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Sometimes, it’s overwhelming. His skin prickles under the force of the crowds stares, at the sound of their screams and cheers.
The bike isn’t his. The suspension is tighter, the tires are newer, and he isn’t sure what jet kit they’ve added. It feels foreign, but he doesn’t mind. He feels more comfortable on the track, kicking up dirt and dust and ignoring the people around him in favor of leaning forward and pushing his accelerator faster.
When he pulls his helmet on, everything else goes quiet. It’s comforting. It’s hot and stuffy and sweaty, but that’s what he’s used to.
Unlike Sonic, he doesn’t pull it off when he finishes. Not when he wins, at least. Because the media doesn’t care when he loses. He grits his teeth and pushes through the microphones shoved in his face and the fans trying to move closer to him. He can’t hear them, but it’s still annoying.
His manager— some woman he can’t even remember the name of— can’t even get a word in before he’s shoving past her into the dingy break room. The fan rattles and continues to circulate the hot air.
He pulls his helmet off finally. His reflection stares back at him in the visor, and he can’t help but feel disappointed at the sight. This is his life. He’s been doing this for years. And he still can’t stand in front of the people that admire him. His manager throws a water bottle at him. It falls short, and he watches it roll across the ground before gently stopping at his feet.
It takes almost half an hour for Sonic to come barreling into the room. He’s grinning, his helmet tucked neatly under his arm. He flops over on the small sofa, and Shadow snorts once when he grimaces. The thing was covered in mildew, and he wasn’t exactly surprised that Sonic hadn’t noticed. He never does.
“Long time no see, Buddy,” Sonic quips, peeling himself off the cushions. He’s still grinning, even though he lost. Truthfully, they most likely would have tied, but he suspects Sonic let him win just to piss him off.
Shadow doesn’t answer. His knee bounces restlessly. He understands why Sonic took so long— he’d always been better at playing the crowds. The people loved him even when he lost.
That was fine— he didn’t need their love. He just needed his bike.
————
His feet squish in the mud as he shuffles up to the porch. The rain had stopped and the dirt had dried out back, but the trees hadn’t let the sun through enough to get the front. He kicks his boots off by the banister.
He drops the grocery bags on the kitchen counter when he enters. He shoves the cold things in the fridge, and leaves the rest of the cans out on the counter.
Shadow is already out on the track when he steps onto the porch. He watches dirt fly through the air.
They were both more comfortable here, on their own track. With their own bikes, their own mods. It was easier like this— when they weren’t really racing but were still competing.
He doesn’t get his bike, content to sit on the top step of the porch and watch Shadow move. It’s nice; the air is still cool with the morning air. Shadow doesn’t exactly smile, but he doesn’t need to. He looks happy anyway.
When Shadow rolls up a few minutes later, letting his bike coast along instead of hitting his brakes, Sonic stands.
“You let me win,” Shadow accuses. He’s angry, somewhat. Sonic doesn’t argue against it. It’s true, and they both know it.
The two of them lose and win against each other more often than against anybody else, but when it’s head-to-head, when neither of them know who will win, Sonic backs out. Everytime. He pulls away just inches from the line. The press usually assumes its nerves, and they love the rivalry. Everytime. Sonic thrives on that attention. Shadow, on the other hand, does not.
Shadow thinks it to piss him off. Sonic knows it’s to piss him off.
He smiles, moving over to his boyfriend with his hands shoved in his pockets. “What? You have so little faith in me. I’m hurt, Shads. Hurt.”
Shadow glares at him. He tilts his head in the direction of the shed, and Sonic takes the hint. He blows out a breath and trudges over to it, and rolls his dirt bike out. This wasn’t an abnormal experience and Sonic wasn’t exactly surprised.
Maybe it was Shadow’s need to prove himself. Or maybe it was just their mutual need to go fast. Either way, Sonic wasn’t complaining.
He turns his key, and the engine rumbles.
Now this was his bike. It hums and purrs, and he understands every part of it better than he understands himself.
He runs a slow circle around the track, and then comes to a stop on the left of Shadow. “Come on. Everyone knows you won.”
Shadow huffs.
————
The wind whips by and bites at the skin of his face. A slow drizzle starts, but it’s fine. They should stop in a bit, before the track gets too wet, but they’re okay for now.
It’s still sunny. Still clear.
Sonic yells something over the speed of the wind. It’s drowned out, but that isn’t the point. Even like this, in their own element, when they don’t have to talk, Sonic tries. He always tries.
Shadow doesn’t know how to compete with that.
He pushes the throttle forwards and lets his bike drift. Sonic surges forwards, and Shadow can hear the echo of his laugh as he speeds past. It's comforting, he thinks. Just riding. Not for any reason— not because anyone expects them to. He doesn’t need to go any faster than this; not when he's already won.
The rain is slowing now. It’s cold against his skin, but he doesn’t really notice. He never really thought that it could be like this. That he could be something. That he didn’t have to be a part of something bigger.
(“You still there, Shads?”
“Yeah. All of me.”)
It doesn’t take much, he notices. A lean too low, just a little too fast. That’s all it really takes. The rain was slow and gentle, but the track wasn’t as dry as either of them had assumed. The bike slides.
He watches Sonic grip the handlebars tighter, trying to right himself again, but it’s too late. He’s too close to the ground. His front wheel hits the edge of their handmade track, and the sudden stop sends him over the side, and his bike tips too.
Shadow can’t hear what’s happening— not with the blood rushing through his ears. He can’t do this again.
He doesn’t want to think about her. Not right now— he can’t. He has to help. He doesn’t know how. He didn’t know how back then, either. And he never really did learn from his mistakes.
Whatever memory of Maria he’d been seeing is gone by the time he manages to push himself to the side of the track. He peers over the edge, ignoring the panic that clawed at his chest, and Sonic blinks back.
But something was so clearly wrong. He looked so far away from here— and that stupidly annoying grin was distinctly absent. And perhaps the more pressing matter was the way he was struggling to push his bike off of his chest.
Shadow slides off his bike. He doesn’t even bother to turn it off, letting it fall into the mud of the track as he scrambles down into the ditch. Sonic blinks at him again, unseeing but aware, and Shadow glares back. He doesn’t know why. His hands find their way underneath the bike and he lifts it enough to shove it to the side.
Sonic sucks in a breath, and Shadow forgets his own when the sound is a wheeze. He isn’t sure what to do— he knows what not to do, like pick Sonic up, but he isn't sure has a choice. They’re too far from the city— nobody would be able to get here in time.
This isn’t right. This isn’t supposed to happen. How could he have failed so badly? He shouldn’t have made Sonic get his bike. It was his fault, he knew. It always was.
————
Nobody tells him anything for a while. A nurse comes in and out almost constantly, and the company is nice. They don’t turn the tv on, no matter how much he asks them to. They don’t give him his phone either.
They tell him that he’s been in an accident, as if he doesn’t already know. He doesn’t remember it after he fell— but he knows that it hurt. There was a crushing weight in his chest and he just couldn’t get it off, and there’s something sticky trickling down the back of his neck.
And then the weight is gone, and Sonic breathes, but it’s hard. Harder than it should be.
And then what? He doesn’t know.
It’s quiet, with only the beeping of the heart monitor to break the silence. He lightly flicks the IV tube in his arm.
He doesn’t get a warning before the door is roughly shoved open and somebody trudged through, looking decidedly dead on their feet. His nurse scrambles in after, hands waving around as they try to explain that you can’t just barge into a patient's room.
Sonic waves. Shadow glares.
He doesn’t flinch when Shadow pulls him up by shoulders. They stare at each other for a moment, just looking.
“You look like shit,” Sonic says finally, even though he knows he probably looks worse.
Shadow snorts, and it’s a low, wet sound. “You look worse,” He murmurs, and then drags Sonic forward to wrap his arms around his shoulders.
Sonic slumps. “I always knew you were a hugger.”