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It was in the air, permeating the Earth.
With it brought memories of waiting out the strong weather, burying under a mountain of throws and sleeping soundly on his father’s chest. The earthy smell that came afterwards reminded him of playing in the wet grass, watching as fat worms squirmed out of the dirt. He remembered going outside in the heavy rain, letting the water run through his quills and soak into his fur. He remembered loving the way it hugged his body; he remembered closing his eyes to the sound of pattering droplets.
Once upon a time, he would’ve loved the rain. He would’ve loved the petrichor. But all those memories ever drudged up were bitter feelings and aching despair, dug deep into his chest like a poison tipped arrow. The venom spread through his entire body until he was a husk of his former self, his innocence lost to time. The whistle of the wind before a storm no longer brought tender emotions and loving moments between his clan. All it brought was pain.
Desperation, as he tried in vain to keep his father’s hut from collapsing as it aged and withered. Patching the holes while more still appeared, watching his home crumble all around him. Failure to keep the memory of his village alive. Failure to honor his clan.
A storm was vengeful. A beast, that tore away the memories of soft mornings and worms in the dirt.
Yes, it was in the air, permeating the Earth. He smelled the energy, the rage. The clouds darkened—the sun disappeared, and the first droplet of water fell into his fur. Everything in him screamed to run. Run back to the house, shut his ears and heart to the noise and memories. Yet his body froze, and panic slowly set in. His home was going to collapse out from under him again. He was going to be alone, he was alone, all outside input was drowned out by the pounding in his ears and the harsh breathing from his mouth.
What was he doing again?
Everything was muddled. He thought he heard voices, but it was too hard to focus when the rain started pouring down in sheets, soaking him completely. Father would’ve gathered him in his arms and carried him inside; he was too big for that now, but a part of him still expected to feel those arms hoisting him up into the air. He wanted to bury his head in the crook of his neck, and breathe in his smell again. He wanted to feel that love.
He closed his eyes tightly.
He lost everything.
There was a voice again, urgent but soft. He didn’t dare open his eyes. He was trembling, but he couldn’t stop it no matter how much he wanted to. Quite suddenly, there was a pair of hands hooking under his armpits, and he was lifted from the ground, held securely by strong arms. His arms instinctively reached out to wrap around the person’s shoulders. Like a child, he was carried until he felt the water cease its fire against his quills. His thoughts were still racing, but no longer feeling the rain made it easier to breathe.
“—that’s it, baby, try to breathe with me.”
He felt the person’s chest rise and fall, and tried his best to match its rhythm. The sound of a door opening caught his attention, and then the cold air of the outdoors was shut out completely. He was set down, and a warm towel made contact with his fur. The person started rubbing his quills softly, drying him off as he shook. He could hear quiet, concerned voices in the background, obviously talking about him.
Weak.
A palm rested on his cheek, and finally his eyes peeked open. Maddie gave him a warm smile, and continued drying his fur. She was wet just like him, hair dripping, but looked content to sit in a puddle as long as Knuckles was getting dry.
“Hey, honey. You’re doing a great job, just keep breathing. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
His hands were shaking, his legs were shaking, he wanted to collapse. Before his legs could fail him, Maddie drew him into her lap.
“I’m here, baby. I’m here.”
“Is he gonna be okay, Mrs. Wachowski?” A small voice asked, and Knuckles turned his head to see Tails standing nervously, wringing his hands together. He looked to be on the verge of tears. For some reason, the echidna couldn’t command his voice to console him. He was too busy learning how to breathe again.
“He’ll be okay, Tails. Sonic, could you bring me another towel?”
“On it,” Sonic said—in less than a second he was gone and back with a fluffy towel, which he handed off to Maddie with a concerned glance down at Knuckles.
The towel was draped over his shoulders as the other worked through his quills. He closed his eyes gently this time, and leaned into the contact. Maddie simply pulled him closer.
“Please don’t cry, Knucks, you’re gonna make me start,” Sonic said, sniffling.
He wasn’t aware he was crying until the hot tears were already trailing down his cheeks. A weak sob left him, and he curled in on himself, pushing his head against Maddie’s chest. The woman happily held him tighter, bringing her hand up to cradle his face.
Maybe everything would be okay.