Archive of Our Own

“No”. 

And that should have been that. Should have been the last he heard from Walters regarding the topic. Especially since this hadn’t been the first time he’d attempted to drag him into this, to throw one of his dull-witted lackeys at his feet in hopes he wouldn’t be able to digest their true intent. ‘ To help, serve and protect ’, his arse. More like to spy, hinder and annoy. He didn’t need nor want Big Brother to pester him with a babysitter. And he’d thought he’d made that quite clear the last five times Walters had brought it up. But apparently, he’d overestimated the man's intelligence, if he wasn’t even capable of understanding a simple two letter word. It was almost sad who they allowed into the military nowadays. You’d think they’d have higher standards. Noone could beat him of course, but a kindergarten level listening comprehension would have been appreciated.

“Yeah, I’d feared you’d say that”, he sighed, before rubbing the bridge of his nose in annoyance. 

As if he had any right. If anything, it should be Robotnik who was doing the rubbing. He’d wasted three minutes of his precious time with utter nonsense after all. Nonsense he was only still entertaining because he’d dragged the oh so very promising babysitters with him and into his lab this time around. As if seeing them in person could cause him to change his mind. Jokes on him, of course, for he didn’t mind telling people how unimportant and useless their very existence was. Whether they were standing right in front of him or not. 

“‘Thing is just, your opinion on the matter stopped being of importance a while ago.”

That got him to actually look up, to glare, his lip trembling with rage, as Walters just continued to babble on and on and on, like he hadn’t just disrespected him. Him ! And that in his own lab .

“Look, I don’t want to be here any more than you do, so could you just pick one of the agents so we can call it a day. Because if you don’t-”

He didn’t let him finish that sentence. Instead prompting to fire an electric voltage from his newest badnik. A voltage so high it made them all lose consciousness the second they got hit. Their useless fleshy bodies defiling his beautiful lab floor, as they finally embodied what they had meant to be all along: A waste of space.

Walters just sighed again, almost like he’d expected that outcome - like he should, maybe all hope wasn’t lost after all - before he turned around and - finally - left. 

When he returned the next day he was accompanied by a babysitter again. Singular this time. He wore the same dark suit as the rest. But his smile… Well, he had to give credit where credit was due. That one looked almost convincing. Almost, of course, because no one who knew who he was would willingly work for him. He’d made sure of that. Not that any of that would stop him from shooting the man. Which - spoiler - he did. Turning back around the second he gave the command, ready to hear Walters' annoyed groan, followed by a body being dragged. Except.... 

“It’s an honor working for you, Sir.”

Ha. Fascinating… Anyways, of course he shot him again, finally getting the result he’d wanted. 

“This is Agent Stone. From now on, he’ll be your bodyguard slash assistant slash whatever. I literally don’t care as long as you don’t kill him. I know you’re not happy about this, but the higher ups insisted, so please , I beg of you, try to at least pretend. For all our sake.”

“I’ve made my distaste and disinterest quite clear, Walters. So no, I don’t think I’m very willing to pretend to be a good little boy . Not for you and certainly not for them. Not like any of you hired me to be one in the first place. I guess I can try not to kill him …”, he grinned, “on purpose.” Ah yes, the sound of Walters' frustrated groan was quite the sweet melody indeed, “Not that it matters much anyways, since he won’t be my slash whatever for long. Give him two days, a week tops, before he comes crawling to you on all fours, whimpering about how he wasn’t fit for the task after all.” 

Agent Stone. Pah! The second he awoke from his beauty sleep, Ivo would let him mop the lab floor clean with his tongue. That would show him alright. Show him how honorfull working with Dr. Robotnik was truly going to be. He’d had his chance after all. Had had the opportunity to turn his back and leave his lab after that first shot hadn’t knocked him out. (Maybe he’d set the setting too low by accident? Not likely, but he’d double check later just to be sure.) But no. Instead he’d needed to prove how big of a man he could be. So fine. Congratulations. Two days, he’d told Walters, but that might have been too genuent of a time frame to begin with. More like two hours, perhaps. He was sure he’d be able to break that fool in no time. 

He didn’t need no bodyguard. His machines were perfect and adequately equipped to protect him no matter what. And an assistant? Ha! As if anyone came even close to holding a meaningful conversation with him. An assistant? He!? What a joke! He didn’t need anyone. And he especially didn’t need this Agent Stone fella. The sooner Stone understood that, the better for him. In fact, one could even argue he was doing the guy a favor. Because honestly? Which individual - sound in body or mind - would even want to be in close proximity to him. 

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He didn’t want to hear a word. Not a single word! For he, - Dr. Ivo Robotnik - was never wrong. You hear him? Never!! He might have just… miscalculated. That was all. Human beings were useless and unreliable. Had been. And would always be. So truly, how was he expected to know that this Agent Stone fella ended up being more masochistic than he could have ever seen coming. For clearly, there could be nothing else binding him to Robotnik but the sheer thrill of getting humiliated!

… Well... besides those rare and very few occasions where that didn’t occur, because he had - despite being a meaningless vermin - fulfilled a given task in an almost satisfactory manner. He supposed even lousy worms possessed the capability of understanding him once or twice in their life. And he figured that, even meager mouthbreathers could - and he needed to stress this, for it was of the utmost importance - sometimes be able to brew a solid cup of coffee. Sometimes, for, most of them still ended up being spat right back into that foul Agent's face. 

“Good morning, Doctor.”

Think of the devil. At least he was punctual, if nothing else. He’d hoped to make him tremble, keeping him in the lab for as long as he could, sometimes even bordering on 48 hours in his glorious presence, just for the chance to see this government bootlicker arrive a millisecond too late. Be it the building or his lab. And yet, even though his initial estimation had been crossed by a few … well… years, he’d - to this day - not been able to criticize him on that. Sometimes his curious mind wondered. Wondered about what ifs that were almost too tempting to reject. Like, for example, if he were to gag and tie him up somewhere, … would he be able to free himself on his own? Would he still be able to make it here on time? Walters wouldn’t be happy but… he didn’t really need to know, now did he? 

Robonik smirked as he reached for the cup that Stone had placed on his work bench. Said agent was still standing only a few feet away, silently appraising whether today would be another one of those days where he’d have to change his suit due to some unfortunate accident. Probably, Robotnik mused, before he turned, locking eyes with Stone as he took the first sip, and then... then he blinked.

“What is this?” He knew how he wanted his voice to sound—sharp, cutting, dismissive—but somehow, his vocal cords seemed to betray him. Now, of all times.

“Latte, with Steamed Austrian Goat Milk, Doctor”, Stone replied, his smile unwavering despite the slight quiver in his tone. “Is it … not to your liking? Because I can always try again.”

Robotnik raised a hand, resisting the urge to lick his lips for such a display would have only aided in making him look almost as foolish as Stone himself.
But, as much as he hated to admit it, this wasn’t just passable. Delete that. It was, in fact, the best coffee Stone had ever brought him. By a wide margin. Not that Stone needed to know that, of course. It was just luck, pure and simple. For even a blind chicken finds a kernel every now and then. And though Stone was more of a monkey than a chicken, the saying still applied. No doubt about it.

“This is what I want from now on. Try to serve me anything else and I’ll pour it down your windpipe. ‘You got that?”

And that fool—no, that imbecile, that sycophantic, otter-brained moron—he just smiled. Smiled as if Robotnik had bestowed upon him the highest compliment in the world.

“Of course, Doctor. I won’t let you down!”

And with that, he was gone, slipping out of the room before Robotnik could even begin to craft a reply that adequately captured how monumental a headache Stone’s mere presence caused him. Yes, the coffee was decent, maybe even good. And sure, Stone had taken over a lot of mind-numbing, bureaucratic tasks, allowing Robotnik to focus on what truly mattered: his machines. But still. Still! He didn’t need this man. Didn’t need a goat milk barista, didn’t need a secretary. He could build a machine twice as efficient—no, thrice as efficient as Stone—whenever he wanted! He just had better things to do than waste time on that.

That was all. Nothing more to it than that. Because, repeat after him, he didn’t need anyone. And he especially didn’t need Agent Stone.

...Even if the coffee was pretty damn good.

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"Not so cocky now, are we, Robotnik?"

"I don't think my intellect is remotely threatened by a filthy cockroach like you."

That earned him another punch to the gut, but rather than a grimace, Robotnik’s lips curled into a grin, wider than the one spreading across the rodent’s face. He refused to let this disgusting little vermin see how much that blow had affected him. No, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. This was why he detested working with humans—slimy, treacherous insects, only good for being crushed underfoot. Machines never betrayed him, never schemed behind his back. If only he’d been allowed to conduct this mission solo, relying solely on his own creations, he wouldn’t be in this predicament at all. He wouldn’t have been knocked out by the sleeping gas those treacherous agents filtered through the air vents.
But oh howdy , wasn’t it such a good thing that he’s had his most trustworthiest of trustworthy meatbags sitting right next to him? That heroic little bodyguard of his had - of course- proven worthy and eliminated the threat. … But, oh wait! He hadn’t , because he was just as useless as he’d always believed him to be. In fact, if he were to believe the manic ramblings of his gloating captors, he was all but dead. One of their more logical courses of action, if he had to say so himself. Stone was, after all, nothing but an unnecessary threat to their plans, that served them no further purpose. Disposed like yesterday's trash. He hadn’t really expected much of the man, but at least, he figured, he hadn’t been part of this treachery, so there was that. His corpse could rest knowing that he might have been the deadliest of dead weights, yes, but not a rat. 

"I'm sorry, but was that pathetic attempt at bodily harm supposed to intimidate me? Untie me, and I'll gladly demonstrate what true power looks like."

"You want bodily harm, you smug bastard? I'll—"

But the thug’s rant was cut short as he blinked, freezing in place. He turned to one of the other men in the room. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" asked Goon Number Two, oblivious to the fact that he’d just spoken his last words. The door burst open with a deafening explosion, followed by three precise shots that ended the lives of every man in the room, save one.

“Doctor!” 

There he was. His loyal little barnacle. Bloodied, disheveled, but undeniably alive. Huh.

“Doctor, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” Stone said, that infuriatingly earnest smile plastered across his face as he rushed to untie Robotnik. “I really am! But I’m just not as brilliant as you, and it took me longer than expected to trace the signal from your control glove back to this location.”

He had done what now? Not many would even know how to do that much. And yet here Stone was, soaked in - what Robotnik slowly came to realize - not his own, but their enemies blood, having survived whatever murder method and BDSM bondage hell they had prepared for him. And yet, the thing that bothered him most, kept nagging more than anything was … why? Why come back for him at all? It would have been so easy.

“Sorry, Walters, I did everything I could, but it seems like he’s gone.”

So very easy.

“It’s not like anyone would miss him anyway, right, Walters?”

Stone could have just walked away. Walters would have understood. The devil knew he’d only endured Robotnik for his genius's sake. The moment he became obsolete, the second he as much as suspected that they could do all of this without him, he would rid himself from the burden that was Robotnik without as much as a second thought. Losing him now would have been a scientific loss, yes, but not one anyone would mourn. And yet, here Stone stood, smiling as if... - but no! What was he thinking?! Stone had his orders and his paycheck must have been substantial. He was the military's most valuable asset after all. The potential loss of that must have been a powerful motivator.  Yes. That was all. 

“Took you long enough, Agent. Make sure it doesn’t happen again! And now let’s go. I’m itching to blow something up.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

Alright, so maybe Stone hadn’t been quite as useless as Robotnik had first assumed. Still! The only reason he’d been in this situation in the first place was due to human error. Speaking of errors, if Stone hadn’t already, he’d make sure those traitors found a gruesome and agonizing death. And after that was done, he’d never allow Walters to bully him into following his orders ever again. No more government jets. He’d use his mobile lap and that was final. And if he had to leave the country, he’d simply upgrade his private jet. He’d even allow Stone to tag along if it helped calm Walters' nerves. Never his, though. For his machines would always be enough to help him keep his cool - as well as feeling safe. Even if … Even if it was intriguing to know that Stone could rise up to the occasion, if the situation called for it. 

But that still didn’t mean he needed him. Not at all.

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 “Stone? What are you still doing here? I dismissed you an hour ago!”

The clock at his desk barely struck 3 pm. He knew that he’d never sent the man home this early before and it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen him attempt to part those ridiculous lips of his, to ask, to protest to whatever. Because he had. Thing had just been, that Ivo hadn't been able to muster the patience of dealing with any of that today. Tomorrow? Sure. Just … not today . Especially not with the way Stone kept staring at him, that relentless gaze boring into his back whenever he turned away. It usually didn’t bother him— mostly. But today, it gnawed at him, grating on his nerves in just the right - or rather wrong -  way, until he decided that he'd had his fill of his so-called assistant for the day. Or at least, that had been the plan. Not his fault Stone had zero self-preservation instincts.

“I know, Doctor. It was just … you don’t usually send me home this early and-”

“Were you doubting me, Stone?”

“Of course not!”

Of course, the fool would question his generosity. Why wouldn’t he? If Stone left now, he'd miss out on precious hours of whatever twisted torment Robotnik could devise. How was Stone supposed to sleep tonight knowing his pathetic needs hadn’t been fully met?

“Pin yourself to that wall.” 

Stone obeyed without hesitation, just as he always did. Good. At least he could still follow orders.

“If you disobey me one more time, I’ll force you to build a meat grinder, just so I can shove you into it, pelvis first. You got that? And now leave, before my good will runs out.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

Finally, that should be the end of it. Robotnik knew he’d do it—oh yes, it would be a shame to waste three years of adequate service, but he’d do it. If Stone thought for a second he was bluffing, he’d be in for a rather gruesome wake-up call.

“Stone”, he barked, sensing his agent still lingering in the room. Still here! After he’d given a clear order. He’d give him twenty more seconds, but then—

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… I… Happy Birthday, Doctor.”

And with that he finally left. For good this time. Or at least, that was what Robotnik hoped. Counted on, even.  For he wasn’t sure what he’d do or say if those doors were to open once again. 

He didn’t need this man. Didn’t need him. Didn’t need him. Didn’t need him. But…

No one had ever remembered his birthday before. And - to his horror - he found that he was still staring at the door. Almost like he was hoping that.. but nonsense! Nonsense! He didn’t need Agent Stone. He meant nothing. Nothing! And because he meant nothing, he was going to build a robot with his face on it, just so he could blow it to smithereens. That’s how much he did not care about this man! 

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The first thought that flickered through his genius mind upon waking was a simple one: he didn’t recall ever leaving his lab. Ah, he must have fallen asleep on his desk then. Again… Not one of his proudest moments, but the machines weren’t going to build themselves. Especially not when he had to delete even more of Walter’s infuriating emails than usual—well, Stone had to, but that was beside the point. The sheer insult of their implication that he was slacking off made him almost want to do just that. Let them see what would happen if they were deprived of his brilliance. Let them wallow in their incompetence without his guidance. Almost. But he wasn’t about to bore himself to death just to prove a point.

As he stretched, trying to shake off the stiffness in his limbs, something soft slipped off his shoulders. Some kind of… He sighed deeply. Stone. 

The last time he’d fallen asleep, that buffon had dared to move him to a couch. A scathing reprimand had ensured that mistake wasn’t repeated. Yet, here he was again, unable to keep his hands to himself. He stole a glance at the clock. 2am. Stone must have put that blanket on him shortly before he left for the night. You’d think that, at this point, Robotnik would have managed to punch and scream and degrade that idiotic sense of benevolence out of him. But no. He was quite the persistent rash, that one. 

No matter how hard he tried — and truthfully, he didn’t try very hard because Stone wasn’t worth the effort — Robotnik couldn’t quite figure out what Stone hoped to gain from all of this. Hadn’t he made his feelings clear enough? Hadn’t he told him, time and time again, that he meant nothing to him? That no amount of effort would earn him a raise, more time off, or... or anything ! It had been five years, and surely, Stone wasn’t foolish enough to think he was any closer now to... what? Gaining his trust? Stealing his secrets? Whatever mission Walters had sent him on all those years ago, it was doomed to fail.

Yes, Stone had become a convenience - he’d give him that . Sure. Fine. Yeah. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t do perfectly fine without him when - because it was a matter of when, not if - Stone finally hit his breaking point and left. He still didn’t need Stone. And if he decided to take the blanket with him to the couch to catch three or four hours of sleep, that had nothing to do with Stone either. It was just a warm, comfortable blanket. And Walters was a colossal headache. So, clearly, recharging his body would only enhance the efficiency of his machines. As would the warm cup of coffee he was certain he’d find upon waking again.

The smile he gave that coffee was just a glitch, a meaningless quirk of the lips. Nothing worth thinking about.

But as he drifted back to sleep, a small, nagging thought crept in, worming his way to the front of his consciousness: Why did Stone keep doing this? Worse yet: why did he let him?

No. Nonsense. It meant nothing. Stone meant nothing.

And yet, the blanket felt a little warmer than before.

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Robotnik could practically feel the wheels in his mind grinding to a halt, overwhelmed not by the brilliance of his own genius but by a maddening, persistent thought that had lodged itself in his brain days ago. It gnawed at him, defying every attempt to reboot, recalibrate, or purge it from his mental servers. If only he didn’t have to look at the man himself, maybe—just maybe—he could manage to distract himself. But alas, he couldn’t tell Stone to get out of his sight without raising suspicion. 

Leave, for I can’t stop thinking about you.

No. Stone would only take it the wrong way—romantically, or worse, sexually. Which was categorically not the case. He was asexual. Completely and utterly indifferent to such distractions. And even if he weren’t. Stone? Not a chance. 

Stone’s smile made Robotnik’s skin crawl. That was it—just an irritating tic that grated on his nerves, nothing more. And his presence? Suffocating. Like an unwelcome shadow that clung to him, always there, always smiling, always Stone . It was a constant irritation, a reminder that Robotnik was stuck with this man who had no real use, no real purpose, who claimed to be loyal but really, what was loyalty worth these days? Not much.

The coffee Stone brewed every morning—no, that didn’t induce any positive feelings either. It was just fuel, a means to an end, something to keep his mind sharp. It certainly wasn’t because Stone had somehow perfected it, learned just how much Austrian goat milk he liked, or how he managed to carve those ridiculous patterns in the foam that were annoyingly precise. No, that was irrelevant. Completely irrelevant.

And watching him, seeing him kill Robotnik's enemies with his bare hands, well, that hadn’t made his breath hitch. Of course not. If it had, it was only because of the thrill of victory, the satisfaction of watching his enemies fall one by one. It had nothing to do with the way Stone moved, the fierce determination in his eyes, the way he looked back at Robotnik with that same, insufferable smile as if he was seeking approval, craving it. And it wasn’t like Robotnik had ever felt a flicker of pride when Stone succeeded. Certainly not.

No, the hitching of his breath, the slight acceleration of his heartbeat—those were simply physiological responses to the moment , to the adrenaline of seeing his plans come to fruition. Not to Stone himself. Definitely not to Stone.

And devotion? Loyalty? Ha! What a joke. If Stone was loyal to anything, it was his paycheck. He wasn’t devoted to Robotnik—why would he be? Why would anyone be? And Robotnik didn’t need that kind of devotion anyway. He didn’t need anyone , least of all Stone. He was a means to an end, a tool, nothing more. Certainly not something—or someone —that mattered.

Sure, Stone might be okay looking. But so what? It wasn’t like that was anything special. Just an aesthetic feature, an irrelevant detail that had no bearing on anything. Because Robotnik didn’t care about that. He didn’t care about him .

Humans were unreliable, two-faced creatures, driven by selfish desires and ready to exploit any weakness they found.

Trust? That was a myth, a fairy tale told to children before the harsh realities of life shattered their illusions. Trust, in his experience, was a currency humans spent carelessly, abandoning you the second you became inconvenient. The second you became too much to handle, too difficult to love. No, he didn’t care about Stone. Stone didn’t care about him. No one ever had. No one ever would. That was just a scientific fact.

So why was Stone still here? Why hadn’t he left, despite everything Robotnik had done to him, put him through? Robotnik had tried so damn hard to push him away, yet Stone remained—almost as loyal as his beloved machines. Almost, but never better.

The question teetered on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out, but he held back. He didn’t trust Stone to give him a truthful answer. Not without the aid of a truth serum he hadn’t yet developed. 

So blackmail then? Could Walters have anything against him? The idea seemed more laughable than logical, so he decided to dismiss it. And yet, there had to be something. Something that explained why the man hadn’t left. Something that made sense.

“Here’s your afternoon latte, Doctor,” Stone announced as he entered the lab, approaching the bench where Robotnik sat.

Stone was still smiling, as always, and the foam on the latte was decorated with art, as always. Another thing on the list of questionable things Stone did without any fathomable reason. 

“Is there anything else I can assist you with today?” Stone asked, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture annoyingly straight. Straight… straight? Oh, God! Oh, no! Could it be that…?

Robotnik slammed the coffee cup down on the table and stood abruptly, taking two large strides to invade Stone’s personal space.

“Pin yourself to that wall,” he ordered, and before Stone had even fully complied, Robotnik slammed his fist into the wall, mere inches from Stone’s head.

“Are you in love with me?” he demanded, his voice dripping with accusation. It had to be that. It was the only thing that made sense. He’d deal with the implications once he had confirmation, ignoring the way his heart pounded at the thought.

“What?” Stone’s heartbeat had increased by five percent, but his expression was one of genuine shock and confusion. Not the look of a guilty man caught in the act.

“You’re in love with me,” Robotnik repeated, though this time doubt crept into his voice against his will.

“I… No?”

Robotnik stared into Stone’s eyes, searching for any sign of deception, as if any second now he could crack and reveal his secrets for Robotnik to see, and yet, he found none. Damn it. He’d been so sure.

He groaned, stepping back as Stone’s confused gaze remained fixed on him. Fuck it, he might as well ask.

“Then why are you still here? And don’t you dare lie. Your paycheck couldn’t be high enough to justify all… this!” He gestured around the lab, though they both knew he was really gesturing at himself. If Stone had dared to voice that observation however, Robotnik would have killed him on the spot. So really, it was wise of him to keep his mouth shut.

“Well, it’s because you’re… uh, you’re…”

“I’m what?” Robotnik snapped, bracing himself for the answer.

Frightening , his mind offered in the same breath as Stone answered with “Breathtaking.”

His heart skipped a beat—no, ten—before he forced himself to step back completely. “Sucks to be you,” he muttered, ordering Stone out the door with a flick of his hand.

He’d almost hoped Stone would call him a monster. That would have been easy. Predictable. Controllable. Not… whatever this feeling in his chest was instead.

Probably nothing, though. Because he didn’t need Stone. He didn’t care about Stone. And Stone, least of all, meant anything to him. Nope. Not at all.

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“You mean nothing to me,” he’d said.

“I won’t miss you when you’re gone,” he’d claimed.

He had known those words would cut deep, would pierce through Stone’s heart more than any physical blow ever could. Back then he’d wanted to wound him, to see the pain in his eyes, and he had succeeded. 

Funny, how it would be only days later, as the silence closed in and the emptiness grew, that he realized the truth: the one he had truly hurt that day had been himself. He was never wrong—certainly. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t lie.

“He meant nothing,” Robotnik whispered to the void, his voice brittle as he picked up a rough stone from the debris.

“Absolutely nothing,” he repeated, pulling a screwdriver from the wreckage of what had once been his beloved machine. His hands moved with a mind of their own, carving into the stone, each scrap of metal against rock echoing in the hollow space around him.

“I never needed anyone less than him,” he muttered, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue as he stared into the crude face he had etched into the stone. Stone’s face.

“You hear me, Stone? I will survive this without you, because we both know you rejoiced the second you heard I was gone. We both know you never actually cared about me, even though you were damn good at pretending.”

His voice trembled as he felt his grip tighten, fingers digging into the stone until the sharp edges bit into his flesh. Blood welled up, warm and sticky, smearing over the face he had carved. 

He should throw it away—launch it off this godforsaken mushroom, let it rot away somewhere on this stupid fucking mushroom planet, as it vanished from his sight. He didn’t even know what had come over him, why he’d made this pathetic attempt to hold on. Perhaps insanity had a tighter and faster grip on his mind than he’d had anticipated. Best to throw that damn stone away and never think, let alone speak of his moment of weakness ever again. 

His hand hovered over the edge of the mushroom-cliff, stone teetering on the brink. He just needed to let go. It should be easy. Childsplay. And yet …

And yet! Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. The thought of tossing it, of severing the last fragile thread that tied him to the man, felt like too much. It was ridiculous, absurd—he didn’t need anyone. Least of all Stone. But here he was, bloodied and alone, clutching a rock as if it could somehow replace the warmth of the human connection he had denied himself.

His breath hitched as he lowered his hand, cradling the stone to his chest, his heart aching with a pain he refused to name. Because the truth he had buried, the truth that gnawed at him now, was that Stone had … that Stone had… 

He bit his lip, refusing to finish the traitorous thought. It had barely been a week and he needed to keep it together. The stone would be allowed to live…. for now. 

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      "Doctor."

“Shut up."

      "Doctor."

“I said be quiet,” he snaped, refusing to turn around, refusing to acknowledge the voice that wasn't there. He couldn’t look. He wouldn’t.

      "Doctor."

“Shut up, shut up, shut up! You’re not real. Do you hear me? I’m not insane, so just shut up and leave me alone.”

      "But Doctor, I’ve missed you so."

“You haven’t.”

      "That’s not true, Doctor. Don’t you know that I’ve—"

“You haven’t!”

He screamed, the sound raw and trembling with an emotion he couldn’t quite name, a hurricane of pain, anger, and something else that terrified him more than he was willing to admit. And then, finally, he turned to face it, to face him —the stone that remained as dead and lifeless as always, mocking him with its silence. But the voice in his head wouldn’t stop. It clawed at him, relentlessly.

      "But I have, Doctor."

“No,” he insisted, voice shaking as he forced himself to stand, to move, to pace, as if motion could drown out the noise. “You haven’t. You never missed me. You never loved me. You never cared. Do you want to know why? Do you want to know why!?!?” His voice rose, cracking under the pressure, each word a desperate attempt to smother the ache that was tearing him apart.

“Because no one ever has. No one can. And no one ever will. I’m unlovable. So shut your goddamn mouth you moronic imbecile!”

      "But Doctor…"

The words were soft, almost tender, but they were laced with a cruelty that cut deeper than any knife. They broke him, finally shattering whatever fragile thread of control he had left. He lunged at the stone, at the damned piece of nothing that had haunted him for too long, his fist slamming into it with all the force he could muster. He hit it again and again, until his knuckles were raw, bloodied, until the pain in his hands became a numbness that spread through his entire body. He kept going, kept striking, until the throbbing in his heart dulled, until there was nothing left inside him but exhaustion.

When he finally stopped, he was too spent to cry.  Not like there were any tears left to begin with, no release to be found, just the cold, hollow certainty that he would die alone, a truth he’d known since he was twelve years old.

It didn’t matter. It never mattered. He didn’t need anyone, because no one had ever needed him either. He’d made peace with that. 

And as he collapsed beside the almost ruined stone, he told himself that he believed it.

٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

Robotnik wasn’t sure what to expect when he opened the door to the coffee shop that Stone had turned into their secret hideout. He prepared himself for anything—anything but the sight that greeted him. 

Stone was smiling, but not just any smile; it was the kind of smile that looked like it was meant for someone who had hung the moon and stars. And his eyes, his stupid, ridiculous eyes, lit up with a warmth so genuine, so painfully sincere, that it cut through Robotnik like a blade.

“I knew it. I knew you’d come back, Sir,” Stone said, his voice filled with an almost childlike belief, his smile teetering on the edge of overwhelming joy.

“I’ve been following your instructions to a tea, Doctor,” he continued, pride evident in every syllable.

Robotnik didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His gaze darted anywhere but to Stone—at the coffee, the table, the walls. He couldn’t afford to meet Stone’s eyes, not now. Because if he did, if he allowed himself to hold that eye contact for even a second longer, he might actually believe that Stone truly cared. That there was a possibility that Stone had, against all odds, come to care for him in a way that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow himself to acknowledge.

Suddenly, as if on autopilot, Robotnik grabbed Stone and slammed his head against the counter, muttering some fabricated nonsense, any excuse to shatter the unbearable tension, to distract himself from the ache clawing at his insides. Maybe, he thought bitterly, he should rip Stone’s lips out while he was at it, so they could never again utter those words that tempted him to think, to feel.

Stone didn’t care, Robotnik reminded himself. Even though he’d never stopped brewing that blasted latte with Austrian goat milk.

He didn’t care. Even though he’d saved every last one of Robotnik’s machines. Every badnik he could get his hands on.

Never had, Robotnik insisted to himself. Stone had never cared.

And yet... Stone was still there. Had still answered Robotnik’s call, even though there were no orders, no paychecks, no obligations tying him down. Binding him to the mad evil scientist that he was. He’d never been freer, never more illogical than in this very moment.

And yet, despite everything, Robotnik couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Or rather, he couldn’t afford to. Because if he did, he’d have to confront the terrifying thought that maybe—just maybe—he cared for Stone as well. That maybe, in some twisted, inexplicable way, he had come to depend on him, to want him… to stay, that was.

So, no. Stone meant nothing to him. And he meant nothing to Stone. It had to be that way. Was easier that way.

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“Doctor! Take me with you!”

As Robotnik floated above, ascending into the dark sky, the sound of Stone’s heart pounding in desperation echoed in his ears. The taste of raw power, electric and intoxicating, still lingered on his tongue, and for the first time, he found himself hesitating. Because … How could he deny Stone’s plea?

Now that he had merged with ultimate power, his intellect expanding beyond human limits, he realized that maybe—finally—it was alright. It was alright if Stone cared, if he admired, if he loved. Because how could he not? How could he look at Robotnik and see anything but perfection. 

So, he brought Stone with him, enfolding him into his machine of destruction. He even built him a small control panel and an escape capsule. Because while Robotnik was invincible, Stone was not. Stone was tiny, fragile, and painfully human. 

Just in case, his mind echoed. Just in case. 

“Wow. You’re magnificent,” Stone breathed, his voice filled with awe.

In that moment, it was as if Stone were glowing, radiating a light that almost rivaled Robotnik’s newfound power. Or at least, that’s what Robotnik told himself. For what else could explain what happened next? He smiled. A genuine smile, something he hadn’t done in years, something he hadn’t meant in even longer.

“Thank you, sycophant,” he replied, his voice laced with an unfamiliar tenderness. “Your admiration was inevitable.”

It was as close to an admission as he could offer. For now, at least. Because once they had taken over the world, once they had exacted revenge on the creature that had humiliated him for so long, perhaps then he would be ready to try again. To talk. To ask that one question that had always lingered unanswered in the back of his mind. Although, as his ‘World Domination Playlist’ pulsed through the walls and he and Stone moved in perfect sync to its rhythm, Robotnik mused that maybe, just maybe, he already knew the answer.

He didn’t need Stone. But, as he watched Stone with childlike glee almost effortlessly destroy their enemies, Robotnik realized he wanted him. Right here, right next to him. For it was where he belonged. There were implications to that of course. To ‘wanting’ someone. Implications he wasn’t sure he could meet, wasn’t sure he was capable of fulfilling. But maybe, when the day was done and the world was theirs, he would be willing to try.

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He was going to die. He knew it with a cold, clinical certainty as the ground rushed up to meet him, faster and faster, promising a violent end. He could almost hear the crunch of his bones, the sickening squelch of organs rupturing on impact, his body scattered and broken beyond recognition. But in the chaos of it all, there was a single, piercing clarity - Stone would survive.

Safely tucked away in the cocoon of his creation. He could picture him now, eyes wide with fear, perhaps even shouting his name, though Ivo would never hear it.

And maybe, just maybe, Stone would mourn him.

The thought was almost absurd — why would anyone mourn him, the madman, the tyrant, the monster? But as the wind roared in his ears and the ground loomed ever closer, a flicker of something like hope sparked within him.

Because he’d seen the evidence of that theory on Stone’s face, hadn’t he? Had seen what he did when Robotnik wasn’t watching. Are you in love with me, he’d asked. Funny how he’d never before considered that Stone’s answer could have been a lie. Too blinded by his own doubt to trust. Because no one before Stone had ever deserved it. To be trusted, that was. And now, that he was about to die, he figured it would be alright. Alright to admit that no one else had ever been as deserving of Ivo’s trust in return. Alright to admit that Stone hadn’t meant nothing. 

As the earth rushed up to meet him, he closed his eyes, holding onto that bittersweet thought with everything he had. Stone would live. And perhaps, in the quiet moments, he would think of him. Maybe he’d even miss him.

And that—he thought, with a final, fleeting sense of peace—would be enough.

٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

The universe didn’t just hate him—it reveled in his suffering. There was a perverse joy it seemed to take in watching him squirm, writhing in the agony of defeat. There was no other explanation for why he was still alive, for why he hadn’t died after that fall. A fall that, by every law of physics, should have shattered him into nothingness. But no, the universe had kept him alive, just to prolong his misery.

Stone had tried to explain how he had managed to save him, to drag his broken body from the wreckage and keep him tethered to life. But Robotnik didn’t want to hear it. He couldn't. Partly because his mind was too fogged with pain and exhaustion, slipping in and out of consciousness like a flickering lightbulb on the verge of burning out. But mostly because he knew what Stone’s explanation would boil down to: pity. Pity was what kept Stone by his side, and that thought made his stomach churn.

Empathy had always been one of Stone’s weaker traits, something Robotnik had tried—and failed—to eradicate. He had seen it as a flaw, a vulnerability. And now, lying here, battered and broken, he saw the bitter irony. Stone’s empathy, that pathetic instinct to care, had been the only thing keeping him from bleeding out on that battlefield.

How far he had fallen. There was a time when Stone had looked at him with awe, when the mere sight of his power had made the man’s breath catch. When he’d returned from the Mushroom Planet, triumphant and indomitable, Stone had seen him as something magnificent. But now? Now he was a shadow of that man. Weak. Pathetic. Disgustingly repulsive. There was nothing left of the genius, nothing left to inspire fear or admiration. Only pity.

He didn’t need to ask Stone how he felt about him now; it was all too clear. The way he avoided his gaze, the way his usual smile had faded into something hesitant, uncertain. It was written in every awkward movement, every forced word. There was nothing left of the man he had once revered.

Robotnik’s lips curled in a bitter smile, one that held no warmth, only self-loathing. The greatest mercy Stone could have shown him wasn’t saving him. No, the greatest mercy would have been to let him die. To leave him on that battlefield and let the universe finish what it had started. At least then, he wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge that he was a failure, a grotesque parody of the man he had once been. A man who had once been worthy of admiration, but now was fit only for pity.

As he lay there, he couldn’t even summon the energy to hate Stone for it. Stone had simply done what Robotnik couldn’t—cared. And that, more than anything, made him despise himself all the more. Because deep down, he knew he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve any of it. And yet, Stone had saved him anyway.

٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

“Why are you still here, Stone? Walters will take you back if you just beg hard enough.”

Robotnik's voice was sharper than he intended, but he couldn’t reel it back. He needed to push Stone away, to sever whatever invisible thread was keeping him tethered. For the first time, he let the words that had been festering in his mind spill out, watching as they froze Stone in his tracks. Stone turned slowly, stepping carefully over the chaos Robotnik had created in his fits of rage and despair.

“Surely you must know by now that I would never do that, Doctor.”

Stone’s voice was soft, almost pained, as if Robotnik’s words had struck something deep within him. The hurt in his tone was undeniable, and it sliced through the Doctor, leaving an ache that he refused to acknowledge.

“Must I? Because I don’t,” Robotnik snapped, his frustration bubbling to the surface, spilling out in venomous words. “Look around! Look at me! There’s nothing to gain from staying. So why are you still here, you insufferable nuisance!”

The insult fell flat, lacking the venom it once held. Robotnik was exhausted, a hollow shell of the man he used to be. His energy had been sapped by relentless failures, by the weight of his own inadequacies. A part of him didn’t want to see Stone leave. But… Robotnik was tired. Exhausted. And with Stone gone, he might … he wasn’t sure what he might. It would have been easy all those months ago. To let nature run its course. But doing it himself, finishing it with his own hands … he wasn’t sure if he was capable of that. 

Stone gazed at him, eyes filled with an intensity that made Robotnik squirm. For a fleeting, maddening moment, Ivo thought Stone could see through him, could read the despair etched into his soul. The air between them grew heavy, pregnant with unsaid words. And then, with a calmness that shattered the fragile barrier around Robotnik’s heart, Stone spoke.

“Because you were right. I am in love with you.”

The words struck like a physical blow, knocking the breath from Robotnik’s lungs. The room seemed to hold its breath, even the mechanical whirring of his beloved machines falling silent, as if waiting for his response. Robotnik’s heart stuttered, his mind reeling from the impact of Stone’s confession.

And then, he laughed. He laughed so hard his chest ached, a sound so sharp and bitter it could have been mistaken for sobs. It was a wild, desperate laughter, echoing off the walls, reverberating through the cluttered room. He laughed until the sound of it scraped his throat raw, even long after Stone had turned away, resuming whatever task he had been doing before Robotnik shattered the fragile silence between them.

When the laughter finally died, Robotnik turned in his bed, forcing his eyes shut. Out of all the lies Stone could have told, this one hurt the most. Because it had to be a lie. It was impossible. Stone hadn’t loved him at his best, when he was the pinnacle of his power, the mastermind behind countless triumphs. There was no way he could love him now, broken and defeated, a shadow of the man he once was.

So he’d laughed. Because the laughter, that desperate, bitter laughter, was the only thing keeping him from crying. 

٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

Looking back, he should never have let himself get dragged into this mess. The moment Sonic and his ragtag family stepped into his hideout, he should have told Stone to kick them out without a second thought. He should have shut down Stone’s ridiculous notion of teaming up with them the instant it left his lips. And when that brooding hedgehog, Shadow, arrived with murder in his eyes, he should have stood back and let him finish the job. After all, Sonic was never his problem. Never his responsibility. If anything, they’d been locked in a deadly dance, each trying to destroy the other time and time again. It was almost laughable that Sonic would come to him— him —begging for help. What a joke.

But when the moment came, when Stone looked at him with those pleading eyes—eyes that bore a striking resemblance to the ones that had once looked up at him with nothing but admiration—he found his resolve crumbling. Curiosity crept in. A twisted need to prove, if only to himself, that he still had it. That the genius he once was hadn’t been entirely lost to time and failure.

Fighting was second nature to him. Barking orders, commanding the battlefield—it brought a thrill, a rush of purpose he hadn’t felt in years. His machines hummed with life, responding to his every command, each victory bringing him closer to a final triumph. His mind sang with joy, a melody he hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime.

But then his grandfather appeared, and everything grew complicated. Gerald Robotnik, the scientific legend, the man he had idolized from childhood, had played him masterfully. Like a pawn in a game of chess, Ivo had been moved exactly where Gerald wanted him. He should have known better. Should have —but hadn’t. Trust had always been a luxury he couldn’t afford, and that included trusting his own blood.

Gerald was dead now, but his plans were still very much alive. With his final breath, he set his revenge in motion—a devastating blow against a world that had wronged him as much as it had wronged Ivo. A part of Robotnik wanted to let it happen. Let the space station blow Earth to pieces. Take all his enemies, his opponents, his failures, and burn them to ash. Let humanity die. All of them deserved to die. Yes, all...

But that wasn’t true, was it? Not all of them. As the reality of the situation settled in, as he watched the Earth loom closer through the observation window, a bitter truth gnawed at him. He could escape. Gerald had left him an escape capsule—a small token of remorse, perhaps, for using his own grandson as a tool. The proof that even Gerald hadn’t wanted complete annihilation. He could take it. Save himself. But as he spared one last glance toward Earth, toward a man he couldn’t see but could still feel, he knew he wouldn’t.

“Why aren’t you leaving?” Shadow’s voice echoed through the Space Ark, a low, questioning rumble. The hedgehog had seen him linger, watched him wrestle with his own demons. 

Why he’d stayed himself, Robotnik didn’t know. Nor did he care. Shadow’s motives were irrelevant.

“Because if I can’t rule the world, I might as well save it,” Robotnik spat, as his mind summoned images of a man he’d never be seeing again.

“If you don’t go, you’ll die,” Shadow insisted, as if Robotnik was too much of a fool to understand the stakes.

“Oh, really? I had no idea,” Robotnik mocked, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he returned to the control panel, desperately trying to override Gerald’s commands. But no matter how hard he tried, how violently he slammed his fists against the unyielding metal, the Ark’s course remained unchanged.

And then, suddenly, he felt it—a shift, a movement not of his own making. He looked up, surprised to see Shadow pushing against the Ark, his body straining with the effort. Hah. Would you look at that? Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t going to die alone after all.

Robotnik threw himself back into his work, furiously inputting commands, working in sync with the being he had tried to destroy mere days ago. But the clock was ticking down, time slipping through his fingers like sand.

As the sound of impending doom echoed in his ears, he allowed himself one final thought: Stone... I’m sorry.

The weight of it crushed him, a burden he’d never had the courage to acknowledge until it was too late. He had pushed Stone away, mocked him, doubted his loyalty. And now, in the face of his own destruction, regret washed over him like a tide, drowning out everything else. But there was no time left to dwell on it, no time left to fix what was broken. All he could do was keep fighting, keep trying, even as the end loomed closer and closer.

Farewell... The name echoed in his mind, a mantra, a plea. But it was too late. Far too late. Aban.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

Saved by a godforsaken hedgehog. Again . At this point, it was getting ridiculous. If Shadow hadn’t died in his place, he would’ve punched that stupid imbecile right in the face.

“Doctor!”

He heard Stone’s voice before he saw him, running toward him like a madman. His ever-present smile was there, but it was trembling, barely holding together as tears streamed down his face. Robotnik almost scoffed. A bit melodramatic, wasn’t it? He had, after all, just almost died. Tears were for actual death, not near-misses. Then again… Had Stone cried when he found him buried in rubble all those years ago? When Sonic had stranded him on that godforsaken planet? When there was no guarantee he’d ever come back? Had Stone always cried for him? Missed him?

I am in love with you.

Those words echoed in his mind, a haunting refrain as he looked at the man standing before him. Stone’s arms were trembling, caught between the desperate urge to reach out and the fear of overstepping. He wouldn’t dare, not unless Robotnik allowed it. If Robotnik wanted those arms around him, he would have to make the first move. For all the time he’d spent fighting against it, against the very suggestion of this… it took him surprisingly little time to decide that, yes. He did want it.

So he stepped forward, grabbed Stone by the tie, and yanked him close, wrapping his arms around him. Stone froze the moment their bodies collided, his breath hitching like he was afraid that even the slightest movement would shatter the moment, would send Robotnik retreating back into himself.

“Don’t make me turn this into an order,” Robotnik muttered, his voice gruff. Don’t make me beg , he meant.

And then, finally, Stone hugged him back. Not just a simple embrace, but a desperate, trembling hold as if letting go would mean losing everything. His arms shook with the force of it, each tremor carrying the weight of all the unsaid words, the unacknowledged feelings that had been buried for far too long. Robotnik felt it—the intensity, the raw emotion pouring out of Stone, mingling with the emotions he had tried so hard to bury deep within himself. The touch was electric, a jolt that shot straight through him, grounding him in a way that nothing ever had. It was as if all the chaos, the madness, the endless quest for power and control, had led him to this one moment of clarity.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Robotnik allowed himself to surrender. To close his eyes, to breathe, to just be. There was no need for pretenses, no need to keep up the facade of invincibility. Here, in Stone's arms, he was simply Ivo—a man who had long forgotten what it felt like to be held, to be cared for, to be… loved. This… this was nice. Nicer than he could have ever imagined. It was warmth in the coldest of places, a light in the darkest of nights, a balm to a soul that had been battered and bruised by years of isolation and bitterness.

And if his own hands were trembling as they clung to Stone, if his breath was shaky, almost tearful as he finally let himself feel, Stone was merciful enough not to mention it. He didn't need to. The way he held Robotnik tighter, the way his own tears dampened Robotnik’s shoulder, said more than words ever could. In that embrace, they found something neither of them had been looking for, but both so desperately needed. It was an unspoken promise, a silent understanding that neither of them had to face the world alone.

“Wow, I didn’t know they were gay,” Sonic’s voice broke through the moment, equal parts shocked and mocking.

So much for peace.

“Good for them, I guess?” Tom—no, Tim , wasn’t it?—chimed in, trying to make sense of the scene unfolding before him.

Stone recoiled, trying to pull away, his face flushing a deep crimson, redder than any tomato on earth, redder than Knuckles himself. He opened his mouth, probably to stammer out some excuse, to give Robotnik an out, an escape from the vulnerability of the moment.

“Biromantic asexual, actually,” Robotnik snapped, his voice cutting through the awkwardness like a knife. “But I’m not surprised a cop like you wouldn’t know the first thing about political correctness. Not unless it serves your own interests, of course. Isn’t that right?”

“Yup. Still an asshole, I see,” Tom replied, unfazed.

Robotnik could feel Stone’s gaze, practically see the unspoken question in his eyes, a question that was burning to be asked. But now wasn’t the time. Not here, not in front of his enemies, not when the rawness of the moment still stung like an open wound.

Later, when they were back at their hideout, away from prying eyes, he would tell him. He would tell him that he never meant nothing to him. That, despite all his denials, despite all his attempts to push him away, Stone had always mattered.

And maybe—just maybe—he’d kiss him, as well. As a treat.