#ingo also ducked himself up further because his bond with kyurem went bye-bye

[egginfroggin]

The same words can be said many different ways.

Ingo is very familiar with this.

(Notes for self-deprecation, self-blame, self-isolation, hints of minor self-harm in the form of coping mechanisms such as nail-biting, and grief below)

"It's your fault." That was what his thoughts whispered, hissing at him in a cacophony of angry Sevipers, as he cradled Emmet's head and shoulders, his little brother's ever-burning warmth chilled to embers, frost dusting his white-streaked hair. Guilt almost choked him half to death, nearly stole his voice as he screamed for their parents.

-----

"It was your fault," he told himself, even when his parents wouldn't, even though Emmet had almost died and had a hole in his memories surrounding that wretched incident.

-----

"It was your fault," he snapped at his reflection, lonely tears balanced on the edges of his eyelids, lip wobbling stubbornly. He wasn't a child anymore, but here he was, crying about missing his little brother when he had only himself to blame.

-----

"It was your fault," he thought silently, shoulders hitching as he sat on the floor, arms wrapped around himself in a facsimile of an embrace. He missed touch. He didn't want to be touched. He missed it. He shouldn't.

-----

"It was your fault," his thoughts tutted as he saw Emmet, halfway across the room at the banquet, his twin's face lighting up at the sight of him despite what he'd done -- of course, Emmet didn't remember, so he wouldn't know to hate him, would he? Instead of facing him, he excused himself and ran back to his room, where Litwick sat on her hearth, waiting for him.

-----

"It was your fault," the reminder said as he dug his fingers into his arms, listening to Emmet quietly cry on the other side of the door, wanting to throw the door open and hug him, tell him that it would be okay, that he was sorry for leaving him alone -- but he didn't, just like he didn't go to the funeral, still too scared and dangerous to leave.

-----

"It was your fault," his thoughts tittered, Nimbasa far behind him, snow soft against his legs and the icy mountain air a balm to his flushed cheeks. He couldn't go back. Not now. Not when they knew about him, not after he almost hurt people -- hurt Emmet -- again. Maybe he'd never go back, even if he could, because everyone knew how merciless the mountains were.

-----

"It was your fault," he reminded himself one last time, looking up at the Dragon that loomed over him, plates of long-undisturbed ice crackling as it lowered its head to his level. He couldn't forget it, even if Death was staring him in the face. He would never forget it, even though it was washed away briefly when Kyurem offered him a deal instead of ending his life then and there.

-----

"It was your fault," he remembered, Emmet's snappish, "Make me leave, then, if you do not want me here so badly," echoing in his ears like the creaking of ice around them. He could feel hairline cracks spreading, ice threatening to break like his emotions, and he reined them in, spat out ice along with a simple, "Fine, then."

-----

"It was your fault," he thought, unable to think much else as the reality sunk in and he stared at the gaping hole in the ice floor, leading down, down, down into a crevice between the cliffs. His fingers dug into his hair, uneven nails scraping his scalp, reopening every scabbed-over quick as he clung to the thought that the powder was soft, a cushion, and Emmet had been dropped into the middle of it.

-----

"It was your fault?" he said, inflection failing him, voice barely more than a breath. It almost died against the creak of Kyurem's ice before the Dragon fell still, head lowered in something approaching shame.

"This was your fault?" he said, voice mounting in volume, forced from his lungs -- something burned, seared inside his chest, a pressure that built and built and built until, like hot glass plunged into water, it broke and something approaching a scream tore from his throat, a demand for answers, for retribution, for everything he lost to be returned to him, an impossibility.

Ice shuddered in his chest, snapping the rapidly fraying tie between them, and he could see his eyes reflected in Kyurem's, silver touched with sulfur-gold as lonesome cold rushed and every fractal of ice around them shattered.

"You made me like this on purpose?"