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“Come on, Knuckles! I’ll even let you have the window seat,” Sonic offered, a knowing smirk quirking his lips; Knuckles loved the window seat, loved to push his head closer to the window—not out of it! never out of it like a common dog—and feel the cool night air ruffle his fur and leave his flesh chilled. If he closed his eyes and tuned out the sounds of his friends’ banter and the terrible country music, he could imagine he was back at home all those years ago, sitting on the porch while his parents cooked dinner, the frigid ocean breeze caressing his cheeks, as it never failed to do. If he tried hard enough, he could hear the clatter of crockery and cutlery as dishes were served, could smell the heavy scent of spices mingling with the salty air.
But he couldn’t afford to waste this opportunity on nostalgia. Not when he had something much more important to do. Something he couldn’t let the others see him do, lest he lose his reputation as the strong and invincible one.
He shook his head. “No. Tonight, I will stay here and guard the house. We have a guest that needs protecting.” A worthy excuse, and not entirely a lie. Jojo was loveable and adorably sweet but she was also young and weak; he would protect her with his life. Even if he didn’t quite care for her in the same way he did his friends, Maddie and Tom did, and keeping her safe was the least he could do for their hospitality.
Sonic shrugged, accepting his words without a second thought. Knuckles admired his ability to trust so easily; after Robotnik, he wasn’t so certain of anything anymore. “See ya soon then.” He gave one of his “peace-out,” signs, as he had called them, then strode off to the car to badger—or hedgehog—Tom about what they would be getting for dinner.
“We’ll be back before you know it!” Tails promised, hesitating a moment, before he offered the same gesture as Sonic and raced off excitedly, ever the impressionable one. Knuckles wondered if Tails’ hesitation was because Sonic had shared the story of Knuckles’ youth with the fox; not much remained a secret once it was shared with the hedgehog, Knuckles had found, though it was never spilled with malicious intent—Sonic couldn’t seem to help himself. He wondered if Tails had thought this scene—the people he cared about leaving—might hit too hard. Or maybe he truly did want Knuckles to come, but he didn’t want to push him. He wasn’t the best at reading others.
Knuckles gave a silent wave in return, eye twitching as the flesh on the back of his hand cried out in protest of the movement. A little longer, and then he would be alright. He would fix his little mistake.
“Don’t get into too much trouble while we’re gone!” Tom called back to him and Jojo, standing in the threshold behind him. He stood by the car, spinning the keys on his pointer finger, one hand on his hip as he waited for his wife to join him. Behind him, Sonic was helping Tails up into the car by forcefully dragging him into the backseat by his arm while Tails rambled on about something Knuckles couldn't quite catch, oblivious to Sonic's harsh methods.
“You want something vegetarian?” Maddie asked Jojo, giving a thumbs-up when the kid voiced her assent. “No worries, sweetheart.”
She turned to him then, and Knuckles blinked, taken aback at the concern shimmering in her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to come, hon? There’s always space for one more, and Jojo here could kill a man if she wanted to.”
For emphasis, Jojo pulled out… an odd device with two dull prongs on the end from her pocket, its sides decorated with a pink coating spotted with little white cat faces. She flicked it on and a spark of electricity danced between the prongs, lighting up the wide grin on her face.
Maddie’s eyes widened and she made to snatch the tool away, before sighing heavily and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Alright just… be careful with that. Did your mother—actually, I don’t want to know.” She took one more deep breath, before turning to Knuckles. “You’re sure, sweet pea? Last chance.”
Knuckles shook his head before he could give in, the sweet words tugging at his heartstrings, memories dancing along the edge of his vision. He needed to do this. “I will stay here and guard the house.”
Rather than ease her concern as he had hoped, his words only served to draw her brows closer together. She cast a look back at the others, then kneeled before him. Now eye-level, she placed a hand over his shoulder in such a maternal way, Knuckles was nearly thrown back to a time when his own mother had been alive. Had he not already been quashing the swell of emotions, he might’ve staggered back in under the weight of it all. “That’s not all, is it, dear? Is everything alright?”
How was she so perceptive? Knuckles averted his gaze, unable to hold her eye while he lied. “I’m just… a little tired.”
Maddie hummed disbelievingly, but nodded. She stepped back and stood tall again. “Alright. I’ll leave you be for tonight.” She lowered her voice, then, “But don’t forget that I’m always here if you need to talk.”
Knuckles dipped his head, unable to muster up his voice when the kindness lining her words left him speechless. She gave him a single pat on the head, brushing his quills down expertly in a way that told him she had done the same with Sonic many times and learned the hard way what not to do, then she joined her husband.
And then, they were gone.
Knuckles watched the driveway for a long minute, watched as a breeze crept through the trees, rustling pine needles and filling the air with their melody; he watched as the streetlights flickered to life as the world darkened, winter capturing the sun’s light early; he watched, waiting for them to turn around and come back, should they have forgotten something.
He needed to be sure they wouldn’t see this. He needed to be strong; if he wasn’t, then what was he?
The breeze crawling through the woods finally slashed at him with icy claws, and with a shudder, Knuckles turned to head inside, where it was warm and bright, and where he could fix this problem.
Jojo wasn’t behind him any longer, and he guessed she had already raced in, keeping away from the cold like the bright girl she was. He was quick to follow, taking care to shut the door gently—the first door he had broken had prompted a conversation between himself and Tom about his strength. It was still a work in progress, but his door death-count hadn’t reached double digits just yet, and this time it closed smoothly.
Inside was warm. A fire burned merrily in the living room, it’s crackling muffled by the occasional burst of laughter or swell of music from the television. It wasn’t nearly as advanced as some of the civilisations Knuckles had torn through on his hunt for Sonic, but it was comfortable and it kept out the bite of the cold.
And, the home was filled with people who actually wanted him to stay, and rather than for some ulterior motive.
“Knuckles!” Jojo called from the living room, and when he looked, he saw her head peeking out from the side of the couch, that omnipresent grin only a child could have on her lips. “Come quick! Lilo and Stitch is going to start soon! I think you’ll like this one.”
Lilo and… what? Knuckles shook his head. “I will accompany you soon. There is something I must do, first.” He looked toward the stairs, where his destination lay.
Jojo snickered. “You can just say it’s a number two. We all get it,” she added with a sly smirk that told him he should be embarrassed, though he didn’t see why.
“A number… I do not understand?”
Jojo snorted and waved him off. “Hurry up! It’s starting in a few minutes.”
Brows still furrowed with confusion, Knuckles offered a nod then made his way upstairs, where he knew what he needed lay. Only a couple of minutes, and then he would feel better again. At least for a little while. At least until it happened again.
He slipped by the staircase to Sonic’s room, where he and Tails now resided too—the stairs were down permanently these days, with how often the three of them moved up and down them. Tom had been worried they might break the contraption if they used it too much.
The tiled room appeared on his left, it’s door open to signify that it was vacant—the bathroom. Inside, he kneeled down before the counter, gently placing his hands over the cupboard handles. He hadn’t broken these yet, and he was determined not to—especially this time, where it might raise questions about his intentions in here.
Intentions he didn’t want the others to know. Intentions they couldn’t know, lest they thought less of him. What if it prompted doubts within their minds, should they find out about his little… meltdowns? What if it led to another Robotnik situation?
The worries flurried around him at night, keeping him awake when this problem flared up again, and as such, he raised a gloved hand to stifle a yawn as he scanned the contents of the cupboard with narrowed eyes.
There! The little black cloth he had stuffed haphazardly into the back of the cupboard, hidden away from prying eyes. This one small thing and a good night’s rest, and he would feel fine again. He would feel strong again.
He retrieved the item, setting it down on the floor, then closed the cupboard doors gently and sat down cross-legged, his back to the counter. Now came the not-so-fun part of this.
With a care he had rarely shown before he met his new friends, Knuckles took hold of his left glove, right at the top, and began to ease it from his hand. The skin beneath flared furiously at the movement, dried blood sticking loose flesh to the fabric, and he winced, the tiniest of whimpers slipping from his lips before he could bite it back. Almost there…
With a ragged breath, he pulled the glove from his hand, eyes darting away before he could see the damage. Not yet. He set the glove to the side, refusing to look inside and see the blood caked there. He would need to find a way to secure several hours to himself soon so he could wash the sacred things.
As he eased off the second glove, eyes anywhere but his bare hand, his teeth dug into his cheek, harder and harder, until the metallic tang of blood distracted him from the rippling burn long enough for him to tear off the thing with a soft hiss. He set it down beside the other and swallowed thickly, eyes slipping shut to steel himself.
Then, he looked down to assess the damage.
A sharp inhale tore through him. Once, when he was younger, he had overworked himself in an attempt at making his parents proud, but then the flesh over his knuckles had split, a jagged cut winding across the ridges that left blood bubbling up. It had dribbled down his hand, and then his forearm, sticking no matter how hard he scrubbed at it and matting his fur. When he had boasted about his efforts, his parents hadn’t seemed to hear him; they saw only the torn skin and his shaky hands that he had ineffectively tried to hide behind his back for fear of being seen as weak. Their eyes had widened with concern and they had sat him down and wiped the blood away tenderly with a cloth not all that different from his own, then lectured him on the importance of taking care of himself.
This was much worse. He had forgotten his parents’ words with time, their teachings on self-care, and now his skin paid the price for it. The wound tore across his knuckles like a bolt of red lightning, weaving between the spiked bone growths, wide and bubbling with blood. With every slight movement of his hand, he winced, a bone-deep ache within the appendage that told him not only was it cut up, but bruises lay beneath his fur, too.
But this time was different too; this time, he hadn’t been aiming to prove himself, but trying desperately to rid himself of the rotten, coiling sensation in his gut as thoughts of what Robotnik had done to him swarmed his mind, festering until his vision turned as red as his fur, his bloody knuckles, and the only thing that helped to clear it was pummelling the nearest object—a cliffside that had been tougher than he had anticipated, one that now carried twisted cracks all up its side not unlike the ones on his flesh. This time, he had no one to tenderly wipe away the blood and brush any tears that might prick at the pain away, no one to wrap his wounds and make him a steaming bowl of soup to help him feel better; this time, he was alone.
A bitter sigh fell from his lips as he inspected the wounds closely. His parents had to be so disappointed in him, up in the sky. They had to be looking down on him, brows creased and noses turned upwards, at the way he had turned out without their guidance. The thought left a streak of hurt rippling across his chest and he winced, pushing it aside before he could sink under the feeling, before it could overwhelm him.
Grabbing the cloth, he stood up from the floor and looked to the sink, intending to wet the item and carefully wipe the throbbing wounds.
Only to flinch when he saw Jojo behind him in the reflection, staring at him with something in her eyes that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Disappointment? Concern? Irritation because he hadn’t joined her for the movie yet?
Curse his inability to read others. If the skill had been stronger—had existed, really—Robotnik wouldn’t have tricked him, wouldn’t have used him. If it was stronger, he wouldn’t be in this situation now.
Knuckles swallowed thickly, pushing his gloveless hands behind his back as he turned to Jojo. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, maybe that he would be down soon, or even just “hey,” but only a soft breath, an almost sigh, escaped him. His voice had abandoned him.
Just like everyone else. Everyone but his new fam—friends…
For now.
A crease appeared between Jojo’s brows as they knitted together. Rather than accuse him of taking too long, or hiding things, she simply stepped forward, nudging him to the side so she could access the cupboard. Knuckles watched as she sifted through its contents, confusion puddling within him. Did she need something too? Maybe she wanted to grab something and then she would leave him be to finish his task?
He hoped so.
“Aha!” Jojo exclaimed suddenly. Knuckles jumped, torn from his thoughts as she turned back to him holding some kind of spray bottle and two packages filled with what looked like gauze…
Oh.
“Sit down,” Jojo ordered, her voice stern, so similar to her mother’s, and to Maddie’s. Knuckles did as he was told, still unable to speak, even as she joined him in the cold tiles. How was it that his voice always left him when he needed it most? It was as if the mountain of questions crushed his ability to talk beneath it.
“Can I?” Jojo asked, holding a hand out, waiting patiently for him to offer one of his own. The action was so gentle, so much like Maddie, that Knuckles easily acquiesced, even if the nerves crashing about his stomach like waves over sand left his hand shaking slightly.
Jojo let out a worried hum as she took his hand in her own, inspecting the wound. “This looks like it hurts…” she murmured, eyes darting to his, waiting for a response.
Knuckles looked away.
Jojo hummed thoughtfully, then picked up the cloth from between them. Knuckles hadn’t even realized he had dropped it.
The kid stood and wetted the cloth for a long moment, longer than he thought necessary, before she joined him on the floor again, taking his hand into her own once more.
“This will hurt a little,” she warned. “But I promise I’ll be gentle.” Once he gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, she began dabbing the cloth over the jagged cut across his knuckles. He tensed, prepared for the usual flash of agony across his skin and down his arm, only to blink in surprise when only warmth seeped into his flesh.
She had wet the cloth with warm water, rather than the ice-cold water he normally used, and combined with the care she was taking, his knuckles gave only a slight twinge of protest as it was cleaned.
Knuckles let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, tension ebbing from his shoulders. He offered up his other hand when she beckoned for it without hesitation, now that he knew she would be careful, that she had no intention of causing him any more pain.
Once the blood was cleaned from his fur, she set his hand down on his knee, where it rested while she stood to wash off the cloth again.
“This next part is going to hurt a bit,” she began, lips thinning at the thought of him hurting. She really was Maddie’s niece. “But it’s necessary,” she added vehemently, turning back to him with narrowed eyes, as if prepared to argue should he try to escape whatever she had planned next. “It’ll keep the injuries clean and prevent infection,” she stated, her voice deepening slightly to the pitch of Maddie’s.
She had definitely been listening to her auntie.
Knuckles nodded, watching as she sat down beside him again, taking his left hand and inspecting it once more, searching for any hints of blood that might have bubbled up in her brief absence. When she found none, she nodded to herself and set the cloth aside, replacing it with the little spray bottle.
“Ready?” Knuckles dipped his head, never one to back down.
Jojo didn’t give him a chance to retract his assent, pressing down on the nozzle immediately. The cool liquid settled lightly over his wounds, leaving him shivering slightly, but not in pain.
Perhaps it only affected human—
Knuckles hissed as the wounds on his left hand suddenly flared, bright as the sun on a cloudless day. Jojo was quick to tear her hand out of his when his grip began to tighten instinctively, fingers curling with pain.
“Sorry,” Jojo murmured. “It’ll only last a second, I promise.”
Knuckles grit his teeth and nodded, offering up his other hand quickly. Best to get this over and done with, rather than delay the inevitable.
And he was not a quitter.
The second time hurt more. Whether it was the anticipation, or the fact that the pain was coupled with his still throbbing left hand, he wasn’t certain—he hated it nonetheless.
“All done!” Jojo’s words were bright and warm, and they helped distract him from the awful sensation, like bees buzzing beneath the flesh on his hands, his wounds. “I know it hurt, but you handled it so well! I cried the first time Mum used this on me.” She regarded the spray with great disdain, and Knuckles let out a soft snort.
Next, Jojo snatched up the two packaged rolls, setting one down in the space between her crossed legs. The other was rested on her knee as she vigorously tore apart the packaging, earning another huff of laughter from Knuckles.
The girl was interesting, he would give her that. Interesting, and kind.
“Hand, please.” Jojo held hers out expectantly, and Knuckles easily gave his own in turn. She had proven herself to be trustworthy, and they were nearly finished here—why unnecessarily delay this?
She took his hand with care once more, her touch light but secure as she began to wrap the gauze bandages around his hand, starting from the wrist and moving upward. Knuckles initially watched her work with rapt attention, but his near-sleepless night soon had his mind drifting off to a pleasant nothingness. He didn’t notice as she took his other hand, the warmth of her hands over his comforting in a way he had forgotten. Pleasant.
“There we go!” Jojo exclaimed as she tied off the final knot, startling him out of his reverie. Her hands moved to her hips and her lips quirked with pride. “Now your hands won’t hurt anymore.”
Knuckles stared at her for a long moment, her words leaving a soft pang resonating within his chest, so different from the numb ache Robotnik’s betrayal so often left him with. He lowered his gaze to his hands, wrapped neatly, carefully, so that they would be protected, so they would heal smoothly. A smile tugged at his lips, his eyes beginning to crinkle, but then Jojo gasped abruptly. She latched onto his wrist, hauling him up before he could express his appreciation.
“Lilo and Stitch should be starting,” she said, her eyes wide with panic at the thought of missing the movie. “Let’s go!”
Knuckles smiled at her excitement, smiled as it flooded into him too, and he followed without delay.