Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Every story Tails has ever been told ends with a happy ending.

It started when he was younger, around the age of 4- he didn’t have a luxury of time back then, and could only guess that 4 was an appropriate number to describe his age- where Sonic would borrow picture books from the library. 

Sonic, of course, didn’t speak back then, and would rely on Tails’ already acquired knowledge to read it by himself, but he would always point at the pictures and grin. It wasn’t a nuclear family’s bedtime story, not by any means, but it was home, and that was better than anything else.

Eventually, as they got older, Sonic found his voice. And really- he didn’t shut up after that. That was fine with Tails, though- because instead of stories about princesses and dragons and witches, Sonic would always tell him stories of his own adventures instead. 

No matter what story he was told, though- whether it be Sonic’s adventure through the time Tails got kidnapped by Robotnik, or the time Sonic fought Knuckles head to head, or a story where Sonic travelled through dimensions to become a knight (he’s pretty sure that one’s made up)- they all had happy endings.

Tails gets saved, and they go out to get mint ice cream, Sonic and Knuckles make up and they go fight Robotnik together, or Sonic giving an evil queen a flower while being appointed as the true king that the world had needed, (seriously, that story has to be fake) the stories come to an end, and they would both go to bed without too much of a fitful sleep.

And Tails- he’s never been much of an optimist. His intellect makes it so he can’t help but overthink everything, planning things down to the last minute detail, and then stressing over the things he can’t plan for. But he’s always trusted Sonic and their friends. Always believed that they were capable of so much more than any of them knew, so as long as they were existing together, Tails could believe that they would get a happy ending too.

That’s just how it was supposed to be.

Tails sighs, leaning back on the rock. It’s a fresh coolness against his overheating body, due to his fur fluff not mixing with the hot summer sun, and the general overexertion that he feels after fighting for so long.

The area he’s in is peaceful, funnily enough. He thinks Sonic would like it here- it wasn’t accessible before, due to the large undergrowth and thick roots that made it so only flickies could squeeze through to the clearing. It’s still difficult to get through now, due to most of the trees still around- luckily enough- but now the gaps are just wide enough for a child to pull themselves through.

That makes it the perfect spot for Tails, especially when he just needs some time to himself. Like right now.

He recalls a funny story Sonic told him when he was the age of 6, about the first time his brother had fought Eggman in a cave. He’d gotten so in the moment that he forgot he was in a cave, and almost caused the total collapse of a historic monument. Sonic always got sheepish when he talked about how he bounced around the walls, the velocity causing the rocks to crack in his wake.

Sonic had spindashed straight into an ancient ruins, some place that historians would later lose their collective minds over. It would’ve crumbled entirely hadn’t Eggman- in a strange stroke of non-evil- created an energy force that supported the cave, the relics (and Sonic) safe.

It didn’t take long for news to spread about the ruins, and soon the world found just how beautiful the relics inside were. Eggman, of course, wasn’t praised for saving Sonic’s life, nor being the main cause of the discovery- but Sonic and Tails knew differently.

The story caused a few revelations, chief of which being that it would not be the first time Eggman did something worthy of some sort of praise. Tails would know, sitting in a clearing that had to have trees cut down in order to sit in.

Secondly, it showed that Eggman- or, at least, Robotnik- had once been kind . 

Perhaps not in the traditional sense, since, of course, he was still trying to take over the world. But at one point, Robotnik would’ve saved relics for people to appreciate. At one point, Robotnik put the lives of mobians over his goal. At one point, Robotnik would have spared Sonic, even if it cost him the mission.

Tails cannot help but wonder what line of logic Eggman followed, then, to come to the conclusion on whether or not his archnemesis should live or die. With Robotnik, it was easy- he wanted to kill Sonic with honour. He wanted to be the one to do it.

With Eggman- not so much. He’s not entirely sure what changed since the day Sonic ended up coming out of the capsule- the capsule sent off into space, rigged to explode so that he would die trapped- alive. Tails remembers watching Robotnik’s face twist into a sort of mourning, whispering about his admiration. 

And that brought Tails to the logical conclusion: Eggman would not let anyone else kill Sonic, because it had to be him. It had a sick sort of comfort to it- especially considering that sort of honour extended to Tails himself. He couldn’t really explain why it brought security. It just did.

But, as all sayings go: honour can grow stale, but desperation only exponentialises. 

Tails didn’t know- which was a problem. He’s always supposed to know.  That’s his entire thing, in battle- he’s supposed to be able to figure out, toss around ideas in his head and formulate the most probable outcomes, increasing his odds of winning and increasing everyone else’s odds of surviving.

Currently, though, he could not explain why every single villain Sonic and him have ever faced was beating his brother into the ground with a practised ease.

It was bad enough Shadow was among the group- the only person that could rival Sonic in every single aspect of his life. There was something strange about the way he was moving, but Tails couldn’t really think anything of it when all he could see was Sonic getting absolutely pummelled by the other.

People always talk about how their own life flashes before their eyes in near-death experiences, but no one could ever prepare Tails for his brother’s life flashing before his eyes as well.

Zavok, a brutal enemy, difficult to best and even more difficult to beat, Chaos- who was in his first formation, but for some reason was about as powerful as his fourth?- Metal, whose joints were moving with a smoothness Tails wouldn’t expect from a robot, and a new fifth person that he didn’t quite catch the name of.

Tails knew that these irregularities had to mean something. They had to be a part of something bigger- there’s no pattern too small to recognise, after all.

That, however, wasn’t the only irregularity.

His breathing kept getting fainter and fainter. Every single stone that was unturned went noticed by him. Was he hyperventilating? At a time like this? Tails had to get a hold of himself- but that thought only made it worse.

There was another story Sonic told him, about a time when he was trying to get through a zone that was mostly submerged underwater. 

Sonic barely ever talked about his experiences under the water- and Tails knew better than to ask, due to the almost debilitating fear that plagued his brother at the mere thought of going through it.

But he didn’t have the disdain he usually had when telling the story. Sonic’s arms waved around the air as he reenacted the size of the badnik that had jumped him and pulled him under the water, and his eyes lit up as he described the colourful lights that shone just as bright. It was magical, so Tails was told, and Sonic not once brought up the fact that he hated any of it.

So, the 5-year-old did the logical thing and put it upon himself to mention it. His brother’s eyes widened, and then he smirked, and suddenly Tails was subjected to a hair ruffle. Sonic had explained to him the difference between almost and thoroughly that day- because he was always almost too scared to talk about his time in the water, not thoroughly.

That day, Tails learned two things. One, that Sonic was unintentionally and unequivocally the coolest person he’d ever met. And two-

“Well, I don’t got time to be scared of water when I got a way-past-cool brother that needs me to get home, do I?”

At some point, Tails had taken that sentence to heart. Sonic would always come home, because he was needed there, just the same as the world needed him as a hero. It was something stated as fact- the attachment made Sonic invincible. 

“Tails! I could- eugh- I could use a little back up, here-!”

He didn’t move.

“...Tails?”

His legs weren’t moving. Why weren’t they moving?

There was a laugh somewhere above him, and he could see out of the corner of his eye a face- but there was no one next to him. That was impossible, there wasn’t anyone there.

A resounding ping alerted Tails to the growing static-y noise in his ears. His Miles Electric- right, he was trying to run tests to better understand his surroundings. But the ping wasn’t to alert him of that. His vitals were off the charts. 

At this rate, he was going to either die of a heart attack or hyperventilation. That’d be such a lame way to go, too, and he would probably be thinking of that if there wasn’t an emotion that boiled through his body, curling up all of his joints and causing bile to rise in his throat.

Fear.

Tails- he couldn’t think, there was too much going on, and distantly he knows this is a sign of an anxiety attack- which, if he were in the right state of mind, he would know that this was weird . This was weird behaviour for him, and his brain was being weird, and this entire situation was weird.

But he wasn’t in the right state of mind. 

He didn’t think he’d ever be in the right state of mind ever again.

Tails huffs. The clearing he sits in serves a practical use, too. In it, his head didn’t race with every possibility he’d ever know and will ever know. Perhaps it was the way the only other inhabitants of the area were flickies, or maybe it was just the calm breeze.

Here, he could think and reflect without too much paranoia.

That’s what Knuckles called it.

He didn’t say it to his face- rather, he whispered it to Amy when Tails was expressing a very standard amount of concern about how they were being watched. Granted, it’s not like Tails had any evidence, but he could feel the eyes raking down his back every time it was turned, at all angles and any hour of the day.

It’s not the only thing that had changed about him, but he didn’t dare tell anyone else about what he could swear was going on. Eyes in the shadows, things going missing at the exact time he needs them, hallucinations of his friends, his brother, anyone - Tails decided not to tell anyone about those, either. He was just being paranoid.

The worst part, he thinks, is that Amy and Knuckles didn’t act unkindly . They acted sympathetic, patting him on the back and whispering reassurances, and chalked up his behaviour to-

He sighs. The stone behind his back has already been warmed up by his body temperature, which is good, he thinks- it deserves to be warm.

In any case, what they needed was a mechanic. Someone to create a weapon all people could use, with easy accessibility. So Tails created the wispons- with the complete compliance of the wisps, of course- and organised them to be mass-produced, something that anyone that wanted to fight Eggman could do so with.

They needed a mechanic. And Tails was that. It’s not like they weren’t still friends- they all still loved each other, still made sure everyone was safe and cared for.

He could feel Sonic’s eyes on him, but that was about it. No emotion could be picked apart, probably because he couldn’t even pick apart his own emotions.

Every single possibility ran its course as he watched Sonic’s eyes close. His idol, his hero, his brother let out his last breath, and the world went cold.

Tails still couldn’t move- even as every instinct told him to run straight to Sonic’s side, hold him close and never let him go, to help him.

Sonic was dead.

And Tails had just watched.

His emotions were becoming muddled, blending and blurring and he couldn’t exactly figure out what was his and what was- still his, he’d assume, but the feeling telling him to run away didn’t feel like his at all.

He couldn’t think properly.

Was that him screaming?

Why was the world still spinning?

What was he doing ?

A lot of movies that he had watched with Sonic had someone mourning over their loved one’s dead body. There would probably be a sense of comfort in that, some sort of peace knowing that nothing could hurt them anymore when they were right in the arms of the people that loved them, being guided off to an even better place.

Tails did not get that comfort.

The body was gone by the time Amy and Vector had run up to the scene, with the only indication of it ever existing there being Tails staring at where it once was. It’s not like there was any time to prepare a funeral, either, so it didn’t really matter to them.

A crash in the distance pulls him out of his thoughts, and he begrudgingly picks himself back up. Tails takes one last look at the stone he was leaning on.

Sonic.

June 17th, 20XX.

He waves goodbye, not finding it within himself to talk anymore, and turns to go investigate the probable attack.

Every story Tails has ever been told ended with a happy ending.

Every story, it seems, except for one.

Chapter Text

Angel Island is peaceful for all of two days.

In that time, Amy can’t convince Tails to take her up there (which she can't really blame him for, considering he'd been in and out of it since he got here) so she’s effectively screwed- unless Knuckles miraculously decides to check his damn communicator- seriously, what was even the point of giving him one if he’s never going to use it? 

But when he does, it’s not a surprise to anyone that he calls. 

It’s 3 in the morning when Amy’s woken up by a loud, annoying, and disruptive ringing. Which is horrible for a few reasons, chief of which being that she had just gotten herself to sleep, after a day of being plagued with nothing but bad news and worry.

Another reason, though, is that the ringing is distinctly unrecognisable at first, which causes her heart to race after being on edge for the past two days. Eggman’s ramped up all forces, and while everyone was doing their best to beat him back- there was just too much . Something was different, distinctly wrong about these attacks, but Amy didn’t have a clue how to go about figuring out what it was.

And Sonic being gone certainly didn’t help matters.

She sighs, trying to get her heart to stop beating so fast, and looks at the clock, and makes absolutely sure that this was supposed to be her bedtime before she gives the shrill ringing a what-for. Then, after confirming that, she grabs her hammer and looks for the source.

The ringing comes from the kitchen, and she prays to the spirits above that her kitchen wasn’t set on fire. Again.

Amy keeps her footsteps light out of habit, slipping into the kitchen without noise from her end. There’s no fire, but there is a bright neon light that flickers in the middle of the kitchen’s island. It’s accompanied by vibrating strong enough to shake whatever’s beeping into the air for a millisecond, and she doesn’t have to turn on the light to recognise what the beeping was now.

She turns the light on anyways, and hisses when it burns her barely-awake eyes. In that time, the yellow communicator that she’s just identified stops ringing for a grand total of 2 seconds.

It gives her 2 seconds to shake off the remaining confusion, and then it rings again. It’s Tails’ communicator, which he had taken off his wrist and thrown to the side in a fit of emotion. He was currently sleeping on Amy’s couch, the arrangement determined almost immediately after finding him. 

He was very obviously shaken up, too shaken up to speak most of the time. Amy couldn’t let him stay at his house alone, not with the state he was in.

Which left her with a choice- does she potentially disrespect Tails’ privacy by answering his communicator? Or should she just silent it and hope that whoever’s calling shoves it up their ass, because it’s 3 in the morning -

Amy picks up the communicator.

Knuckles the Echidna - Request to Facetime! 

That rat bastard. She clicks accept, ready to give him a large portion of her mind, but the words die in her throat when she sees the state her friend is in. 

His spines are dishevelled, an unusual occurrence considering how prideful he is, and something is clearly happening behind him. Amy can’t quite make it out, since Knuckles takes up almost the entire screen with a face that stares daggers into his camera. 

“There you are, Tails, do you know how many times I’ve tried calling Sonic?! That man, I swear to the emeralds, he’s getting on my last nerve and I need some insight immediately!”

Amy blanks. “...Knuckles, it’s 3am.”

She can see the gears turning in his head, probably processing the voice he’s hearing- Knuckles hasn’t quite mastered the art of video calling people, so it takes him a few seconds to hold his communicator at arm’s length and appropriately pull it closer as he needs it. The result is less than instantaneous, but at least now he can see that it’s not Tails he’s talking to at all.

“...Oh, Amy. Hello.” He coughs. “Apologies, I was under the impression that Tails was with his communicator. May I talk to him or Sonic?”

There’s nothing she could do or say that could prepare her for the tidal wave of emotion at the question. Amy’s just a little too tired to care about appearances at the moment, too, which is a recipe for disaster. “Knuckles…”

“Hm?”

And she prepares to say the inevitable, to tell him about the past few days, because of course he deserves to know. It’s not like she’s been avoiding the conversation, either, but…

“...I’m the best you’re going to get at this hour.” Amy starts, because she’s not sure how else to, “Tails is asleep. He took his communicator off.”

Knuckles looks genuinely appalled. “I wasn’t aware that was a thing he could do.” 

It’s said in such earnest that Amy can’t help but choke on a laugh. “Yes, Knuckles, surprisingly- 8 year olds can sleep. Shocking that some people can keep up healthy sleep schedules, hm ?”

“Okay, I can understand the directed attitude-” Knuckles defends, “However, it’s important. There’s been more and more threats to the island within the past two days. None of them have been able to come close to the Master Emerald, but it’s been… unnerving.”

Amy hums. “Because you’ve been defending the Emerald, of course.”

“No- well, yes, but no. The threats almost always disintegrate if they come within a certain distance of it. Not a single trace that they even existed. I’ve been fighting them off of course,” His expression deadpans, as if he needed to protect his honour when he just attempted calling a child at 3am, “But they’ve been strange.”

“Huh.” She blinks, “Like… spirits?”

Knuckles shakes his head on the other side of the line. “That’s what I thought at first, as well. But they’re very real. They have a strange aura to them.”

“That’s… hm. And you said they just disappear when they get close enough to the emerald?”

“Positive.”

She leans back on the counter, thinking through the situation now that she was entirely awake. “I see. Well, it’s not like your emerald-”

“The Master Emerald.”

“...Right, the Master Emerald,” Amy rolls her eyes in a sort of fondness, “It doesn’t seem like it’s in any danger from what you’ve said. At least, nothing that constitutes being awake at this hour.”

Knuckles’ brow furrows. “But it is important. Someone wants the Master Emerald, and they are incredibly persistent about it. They could send troops that do not evaporate as soon as they come close.”

“And then you’ll fight them off.” 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “I would agree. But I want to get to the bottom of these occurrences as to eliminate all threats before they have the chance to get close.”

Amy can’t argue with that. Knuckles has always been one to be cautious when it came to precious things- she doesn’t know why she thought this would be any different. “I see. And why do you need help with that? Not that I don’t want to, but it’s unlike you to ask.”

Knuckles sighs. “Of course you’d notice. Listen, the Master Emerald has been quiet the past few days. Something has happened. I’m not sure what has changed fate’s course, but whatever it is, it’s messing up the energy. That’s why I wanted to talk to Sonic. He’s knowledgable about this stuff- which I know is rare for him.”

Oof. She bites the inside of her cheek, trying to look anywhere but the screen- but he deserves to know. It’s not like she can delay this conversation forever. “...I think I know what’s causing the Emerald to go quiet.”

“You do? I wouldn’t have expected that.” Honest as ever. 

She takes a deep breath. Now or never. Amy can’t really describe the feeling as anything other than words getting lodged in her throat- the type of lodged where it feels as though she needs to puke, run to the nearest bathroom and let it all out until she can find her voice again.

But her voice was still there. And maybe that was a problem. “Sonic’s dead.”

On the other side of the line, Knuckles stops. His expression is serious, and then shocked, and then angry. “ What ?”

It takes everything within her to keep her throat clear. She felt like she was swallowing down a tennis ball, a rough texture making her throat burn and the width clogging the words that she didn’t want to say. Knuckles shouldn’t have found out like this.

He had to, though. Everyone needed to know, everyone needed to be aware that the person who’d fought the hardest to keep everyone safe and alive was gone, dead - and they couldn’t do anything about it.

“Amy-”

“He’s dead , Knuckles. He was- he was fighting badniks in a town nearby, and he was completely overtaken by an unknown force, and he died .” Amy sobs. “I don’t- I don’t know the details, and I wanted to tell you before, but Tails- he- he’s not fit to fly the Tornado, right now, and you weren’t getting in contact, and I’m so sorry-”

There’s a cracking sound on Knuckles’ end, and Amy can see through her tears enough to know that his hands are shaking. He’ll break the communicator if he keeps that up.

Good , a vindictive and shameful part of her thinks, maybe then he’ll stop being such a jerk and get off that damn island.

Amy immediately squashes that thought down. Knuckles needed to be on Angel Island, to guard his pride and joy. Maybe it was just sentiment- but it was admirable. She had no right to be angry at him for missing everything that’s happened on the surface world.

“No, no, he probably just disappeared for a bit. You know that idiot, Amy- he’d… he’d come back. Especially when people need him.” 

And yeah- Amy did know that idiot. That dumb, beautiful, amazing idiot. But there was one person that knew him far better than she ever could. “Tails saw it. He saw it , Knuckles.”

“Tails watched it?” Knuckles asks, and then, angrier, “Did he do anything to stop it?”

“He did .” Her voice is dejected. “I’m sure he did. That’s why he couldn’t fly us up there. He’s- he’s not in a good place, right now.”

Knuckles’ body language deflates. It makes him look uncharacteristic of himself- small, she thinks- the only thing that stays to remind her of his anger a moment ago being his eyes. They’re shining in something she doesn’t dare call sadness- and his forehead furrows in a way that makes it so she can’t imagine what he’s feeling at this moment.

But, oh , she knows . How she knew what it felt like. Amy knows she doesn’t feel the exact thing Knuckles is feeling, but it was still grief, wasn’t it? It was still bitter sorrow, a resignment, denial .

“...I understand.” He finally says. His purple eyes look to the side, and then back at the screen he’s undoubtedly crushed. “I apologise. I did not mean to yell.”

Amy shakes her head, her uncombed hair swishing with the motion. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is.” Knuckles relents, tiredly. “I will do better to keep my emotions in check.”

She can’t help but chuckle at the audacity. It’s not filled with humour, or happiness- it’s just a chunk of air, leaving her lungs to make a noise. That’s all laughter was at this moment. “You just got the news that one of your friends died .”

“So did you.”

“Two days ago.”

Knuckles sighs. “There is no expiration to this.”

“Then there shouldn’t be a limit on how many people can feel emotions, either.” Amy retorts. She knows how stubborn Knuckles could be- how everyone in their little group could be, really- but they both were on the same side. Neither of them could deny each other’s words, not when that was the only thing they had of each other right now.

She can see Knuckles pause, looking around, and watches the exact moment when he realises that they’ve met a standstill. “You’re correct.”

And Amy wants so desperately to feel normal again. She needs to have a line of security, so she can’t help but say, “When am I not?”

Knuckles gives a wheezy laugh in return. It’s such a far cry from his normal tone that it makes her want to gag. Wants to pull her ears until the only thing she hears is ringing, because that’s better than hearing her friends sound so- so wrong .

Instead, she smiles gently. “You… probably want some time alone to process everything, huh?”

There’s a hum on the other end, and then, “Yeah. That would be for the best.”

Amy nods, although she’s not entirely sure that he can see it, and her finger hovers over the ‘end call’ button. “Stay in touch, Knuckles. We’re… we’re going to need it.”

“Of course. I will not abandon you all in a time of need.” He says, and Amy believes it, because she knows it’s true. “I will… call back tomorrow. We can arrange more of this conversation then.”

It’s Knuckles who beats her to the punch in hitting the button, and the room around her loses it’s blue hue as screen goes dark.

She’s left alone in her kitchen once more, and Amy can’t help but lean back onto the counter, and then lean further until she’s sliding to the ground. It’s nothing graceful, and she hurts her back doing it, but she can’t find it within herself to care.

In her hands, Tails’ communicator blinks with some gizmo that he’s probably explained to her before- not that she’d paid any attention then. But now, she starts at the light, a little green bulb that blinks once every few seconds. 

And on any other day, Amy would find it stupid that she’s looking at a communicator watch’s light, entirely transfixed by it. She’d probably place it to the side and work on something else. Perhaps she’d even figure out what the blinking was for.

Right now, though, she just stares at it. She doesn’t have the energy to wonder what it’s for. Amy sniffles, too- because on any other day, she would have the energy. 

But she doesn’t.

Her world has shifted- like an earthquake that crumbles towns, or a tsunami that drowns them- her world has changed . 

Tomorrow, she’ll have to deal with putting together plans in place. Figure out what to do about Tails, discuss more with Knuckles. Try to piece together everyone that she can, all allies she can trust.

Tonight, she weeps.

Chapter Text

Knuckles leans against the Master Emerald.

Before he met anyone, he never used to lean against anything. His day-to-day included standing proud in front of the Emerald, picking fruit, and guarding some more. 

Now, though, he has bad habits, like leaning on things. Rouge pointed it out one day, when she visited to antagonise him. She’d mentioned how relaxed he’d gotten, how at peace he seemed to be.

That was stupid, because he was always at peace. It could be argued that he was more at peace before he met Sonic, of course- but he was always at peace.

Rouge didn’t know anything.

He wonders when she’ll come back.

She’d been gone for quite a while, at this point- the last time Knuckles had seen her was when she- well, it was all a bit blurry, really, because she had kissed him on the nose as a goodbye and that was all it took for him to forget everything she’d been nagging on him about. 

Stupid bat.

Stupid batty charms.

Knuckles is rudely awakened from his daydreaming- nightmarish daydreaming, he insists, because he hates Rouge so much that his heart stutters in his chest the moment he thinks about her- by a rustling in the bushes.

But he doesn’t appreciate being woken up, regardless of who it’s about, because right now isn’t a great time to interrupt his thoughts. Knuckles likes to think he has a pretty good grasp of meditation, and thinking about those you love- hate, whatever- usually staves away negative emotions.

Although, to be fair, punching is a pretty good outlet too.

Less fair, though, is the thing that jumps out of the bushes. It runs towards him and the Master Emerald, a full-fledged sprint, and it comes just past a patch of flowers before it vanishes right in front of his eyes.

It’s enough to get him on edge, same as last night- but it’s not enough to drag him away from the Emerald. Knuckles is aware of what his mind is doing.

He’d always been the mature one- others might say that he was gullible, which was wrong , mind you- having been the oldest in their little group of Sonic, Tails, and Amy. Knuckles wasn’t entirely sure when they became a thing , a group, a team. They just were. He knew better than to question that.

And as the most mature in the group, he knew how to keep his calm. Cool down, even if he could admit that he was short-tempered. At times. Not most of the time. Only when it mattered. In any case- he knew how to keep himself calm during a crisis.

He knew how to keep himself calm, even if Sonic was dead. 

Sonic, who was annoying, talkative, brash- couldn’t leave him alone, even with how many times he tried to kick him off the island. The jerky, larger than life, proclaimed Hero of Mobius- Sonic.

Maybe he had grown on Knuckles.

And maybe he was grieving just a little bit, by not feeling any urgency to get up and fight the threats- the threats to what he had dedicated his entire life to protecting.

Knuckles crosses his arms. Even in death, it seems, Sonic still finds a way to mess him up. Make him worse.

Rolling his shoulders back, Knuckles decides to pick himself up and do something other than sit on the pedestal- which had decidedly lost its comfort. He needs to eat, and fruit is sounding pretty great right now.

Not that Angel Island has much else to offer. There’s a few flickies, here and there, but they aren’t food. They are under his guardianship, the same as the island. 

In any case, Knuckles takes slow and heavy steps, holding his head high. The lush grass springs back to life as he takes one step in front of the other- he knows from first-hand experience how healthy all plant life is around here. The flowers sway in the calm breeze, same as the leaves in the trees. He doesn’t have to watch them to know that this is what they do, because he is Knuckles, guardian of Angel Island, and he has spent his entire life here.

He watches them anyway, taking in the sweet smell of the flowers and fruit, relishing in the warmth of the sun as it shines on his red spines. Knuckles can’t help but feel a soft satisfaction in knowing that this - this is the life he fights for. The life that everyone should get.

And he ignores the way his chest hurts at that.

Instead, he spots his favourite tree to grab fruit from, now that he’s walked for a few minutes North. Thick vines curl around it, and attached to those vines are large red grapes that would glisten in the sunlight- had it not been for the large canopy that the tree it clings to provides.

Knuckles isn’t one to pass up grapes, of course, so he walks just a little faster until he comes face-to-face with the amber-brown trunk. Using the spikes on his gloves, he climbs up just enough to grab a few bushels, which is probably enough to feed him for the entire day. 

He drops down, legs flexing under the slight height he has dropped himself off, and holds his prized fruit to his chest. A low sigh escapes him. 

It feels too normal, in a way.

Normality never used to bother him before.

Knuckles picks a grape from its stem and pops it in his mouth. It crunches in his mouth, juice sweet and satisfying as he gulps. His legs move on their own accord, dragging him back to his post. 

When he gets back to the altar, Knuckles sets down the grapes and stares out at the island around him. Something’s amiss. Whether it be instinct, intuition, or connection to the Master Emerald, he’s always been able to tell when something was up. And the air is as sweet as ever, the ambiance is as calm as it should be…

His purple eyes squint.

A shadow is out of place. Next to a flowered bush, there should be three stones that cast a shadow that’s about the size of a spike on his glove at this time of day. And they are- perfectly sized and not turned over, but there’s an extra bump that’s never been there before, as if another rock had been placed there.

But there’s three rocks still.

Knuckles isn’t a scientist, but he does know Angel Island. And he likes to think he has a fair understanding of rocks. And by his humble calculations- that shadow should not be able to do that.

Deciding the worst of it, he steps cautiously over to the rocks. It seems normal, all three rocks look very rock-like. Knuckles reaches and touches all three. They feel like rocks, too.

His forehead furrows, and then he splays his hand and touches all 3 rocks at the same time. Nothing happens. Knuckles looks at where the shadows were again, and-

Nothing is amiss.

There’s three shadows, all aligned with the rocks. Not even a wisp out of place- everything is normal. No physics(? Knuckles isn’t quite sure how physics works, but he assumes this would be the right principle, because he’s heard other people talk about it a lot) law-defying, rock-breaking things going on here.

“What…?” He almost-growls to himself. It’s quiet enough to not scare any flickies nearby, but loud enough for it to reach his ears. The universe, of course, doesn’t give him an answer.

Well- at least, not a traditional answer.

Knuckles’ attention quickly removes itself from the rocks as he jumps, hearing a loud screaming that comes from beyond the rock formation yonder. He quickly picks himself up, sprinting towards the noise.

The grass under his shoes feels almost tractioned, in a way that when he runs, it feels more and more like he’s dreaming, like there’s invisible weights tied to his ankles. That’s never happened before, Knuckles knows, but he doesn’t think about it either.

Instead, he jumps, punches the rock he lands on, and climbs it, until he’s at the very top and can see everything.

There, below him and the rocks, is a silver hedgehog. It’s- they’re - fighting off one of those annoying spirit-but-not thingies, while his quills dishevelled more than they naturally are. Knuckles can recognise this guy- talked to him once or twice, saved the world with him more than that. But that leaves more questions than answers.

“Silver? The hell are you doing here?” He calls down, before extending his arms out to glide to the ground. It’d be a lot more graceful if he didn’t immediately get punched on the back of the head by the spirit.

On the ground, it’s a lot easier to see the thing he has dubbed A Huge Pain In The Ass- Ghost for short- which makes the whole experience a lot stranger. The Ghosts are hard to look at, hard to comprehend and understand, and kind of make his head hurt. But this one is just a dark brown cat, with too bright eyes and a frown that doesn’t match their body language.

Beside him, Silver gasps excitedly. “Knuckles! Oh my gosh, oh my gosh- it’s taken forever to find you! Hi!” He kicks out at the cat, cyan psychic energy wrapping both his feet and the cat’s head to make the connection as painful as possible.

The cat, for their part, doesn’t so much as grunt. They recover swiftly, despite the wound, sprinting towards the both of them. Some sort of weapon gets unlodged from their belt, and their moves are difficult to understand. Knuckles can admire that. He wraps his spiked hands around themselves. “Be careful,” He says, using one of his arms to block the weapon as it comes down to hit him, “This guy is capable.”

Knuckles uses his other hand, the one that’s not blocking the weapon, to grab the cat’s leg and swing him to the ground. They hit hard- he can tell he might’ve accidentally broken something. Silver uses the psycho-blasty-something-or-another to raise himself up, and drop down on them, so that the aim is hit right on their chest.

They roll over just in time, picking themself up so that they barely miss as Silver’s feet touch the ground, and then use his stunned state to sweep his feet out from under him. 

But while they’re distracted with that, Knuckles pushes himself behind them so that he can punch the back of their head in the same manner that they did to him. It’s a cheap shot, but it awards him the same as honour does as the cat falls to the ground.

It takes a few seconds, but the cat- like all the other Ghosts- fades out of existence, leaving just Silver and Knuckles to stare at where the grass below them just was.

“What- ohmigosh, did we kill them?” Silver panics, hand waving over the space. “Oh, that’s so not cool…! I didn’t mean to do that, I just- y’know-!”

Knuckles holds up a hand to silence the other. “No. They’re not a real person. Not that I can figure, anyways.”

Silver tilts his head, golden eyes shimmering with worry, guilt, and confusion. “...Huh?”

He shrugs his shoulders, figuratively and literally getting rid of the pity that he naturally feels- Silver has that effect on people. “This has been happening for a day or so now. Every time you beat them, they disappear.”

“...Oh! Oh, that must be tied to the calamity I’ve come to warn you about! The world-” The ground rumbles underneath their feet, and both turn their heads towards the source. “-Uhm- Knuckles?”

The source is near the Master Emerald. Knuckles growls. “Come on.”

“Right!” Silver nods in a salutary kind of way, hands waving in the air. Knuckles is picked up from the ground, the cyan energy wrapping around him so that he doesn’t have to climb. He would’ve preferred a warning- but, well, it’s fast, so he doesn’t care too much.

Beyond the rocks, another familiar figure is sat on top of the Emerald’s pedestal, and Knuckles feels unbridled rage for all of 2 seconds before his brain can catch up with his emotions. Neon green eyes stare back, form dripping and leaving a puddle on the platform. Their head contains no face to emote, just a brain that is very obviously poorly protected.

It’s hard to figure out what’s more interesting- the genuine and actual god that is right next to Knuckles’ most sacred item, or the fact that said god is wielding a green chaos emerald. 

“Woah!” Silver yells from right next to him. “Knuckles, do you know this guy? How much of a threat is he?”

Still recovering from seeing red a few seconds ago, Knuckles hesitates before smirking and stretching his arms out. “That? That’s Chaos. He’s not a threat at all, don’t worry-”

He’s rudely interrupted by a hand slapping him in the face, throwing him back a few metres. It doesn’t take more than a second for him to be back on his feet, with Silver shooting him an unimpressed concern. “Not a threat, huh?”

Knuckles glowers. “Not usually. He was calm after the Station Square incident.” 

Silver ducks to avoid an attack, and Knuckles sprints in turn toward Chaos. He jumps, shifting his body so that his weight is placed in his arm and fist. The punch would’ve landed, but Chaos’s torso dissipates, causing the only harm to be towards Knuckles as he is unable to change his weight distribution in time. He tumbles to the ground, arm tingling due to how it landed.

He waves it off- quite literally- and is just able to witness Silver as he shifts his hands slightly, cyan energy grabbing a chunk of the watery body and tossing it to the side. Silver grins, yellow eyes lighting up as he turns right back to Chaos and focuses himself.

That means he’ll need a distraction- it’s evident in the way the other is concentrating, hands coming up to his chest as his mind manipulates the very state of being around him. Knuckles honours that by jumping in front of Silver as Chaos lets gravity take over his body, water sloshing and seeping everywhere before forming right behind him to attempt landing a blow to his back.

This time, though, he’s ready. Knuckles swerves, his solid build a little clumsy on the turn but still managing to make it, and he punches anywhere he can land a hit. He’s not exactly counting, but he does know that he gets a very substantial amount of blows in before Chaos realises what’s going on– not to brag, or anything.

After he realises, though, he adjusts his fluid form to wrap around Knuckles’ fists, using the vantage to lift him and throw him to the side. He tumbles a few feet, hitting his head on something solid– he guesses either the ground or a rock.

Knuckles attempts to pick himself up, and he succeeds– but Chaos is quicker, more agile, and liquefies himself once again to sweep Knuckles off the ground and throw him once more.

Before Chaos can land anything close to a final blow, however, Silver shouts next to them. It fully gets both of their attention, but unlike Knuckles, the former completely distracts himself by chasing Silver instead.

Silver assumes some sort of stance, arms outstretched as if he’s going to catch the entirety of Chaos– and, oh, that is exactly what he was planning to do. Cyan energy wraps around the other swiftly and easily, consuming him until he’s no longer able to move inside the ball of a prison that Silver had concocted for him. 

They both use the newfound time to breathe, Knuckles still looking at the ball-energy-prison in a very solid interest, before Silver grins. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can get a word out, a puddle near them shifts and morphs into something sharp and jabs right at Silver. It’s too quick to dodge, and he lets out an oof- Knuckles follows the line of water to see the damage it did to his colleague’s side, and– yeah, oof , it looks like that’s going to need to get treated. 

It’s not of immediate concern, though. What is of immediate concern, however, is the fact that the damage is enough to startle Silver out of concentration, which in turn causes the cyan energy wrapping Chaos evaporates, leaving him more angry and more prone to fight.

“That’s a new one,” Knuckles comments, turning and knocking his fists together. It’s a habit he’s picked up on over the years– he’s not entirely sure when or why he does it now. “You alright?”

Silver nods, clutching his side. It looks like it’s bleeding somewhat- it’s more akin to a large paper cut than a stab wound, but to be fair, paper cuts do hurt. It’s why Knuckles hates reading. “I’ll be fine!”

That’s all the time they get before Chaos charges at Silver once more, and the two are thrown back into battle. He twists his body and jumps, dashing out of the way of being stricken, but not out of the way of being grabbed.

Chaos extends his arm, grabbing Silver by the feet and tossing him straight back into a pile of rocks. “Uff… what’re we gonna do about him?”

Knuckles shrugs, dodging a hit before trying to punch Chaos between the eyes. It doesn’t work entirely as planned- he doesn’t hit the brain, but he does hit water, which he’ll take. “I don’t have a plan, but-” he slides to the right and to Silver’s side, so that they were facing perpendicular to the Master Emerald, “I know how to put this guy in his place. Let’s work together on this.”

Silver nods, stretching slightly before wincing– seemingly remembering that he’s injured. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need a clear shot at his brain.” Knuckles points in between Chaos’ eyes, and Silver’s eyes light up in understanding. The now-familiar cyan energy wraps around him, and he readies up a punch.

The energy launches him towards Chaos perfectly, and also gives Knuckles enough time to focus everything he has into this one punch. 

It lands– his fist pushes through water and straight to his head, effectively throwing Chaos back. He lands on the pedestal of the Emerald, obviously dazed.

“Hah- I think we did it!” Silver cheers, and Knuckles startles at how easily he recovers after all of that. He guesses it’s easier after most of the focus dissipated when he was given the boost. Still, it’s admirable. “That was kind of cool!”

Knuckles nods. “You’re a good partner.”

Something shifts in front of them, and they’re in time to witness as Chaos stumbles to pick himself up. It’s strange, but there’s red… boxes(?) surrounding the other, especially around his brain. Before he can do that, though, he grabs at anything that can be used to pull himself up.

His claws reach the Master Emerald, and the red boxes consume him, before he vanishes right in front of their eyes.

The only remnant acknowledging that he was ever there at all is the smaller green emerald that clatters to the floor.

“Huh… It’s like that cat earlier!” Silver gasps. “Except- the chaos emerald…?”

Knuckles rubs his chin. “That must be why it was able to get so close to the Master Emerald,” he says, and upon receiving a confused stare, he tacks on, “They’re never able to get close to the pedestal. After a certain distance, they just disappear, like that cat.”

Silver blinks, emotions swirling in his eyes. “That must spell trouble. That’s what I’ve come to warn you guys about! The future’s totally in shreds, this all has to be connected somehow!”

“Hm… you’re right. I’ve been ignoring it the past few days, chalking it up to general weirdness, but…” Knuckles grimaces. “That just means we’ll have to fix the future. Especially if it has something to do with the Master Emerald.”

“Mhm!” Silver nods rapidly, quills bouncing out of place, “I’m sure of it! Why else would they bring a chaos emerald, then? And with that strength, that could totally hurt us!”

That means they’re getting smarter, whoever they’re fighting. Knuckles rubs his chin. Tails could really be of the essence then. Which means he’d just have to reschedule his call with Amy to be in person.

“...We need to get off the island.” Knuckles concludes, walking towards the Emerald. It glimmers under his touch, and he sighs. “It’s going to fall.”

“What?”

He changes his stance, energy mostly being used in his upper body with his legs supporting his actions, and grips the Master Emerald. “Without this, Angel Island will be put in the sea. Not under it, or anything. But it cannot stay here, under threat, and we cannot stay here, if our world is under threat. Grab the chaos emerald, and make sure your side's okay.”

Silver looks confused, then sad, then determined. “...Okay.”

With that out of the way, Knuckles pulls. The Emerald shifts, and then comes out of it’s place, and the island underneath him has about 3 seconds of peace before gravity interrupts it’s defiance.

“Come on,” He beckons to Silver, “We’ve got to figure things out.”

Chapter Text

Waking up after getting emotional, Tails thinks, is the worst experience anyone could ever face. Ever. He can just tell by the way his eyelids stick together, and the way he feels heavy, drenched in an invisible liquid as he picks himself up. 

The only thing that doesn’t feel heavy is his head. It’s airy– probably missing some context, because there’s just no other possible way he can feel like this, unless he was sick, which would be pretty bad because he wasn’t even in his house. 

He wasn’t in his house.

Tails blinks, rubbing his eyes, and then frantically looking for clues as to who’s couch he was sitting on. Cream couch, pink pillows, pink curtains, fluffy rugs, smell of strawberries– Amy.

She was the only person this pristine and particular about her living space. His own wasn’t anything hectic, not by any means– people tended to refer to him as a neat freak, which was not true, by the way– but it was less lived-in than Amy’s. Sonic would usually–

Sonic would…

Where was Sonic?

Immediately, Tails stands up, disregarding any state his body was in to search for his brother. He remembers fighting– someone. Multiple people. So many…

He drops, head first into the coffee table. Too many thoughts, and his body was definitely not catching up with the memo that he needs to get up and fight, although he’s not sure who . Tails groans. Everything feels horrific, and it only serves to make him more upset because he’s not sure what happened. He just knows that he was in danger, at some point. 

The crash must’ve alerted something, though, because his ear flicks as footsteps come running towards him. It makes his fur stand on its end, and he immediately tries to pick himself up, ready to fight.

Except he’s not, and his legs feel like jelly, and everything hurts. Tails is barely hanging onto the couch, barely able to stand, and something like fear is ingrained in every movement he makes.

The footsteps stop, and Tails’ head swivels. Wrong move, because the dizziness gets worse, and his body can’t keep up. His legs give out from under him, and Tails falls to the floor.

“Oh my gosh, Tails– calm down, it’s okay–” The voice speaks. Feminine, sweet, caring. Amy. And that makes sense, considering he’s in her house, sleeping on her couch, whacking his head on her coffee table. Hands are on his arms, probably about to pick him up, “Oh goodness, did you hit your head?”

The hands grip him firmer, arms wrapping around him. But Tails isn’t thinking clearly, and he knows that, but that doesn’t stop him from acting on impulse. He wriggles, feet kicking back and arms flailing, “Let– let me go! Let me go!” 

For good measure– or bad measure, really– his jaws snap, trying to grab hold of something, anything, that would make whoever’s holding him let go , and for all intents and purposes, it works. He can’t tell what he just bit, but the offender lets out a “Ow, ow ow ow ow!” and the arms around him loosen, which he then uses to his advantage to scurry out of them and towards a wall, carried forward by pure adrenaline.

The wall is cream coloured, and he’s not sure where to go from here, so he just turns his back to the wall and scoots, inevitably reaching a corner in some place. He’s not in the living room anymore, and the tiles under his feet signal he’s either in the bathroom or the kitchen. 

Footsteps run towards him, and he flinches, not sure what causes him to do so, but he knows that he’s scared and the familiar environment isn’t his own, which automatically makes it too unfamiliar for his liking.

Tails’ fur is puffed up, and something unhelpful in the back of his mind supplies that he doesn’t, in fact, look intimidating in the slightest like this, because foxes have to reach puberty before they look big. He hasn’t even reached the stage where his voice stops squeaking after most sentences.

A blurry pink figure crashes into the room with him, clutching their hand, and he knows this person- this person, who… who who who- because he knows them, he knows her, but he’s not in the right state of mind and something isn’t computing. Why isn’t his head working?

His hands find his head, clutching it hard, pulling on fur that’s definitely shedding from stress right now. For good measure, he clenches his hands into a sort-of-fist, palm out but fingers curled, and starts hitting the side of his head, as if that would get his thoughts out right. It staves off the headache for a bit, so he must be doing something right, he thinks, so Tails keeps doing it.

And then everything stops. His hands are pulled away from his face. There’s no more footsteps. His breathing stutters in his chest.

“...Tails? Can you hear me?”

Logically, he knows his body is acting on instinct. It’s trying to play dead, to keep whatever just grabbed him from mauling him even further.

But they haven’t mauled him at all. They’ve just grabbed him, to keep him from hitting himself, and– ah, it’s very difficult to form a thought when there’s a distinct lack of oxygen, now. He’s not breathing. Tails isn’t breathing.

Something- someone- shifts in front of him, bubblegum pink, spikey, but he can’t put pictures to words and vice versa right now. “Oh my goodness, oh my– okay, okay, Tails, you have to breathe, come on– please start breathing, oh, you haven’t died, have you? Please tell me you’re okay–”

One of the hands that was latched onto his arms lets go, instead placing emphasis on his chest. Tails lets it, because he’s still scared and confused and ready to fight, but now he’s scared, confused, ready to fight, and tired . That might be the oxygen thing. Maybe a mixture of the oxygen deprivation and how hard he was fighting earlier. 

The hand on his chest rubs it slightly, and his hand is placed on top of the other person’s chest. It’s moving, rising up and down, and incentivises him to do the same. Air fills his lungs, and it’s so relieving, like water on a sore throat. Tails lets his breath leave his chest, and then repeats the motions of inhaling again.

He stays like that for a few minutes, and soon his mind catches up with his body, and he’s not in any danger. Tails sighs, shorter breaths more comfortable now that he knows that he doesn’t need to fight anymore, and he dares to take a look at his pursuer.

Tails’ cheeks flare, blue eyes meeting green as he realises just what exactly he’d done in front of Amy, Amy Rose, one of his best friends and basically sister– and his eyes drift down to one of her hands, the one that wasn’t on his chest, where blood is slowly but surely seeping through her glove.

“I–” The raspiness of his voice surprises himself, and he has to force down a cough, “I’m– sorry… I’m sorry.”

“Shh… it’s okay. You were just scared.”

His head shakes on its own psychological accord, and it makes him a little dizzy as a result. Amy responds in kind, hand that was on his chest moving to cup his face instead. “It’s not– not an excuse, you’re…”

“Tails, it’s fine. I’ll bandage it up later.”

“‘S not okay.”

Amy rolls her eyes, although it’s not just out of frustration. That much he can tell. Still, he dips his head, losing the will to look her in the eyes. The hand moves away from his face, and briefly, Tails misses the contact.

That’s until he’s lifted off the floor by the hands, one arm supporting his legs and the other tucking him into Amy’s chest. His tails hang limply below him– not like he has the energy to move them– and weakly, he grips her red dress. 

They go like that back to the living room, back where this had all started, and Amy gently lays him down back onto her couch. She makes a point to not press her hand against it, probably worrying about getting it stained, and uses her good hand to move the blanket over Tails again.

He doesn’t protest, both far too weak after that burst of pure adrenaline, and far too guilty after biting Amy. Tails just cuddles into the blankets, teary eyes pressing against the pillows to make sure nothing runs down his face in front of his friend. 

Footsteps are the only indication that Amy leaves the room, presumably getting bandages to wrap her hand up. 

The first thing he notices, now that he’s in his right head, is that the cushions are overly squishy. That’s fine with Tails, really– they’re nicer to hug and sink his head into, although they rub against his fur a little weirdly. But he’ll take what he’s given, especially since they smell like strawberries. That’s his fourth favourite scent.

The next thing he picks up on is that while the house looks fairly well-organised, there’s a few things amiss. A few photographs have been taken from the walls, a poster from her wall of victories was taken down, and on the table are a few tarot cards that are scattered in such a way that’s pretty unusual, considering how spiritual Amy is.

It’s enough to put him on edge, but not enough to override the exhaustion settling in his bones. His ear flicks as footsteps return to the room, and the gentle thudding is almost enough to relax him completely.

A hand is placed on his head, and his eyes open– he doesn’t even remember closing them– to see Amy right in front of him. She’s blurry, and he can barely make out the green eyes amongst the pink and reds of her, but he thinks that he’s still staring in them anyways. And she seems to accept that, hand moving to pet his head. 

There’s a comfortable silence for a few seconds– or minutes, he can’t tell– but the room turns more comfortable when Amy speaks again. “Oh, you poor thing… I think you have a fever.”

Tails opens his mouth to speak, but instead of words, all that comes out is a hum. It’s broken, and sounds almost like a whine, but calling it a whine is far more embarrassing. His tongue feels almost hollow in its uselessness, refusing to move. 

Amy, though, stays patient, and he works through it, as if he were physically opening up his mouth and chest, manually taking the words from his heart and moving them to his voice box. It’s still grating and feels like he’s throwing up rather than speaking, but eventually, he’s able to ask the one thing he needs to know now . “...Where’s–” He coughs, “Where’s Sonic?”

She shifts in front of him, hand hesitating for a few seconds. It returns shortly, though, and Tails doesn’t need to see Amy to know she’s trying to put on a brave front. “Do you not remember what happened?”

“What… happened? What happened?” He blinks, realising he repeated himself, and his head pangs from talking too loud and too fast. A migraine, it seems. It makes sense, and he definitely made it worse by being so active earlier.

The sigh that comes from Amy pulls Tails out of his thoughts. It’s deep and resounding, and if he were more sure of himself at this moment, he’d call it sad. “Right, fogginess in the head, that’s to be expected. Maybe you should go to sleep for a little bit longer, fairy.”

Tails hums, more steady now that he knows he can talk. That and his chest feels lighter at the nickname, something sweet that only she could think up. Even in his hazy head, he can remember the laughter that filled the kitchen as the two cleaned it up. 

He can remember licking sprinkles and butter off bread, and how he was told he was ‘doing it wrong,’ and how the sprinkles stuck to his nose. He’d been likened to fairy bread that day, childlike and lovable and sweet, according to Amy.

It made him feel fuzzy.

Why was he feeling bad before? He couldn’t remember.

Everything around him fades with his eyesight, along with the few core memories and mental capacity he’d maintained throughout whatever he’d just gone through; the only tether to the physical world he keeps is the reassuring hand that’s still petting down his fur.

When he can feel his body again, everything is gross and icky– moreso than he remembers it being. His fur is greasy, and he definitely hasn’t bathed in a few days, because he knows that he and Sonic were meant to grab groceries before the fight. Because his brother was a total jerk and used the last of his special soap, the one specifically made for fur, that–

Before the fight. 

The fight.

His ears flick, and suddenly the world comes alive around him, smells hitting his nose and muffled sounds around the house. Flickies chirp around the house, and although it’s familiar, it’s not his house he’s in.

Which makes sense. He didn’t come home after the fight. The fight where he totally got annihilated. The fight where he got annihilated after his brother stopped breathing .

He needs to find Sonic.

Tails didn’t remember much of what happened after the fight– or even during it, really, the most vivid memory just being the fact that his head had hit the ground hard, and the way he had willed his lungs to stop moving for just enough time to play dead.

That’s probably why he’s here, right now, then. Sonic– Sonic wouldn’t have died, not like that. He probably just wanted to find the quickest place to give Tails medical assistance.

A twinge of guilt finds its way in his chest at the thought of making Sonic think he’s dead, but– well, serves him right. After the scare he gave Tails and everything. And he’s already annoyed at the thought of his brother giving him some sort of lecture, because only Sonic would have enough audacity to get mad at him for something like that, and after making Tails think he was dead for a few scary minutes.

He’s annoyed enough to want to stand, and he vaguely remembers standing earlier– yesterday? Maybe yesterday– and how poorly that went for him. None of the details, but enough to know that he probably needs to apologise to Amy for wrecking her house.

Standing now is a much more accomplishable feat. His feet are only a little unsteady under him, and even though his head is a little fuzzy, Tails can accommodate for that by grabbing the back of the couch he was just laying on.

His ears flick, taking in his senses and surroundings, gets a good grip on himself, and then he takes a few steps towards the kitchen. He passes by photographs– some, oddly enough, have been taken down, and he remembers taking a note of that before he passed out earlier– and a little shrine that he doesn’t quite stop to look at, too invested in a different mystery now that he’s working a bit better.

The muffled sounds that were coming from the kitchen– things he’d originally passed off as white noise, or maybe a really disgruntled picky– formed into words, and words into voices. Tails keeps to himself, standing just before the curtain that leads to the kitchen. It’s a creamy pink, like a lot of the accents in the house, and it’s too thick to make out any figures.

Luckily, whoever’s talking doesn’t seem to notice his shadow, so he angles his ears just right and listens into the conversation.

“–even do? Even going as far as to get Chaos on their side, that’s pretty scary, y’know?” The voice is subdued, a little on the higher pitched side, but still too foreign to be considered masculine or feminine.

“We would’ve beaten him.” Another voice interrupts. Brash, tinged with a slight anger, and definitely Knuckles. Tails feels a breath escape him in excitement, hearing one of his best friends in the same house as him. “Had the Master Emerald not taken care of it, we would’ve done it.”

As usual, he doesn’t leave any room for argument. There’s a moment of pause, and then, “Alright. Let’s go over the facts, then. We can figure out how to take this on, one step at a time.” Amy’s voice, just as sure as Knuckles’– albeit a bit softer, a bit kinder. 

“Right. I came back after the future I went back to ended up being totally messed up. Completely destroyed. People were terrified, the sky was red, and…” They take a moment, “...people were dying. Fighting for their lives, yes, but ultimately losing. I came back, but I couldn’t find Sonic, so I went to find Knuckles instead. That’s where I learnt about… everything that’s happened the past few days.”

“Yeah. I was planning on calling you before Silver showed up. That’s when I took the Master Emerald, and now I’m here.” Knuckles affirms, and Tails can’t see what he’s doing, but he can imagine that his arms are crossed tightly against his chest.

Amy hums. “Where is the Emerald, by the way?”

“In a bunker. Found it under the city that we dropped down at. It was completely abandoned, I don’t think it’ll be found for a long time, if at all.” A beat of silence, in which Tails can infer Knuckles is doing a motion. “That’s where I’ll be staying, unless I see it fit to move locations with the Master Emerald.”

Tails blinks, the implications of the conversation hitting him. The Master Emerald was here? That meant Angel Island had fallen, which meant Knuckles had felt threatened enough to come down to the ground. Jeez– whoever had beaten them up must’ve really been powerful. Not that it was unheard of, of course, considering he had gotten the help of some pretty powerful people, but still… 

His head hurt, possibilities starting to swirl now that he had proper access to his mind. Maybe Sonic was already out and fighting. It’d make sense, his brother wasn’t exactly known for his patience. 

Or maybe Sonic was just taking it easy. He did get hit pretty hard– harder than Tails, did, for sure. He’s not entirely sure how badly they were both injured, the fight still foggy in his mind. The only thing he really remembered was running into it after Sonic stopped breathing.

But Tails knew Sonic couldn’t possibly be dead. Too many times where his brother would bounce back almost immediately, too many times where he had to put his complete and total blind faith in him, and too many times where Sonic would reassure him that he was just worrying too much; too many of those instances where Tails now knew better.

His brother was a force of nature.

“Yep! Helped him move in myself. The Master Emerald will be safe from this entity’s allies, too, since it dissolves them.” The foreign voice speaks again, and Tails tries really hard to think of who they sound like, because he knows that voice. He’s talked to them on more than one occasion.

Something shifts on the other side of the curtain. “That’s good. We might need to utilise that, Knuckles. It could be integral to keeping us safe during… all of this.” Amy proposes, and yeah– disintegrating the other team’s allies is a good idea. But they were already safe, weren’t they? Sure, maybe things looked bad, but they’d all team up and beat the odds. They always did. “You found a Chaos Emerald with Chaos, too, right?”

“Mhmm. We think that might be why Chaos was able to get so close to the Master Emerald, despite whatever ailment might be… causing him to disappear.” Knuckles sighs. “...I understand that. About the Master Emerald. As long as it stays safe.”

“Of course. We’ll make sure of it.”

“Yep!”

Tails is just about ready to open the curtain and join the conversation, maybe give a few pointers on the plan, but then–

“So… what about Tails?”

His hand pauses from where it hovers over the curtain, where he was planning to grab the material and pull it open. What about him? He was right here, wasn’t he?

Amy hums, and there’s notes of sadness in it, which is only solidified when she next speaks. “...I’ll figure something out. I know he’s probably smart enough to live on his own, but…”

“He’s just a kid.” The unfamiliar voice agrees. “Grief is a hard process for children.”

Ignoring the absolute insult that the phrase “he’s just a kid” stirred inside his stomach, Tails blinks. Grief? What grief ? He’s not grieving anything. Well, no, that’s a lie, right now he’s grieving his house, and his own space, and probably some food. He’s definitely missing some food.

“I think he should stay with Amy for now.” Knuckles grunts, “Underestimating Tails is not a wise decision, but if we’re being honest, I don’t know how he’ll respond to this. You said he had amnesia last time you two spoke, yes?”

“Mhm. I don’t think it was that serious, to be fair, probably a symptom of his body regulating itself.” A fever? Tails didn’t remember having a fever, but then again, his mind was probably decently cut off from memories during that period. “That was, like, early yesterday.”

Yesterday. That made sense to Tails. He really needed to find a clock and figure out what time it was right now.

“And he’s still asleep?”

“Whatever happened took a lot out of him. When I first found him, he was barely conscious.” He doesn’t really remember Amy finding him, either, but he trusts her enough to believe what she’s saying. “He– um– he was the one that told me everything. Then he passed out. He’s been staying on my couch for the past three days.”

Three days. Three days since he’d seen Sonic, and three days of being fever-ridden on poor Amy’s couch. He’d have to give her an IOU or something. Amy continues, “He also went kind of crazy yesterday. I think he was too out of it to realise where he was, and he ended up biting my hand pretty hard.”

Oh, he definitely needs to pay her rent. Guilt swarms in his belly, as if the ever-persistent butterflies in his stomach were curling up and dying, and his mind conjures up ideas to make money to pay her back.

“I see. His mind could have been in ‘fight mode.’ That happened more when I was younger. Especially when I had been knocked unconscious.” Tails supposed what Knuckles was saying made sense, especially considering how serious everyone was acting about his ‘serious condition.’ “When he next wakes up, he will need to be made aware of everything.”

“You can’t force him to understand everything right now, Knuckles.” Amy’s tone holds some sort of ingenuine annoyance, “Sonic is– was– is his legal guardian. His brother. He’s going to be scared and confused if he has to relearn about his brother’s… death.”

And Tails has to laugh. Because Sonic? Death? Those two don’t mix. Sonic is far too persistent for that sort of commitment. Death couldn’t keep up with him, not in the way Tails or Shadow or life could. He has to laugh.

So why isn’t he laughing?

“I understand that, but… Knuckles could be right. He’ll need to know eventually, and I’m certain we’ll only prolong his suffering by prolonging the time we tell him.”

“Silver,” Silver? When did Silver get here? Why was Silver here? Things were clicking in his brain, things he didn’t want to correlate, “I’m not saying we don’t tell him at all. I’m saying that it’s just… he just needs time. Let’s give him a little bit before we drop that bomb shell. Just enough time for him to recover from everything else.”

The room stays quiet, and then Knuckles hums. “Alright. If that’s what you think is best.”

“You both know him better than me. I’m sure you two would understand what should be done.”

There’s a few noises of approval from the other two, and Tails– Tails can’t bring himself to move. He can’t bring himself to move, and suddenly, he’s that scared little kid again, knees locking up and shivering along with the rest of his tiny frame. Because this can’t be real. This can’t be.

Sonic can’t be dead.

That’s his brother. That’s his brother . Sonic can’t be dead.

But he watched it happen, didn’t he? Tails saw Sonic die. No amount of insistence could escape that logic. But Sonic said he couldn’t die, because Tails needed him. And Sonic doesn’t lie– no amount of logic could escape that emotional reasoning.

Something was off.

Something was wrong .

Why couldn’t he remember most of the battle that had taken place? He remembered bits and pieces– who was there, how it looked, Sonic’s “death–” death? With no quotations?– “death.” He remembers running in at the last second. 

He doesn’t remember what happened after running in. He’d assumed he just got hit really hard, it used to happen a lot when he was younger. Younger, before Sonic met him, when people would hit and punch and he wouldn’t remember much of the day after that.

But this was different. 

Something was wrong.

Sonic can’t be dead.

Tails can still replay the exact moment in his mind when he watched Sonic stop breathing. 

The curtain opens. 

The curtain? What curtain? Why is there a curtain in front of him? 

“...Oh. Oh, Tails .” His head snaps up, watching Amy’s eyes morph into that of shock, then horror, then sadness. “Can you… are you–”

Her hand finds its way on his head, and– he remembers this. He remembers this from yesterday, where she needed to calm him down. The pets felt so nice against his too-hot-too-cold frame.

They still feel nice now. 

He thinks, anyway. His head feels floaty, so he’s not entirely sure.

Silver and Knuckles’ eyes are on him, and he has the humility to feel self-conscious. His ears fold against his head, and his eyes gaze downward. “...Sorry for listening in on your conversation.”

 “Don’t worry about it, kid.” Knuckles immediately replies. “It’s not like you weren’t going to be made aware sooner or later.”

“So much for letting him relax, though,” Silver rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “At least the bandaid was ripped off.”

Tails can only laugh, because none of this feels real. His voice sounds airy and wrong, even to him, but it’s better than not being able to speak at all. “Um… sorry about yesterday, Amy. I think it was yesterday, you mentioned it being yesterday, anyways. I– I’m not sure what happened. But I really am sorry, I can– um– repay you, I’m sure.”

The hand on his head pauses, and then moves to scratch just behind his ear. It feels really nice. “Don’t worry about it, buddy. You were just acting on fear, I should’ve realised that before trying to touch you.”

“Please let us know before you go feral though! I don’t wanna be bitten.” Silver adds, and Knuckles punches the other’s arm while Amy’s head swivels to give him a dirty look. “What? I don’t wanna be bitten! It’s a genuine ask!”

That pulls an actual giggle from him. “I– I’ll try. I don’t think I was in my right mind yesterday…” Tails winces, partly because Silver is rubbing the spot he was punched in and partly because that’s only half of the story. There’s something he’s missing. “But, really, I appreciate the thought you guys had. I’m– I know it’s not a whole lot, but I’ll help you all with whatever’s going on.”

Knuckles smirks. “That’s the spirit, kid. Now, if you guys don’t mind, I have to get back to the Emerald. Being away from it for so long could be lethal. Especially since it’s not on Angel Island anymore.”

“Alright. Make sure to keep your communicator on you, though. We’re going to need to stay in close contact throughout these next few weeks.” Amy nudges him, and there’s something personal, like an inside joke that only her and Knuckles know, hidden in that sentence. “I mean it.”

“I’ll be sure to watch his communicator for him!” Silver nods resolutely, floating to follow Knuckles past Tails and out towards the foyer. “I’ll probably be staying with him for a while, since I don’t… really have anywhere else to stay here.”

There’s a grunt that he doesn’t have to see to know it’s coming from a very disgruntled red echidna who definitely didn’t make that arrangement beforehand. Tails sighs. “I’ll be messaging you guys, too. I’ll figure something out.”

The door creaks open, and he’s a little surprised to see that it’s nighttime outside– the sky is dark, and the only things that illuminate the entrance are the streetlights and the stars.

“Bye you guys! See ya around!” Silver’s hand waves enthusiastically, speedy, and Tails muses about the logistics of his arm being used as a propeller at the speeds it was going.

Knuckles is a lot more apt. “Later.” He calculates it to be about 3% possible, but he could prove to be 57% if he learns to do Tails’ trade secret. 

The door shuts by the time Tails loses interest in the idea altogether, not entirely convinced that Silver could pull off the mechanics behind his own means of flight. It just leaves Amy and him in the house together, alone, and there’s a somewhat awkward silence that permeates throughout the building.

“So– how about dinner?” Amy, of course, is the one to break it. “You haven’t eaten in a while, I’m sure. Unless you gained consciousness halfway through your fever to raid my ridge, haha!”

Now that there’s no distractions, Tails can hear how strained her voice is. It makes him feel slightly guilty, because he knows her, and he knows she’s just doing it so he doesn’t panic. “Yeah… I guess I haven’t. I’m fine with whatever, really. I can help you cook, too, of course.”

Amy’s hand waves dismissively. “Nonsense. You still need to rest, mister, don’t think that just because things have changed it means I’m gonna let you get away with overworking yourself.”

He sighs, feeling the resigned smile make its way on his face. “Well, it was worth a shot.” Tails says, dramatically, as if she’d caught him stealing out of the metaphorical cookie jar. “I’m not sure how I’ll ever recover from this.”

“Harr, harr. If you wanna help, go set the table for two. I’ll make soup. Matzo Ball or French Onion?”

Tails watches her as she disappears into her own kitchen, and he has to think about it for a moment before remembering he doesn’t particularly care for onions. “...Matzo Ball, please.”

“Alrighty! You’ve been in my house plenty, you know where everything is, right?”

“Right.” And he does, as he ducks around the curtain and spins his tails just hard enough to pick himself up off the floor and reach one of the higher cabinets. Her plates aren’t anything special, just plain white– and he realises that they’ll probably do better with a bowl, if she’s making soup. So he puts the plates back and reaches for the bowls, instead, grabbing two and dropping down from where he was afloat.

The silence has returned, but it’s more comfortable now that both of them are doing their own respective tasks. It gives Tails a chance to think, with a clear mind now that his brain has had more time to process everything.

Sonic was dead. And there was something going on with his own brain, because he’s absolutely sure that this has nothing to do with some sort of concussion he might have sustained during the fight.

Tails is pretty sure this is the first stage of grief. He read somewhere it’s pretty normal to be in a state of shock, where nothing feels entirely real around him. The book called it a part of the denial process. So that might explain his weird head, then.

He hopes it does, anyway. He really, really hopes it does.

But then, the book didn’t mention anything about forgetting the entire experience 3 days after it had happened. And that would be a pretty significant part of the process, he’d think.

The cutlery is in one of the lower drawers, so he doesn’t have to fly to get that. But he’s too short to see into it, so Tails just grabs at random and miraculously ends up with two spoons. He grabs again and ends up with a few forks, as well, just for good measure, and puts the extras back in the drawer where he thinks they go.

So, that leaves a mystery to be had. What is going on with his brain, and why is he so on edge? Why can’t he remember?

He’d have to do more research, he realises, halfway through folding a napkin. Maybe after dinner, he’ll grab the Miles Electric and speed read a few articles. Maybe he’ll use that as an escapism for the rest of the night, too. Tails has always liked researching.

Somehow, though, the thought feels less appealing.

The table is properly set by the time he notices how tedious researching sounds at the moment. He doesn’t feel like doing much of anything.

Perhaps he should look into that, too, Tails thinks, moving the napkins to be perfectly in-line with the edges of the table. He needs to look into a lot of things. The library might be a good place to go to. Generally, he doesn’t have to force himself to study things, but… well, this might just be a special instance. Although it might not be a good idea for him to go outside if the world is in danger. Not without supervision– lest he get kidnapped and used as a hostage for–

For.

For?

Tails sighs.

He needs to research what’s going on with his head, first. Figure out why he’s being so… off. More off than he’s supposed to be at this time. And then, and only then, will he come to terms with what happened. That’s all he needs, information.

It’s going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Amy slips out of bed, changes into a red tank top, black yoga pants, and white socks that are lined with the cutest red hearts, with gloves that match. She puts on a nazar amulet necklace, too, after gracing it for a few seconds.

Then, she grabs a few strawberry scented incense sticks, rolls out a cream-coloured yoga mat, and settles herself down in a cross legged position. From here, she can perfectly reach the bottom shelf of her nightstand, which holds a few items essential to her morning routine. First was an eternal lighter– a gift she’d gotten from Blaze, said to never run out of flame. Amy’s not entirely sure how that’s possible, but it still works to this day, so she can’t really refute that.

Next is a pot to hold the incense in, which had been made herself in a pottery class she’d taken with Vanilla once. It was a little wonky, with a dent from where she’d pressed too hard in the side, and the cusp of it was slanted, but it worked perfectly fine. Lastly, she grabbed her favourite pack of tarot cards, which were a pretty purple with faux-hold lining. She’s had these for a while, and the pack feels so natural in her hand when she holds it that sometimes she forgets it’s even there.

Now, however, Amy simply opens the box and slides the cards out, hands lifting the cards to lightly kiss the top of them in a silent blessing. Then, she places them in front of her on the yoga mat, and takes her three incense sticks.

Amy lights all three of them, the scented smoke lazily drifting around, and then she places them in the pot, moving it to the right of the tarot card deck in the corner of the mat.

When it’s all set up, she places her hands on her knees. This routine is so natural, at this point, having done it since she was a little girl. Amy closes her eyes. Yes, when she was a little girl… 

She’d often play in lush green grass and pick flowers. There’d been butterflies– large ones, ones that would flutter around her when she rolled around. Blue, red, orange, all the colours of the rainbow would accompany her when she was playing.

Her mother only liked it when she went out on sunny days, so that’s what little Amy did. It rained fairly often, too, because the Kingdom of Mercia was next to the ocean. That was okay, though, because her mother’s home was cozy and warm, and had lots of different things for a kid to do. 

Amy’s favourite had always been painting. She’d adore the greens, the purples, the pinks, the rainbows she could create. Colours were beautiful. That was something she’d always appreciate.

And, of course, she could ask her cards questions if she ever got too lonely. Back then, she’d ask silly simple questions– “How was your day today?” She’d ask the cards, and sometimes they’d respond with The Sun. She’d always taken it as a bright, special, something magical.

Sometimes they’d respond with Temperance, too, and a multitude of other cards, but those were the two they responded with the most. Younger Amy wasn’t quite as knowledgeable with custom rituals, and usually only pulled one card at a time. But it worked all the same.

Amy takes a deep breath in, keeping her eyes closed in a meditative manner for a few seconds longer. It always helped to visualise fond memories before she started a day, and she read somewhere online that it reduced stress, which reduces wrinkles. So what was the harm in trying? 

It’s not like she needs any more stress in her life right now, anyways.

Her eyes open, and her hand finds the card stack closest to her. The cards don’t do anything, just comply with the laws of reality, and that’s just fine with Amy. She just slides the first card off the top of the pile, and then the second, and then the third.

She places them in her favourite formation. One in the left-most position, which signifies the past. Typically, the direct past, usually reserved for something that had just happened and what the reading was supposed to be about. Amy could think of some use for this position currently, but mostly, it’s just a force of habit.

The middle position is supposed to represent the present. The now. Often she turned to this card for answers she wanted– because, obviously, even though all cards are important for the reading, it’s important to live in the here and now. That’s what Sonic had taught her.

And, lastly, the farthest right position. The future. This card reminded her a lot of the adventures she’s had so far– able to destroy or create on a dime, where one small detail is enough to change the course of design. And this card was important because of that, because no matter how miniscule she felt sometimes, she knew this future was depending on the collective whole of all of them.

Amy takes a deep breath in, staring at the assortment she has in front of her, and then flips over the right card. There’s no question her mind can conjure up.

The Tower stares right back at her. She knows this card well. Meant to be symbolic of misery and tragedy, The Tower was something that often found its way into this particular spot due to just how many adventures start with something terrible happening. 

Usually, this could be fixed. But Amy’s not entirely sure how this reading could turn around, this time. She’s not sure if she wants it to turn around.

Next, she turns the middle card. The Moon awaits her, and she stares at it with confusion, then understanding. A difficult period. Amy can understand that– no, she does understand that. The Moon represents fear, confusion, or mental instability, culminating in a dark time. That was something that everyone was going through right now.

She places the card back onto the mat, sighing. One card left. Silently, she prays that maybe it could shed just the tiniest sliver of hope onto the otherwise drab set that had been picked for her, and then her hand moves on top of it.

Amy hesitates, long enough to wonder if she even wants to finish this reading– but then, it would be disrespectful not to. So she solidifies herself, prepares for the worst, and turns the card over.

The Lovers– reversed.

So much for the hope, she thinks, trying to fit the pieces together in her mind. On its own, The Lovers card is a symbol of unity and partnership. Often, and a lot of the time, it’s a platonic love. Reversed, however, is– well, the reverse of that. Disharmony and those ideals scattering.

Deciding that the reading was finished, and too disheartened to continue anyways, Amy shuffles the cards back into a stack, and then places them back into their holder. She blows out the incense, too, rolling up her mat and sticking it right back where it belongs.

Amy stands up, swaying only a little bit due to the sudden force of it, but eventually finding her balance. Her hands instinctively brush off her legs, making sure not a speck of dust ends up staying on them, and makes sure nothing got on her gloves. 

With her pre-morning routine complete, Amy sighs and lightly walks to her door– a habit she’s picked up from the adventures she’s gone through. Only those with sensitive hearing would be able to hear. Her doorknob similarly doesn’t squeak when she turns it, nor does her door creak on its hinges when it opens. 

She makes her way down the stairs quickly and quietly, having stayed in this house for a good long while and being familiar with the layout. It’s quiet downstairs, too, and for a moment she can convince herself that everything is at peace in the world.

And then that moment’s over, and she startles as an orange lump on the couch unrolls, and Amy’s reminded– yeah, there’s someone living with her now. She steps over to her friend, who’s rubbing his eyes and looking as tired as ever, and leans down to look at him better.

He looks… rough. When he’d been found, he had multiple bruises spanning under his orange fur that was stained with blood and dirt. Amy had almost thought he wasn’t breathing– he barely was, really. 

Despite this, he was already getting better physically. His fur was still matted, and he still needed a few more bandaids here and there, but he looked a lot more like he was breathing, and that was enough. 

“Hey, Tails. Are you feeling okay? Need me to get you anything?” Amy makes sure to keep her voice down, already too aware of how delicate his hearing and overall mental state is.

For his part, he just looks up groggily, eyes still the same dull hue they’ve been for the past few days, like a sky that’s not quite grey with clouds, but not quite bright with sunshine either. It makes her feel a little sad, but she ignores that feeling in her chest, because the last time she acted on it, she had a not-so-nice experience with canine teeth.

Tails sniffs the air for a bit, and she’s not sure he even realises he’s doing it before he stares at her. He seems to process her, and then her question, and then he nods his head in what she can reasonably assume is a “yes, I’m fine, don’t worry.”

He doesn’t even try to open his mouth, so she doesn’t make him. Amy just puts her hand on his shoulder and rubs it slightly. Tails doesn’t resist, so she smiles at him and holds it there for a few seconds more before letting go. “Do you want breakfast? I have some Belgian waffle mix somewhere. Or we have some leftover Matzo Ball soup. If you’re feeling like it.”

There’s a hum from him, non-committal in the way she should’ve expected. That’s fine, though, she takes it in stride and hums back, knowing that’s the best course of action for her to do, anyways. “Alright. I’ve got a few errands to run, so how about I make the waffles, leave them on the stove, and then you can eat them whenever you’re feeling like it? Does that sound okay?”

“...Yes,” Tails replies, and it’s rough and sore and sounds really bad. Poor kid probably didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. “Thank you.”

Amy smiles, half happy she got a reply and half concerned about the broken speech, but fully content with the answer. “Don’t mention it. We’ve got a big few days ahead of us, now. You gotta eat.”

The reminder slips out of her mouth, almost natural in the way she’s been saying it for the majority of the past week. That doesn’t make it any less painful when she realises what she’s said, but Amy swallows the hurt and turns to the kitchen.

What she doesn’t expect is for Tails to follow her, but then, she really should have. It’s for the best, anyways, considering it would be wise to have him grow just a little more comfortable in the house. So that’s fine, as long as there’s no freak outs like yesterday.

And there isn’t. Breakfast passes by without a hitch– the both of them content to just eat the pancakes right as they come off the maker, leaving the least amount of mess possible– and Amy only has to prepare a little bit before she’s out of the house with strict instructions to contact her if anything– anything – goes wrong.

When she opens the door, the air is surprisingly warm and clean. Amy should’ve expected it, really, considering it’s the middle of June and nothing world-changing really occurred, which is a horrifically bitter thought that she just doesn’t feel like coping with yet. 

So she doesn’t. Amy sighs, as if emotions could simply leave like the air in her lungs, and heads towards the door with one final check around to make sure she looks okay, that her house will too when she gets back.

Her first order of business is to visit a few people. Now that– well, now that things have changed, some surrounding areas have been more alert. Nothing too big, but of course, Amy has always been the one with the most diplomacy in their little group, and would always be the one to reassure the public.

The grass of her front lawn turns to sidewalk as she keeps trekking along, with nothing terribly in her way. The bushes have always been overgrown just enough to keep the sidewalk big enough for only one person, but no one’s walking along with her, so that’s fine. 

Soon, the sidewalk changes back into grass. It’s only about a 15 minute walk from her house, but in fairness, her house is just a smidge in the borders of city limits, so it’s not terribly surprising to her that most of the sidewalks just end in trails only made seeable by the hundreds of mobians who walked the path before her.

Which leads Amy to the house in front of her. It’s a quaint home, though larger than hers, with a tan colour painted over the bricks that is oh-so-very fitting for those inhabiting it.

Everything about it is circular, too, which accentuates the oak door in front of her that she knocks on. It fits well with the people inside. Two kind and loving individuals that flow well with everyone– almost the essence of a circle.

She’s interrupted from her weirdly soothing thoughts that equate her friends as shapes by the door opening. Vanilla’s warm face greets her, smiling in such a way that makes Amy feel all warm and fuzzy inside, if only for a little bit. The inviting apple-cinnamon scent of the house matches her tone as she politely ushers Amy inside with, “Come in, come in! How are you?”

Amy smiles. “I’m doing… I’m not doing well, I’m afraid.” She finishes lamely, deciding she’d rather tell the truth than to lead her friend into a false sense of security. “Where is Cream? I… have some news I need to tell you about. I think it’s best if you tell her yourself.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, dear.” Vanilla frowns, her gaze taken off of the kitchen to look Amy in her eyes, before shifting to the door on her right. “Cream’s playing with her friends from across the street, right now. She might be in or out, but you’ll be able to hear if she comes in. The door is squeaky.” She wears a smile as they both sit down.

Together, they fold their hands into their laps, bowing their heads in sync before Vanilla picks up the teapot and carefully pours a fruity fragranced tea into two intricately crafted tea cups. “So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Amy’s mouth contorts, electing to take a sip of her tea before answering. She’d practised this speech multiple times in the mirror when she first found out about the news, so it should be a piece of cake. But looking someone in their eyes and saying it? That’s an entirely different story. At least with Knuckles, she didn’t have to worry about formalities. “I regret to inform you that… um. Sonic is no longer with us.”

There’s a silence that follows her words, and she dares to look up. Vanilla’s face is that of horror, her gloved hand held against her mouth. It’s endearing, she thinks, how even when faced with terrible news, the other still is the epitome of good manners.

“I… see. When was this?” The silence is broken by Vanilla, “May I ask how it happened?”

She nods. “It was a few days ago. He died fighting what appeared to be Eggman.” Amy sighs. There’s more to it than that– but she won’t burden the other with details. “It was a hero’s death.”

Vanilla smiles, eyes sorrowful and wet. “I’m sure it was. There’s no other way fitting for such a person.” 

And… yeah. She’s right. Sonic was just too good, too wonderful to have it any other way. He’d blush whenever she said it– out of embarrassment, of course, because that stupid hedgehog would never just hear her out. He would joke about how he’s the greatest thing to exist since sliced bread, but whenever someone actually told him it…

“Oh, dear…” Vanilla’s voice rings from across the table, and there’s a gentle hand that pulls her into an embrace. Amy hadn’t realised it before, but her eyes sting with tears that flowed down her face. She had promised herself she wouldn’t cry, but something about telling other people– their reactions, their hurt, their pain – it was too much. 

Her arms find their way around Vanilla. “I’m– I’m sorry. You’re one of the first people I’ve told, it’s all just… so much right now.” And she is– she knows she was going to be emotional throughout this, but it’s going to be difficult to tell everyone if they’re going to have to comfort her through this.

But she can feel Vanilla’s head shake next to hers. “You don’t have to be sorry. I understand.” If Amy strained herself, she could feel droplets dripping onto her red sundress. That, though, was neither here nor there.

Vanilla pulls away from the hug, keeping Amy at an arm’s length with a hand rested on her shoulder. “You need to rest and take time off, dear.”

It’s Amy’s turn to shake her head. “No, I can’t. I still have to tell people. It’s… personal. I know it can be said over text, but it’s just… not the same.”

“And that’s understandable. But you need more time to recover.” The other smiles, hand moving to cup Amy’s face. “Let me tell the others, please. I promise I’ll give each message the proper words he would have deserved.”

The silence that follows is filled only by Amy sniffling as she thinks it over. It would be nice to not have to tell anyone else. Is that… selfish? Maybe it is. But with the new hole in the structure of her universe, and having to look after Tails, as well as figuring out Eggman’s plan… 

“Okay.” Amy relents, smiling only a little. It’s out of politeness, really, but she knows Vanilla will accept it. “I’ll… I’ll leave it to you. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Vanilla just waves it off, as if she wasn’t offering to take the brunt of the grief and sorrow of what could potentially be hundreds of people. “You need this. Consider it done.”

For the rest of their time after, Amy tries to ignore the way Vanilla’s chin wobbles, or the crushing weight of their conversation constantly pushing on them like gravity. She only stays for a few minutes longer, enough to finish her tea and help with the dishes, before the front door squeaks open.

The sound of excited footsteps pitter-patter through the hall, and Amy doesn’t have to look to know that a very excited Cream has come home. “Mama! Mama, come quick– oh!” There’s a beat of silence, one that is filled with a quick hug, and then, “Hi Miss. Amy! What’re you doing here?”

Vanilla covers for her before she can even think about lying. “She was just over for some tea, dear.”

“Aw… is tea time over?” Amy watches as Cream wilts in front of her, grabbing the hem of her dress and fidgeting with it. “Did I miss it?”

The fidget reminds her that she has another child she has to account for today, but she brushes it off for now as she bends down to look the other in her eyes. “I’m afraid so. But we can have another tea time very soon, okay? Promise.”

Cream beams at this. “Okay! I’ll be sure to clean my hardest for next time!”

There’s a soft clearing of the throat from right next to the two, and Vanilla holds out a hand to her daughter. “I believe Amy will be off, then. She has a lot of things to attend to, so let’s say goodbye for now, alright?”

The meaning of ‘lots of things to attend to’ isn’t lost on Amy, but for Cream, she doesn’t show that the phrase could possibly hold any upsetting meanings. She just smiles and nods. “I’m afraid so. But I’ll be back for that tea!” She giggles, walking past the other two and towards the door as she waves. 

“Bye Miss. Amy! See you soon!” Cream yells excitedly. Amy doesn’t have to watch the two to know that Vanilla’s holding her tightly, preparing for a similarly long day.

With a lot less on her plate, all that’s left to do is… well, not much. She’d prepared for today the best she could. Amy supposes she could check up on Knuckles. Perhaps she’d call him.

That might help. They need to organise themselves. With the newest looming threat around the corner, it’d do no good to keep living day by day like this.

Eggman’s not going to wait forever. Amy’s not sure what’s taken him so long to start… well, taking over the world. He’s not usually the type to relish in such victory– he’d much rather try to snowball it further and further, until it inevitably blows up in his face.

Which means it’s planning time. 

Her feet stay walking on her path back to her home as she puts a finger to her chin, not caring about any strange looks she might get on the sidewalk. 

Amy’s not sure what they’re up against. Which means it might be time to confront Tails on everything that happened. More than his half-baked muttering from right after getting completely destroyed on the battlefield.

After she gets definitive answers, she’ll talk more with Silver to see if he can tell her everything he knows. Perhaps there’s a glimpse from the future that she can use to get intel.

And then…

…Then they’d take it from there. She’s not sure how many of their friends they’d need to assemble to defeat whatever’s going on. Not sure if they even have enough friends to do that.

As nice as “make more friends” would be to add to her new list, she can’t imagine a world in which making new friends to help take down what could very well be a very long battle would go down well. Still, she adds it to a separate category, just in case.

Keys jingling in her hands is enough to pull her out of her trance and staring at her front door, and the realisation that she was brainstorming so hard she didn’t even notice she made it home kind of worries her. After all, she has no idea what other people saw on the street. 

Sheepishly, she pushes open her door.

Tails is snoozing on the couch, probably still sleeping off any remnants of the fever he had. 

And Amy’s aware that she just now made the resolution to drill him for answers, but… well. He’s just too peaceful looking. She melts a little inside seeing him so calm, a luxury that’s far and inbetween, even disregarding the past few days.

So she lets him sleep, for now, and quietly steps around the couch and to the chair next to it.

She can’t do much without the information from Tails, but she can plan for more planning in the future.

This battle might be a long one, but it’s one she’s determined to be ready for.