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When he found Shadow, the black hedgehog was sitting under a tree atop the hill, one hand brushing the grass between his legs. There was something too foreign in that, that made him hesitate. Something vulnerable, that suited him as well as chili and kale (not). Sonic understood he only indulged because he believed he was alone. He wondered if he should simply turn back into the forest and let him be.
That was a non-option, obviously. He had known that the moment he had seen the phantom light of his Super form, breaking away from the remnants of the comet; he had followed it, refusing to lose him
(again.)
“‘Mind if I sit here?”
An alert eye emerged from under the black hedgehog’s shoulder. Sonic was just starting to learn how to read Shadow’s silences; but he could afford to ignore the threat it was sending him and flopped down next to him. They stayed long minutes like that, Sonic watching the reprised motion over the grass, feeling the warm wind brush his face. Little things he took for granted, he realized, the black hedgehog must have been experiencing them, must have been aware of them, for the first time.
They did not speak. Granted, Sonic was not the best at letting his emotions out. He was a hero, after all–and heroes could not show their own failings, could not show their fractures. Heck, he hardly remembered the last time he even allowed himself to cry–to really cry, with dropping snot bubbles and red eyes, the whole gross-out package. But if anyone was worse in that department, it would be Shadow the Hedgehog.
It could not last. Sonic shifted back on his arms, a preliminary to breaking the comfortable lull. He gave it a try. “So, how are ya feelin’?”
No answer. Of course. They were friends–at least, Sonic considered the black hedgehog a friend–but not friendly, and a mind like Shadow’s was not as quick to change. Sonic did not exactly blame him, it was part of his upbringing, but he was not used to walking on eggshells.
“That must have been hard, dealin’ with those aliens on your own.” Great icebreaker, Sonic. He felt the urge to slap himself. “But ya did a good job. ’Always knew ya would.
“… Empty.”
Huh?
His surprise must have shown, for Shadow closed the bridge between his brows. “You asked me how I was feeling.”
“Right.” Sonic sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. Shadow breathed one of his trademark hmpf-ings and went on:
“All this time, I’ve been looking for my past, my purpose. And just as I found it… Well.” He made a swiping motion over the horizon. Westopolis had been the first city to suffer from the invasion, and yet it stood, as a testament of the black hedgehog’s heroism–had he not been there, there probably would have been no Westopolis left. Or anyone to remember it, for that matter.
“I was created to bring peace to the world. To protect it from them. I did it.” There was no pride in the statement. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Oh. That was what bothered him. Even as the answer seemed so obvious to Sonic, it would be hard to conceive for a creature created to carry others’ own purposes.
“… Wanna hear a story? When I was a kid,” he continued, not waiting for Shadow to oppose, “I lived on Christmas Island. It’s a small rock in the middle of the ocean, ya probably never heard of it. T’was too small, actually. I grew tired of it. I always wanted to see if there was somethin’ more on the horizon.”
Sonic turned his head away. “So, when I was older, my uncle Chuck fixed an ol’ plane for me. Loved it. Could not wait to get outta there. T’would be the last time I’d see him.”
He never dwelt too much on the past. There was nothing his younger self could have done to save uncle Chuck from his fate. “I think he knew. ‘Don’t know how. But the next morning, I left. When I could come back, when I kicked Eggman’s butt, the island was already gone. Poof. Zipped.
Wanna know what’s the last thing uncle Chuck told me?” Sonic looked back at Shadow. “Told me–” and he pushed himself forward, his voice muffled on his shoulder to replicate his late parent’s own, “if there’s one scratch on that plane, ya’ll never get to fly it again, kiddo.’”
Shadow tilted his head. “… So?”
“Jeez, I’m bad at this,” Sonic sighed. “What I’m tryin’ to say is, people aren’t born to have sum’ great purpose in life. They don’t wait for someone to tell them what to do. They just… are?”
The black hedgehog remained unconvinced; his eyebrows furrowed further, if such a thing was even possible. Sonic persisted: “You’re the only one who get to decide what’s your purpose.”
“And what if I became like them?” He did not need to ask whom he was referring to; the memory twisted Shadow’s mouth like the kiss of acid. Their blood was flowing in his veins, their sins seared in his skin. “I could’ve destroyed this planet! At one point–I wanted to.”
The blue hedgehog could not deny his doubts without being dishonest. The moon still bore the indelible scar of what Shadow could do. “But ya didn’t,” he reminded, broadly. “B’sides, you’re allowed to be mad. You’re allowed to fail. And…”
Sonic tried to reach
(again.)
for comfort. And though Shadow did not quite lock his fingers into his–suppose it would take years for him to be adequate with the feeling, if ever–he did not throw his hand away. “If that happens, I’ll run back and kick your butt.”
“As if you could.”
Shadow’s traits softened–or maybe they did because Sonic expected it. Who knew? A hero was not supposed to betray his own feelings, after all.