried about him, so Emmet supposed he could let it go.
Small problem though, the Krokorok wasn't leading him to the kitchen. Emmet had been here before, and this was not the path to the kitchen. Granted, all he really needed to do in there was heat up a bottle he'd snagged from home. But still, why were they-
Ohhhh dear. It seemed he hadn't arrived fast enough.
The moment Emmet saw those tears, he was already striding past Altamira to wipe them away. "Hey, hey, what's wrong, hm? What happened?"
Clay looked up at him with big, wet eyes and hands clutching at his knee, and Emmet decided that making a bottle could wait.
"Tripped…" the boy mumbled sadly.
Oh yup, that would do it. On closer inspection, it looked like his pacifier had also been lost to the floor. Emmet would need to wash that later. But first, he had to get this sorted.
"That must've been a pretty scary fall, huh?" Emmet ran a gentle hand up and down Clay's back as he nodded. "Can you show me where it hurts?"
While Clay pointed out the boo-boo, Emmet used his free hand to rummage around in his pocket. Come on, where was it… aha! He knew he still had a couple band-aids on him.
He gave Clay a conspiratorial smile, like he was about to share a secret. "Do you wanna see a magic trick?"
Already, the tears were fading, slowly being replaced with curiosity. Sniffling, the little gave him a small nod. Success!
With a dramatic, secretive glance around the room, Emmet slowly pulled out the band-aid. "See this? This is a magic band-aid, yup yup! It makes boo-boos go away super fast, like nyoom!"
The extra sound effects earned him a tiny little smile, though it was still unsure. That wouldn't do, he decided.
Time to turn it up a notch.
"It's verrry cool. We just put it over the boo-boo, just like this, and…"
Emmet paused once he spread the band-aid over Clay's knee, tilting his head like he was trying to remember something. Enraptured, Clay mimicked him, looking exactly like a confused Lillipup.
"Oh no. I think I forgot the last part! What was it again? Do I… touch the tip of my nose?"
Emmet put a finger to his nose, and then looked to Clay, as though checking to see if it worked. Brown curls bounced as the boy shook his head.
"Hmm, not that? Oh, I know, I have to wear my hat upside down to make it work!" He pretended not to notice the quiet giggling as he reached up and flipped his hat over.
"There, that should do it!" Another glance, and another head shake. "No? You don't think that worked?"
"Hmmmmm… maybe I need to touch the tip of your nose for it to work."
"Nooohoho!" Clay nearly squealed with laughter as Emmet reached out, hands flying up to cover his nose and protect it from wiggling fingers.
"No?" Emmet echoed. "Well if that's not it, then I don't… Oh, silly me! I have to kiss it better, is that right?"
With a triumphant grin, he leaned over and planted an exaggerated smooch right over the band-aid. "Mwah! There we go, it's all better now, right?"
Hook, line, and sinker. Silly time always worked as a good distraction, and in this case, it doubled as a pick-me-up for a fussy baby.
Later on, the night would see cuddles, cartoons, lullabies, and a warm bottle. The next day, they would talk about communication for when they needed help regressing.
But all that was normal. It would come later. For now, Emmet had a pacifier to wash and a baby to get settled.
They'd be alright.