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"It's not bad once you get used to it," Sonic laughs, eyes too-bright like broken glass.
Shadow takes Sonic's hand. The newly roboticized joints gleam in the harsh light of morning.
Palm trees high above their heads crackle with the wind, warning of an oncoming storm. This island isn't habitable under normal conditions (hence why Eggman chose it as a stronghold), but remaining here during such an onslaught would be asking for trouble.
"It's fine," Sonic says, words polished and smooth from how many times he's repeated them today alone. "Really, I'm okay."
Ignoring that, Shadow moves his hand up to trace Sonic's upper arm, at the not-quite-scars where metal weaves into flesh. Sonic shivers as Shadow's fingers brush his skin; his entire body holds taut with the urge to run.
Reluctantly, Shadow lets go. He's never cared about appearances, but Sonic does. Better to let him keep that distance.
(Sonic's version of falling apart involves running away and pretending nothing's wrong, and in enemy territory, such a move could be fatal.)
He does, however, keep holding Sonic's wrist. Shadow can't feel the fluttering pulse of panic that's clawing through the cracks in Sonic's expression. It's just cold, smooth metal.
"You don't look alright," Shadow says bluntly.
Sonic has fly-away quills and bags under his eyes, raindrops scattered across his cheeks like glitter. He's still acting too sharp, too perfect, a serrated blade ready to sink into the throat of the first person stupid enough to call him out on his bullshit. Good thing Shadow can't be killed.
"I- I messed up," Sonic says, painfully fast and gaining momentum. "Wasn't playing it smart. Just a hand, though, right? No big deal, I've got two of 'em and everything."
"That's not how these things work," Shadow mutters, thinking of vials and hands and drugs that burned deep in his veins. Nothing permanent- with him, nothing could ever be permanent- but the feeling of violation never fully faded. It still squirms under his skin, some nights. Occasionally he wonders if he could simply tear it out. "You can be upset." Shadow tightens his grip on Sonic's wrist, for as much as the hedgehog can feel it. Can he feel it?
Sonic shrugs.
"Does it hurt?"
"Nope." Sonic twirls his wrist at an angle that would break organic bones. A hushed whirr accompanies the movement. "Kinda… numb, I guess."
Sonic has that look. That hungry, empty look that means he's about to try to find out just how far numbness goes.
Shadow links their fingers together before he can, then raises their joined hands to eye level. "Can you feel this?"
"A bit." Sonic says. Shadow can't tell whether he's lying or not.
The wind whisks at Shadow's ears, a whisper that rises to a roar. He can see it tugging at Sonic, who's staring at a random point past Shadow's shoulder like he can't feel that, either.
"Can he track you through your arm?"
Sonic winces, glancing down at the limb and away just as fast. "Nah, it's… he already knows where I live. It doesn't matter. I'm safe."
Shadow frowns, and bites his tongue. 'Safe' feels like a terrible word to describe the situation, far too generous a term to grace the doctor with. He hates how Sonic doesn't seem to care or worry that the man who constantly tries to hurt him has his home address.
But Sonic won't listen to Shadow about that. Sonic won't listen to anyone about that particular subject (barring perhaps Eggman himself).
"Let's go home, then," Shadow says, and if his voice is slightly strained, well. Sonic's too distraught to notice. "Chaos control."
----
It doesn't seem right to leave Sonic alone, not after this. (Not ever, honestly, but Shadow's never been one to pass up an excuse.)
Shadow warps them into the dark living room of the house Sonic and Tails share. A quick search of the house reveals Tails isn't home, which only gives Shadow one option vis-a-vis "don't abandon Sonic to his own devices right now."
It's probably a major social faux-pas for Shadow to invite himself over, but Sonic's expression is only growing more vacant as the minutes tick by. He hardly has the mental presence to grant permission.
Shadow shoves Sonic down onto the couch. He points at the hedgehog, and sternly tells him, "Stay."
Sonic rolls his eyes. But, thankfully, he doesn't argue, choosing instead to drop his head onto the armrest and pull his legs up onto the cushions. He doesn't use his metal arm. "You fuss too much."
"I'll fuss as much as I damn well please," Shadow retorts, faintly relieved when Sonic actually laughs.
Deeming Sonic well enough to survive a minimum of ten consecutive seconds on his own, Shadow zips in and out of the room, gathering blankets and pillows and the terrible chips that Sonic insists are fantastic.
When he halts long enough to breathe, Sonic has curled up around his roboticized arm, tucked between his stomach and legs so that it's hidden from view.
Shadow mentally resolves to hide all the screwdrivers and drills and anything durable enough to damage metal. Because robotic or organic, that's still Sonic's fucking arm, and he's not about to let the hedgehog destroy it.
(Nothing's going to stop Sonic if he's determined enough, but Shadow can at least eliminate the risk of boredom-fueled self harm.)
Sonic's breathing is slow and steady. There's something ironic about that. Maybe now he'll win a race against a turtle.
Shadow sighs, picks up one of the blankets and tucks it around Sonic's shoulders. Then, gingerly, he settles on the far cushion, the tips of Sonic's shoes brushing his thigh.
He texts several people- Tails and Amy, then Rouge and Omega, informing the former of Sonic's current state (no details, just injured, just recovering. Shadow has no interest in trying to have that conversation- better to wait until Sonic is awake and can help with emotional damage control) and the latter that he won't be returning to the apartment tonight. Possibly several nights.
It's a hilariously sad juxtaposition, watching Sonic's friends panic in one group chat while Rouge teases him relentlessly in the other.
Eventually, Shadow switches his communicator to silent and tosses it onto the coffee table. They'll call if there's a real issue.
It makes a louder click than Shadow expected it to, and Sonic jolts at the sudden noise.
"'m not asleep," Sonic mumbles, clearly half-asleep.
"Uh-huh."
Sonic lifts his head to stare directly at him. His eyes are dull. "Hey. Shadow."
Shadow's never been one for eye contact; he focuses on Sonic's quills instead. They're still ruffled from today's battles. If Sonic were closer, Shadow could untangle them. "Yes?"
"Airports are gonna suck."
Unsure if Sonic wants consolation or commiseration, Shadow says, "...most museums and courthouses have metal detectors, too."
"Gosh dang it." Sonic sits up, rubbing at his face to scare away the bone-deep exhaustion. He almost uses his robotic arm, then flinches and swaps at the last second.
"Lean towards me," Shadow commands suddenly, surprising himself.
Sonic blinks at him.
Shadow's ears flatten, but he doesn't take the words back. This isn't his fault. It isn't. Sonic's just being- understandably- irresponsible about his own health, so Shadow's going to pick up the slack. Call it good manners. "You'll break your quills if you fall asleep on them like this. Let me fix them."
"I'm not gonna fall asleep," Sonic mutters. He scoots closer anyway.
Shadow doesn't argue. Besides, the yawn Sonic can't hold back makes his argument better than he ever could. Shadow tries and fails not to smirk; Sonic swats his arm and pouts.
Running his fingers through Sonic's quills reveals streaks of blood and dirt, not fully washed away by the brief bouts of rain back on the island. What Sonic truly needs is a shower, but Shadow's a little concerned he would fall asleep standing up and subsequently drown to death, which isn't how anyone wants to go out.
Sonic hums- he won't purr under regular circumstances, and especially not now- and rests his forehead on Shadow's shoulder. This new position makes grooming his quills rather awkward, bordering on painful. Shadow doesn't push him away.
"I'm not falling asleep."
"Okay."
"...does it look bad," Sonic whispers, purposefully hiding the question in Shadow's fur.
"No," Shadow says without hesitation. It's only then that he glances down at Sonic's arm. "You still look like you."
"So, you're saying I look good normally?" Sonic jokes. Gaia forbid a conversation be melancholy for more than a minute.
"You talk and look like a bad superhero design from the fifties. 'Good' is subjective."
Sonic chuckles. "Aww, we match. You've got the red streaks and everything."
"Am I the supervillain of this duo?" Shadow asks distractedly, focused on a particularly stubborn knot.
"Nah, you're my, uh…" Sonic yawns again, tentatively flexing his metallic fingers. At least he's looking at them? It's a form of acceptance, even if his expression goes dead for a split-second. "My morally ambiguous occasional partner. We defeat the bad guys together and you make off with the loot."
Shadow snorts. Tries to imagine himself throwing out a flirty one-liner and disappearing into the darkness. It feels like mashing together chocolate and ketchup- not bad in practice, but the concept makes him gag. "That sounds more like Rouge than me."
"What can I say? She's a bad influence on you."
Sonic and Rouge have a weird sort of friendship in the works, so Shadow doesn't attempt to defend her honor. He'll never understand their relationship and he's not going to waste time trying.
"She's not the one throwing herself headfirst into danger," Shadow says instead, scratching under Sonic's ear and pulling away with fresh blood coating his fingers. "I might need to get the first aid kit."
"It can wait," Sonic mumbles. "I'm tired."
"I thought you weren't going to sleep."
"I lied. Shut up."
Shadow smiles, safe in the knowledge that Sonic's eyes are closed. "Didn't say anything."
"I can feel your smug aura," Sonic grumbles, muffled against Shadow's fur.
"You brought it upon yourself."
Sonic snickers. "Jerk."
Shadow flicks his ear. "Idiot."
Sonic's quills aren't perfectly clean yet, but further movement would keep him awake. Shadow lets his hands fall, leaving one across the hedgehog's back.
Under the cover of silence, Sonic readjusts, wrapping his arms around Shadow's waist. His arm is cold and his breaths are warm.
It's the same pressure Sonic always uses- mindful not to squeeze him too tightly despite Shadow's ability to heal a broken rib in a matter of days.
Still him. Why wouldn't it be?
The real challenge will be helping Sonic see that, too.